“So, she’s a lot older and wiser, just like all the rest of us. She knows what she is doing. And Matt here is a good guy.”
“Thanks, Jake. I’ll remember you said that,” Matt said with a wink, and took Mr. Lear’s glass. “Would you like another one, Mr. Lear?”
“If you don’t mind.”
Matt swiped up the glass, stopped short of crushing it on Lear’s head for having so little faith in his daughter, and began striding to where Rebecca was standing with Tom and her jerk ex-husband.
She must have felt him coming, because she glanced over her shoulder as he approached, and he saw a look of relief on her face as Tom began to wave at him.
“Matt!” Tom cried, extending his hand. “I was just telling Rebecca that she’s done an outstanding job. I’ve heard from several of my supporters that this is a great party.”
“The best I’ve seen,” Matt said.
Reynolds was eyeing him closely, too. “Don’t believe we’ve met,” he said through the cigar in his mouth. “But I’ve seen you in the paper,” he said with a sly wink. “Bud Reynolds, Reynolds Chevrolet and Cadillac.”
What was the deal with announcing your business? Some sort of lame plug? “Matt Parrish,” he responded without offering his hand, and instead, put it possessively on the small of Rebecca’s back.
Reynolds didn’t miss that obvious signal, and chuckled as Matt greeted Tom’s wife, Glenda, then turned to the blonde with Reynolds. And as Reynolds didn’t seem inclined to introduce him, Matt introduced himself. “I’m Matt Parrish,” he said, offering her his hand.
She looked at his hand as if she wasn’t certain what to do with any of them and reluctantly took it. “Candace.”
“I was just going over the program with Tom,” Rebecca said, looking up at Matt, the anxiety evident in her blue eyes. “He has some, new friends he’d like to have sit up front. They are planning to do standing ovations and maybe ask some look-good questions.”
“You mean, friends other than the contributors who have paid two thousand dollars to have front row seats?” Matt asked, frowning at Tom.
“Yes,” Rebecca said, her voice full of frustration. “I’m not sure how we can do that.”
“Well, we can’t do it,” Matt said to Tom. “Those folks paid for the entertainment and the privilege of looking right up your nose.”
“Can’t you just find a couple of tables and squeeze them in?” Reynolds asked, smiling darkly at Matt. But whatever message he thought he was sending, Matt was not the least bit intimidated—he saw that oily smile in the courtroom all the time.
“We could. But that sort of defeats the purpose of charging different plate prices, don’t you think?” he asked, returning that dark smile with a thin one of his own.
“Yeah, it does, doesn’t it?” Tom asked, now looking confused.
But Reynolds was obviously a man used to getting his own way. “Come on, buddy,” he said, clapping Tom on the back. “We’re just talking a couple of tables. You think those folks are going to know the difference? Hell, just tell them we got the three-thousand-dollar plates!” He laughed as if it was funny.
“There’s no room,” Rebecca tried to explain. “We could barely squeeze the ones already there.”
“I wouldn’t do it, Tom,” Matt advised. “It’s dishonest and unfair, and trust me, it won’t go unnoticed.”
Reynolds snorted a laugh at that. “Did you make this poor guy pay, Tom? ‘Cuz he’s sure acting like he had to cough up a couple of grand.”
“Oh, God,” Rebecca muttered beneath her breath; Matt could feel his pulse racing, probably from the strain of keeping his fist out of that man’s nose.
“You’re right, Bud,” Tom said, not sounding very certain at all. “No one will notice.” But he looked expectantly at Rebecca. “You can get a couple of tables, right, Rebecca?”
“Sure she can,” Reynolds said.
Rebecca’s blue eyes turned to ice. “I’ll see what I can do,” she muttered. “If you’ll excuse me—”
“Ah, before you go round up those tables for us, Becky,” Reynolds said. “Is Aaron here? Thought I might talk to him a minute.”
Rebecca stiffened, but spared the ass a glance. “He’s here somewhere,” she said, and turned, walking away before Reynolds could say anything else.
Reynolds laughed, snaked his arm around the blonde. “Women,” he said, shaking his head. “Especially that one . . . she’ll turn to ice so fast, you’ll think an arctic wind has blown up your shorts.”
At least Glenda had the decency to gasp, and even Tom looked a little appalled. As much as Matt would have liked to turn Reynolds’s fleshy face into dough, he forced himself to say nothing, to turn and follow Rebecca, who was striding away at a clip.
He found her with Harold, who, true to form, delighted in the challenge of squeezing extra tables up front. “I’ll get right on it!” he assured her with a snap of his fingers, and was off.