Reunited with the Lassiter Bride
“You heard Matt and Kayla were delayed in Scotland?” he asked.
She told herself to brazen it out. Evan couldn’t read her mind.
“Yes,” she said. “Matt called in to the office yesterday. He’s taking a few extra days of vacation.”
Matt and Kayla had flown to Edinburgh to take advantage of a last-minute opportunity to secure a significant art exhibit for Kayla’s gallery. As Angelica understood it, after they’d arrived, they’d been told a senior member of the church council had to personally approve some of the pieces leaving the country. They’d been forced to travel to his retreat in the north of the country to meet with him.
“I’ve been trying to call them all day,” Evan continued. “But with the time difference and the spotty cell reception in the countryside, I couldn’t get through. And then I thought to myself, what are they going to do from Scotland anyway except worry? We’ll have to fix it for them from here.”
“Fix what?” She sat up straighter. “What’s wrong, Evan?”
He put his foot on the first stair and braced his hand on a support post, but seemed unwilling to enter the gazebo. “There was a fire at the Emerald Wave.”
“Oh, no. Was it bad?”
“Bad enough. It gutted half the kitchen. Luckily, nobody was hurt.”
Angelica was grateful to hear everyone was safe, but her mind immediately went to Kayla. “We’re only three weeks from the wedding.”
“No kidding.”
“We need to find them a new venue.”
“Are you going to continue stating the obvious?”
She felt her nerves snap to attention. “Are you going to continue being a jerk?”
“Oh, Angie.” His tone was soft, and his use of her nickname sent a new shiver of awareness through her body. “I haven’t even begun being a jerk.”
She reached for her glass of merlot, needing something to fortify her. “What do you want from me, Evan?”
He came up the three steps, filling the doorway to the gazebo with his six-foot-two height. “I need your help. I went to see Conrad Norville today.”
“I don’t understand.” What did movie mogul Conrad Norville have to do with repairing a kitchen?
“To ask if we could use his Malibu mansion for the wedding.”
The explanation set her back for a moment. But she had to admit, it was a good idea.
Conrad Norville owned a monster of a mansion on the Malibu oceanfront. The seventy-something man was renowned for being gruff and eccentric, but his house was acknowledged as an architectural masterpiece.
“It’s the only place anywhere near Malibu that has a hope of fitting all the guests,” said Evan.
“What did he say?”
“He told me, and I’m quoting here, ‘No way in hell am I getting mixed up with that Lassiter circus. I’ve got a reputation to protect.’”
Angelica felt her defenses go up on behalf of her family. “He’s got a reputation to protect?”
“No,” said Evan, his tone admonishing. “He’s got a house we want to borrow.”
“But—”
“Don’t get all high and mighty—”
“I’m not high and mighty.”
“Well, whatever you are, this is no time for you to get into a fight with the man.”
“He already turned you down,” Angelica pointed out. How could it possibly matter if she fought with Norville or not?
“I’m willing to take another run at it,” said Evan. “For Matt and Kayla’s sake.”
The statement made her curious. “You think you can change his mind?”
“I was thinking you could help me change his mind.”
“How could I do that? I’ve barely met him in passing. And it sure doesn’t sound as though he likes my family.”
“I thought we could alleviate his fears, present a united front. Show him there are no hard feelings between us, that the rumors about the power struggle were overblown.”
The rumors weren’t overblown. When her father’s will left control of Lassiter Media to Evan, it had resulted in all-out battle between the two of them. Even now, when they both knew it had been a test of her loyalty, their spirits were battered and bruised, their relationship shattered beyond repair.
But Kayla’s happiness was at stake. Or, more specifically, Kayla’s mother’s happiness was at stake. Angelica was willing to bet that Kayla would marry Matt anywhere. In fact, they’d probably prefer to be married in Cheyenne, where they’d made their home. But Kayla’s mother had been looking forward to this day since Kayla was born. And Kayla would do anything for her family.
“So, you’re asking me to lie?” Angelica stated in a flat, uncompromising tone.
“I’m asking you to lie,” Evan agreed.
“For Kayla and Matt.” That might be one of the few reasons she’d consider it.
“I’d do a lot more than lie for Matt,” said Evan.
She took in the determination on his handsome face. Experience had taught her that he was a formidable opponent who let absolutely nothing stand in his way.
“I shudder to think how far you’d go to get what you want.”
His expression tightened. “Yeah? Well, we both know how far you’ll go, don’t we?”
It was a cutting blow.
“I thought I was protecting my family,” she defended.
When she’d learned of the terms of the will, she couldn’t come up with any explanation except that her father had lost his mind, or that Evan had brazenly manipulated J.D. into leaving him control of Lassiter Media.
“You figured you were right and everyone else was wrong?” he asked.
“It seemed so at the time.”
His steps toward her appeared automatic. “You slept in my arms, told me you loved me, and then accused me of defrauding you out of nearly a billion dollars.”
All the pieces had added up in her mind back then, and they had been damning for Evan. “Seducing me would have been an essential part of your overall plan to steal Lassiter Media.”
“Shows you how little you know about me.”
“I guess it does.”
Even though she was agreeing, the answer seemed to anger him.
“You should have known me. You should have trusted me. My nefarious plan was all inside your suspicious little head. I never made it, never mind executed it.”
“I had no way of knowing that at the time.”
“You could have trusted me. That’s what wives do with their husbands.”
“We never got married.”
“Your decision, not mine.”
They stared at each other for a long moment.
“What do you want me to do?” she finally asked. Then she realized her question was ambiguous. “About Conrad.”
An ironic half smile played on Evan’s lips. “Don’t worry. I know you’d never ask what I wanted you to do about us.”
He backed off a couple of paces. “Come with me to see Conrad. Tomorrow night. Pretend we’re pals, that everything is terrific between us, and he doesn’t have to worry about any public fights.”
The request brought a pain to Angelica’s stomach. Nothing was remotely terrific between her and Evan. He was angry and she was sad. Because now that their dispute over Lassiter Media was over, she missed so many things about their former life.
“Sure,” she agreed, forcing her misery into a small corner of her soul. “I’ll do whatever it takes to help Kayla.”
“I’ll pick you up at seven. Wear something feminine.”
She glanced down at her slim, navy skirt and the collared, white blouse. “Feminine?”
“You know, ruffles or flowers, and some pretty shoes. Maybe curl your hair.”
“Curl my hair?”
“You don’t want to look like my rival. He’s an old-fashioned guy, Angie. He remembers a different time, a different kind of woman.”
“When? The 1950s?”
“That sounds about right.”
“You want me to simper and giggle and bat my eyelashes to get a wedding venue for Kayla and Matt.”
“In a word, yes.”
She’d do it. She’d definitely do it for her best friend. But she wasn’t going to like it, and she wasn’t going into it without a protest. “Shall I cling to your arm as well?”
“Cling to anything you want. Just sell it to him.” With that pronouncement, Evan turned on his heel, left the gazebo and disappeared along the pathway.
Two
Evan stood in the high-ceilinged foyer of the Lassiter mansion, gazing in amazement as a transformed Angie descended the grand staircase. She looked beautiful, feminine and deceptively sweet. Her chestnut hair was half up, half down, wisps dangling at her temples and curling enticingly along her shoulders in a silk curtain. The color was lighter than he remembered it, and he instantly realized he liked it this way.
“You’re wearing pink,” he couldn’t stop himself from observing.
“Now who’s stating the obvious?” As she covered the last couple of stairs, Evan noticed her simple, white pumps that matched a tiny purse tucked under her arm.
“I’ve never seen you in pink.” The dress was snug in the bodice, with cap sleeves and flat lace across the chest. It had a full silk skirt and a discreet ruffle along the hem. She wore simple diamond stud earrings and a tiny diamond pendant on a delicate gold chain. She truly could have stepped out of the 1950s.
“I hate pink,” she noted as she came to a halt on the ground floor. Then she donned a brilliant if slightly strained smiled and pirouetted in front of him. “But do you think this outfit will get Kayla the dream Malibu wedding her mother wants for her?”
Evan wasn’t sure the outfit would get them a wedding. But it was definitely getting him turned on. He’d seen Angie in no-nonsense suits, opulent evening gowns and the occasional classic black cocktail dress. But he’d never seen her looking so alluring and demure, and so incredibly kissable.
“If it doesn’t,” Evan found himself responding, “nothing will.”
“Good.” Her expression relaxed, and her smile looked more natural. “Then let’s get this over with, shall we?”
He held out his arm to escort her, but she didn’t take it. She walked pointedly past him, drawing open the front door and marching onto the porch.
“He needs to believe we’re still friends,” Evan cautioned as he trotted down the staircase after her.
His dark blue Miata convertible was parked halfway around the circular driveway. He’d picked Angie up in this spot countless times, taking her to dinners, to parties, occasionally away for the weekend. And for a few heartbeats, it felt exactly like old times. He had to stop himself from taking her hand or putting an arm around her shoulders. Touching her seemed like such a natural thing to do.
“I can act,” she responded breezily.
He slipped past her to open the passenger door. “I’m sure you can.”
She slid into the low seat, pulling her dainty shoes in behind her. “Conrad knows we’re coming?”
“He knows. I imagine we’ll get an earful about some of the stories in the tabloids.”
“I can cope with upset people.”
“Can you keep your cool when they come after your family?”
“Of course, I can.”
“Angie?” Evan cautioned.
She stared straight ahead. “Don’t call me that.”
“You want me to call you Ms. Lassiter?”
“My name is Angelica.”
He waited for a moment, until curiosity got the better of her and she raised her eyes to look his way.
“Not to me it isn’t,” he told her firmly. Then he pushed the door shut and rounded the hood of the car.
He knew he shouldn’t goad her, and he probably shouldn’t use her nickname either. But they’d been lovers once, best friends, engaged. They’d been mere hours away from getting married. They’d laughed. They’d fought. And she’d cried naked in his arms. He wasn’t about to pretend it had all never happened.
They both stayed silent as he pulled onto Sunset, pointing the sports car toward the Pacific Coast Highway.
“You can do it for one night,” she told him as he navigated traffic beneath the bright streetlights.
“Do what for one night?” He wondered if she was aware of the many interesting ways that statement could be taken.
She’d probably slap his face if she knew what he was picturing right now.
His mouth flexed in a half smile at his own thoughts. If this really were the 1950s, she would slap his face, but he’d kiss her anyway, pinning her hard against the nearest wall. Then she’d quickly capitulate and kiss him back, because she was only protesting out of a duty to be a good girl, not because she was unwilling.
“Call me Angie,” she answered, startling him out of the daydream.
“I can call you Angie for one night?”
“While we’re at Conrad Norville’s pretending to be friends. But that’s it.”
“I don’t think you can control what I call you,” he countered casually.
She fussed with the hem of her skirt, and there was something defiant in her tone. “I can control what I call you.”
“Call me anything you like.”
“What about incompetent and irresponsible?”
“Excuse me?” He swung a glance her way for a second before returning his attention to the winding highway. “You’re planning to insult me in front of Norville?”
“Not Norville. I had a phone call this morning. Somebody looking for a reference on your work with Lassiter Media.”
“Who?” Evan immediately asked.
“Lyle Dunstand from Eden International.”
Anger clenched his stomach, and his tone went iron-hard. “You’d actually undermine my business out of spite?”
She was silent for a moment. “Relax, Evan. I told them you’d done a fantastic job under trying circumstances. I gave you complete credit for last year’s expansion into Britain and Australia, and I said your instincts for people were second to none.”
His anger dissipated as quickly as it had formed.
“My point is,” she continued. “I’m treating you with respect and professionalism. You could at least do the same for me.”
“I didn’t give anyone your contact information,” he assured her. “I was hoping they’d avoid checking with Lassiter.”
“I can’t see that happening. You were with us for several years.” She angled her body to face him. “So, you’re opening up the consulting agency again.”
“I have to earn a living.”
“My father left you a lot of money.”
Evan coughed out a cold laugh. “Like I’m going to touch Lassiter money.”
She seemed to consider his words. “Are you angry with him?”
“Hell, yes, I’m angry with him. He used me. He messed with my life like I was some pawn in his private game.”
“He assumed we’d be married by the time he died.”
Evan twisted his head to look at her again. “And that makes it better? He sets me up as CEO in order to test your loyalty to him, and then he cuts me loose to do what? Play second fiddle to my own wife at Lassiter?”
She seemed to consider his statement. “Are you saying you’d have a problem working for me? If we were married, I mean?”
“Yes.”
“But you’d have been okay with me working for you?”
He gave a shrug. “It might not be logical or fair. But, yeah, I could live with that.”
“Now who’s living in the 1950s?”
He didn’t disagree. “It’s a moot point. Neither of those things is ever going to happen.”
“Because we’ll never be married.”
“Stating the obvious again, Angie.”
“Angelica.”
“You said I could have one night.” He wheeled the car into a left turn, and down the private road that led to Conrad Norville’s estate.
* * *
They met Conrad in the great room of his oceanfront residence. Even though Angelica had spent years living in the Lassiter mansion, she was taken aback by the size and opulence of the home. The great room was accessed through a massive foyer and a marble pillared hallway decorated in ivory and gold. The room was huge, rectangular, with a thirty-foot ceiling. Its beachside wall was completely made of glass. In the center of the glass wall, several panels were drawn aside, turning the patio into an extension of the house.
The patio itself was beautifully set up for entertaining, with different tiers that held tables, comfortable lounge furniture groupings, and gas fire pits surrounded by padded chairs. The lowest tier jutted out over a cliff, offering a spectacular view of the rocks and waves, while a side area held a swimming pool, complete with a pool house and a massive wet bar.
As Conrad shook her hand in welcome, he gave Angelica’s outfit a critical once over. He didn’t make any comment, and she couldn’t tell what he thought.
“Your family’s been in the news lately,” he stated, giving a signal to a waiting butler who immediately moved forward with a silver tray of drinks.
“Things have stabilized now,” said Angelica, standing next to the open doorways, appreciating the fresh ocean breeze. “I think we’re all ready to move forward on a positive path.”
“You never want to become the story.” Conrad took a crystal glass from the waiter’s tray. It contained a small quantity of amber liquid.
“Being in the media wasn’t something any of us enjoyed,” Angelica agreed.
The butler offered her a drink, and she took it, guessing it was probably single malt, since Conrad owned a distillery in Scotland and often sang its praises. She hated single malt, but she’d drink it if she had to.
“Is your daddy a crazy man?” Conrad asked, studying her expression while he waited for her answer.
Though they’d tried to guard the details of J.D.’s will, with Conrad’s industry and social contacts, he’d likely have learned more than most people outside the family.
Before she could answer, Evan stepped in. “J. D. Lassiter loved his family very much. It’s one of the things I admired most about him.”
“My stepkids are leeches,” said Conrad, switching his piercing attention to Evan. “No good, blood-sucking losers.”
Angelica glanced at Evan, but he didn’t seem to know how to respond to that either.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” she offered into the awkward silence. “Do they live here in Malibu?”
Conrad gave a gruff laugh. “Can’t afford their own houses. At least not the kind of houses they think they deserve.” He upended his glass, swallowing the entire shot.
Angelica took an experimental sip. It was single malt all right—bold, peaty scotch that nearly peeled the skin from her mouth.
Evan finished his in one swallow.
“They’re both in Monaco right now,” said Conrad, signaling the butler to bring another round. “Some fancy car race through the city. Nothing but girls and all-night parties, I’m guessing.”
“Kayla Prince runs an art gallery,” Evan offered. As he spoke, he shifted a little closer to Angelica.
She assumed he was trying to perpetuate the ruse that they were still good friends.
“One of those snooty, high-brow places?” Conrad asked. “Always trying to get me to spend millions on some nouveau crap. Can’t even tell what’s in those pictures. A monkey might have done it for all I can tell.”
“I once bought a water color painted by an elephant,” said Angelica.
Her instinct was to defend Kayla, but she didn’t want to risk an argument with Conrad. She decided it was better to distract him with a new thread of conversation.
Evan gave her a puzzled look, but Conrad jumped right in on the topic.
“Could you tell what it was?”
“Blue and pink lines. The elephant’s name was Sunny. Cost me five hundred dollars.”
That got a grin from Conrad. “The elephant’s probably more talented than that artist, and he charges millions. One of the kids bid at an art auction last month, and I nearly had to mortgage my house.”
She found herself glancing around while she tried to imagine how much you’d have to bid at an auction to warrant a mortgage on this particular house.
The butler returned, and while Conrad was distracted, Evan smoothly switched glasses with Angelica, discreetly downing her drink. She couldn’t help finding the action chivalrous. She attempted to refuse a second drink, but Conrad insisted, so she accepted, declaring the scotch delicious.
“You probably want to see the patio,” Conrad said to Angelica, sounding like he didn’t particularly want to show it to her.
“I would love to see the patio.”
He gestured. “Well, come on outside. Evan here says you’re going to convince me the scandal is over, and it’s safe to be associated with the Lassiters.”
“The scandal is over,” she assured him as they stepped outside.
Soft, recessed lights came on in the perimeter gardens, whether triggered by motion sensor or an alert staff member, Angelica couldn’t tell.
“And you’re at the helm now?” Conrad asked her.
“I am.”
Conrad looked to Evan.
“She’s at the helm,” Evan agreed. “And she’ll do a fantastic job.”
Though she knew he was only playing a part, Evan’s words warmed her.
Conrad got a cagey expression on his face. “Angelica, while I’m deciding whether or not to lend you my mansion, what would you say if I told you Norville Productions had a series we think would be perfect for Lassiter Broadcast System?”
“I’d tell you at LBS we have always created our own programming.”
“And if I reminded you that I have something you seem to want?”
She paused. “I couldn’t offer you quid pro quo, but I can tell you I’ll get your idea in front of an acquiring executive, and we’ll take a look at it.”
“But no promises?”
“We’ll give it full and fair consideration.” She was sincere in that. Just because they’d never commissioned a third-party program for LBS didn’t mean they never would.
“And your brothers?” Conrad took a healthy swallow of his new drink. “Are they aware that the scandal is over?”
“They are. They’re each involved in the corporation in different ways.”
“But not on the media side?”
“Not on a day-to-day basis,” said Angelica. “But the family it united.” It was a bit of a stretch. There were certainly some fences left to mend, but Angelica was confident her brothers wouldn’t say anything publicly that would disparage her father or the family.
“And Jack Reed?” Conrad asked, giving yet another nod to the butler.
Angelica hadn’t even touched her second drink. Luckily, while Conrad momentarily turned away, Evan once again deftly switched glasses with her, drinking it himself.
“Jack is completely out of the picture,” she said. “There was some confusion about his role at first, but he was also acting on my father’s wishes.”
Conrad arched a bushy brow. “Your father wanted his company to be taken over and split apart?”
The butler returned, and they all exchanged their empty glasses for fresh drinks.
“My father,” Angelica admitted with frank honesty, “set it up to test how I would react if that became a possibility.”
Conrad cracked a grin. “A wily old coot, was he?”
“I would say so.”
Evan joined in. “Everyone passed the test with flying colors. The family pulled together, and Lassiter Media is going to thrive.”
“They didn’t pull together right away,” Conrad noted.
Evan gave a shrug and took a hearty swallow of what was now his fifth glass of scotch. “Nobody does the right thing right away.”
Conrad gave a wheezing laugh at that.
“First we look at the angles,” Evan continued. “Then we decide what we want. Then we decide what’s best. But the last decision is the only one that counts.”
Angelica forced herself to take a sip of her drink. She wished the glass contained a liquor she enjoyed. She needed something to counteract her burgeoning appreciation of Evan. He sounded quite sincere in his defense of her behavior.
“And what about you two?” Conrad asked, glancing from one to the other.
“We’re friends now,” Evan offered simply.
“No, you’re not,” Conrad countered with conviction, his bushy brows coming together, creasing his forehead.
Angelica stilled, worried they were caught.
“In a relationship like yours,” he continued, “you either love each other or you hate each other. There’s nothing in between.”
“You can’t believe what you read in the tabloids,” said Evan.
“It’s not what I read. It’s what I see. Picture after picture tells me you two had it bad.” His wrinkled hand gestured back and forth between the two of them. “I’m no fool. You’re makin’ nice now, but it’ll go off the rails in the blink of an eye. The story will hit the tabloids, and this wedding and my mansion will be smack dab in the middle of a scandal.”