The Tycoon Meets His Match (8 page)

“What is that?”

She yanked it back before he could grab it. Smoothing the paper on her lap, she tried to decipher Josh’s scratchings. “I think it’s directions,” she told him. “To some film set. Hmm, maybe Bobby really is making a movie. Looks to be just outside of…”

She paused, staring at the map with growing consternation. “Uh-oh, it’s Vegas.”

“Okay, it’s not my favorite place, either, but what’s wrong with Las Vegas?”

“From what Josh said, there’s a good chance his father went there. Knowing Bobby, he and Lucie are probably staying at Lou Carino’s place. Trust me, even in that town, the Snake Pit Casino has a bad reputation.”

He gave her a curt nod of agreement. “Yeah, I’ve heard of the place. You’re right, we’ve got to hurry.”

Eyes narrowing, he gripped the wheel with intense concentration as he fed the car more gas. Watching him weave through traffic like he was driving the autobahn, concern etched onto his face. Trae had to concede that he must really care about Lucie. Hard to fault the guy for that.

Which made it doubly hard to impart the next bit of bad news. “Uh, Rhys, you might want to pull over.”

“What now? You leave something behind at that house?”

“No, worse. There’s a cop behind us flashing his lights.”

As well as one for going over thirty miles over the limit. “Do I have a choice? We need to get back to the airport to see if my luggage has arrived.”

“And you’re the only driver? News flash, Paxton. I’m all grown up with my own license and everything. Let me drive the car and maybe you can avoid yet another ticket.”

He must have made a face, given the speed with which she pounced. “What?” Are you afraid to ride with a woman behind the wheel?”

“Not at all.”

“Good, then let’s switch places,” she said, popping out of the car and giving him no chance to argue.

He knew her offer made sense but he found the prospect alarming. Wasn’t the battered Neon bad enough without Trae behind its wheel? But there she was, jiggling the driver’s-side handle, and he knew he really couldn’t afford getting another ticket.

It was only until they reached LAX, he tried to tell himself, though sitting quietly while Trae negotiated the congested L.A. traffic was difficult at best.

Especially when she insisted on thinking aloud. “You know, your losing your wallet changes everything. You can’t fly without your license. To get to Vegas, we’ll have to drive.”

Six hours with Trae Andrelini in this cramped compact? “Stop at that gas station,” he told her abruptly. “I need to use the pay phone.”

“What now, Paxton? You need a booth so you can change into your tights and cape?”

“I wish. I have to call the office.”

She shook her head, visibly annoyed. “Do you ever think of anything besides your precious business?”

“Actually, I’m calling my secretary to overnight my passport. Mary can also cancel any cards and arrange replacements. She can book us some rooms in Vegas while she’s at it. I figure we can run a tab there until we locate Lucie, after which Mary can arrange our flights home.”

“Yeah, don’t want to leave anything to chance.”

Though he bristled at her obvious sarcasm, he refused to rise to the bait. “Maybe you can get some food while I make my call. I’ll meet you at the car in say…a half hour?”

“Shouldn’t we synchronize our watches?”

From habit, he glanced at his wrist, finding only condensation on the face of his watch. “Yet another item to thank Josh for. A six-thousand-dollar timepiece that no longer works.”

“Ask your secretary to overnight another one,” she suggested oh-so-sweetly. “I bet you have a dozen more sitting in a drawer somewhere.”

“Just go get the food, Trae. At the rate we’re going, we won’t get to Vegas before midnight.”

“You haven’t seen me drive,” she said with a grin as she strolled off.

She was enjoying this, he thought with resentment as he watched her. While here he was, dressed like a bum and considerably poorer, dragging his wet, meager belongings around in a black plastic bag.

Shaking his head, he strode to the phone and dialed the operator, feeling ridiculous at reversing the charges. Nobody picked up. Concerned—what the hell was going on at his office?—he called his brother at home.

After his initial shock at getting a collect call, Jack gently pointed out the three-hour time difference between the West and East Coast. As Rhys explained his predicament, he heard giggles in the background. He should have known his brother would be entertaining. Stressing the urgency of his request, he got Jack to promise he’d call Mary the instant he hung up. To be safe, he made Jack write down—and repeat back to him—each task he’d needed done.

“Okay, big bro, I’ve got it. Report cards, book pads and overnight cash.” The giggling sounded closer to the phone now, more breathless. “You go find Lucie and I’ll take care of things on this end.”

“Speaking of which, how are things at the office?”

Too late, Rhys realized he was talking to dead air, Jack having rung off before Rhys could finish the question. He thought about calling him back, but that would mean calling collect again. And Jack being Jack, he probably wouldn’t answer, being preoccupied with his guest.

Knowing there was little else he could do now, Rhys strode back to the car and waited for Trae.

She sashayed up nearly fifteen minutes later, carrying a single bag. Handing it to him without a word, she climbed into the driver’s side and started the car.

“Where have you been?” he asked angrily, sliding into the passenger seat. “You’ve been gone all this time and this is all you have to show for it?”

She shrugged. “I don’t have a lot of cash. I had to choose wisely.”

Looking down at the collection of fruit and granola bars, it was all he could do not to roll his eyes. “And that took a half hour?”

She made a face. “Actually, it took twenty minutes. The rest of the time was spent watching television. According to the news, the baggage handlers went on strike, after all. Looks like you won’t be getting your luggage any time soon.”

Rhys groaned. “And there goes any hope of flying to Las Vegas.”

“So we drive there. Relax, make yourself comfortable. How bad can it be?”

“How bad? I can’t stretch my legs without making a dent in the dashboard or having my knees become permanently embedded in my chin.”

“Okay, it’s a touch short on leg room,” she agreed. “And yeah, it shakes a bit over sixty-five and maybe the emergency brake seems iffy…”

“The emergency brake doesn’t work?”

“…and the spare tire takes up most of the trunk. But look on the bright side. You don’t have any luggage to put in there, anyway.”

One look at his face must have convinced her to drop this train of thought. Pulling out of the gas station, she got them back on the freeway.

“Do you know where you’re going?” Rhys finally felt compelled to ask. He could not, however, keep the doubt out of his tone.

She nodded. “I checked the map and from what I can see, the trick to getting around Southern California is a simple matter of following numbers. I take the 105 to the 605 to the 10. Then I hop on the 15 all the way to Vegas.”

Rhys repeated the numbers to himself, committing them to memory. All well and good to know the route but knowing when to change freeways was more important. No offense, but he didn’t trust Trae’s concentration. He’d be watching to make sure she didn’t get lost.

She looked over briefly, frowning as if she’d overheard his thoughts. “Really, Paxton, I’ve got everything under control. If you’re tired, just slide the seat back and go to sleep.”

“Fine.” Turning away, Rhys decided he was just as happy not to speak. In fact, he’d prefer to pretend he was driving alone to Las Vegas.

Yet as the miles whizzed by, he couldn’t quite manage to ignore her. Something about Trae’s scent teased his senses. He kept trying to figure out what it was. Fruit or flowers, or something more woodsy? It drove him crazy. Worse, it kept drawing his gaze her way.

He noticed how her hair curled about her face like a soft, burgundy cloud. Every now and then, she’d reach up to tuck a strand behind her ear, giving him an uncluttered view of her profile. Surprised by how soft and smooth her skin was, how flawless, he kept fighting the urge to reach out and touch her face.

He could probably get away with it; she’d never see his hand coming. She kept her gaze on the road, concentrating hard, as if driving wasn’t something that came naturally to her. He noticed she had a funny little habit of nibbling at her lips when she got tense, like every time she had to pass another car, or switch to a different freeway.

To his amazement, she made every turn correctly. By the time they reached the 15 freeway, he had to accept that she might be right. That she really did have a handle on this and he should relax.

Until he glanced at the speedometer and saw that they were cruising along at close to a hundred. “Think maybe you should slow down?”

She didn’t bother looking at him. “This, from the king of highway safety. Just how many tickets did that cop give you?”

“No need to get snippy. I was just trying to help. If you’ll notice, this vehicle is starting to shake. We don’t want it coming apart at the seams.”

“As I remember, the object was to get to Lucie as soon as we can.”

“Yes, but the hope here is that we can do so in one piece.”

Pursing her lips, she slowed the car down to ninety.

As the rattling subsided, Trae just about had it with his smug superiority. If Rhys made one more crack to her, she was liable to haul off and smack him upside the head.

“I don’t get you, Paxton.” Biting her lip, she realized she’d voiced her confusion aloud. He looked far from pleased, but, hey, might as well get all her beefs out in the open. “What exactly is your problem?”

“
My
problem?”

“Yeah. The way you march around looking down your nose at us lesser mortals. The way you treat every adversity as a personal affront and anyone in your way as a useless obstacle. So, yes, I repeat, what is your problem?”

He sat up straight. “Maybe
you
are. Ever since you started interfering in my life, it’s been one disaster after another.”

Oh, so now everything was her fault. “Disaster, Paxton? Aren’t we melodramatic. Help me out here, just so I get this straight. Are you blaming
me
for your lost wallet? Or the ticket—excuse me,
tickets
—for speeding?”

He sat back, arms linked belligerently across his chest. “You know full well that I wouldn’t be here right now if you’d minded your own business and left Lucie alone. Everything was proceeding according to plan until you came along.”

“According to plan? Do you hear yourself? I bet that’s why Lucie took off. Not because of anything I might have said.”

“Oh, really. Care to enlighten me about that deduction?” He was doing it again, acting all cool and superior, making her feel like she should be squirming in her seat.

She decided to make him squirm instead. “Maybe Lucie doesn’t want you meticulously plotting out every moment of her life. If you bothered to listen to her at all, you’d know she hates following schedules. She prefers spontaneity.”

“Is that what you call your slapdash approach to life? Being spontaneous?”

“It’s not slapdash.” Not liking the defensive tone creeping into her voice, she sat up straighter. No squirming.

“You’ve had, what, three different jobs in the past six years?” Rhys went on, pressing his advantage. “Lucie insists your heart isn’t really in teaching, that you dream of being a writer instead. If that’s the case, why aren’t you writing?”

“I am!”

“Oh, really? Where is your novel?”

Trae thought of the unfinished manuscripts saved on her laptop. As she often told her friends, it was a snap to start a book, but quite another story when it came to finishing one. What at first seemed like such a brilliant idea inevitably ran out of steam before the third chapter.

Not that she’d ever admit this to Rhys, though. “I’m on hiatus,” she said primly.

He snorted. “I bet. All that hard work, how can you bear it?”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged. “Maybe you’re not cut out for it. Writing requires spending hours at a time alone in a chair. Let’s face it, Trae. You don’t have the self-discipline.”

“I’ve got plenty of self-discipline,” she protested, secretly acknowledging it wasn’t her strongest suit. “Besides, even if I didn’t, I more than make up for it with creativity.”

“Really?” He couldn’t sound more condescending. “If you ask me, I think you should fire your muse. She certainly isn’t helping you get your book written.”

She pursed her lips, angry enough to spit. “Who do you think you are, making cracks about my work habits? Nobody knows better than me how much hard work and dogged determination it takes to write a book. I get it done my own way, in my own time. If I had to plot my life to death like you do, it would kill any spark inside me.”

“I don’t plot my life to death.”

“Yeah, right. Who couldn’t even start off for Vegas without calling ahead? You had to call your ‘people’ and arrange for a hotel room.”

“All necessary precautions. You expect me to fly by the seat of my pants?”

If she wasn’t so angry, the thought of Paxton trying to “wing it” might make her laugh. “You wouldn’t know how to improvise. You inherited a kazillion dollars. You’ve never had to get by on your wits alone.”

“Trust me, I’d do just fine.” He now had an edge of steel in his tone. “I didn’t get where I am by being afraid of adversity.”

“Of course not. Anything goes wrong, your daddy’s money always bails you out.”

“Money doesn’t make the difference, planning does. Case in point, your own life. I bet many of your troubles could have been prevented had you exercised a little foresight.”

Exercised foresight?
Did anyone really talk that way? He sounded so self-satisfied, Trae wanted to sock him, square in the jaw.

But then she’d have to let go of the wheel, and besides, she wanted to be as calm and unruffled as he was. “I can see how planning can have its advantages,” she said slowly. “And okay, maybe I could use more discipline in my life. But you, Mr. Happy Face, need to lighten up.”