“Hello, darling!” her mother       called, vaulting out of the car, her half smile as unchanging and disturbing       as Jack Nicholson’s Joker. “Guess into whom I ran.”

“‘Into whom I ran’?” James       echoed. “That is some very impressive grammar.”

Althea hustled to the door and,       ignoring James completely, whispered, “This is Collier Rhodes, he owns the       Pines, he’s loaded, don’t blow this. Husband material, Parker.”

“For you or for me?” Parker       asked.

“For you! Don’t be ridiculous!       I’m blissfully happy with Maury. Let’s go! Hurry up. I don’t want him to see       this pigpen any more than he already has.” She glanced back. “Collier, we’ll       be one second! Oh, damn, he’s coming in.”

“Now, now, Mother,” Parker       murmured. “Hi,” she said to the man. “I’m the daughter.” She was positive       the man had already been briefed on her blue blood, education, career and       fertility.

The man removed his sunglasses,       revealing very blue eyes. Nice. He smiled. “Hi. I’m Collier. I guess we’re       neighbors.”

“Parker Welles. This is my       friend, James Cahill.”

“Good to meet you, man,” Collier       said as they shook hands.

“He’s not her friend per se,” Althea       chirped. “He’s the help.”

Parker raised an eyebrow.       “Actually, he’s—”

“Darling,” Althea interrupted,       widening her tightened eyes with great effort. “Collier has been       so sweet! I       wandered up to the Pines, a little nostalgic, and there he was, and before I       knew it, he’d invited us to stay for a few days!”

Mmm-hmm. A little nostalgic, her       ass. It wasn’t surprising Althea had tracked down the town’s biggest       landowner. She had a nose like a drug-sniffing bloodhound when it came to       rich men.

“And he’s having a little dinner       party tonight for us. Isn’t that wonderful? So let’s go.” She gave Parker a       quick scan and apparently found her dress acceptable, though she unsubtly       tucked her finger into her own neckline and made a downward motion, sign       language for Show more boob and he’ll pop the       question faster.

“James, you free? You’re more       than welcome,” Collier said.

“Oh, I’m sure he had other       plans,” Althea said. “My ex-husband sent him to do a little work for Parker,       that’s all.”

Parker glanced back at James.       His hair was still damp from the shower. “Why don’t you come, James?” she       asked, suddenly quite aware that she really, really wanted his       company.

“The more the merrier,” Collier       said enthusiastically. “I’d love it!”

“Oh, are you sure, Collier?”       Althea said, laying a hand on his arm. “James wouldn’t want to put you out.       You’ve already been so, ah, generous with the locals.”

“I’d love him to come,” the man said, his       blue eyes blazing. Gay, maybe, Parker thought. “What do you say,       James?”

“Sounds like fun,” James said.       “Thank you.”

“Great!” Collier said. “Off we       go, then.”

“Parker, you simply must sit in       front,” Althea said as they walked down the path to the Porsche. “It’s such       a darling car. Parker’s father loves Porsches.” Translation: She comes from money, too.

“Oh, no, Mother. You know what       they say. Age before beauty.” Smiling at her mother’s murderous look, she       slid into the backseat with James.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

TWO HOURS LATER, James was fairly sure he hated Collier Rhodes.

Apparently, Collier knew every famous person on the face of the earth, from Lindsay Lohan to the president. He couldn’t stop talking about his famous pals, his money, his career, his travels, and all with such false modesty that it was making James ill. At least Harry was honest about his own self-admiration.

Maggie Beaumont and her fiancé, Malone, were here, in addition to Lavinia. And thank God for that, because otherwise, James was pretty certain Althea would’ve locked her daughter in a bedroom with Collier until consummation occurred. Between her references to Parker’s suitability as a bride and Collier’s name-dropping, James was feeling quite homicidal. He took another sip of whatever wildly expensive wine Collier was serving and tried not to roll his eyes as Collier dropped the seventh celebrity name of the night.

“You’re kidding!” said Maggie. “You actually went rock climbing with Aron Ralston? The guy who cut off his own arm?”

Collier considered the question. It wasn’t a hard question, but he seemed to need time to answer. “I guess I don’t really notice a person’s disabilities. It’s not my way of seeing people.”

“You didn’t notice that he only had one arm?” Parker asked. “That’s kind of a big thing to miss.”

Atta girl. She was sitting next to James, as ever so close and so out of reach.

“That’s how I’m made,” Collier answered thoughtfully. “To me, we were just two kindred spirits communing with nature. It was the same when Steve and I—Stephen Hawking, that is—were having drinks one time. I mean, yeah, he’s in a wheelchair, but to me, that stuff’s invisible.”

The invisible wheelchair. Like Wonder Woman’s plane.

“How do you have drinks with a man who’s completely paralyzed?” Lavinia asked. “Feeding tube? Straw?”

Good question, Vin. “Go on, Collier,” said Parker’s mother, staring at her cousin with her creepy frozen face. “Tell us about the, ah, climber.”

“Well, that Aron can really fly when it comes to free-climbing. He almost beat me to the summit.”

“That’s so neat,” Maggie said.

“It’s amazing,” Parker’s mother seconded. “Collier, the stories you have! Such a fascinating life you’ve led!”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” Lavinia barked. “Who just said he cut off his own arm? Maggie, are you shitting me?”

“Let’s not discuss that at dinner,” Althea said. “Collier, tell us about that novel you mentioned. Parker, Collier wants to write a book, too!”

Oh, kill me now. Just one more reason Collier was perfect for Parker. James closed his eyes.

“Another thing you have in common,” Althea said brightly.

“You don’t really want to hear about my little idea,” Collier said, gazing upon each guest in turn.

“Most authors don’t like discussing their work,” James offered.

“I’ve heard that, too,” Malone said, giving James a commiserating look. At least James wasn’t the only one suffering.

“I just read a book,” Lavinia said, leaning back in her chair. “Pretty steamy stuff. Written by some Chinese chick. Very dirty. I enjoyed it.”

“Please tell us, Collier! I know I’m dying to hear about it,” Althea said.

“Well, Jim there has a point.” That was another thing. Jim. “But if you insist.”

“We do!” Althea chirped. Malone sighed.

“Okay, okay,” Collier said, holding his hands up in mock defeat. “It’s about this retired Microsoft executive.”

“Like you?” Parker asked innocently.

“Well, not really. But maybe. He’s a little like me in that he retired young after making his fortune.” Making his fortune? Did people talk that way? “And then he comes across this painting by Picasso. But there’s this code in it, and no one’s ever deciphered it before. But coding is what the Microsoft guy does. His name is Wolfe, Wolfe Shepherd, and he’s the only one who sees that this code is actually a treasure map, so then he embarks on this amazing journey that leads him to the secrets of the Vatican.”

“Sounds like The Da Vinci Code,” James said.

“Never heard of it,” Collier said a bit sharply. “I only read literature. Anyway, when the Vatican finds out he’s on the trail…”

The guy went on. And on. And on. This was hell. Worst of all, Parker seemed totally into it. Laughing, asking questions.

Then again, he was from the same world she was. Maybe she liked him.

“But enough about me,” Collier said. “I was thinking about maybe getting a boat and doing a little lobstering, like you, Malone. Cowboys of the sea, right?”

James would bet both lungs that Malone had never thought of himself as a cowboy of the sea. For crying out loud.

“I wouldn’t call it that,” Malone said. Maggie elbowed him in the ribs. “But it’s a good life.”

“Exactly!” Collier said. “Hey, you guys want more wine? It’s from a little vineyard I’m part owner in, this sweet place in the Loire Valley. Now, not to brag, but Robert Parker gave this a score of ninety-eight. You can’t get it here in the States, but, well, ownership has some privileges. Hey, Parker, your dad has quite the wine cellar, doesn’t he?”

“Had,” Parker said. “His defrauded investors own it now.”

“Right, right. Sorry to hear about that.”

“Oh, he had it coming,” Althea said. “Always was a cheater.”

James glanced at Parker. Her expression was pleasant and composed.

He hadn’t been horribly surprised to hear her story of Harry and the babysitter. He knew how Harry was with women, after all. But he winced at picturing Parker at age ten, walking in on her father. And though his boss had been a complete and utter shit, he could well imagine Harry’s panic on being discovered. Harry didn’t like people knowing he had feet of clay; he tended to fire them if they found out. But you couldn’t fire your kid. It sure explained the origins of the father-daughter cold war.

“So you two kids are getting married this weekend?” Collier said, turning those freaky blue eyes on Maggie and Malone.

“It’s true,” Maggie said. “You should come! We’d love it.” Malone winced, then coughed to cover.

“Man, I wish I could,” Collier said. “I have a meeting with my portfolio manager, then have plans to pop down to Maryland to look at a sailboat. But hey! Where are you going on your honeymoon? You’d be welcome to use my place in Aspen. I’ll call the caretaker, and it’s yours. Or New York! I have a little apartment there on Central Park.”