Probably because the bookies up in Chicago wanted a piece of the guy.
In all those years, before and after the kidnapping, the subject of Jeb having any offspring had never come up. But, yes, of course, he would take the man’s daughter in.
And fortunately, she looked like she could take care of herself.
So the repayment of the debt was going to come cheap.
At least, that was what he told himself that first night.
Turned out that wasn’t true, however … not by a long, long shot.
TWELVE
“It cost me a hundred thousand dollars to sit next to you.”
As Gin used an antique Tiffany fork in the Chrysanthemum pattern to toy with her food, she barely heard the words spoken into her right ear. She was too busy focusing through the crystal stemware on the bouquet in front her. Samuel T. was off to the left, and with this rose-centric focal point, her peripheral vision could keep tragic track of him and his little girlfriend, Veronica/Savannah.
“So you can at least speak to me.”
Shaking herself, she glanced over at the dreaded Richard Pford IV. The man was as his boyhood self had been: tall and thin, with eyes that could cut glass and a suspicious nature that was in contrast to his enviable position in the Charlemont social hierarchy. The son of Richard Pford III, he was the sole heir to Pford Liquor and Spirits Distributors, a nationwide network that funneled wine, beer, bourbon, gin, vodka, champagne, whiskey, etc., onto the shelves of bars and stores across America.
Which was to say, he could well afford to pay six figures for a specific seating assignment every night of the week and twice on Sunday.
He was swimming in millions—and people hadn’t even started to die in his family yet.
“My father’s deals are not my own,” she countered. “So it looks like you’ve wasted that money.”
He took a sip from his wineglass. “And to think it went to the U of C basketball program.”
“I didn’t know you’re a fan.”
“I’m not.”
“No wonder we don’t get along.” KU. She should have known. “Besides, didn’t I hear that you got married?”
“Rumors of my engagement were greatly exaggerated.”
“Hard to imagine with all your redeeming qualities.”
Over on the left, Veronica/Savannah jerked in her chair, her fake eyelashes flaring, her fork clattering down to her plate. As her colored contacts flashed over to Samuel T., the bastard casually wiped his mouth with his damask napkin.
Samuel T. didn’t look at his girlfriend, however. No, he was staring over that bouquet of roses directly at Gin.
The sonofabitch.
Deliberately, Gin turned to Richard and smiled. “Well, I’m delighted with your company.”
Richard nodded and resumed cutting up his filet mignon. “That’s more like it. Please do not stop.”
Gin spoke smoothly, although she didn’t have a clue what was coming out of her mouth. But Richard was nodding some more and answering her back, so she must have been doing a good job of the social stroking—then again, whether it was conversations she had no interest in or orgasms with men she didn’t care about, she’d had a lot of practice faking it.
And yet she was exquisitely aware of what Samuel T. was doing. Achingly so.
His eyes burned as they remained on her. And all the while, just as he’d promised, the tart next to him struggled to retain her composure.
“—saving myself for you,” Richard stated.
Gin frowned, that particular combination of syllables registering in spite of her preoccupation. “What did you say?”
“I was set to get married, but then I came to terms with your father. That is why I ended the engagement.”
“Came to terms with my f—what are you talking about?”
Richard smiled coldly. “Your father and I have come to an agreement about the future. In exchange for marrying you, I am prepared to grant certain favorable terms to the Bradford Bourbon Company.”
Gin blinked. Then shook her head. “I am not hearing this correctly.”
“Yes, you are. I have even purchased the diamond.”
“No, no, no—wait a minute.” She threw down her napkin even though she was not done eating, and neither were the other thirty-one people at the table. “I am not marrying you or anybody.”
“Really.”
“I am quite sure that you ‘bought’ a seat at this table. But no one makes me do a damn thing, and that includes my father.”
She supposed it was a sad commentary that she didn’t question whether her dear old dad could sell her to benefit the family’s share price.
Richard shrugged beneath his fine suit. “So you say.”
Gin looked down the table at William Baldwine, who sat at the head with total command, as if there were a throne keeping him off the floor and the assembled were his subjects.