Chapter 17
CHAPTER 17
I dly playing with her hair, Vincent was on his back as she lay across his chest. This was good. He’d had partners but never girlfriends. He smiled to himself and gently squeezed Hilary’s ass. Yep, this was good. He looked around the room he had grown quite fond of. Unlike the rest of the apartment, the colors of the bedroom were muted and restful. Her camisole and panties stood out against the pale yellow club chair on which they’d been tossed. She was a contrast as well. A bright, passionate woman who dressed in drab clothes under which she wore sexy underwear.
His phone rang. Shifting Hilary, he grabbed his jeans from the floor and dug his phone out of his back pocket.
“Hey, Ma. Umm…sure. Here, just a second.” He handed the phone to Hilary. A muscle ticked in his jaw in his effort not to laugh at the look on her face.
She sat up, one hand clutching the phone to her ear, the other clutching the sheet to her chest. “Hello?” Her expression moved from confusion to concern. “Sure. I’ll see you in half an hour. Bye.”
Hilary dropped the phone and leaped out of bed, grabbing her clothes as she raced to the bathroom. “Get up and get dressed! Your mother is going to be here in half an hour,” she called over the sound of running water.
At a slower pace, he followed her, taking the wet washcloth from her hand as she moved to clean up. “That’s my job,” he said, wrapping one arm around her waist, and using the cloth to wash gently between her legs. He met her frantic eyes in the mirror. “What’s up?”
She waved her hands in front of her. “She wants my help with something. She didn’t want to get into it over the phone.” Her voice rose with each word.
“Okay. So why the panic?” He dropped the washcloth in the sink and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, kissing her neck.
She practically danced in place. “Because she’ll see us. She’ll know we’ve been having sex.”
His lips twitched. This time, he kissed her on the temple. “She already knows.” When Hilary’s eyes widened, he continued. “Iris must have told her we were together, then she asked me. I said yes.”
Hilary covered her face with her hands and groaned. “Oh God. This is awful.”
He stiffened. “Why?”
“She’s gonna think I’m taking advantage of you. That I’m a cougar!”
Relaxing, he turned her in his arms. He pulled her hands from her face, and kissed her gently. “Babe, I’m thirty. You can’t take advantage of me.” Her eyes remained closed, and she gently banged her head against his chest. “And she’s not going to think you’re a cougar. She’s seen both your bicycle and your wardrobe.”
Hilary reared back and narrowed her eyes. “What’s wrong with my wardrobe?”
“You don’t wear provocative clothes. You dress like a professional woman.” He felt her relax, then whispered in her ear, “A professional woman who wears seriously sexy underwear.”
She grinned and pushed away from him. “Well, let me get dressed in my professional-woman-relaxing-at-home clothes to greet your mother.”
He stepped back. “Just don’t forget the Sexy AF underwear.”
“ S he’s here,” Vincent called. He’d volunteered to put the Scrabble game away while she freaked out over what to wear.
Hilary hurried from the bedroom, adjusting the loose pale pink tunic she wore over capri-length leggings. She’d debated putting on shoes, but it was summer, it was her place, and she had pretty pink nail polish on her toes, so she went barefoot. She stopped at the dining room table, gripping her hands together behind her back, unsure what the protocol was. Marcia was Vincent’s mother. He was her… what ? Mentally, she gave her head a shake and pasted on a smile as he opened the door and hugged his mother.
“Hi Marcia, can I get you something to drink?”
The older woman turned toward her. Vincent had the same coppery skin tone and looked exactly like her, but much taller, leaner, and definitely more masculine.
“Sure. White wine if you have it.”
“I’ll get it,” Vincent offered, moving to the refrigerator. He pulled out a bottle of chardonnay as well as a bottle of beer. Pouring the wine into two glasses already on the counter, he handed them to the women, then snagged the beer for himself and motioned to the living room.
Hilary let Marcia precede her, noticing the small smile playing on her lips. Marcia took the armchair, and Hilary perched on the couch with Vincent beside her. He relaxed against the pillows, cocking his legs and brushing one knee against Hilary’s thigh. She shifted slightly, putting a little distance between them and glaring at him over her shoulder. He ducked his head, but not before she caught the twitch of his lip.
She forced herself to sip her wine and not gulp it. “What is it I can help you with?” she asked.
“Did Vincent tell you about Eddie?” At Hilary’s nod, she continued, “I want you to prove he took the money.”
Hilary choked on her wine and coughed a few times before giving Vincent and Marcia a watery smile. He rose to get her a glass of water, which she gulped gratefully. “Seriously? I can’t do that!”
Marcia leaned forward, her gaze fixed on Hilary. “I know you know your way around a payroll system.” At Hilary’s startled expression, she said, “Relax, I didn’t stalk you. Iris told me you worked as an office manager. It shouldn’t be too hard to figure out whose bank account the money is really going into.”
Hilary shook her head. “It’s not that easy. Payroll systems are only concerned about whether an account exists, not who set up the account.”
“Can’t Iris ask Fiona about the account?” Vincent asked.
Marcia grimaced. “She’s not ready to do that yet. She and Fiona are…not close and never have been. They rarely get together which I think is Eddie’s doing. He doesn’t seem to want them to bond.”
Tapping a finger against her glass, Hilary leaned back against the couch. Immediately, Vincent’s arm went around her shoulder. “I know nothing about Fiona McLeod. What’s she like?” She looked between Marcia and Vincent.
He shrugged. “I’ve never met her. I was inside when they got married.”
“It’s Han. Fiona never changed her name. I met her at the wedding…briefly.” Marcia placed her wineglass down on the ta ble to pull out her phone and scroll through photos. She found one and handed the phone to Hilary. Vincent leaned in to look as well. The screen showed an image of the bridal couple, Eddie and Fiona. An older couple stood on one side of them, and Iris on the other. Marcia pointed at the couple. “Those are her parents.”
Hilary zoomed in on Fiona, a tiny, dark-haired woman dressed in a traditional red Vietnamese wedding dress. Eddie beamed next to her in a black tuxedo. Iris beamed as well, while the other couple wore strained smiles.
“Wait. I know her. Fiona Han is the director of Keeney Works. She and I have been playing phone tag for the past week.” At the blank looks on Vincent and Marcia’s faces, Hilary explained, “Keeney Works is a local non-profit that provides job training and assists with finding jobs for underserved populations. I’m trying to connect with her to explain our program and get her on board. She would be a valuable ally.” Hilary took a breath. “I’d hate to think she was stealing from Iris.”
“That would be a huge scandal, the director of Keeney Works embezzling from her mother-in-law.” Vincent’s eyebrows rose.
Marcia snorted. “You’re not kidding. Keeney Works is the result of a lot of effort. Churches, non-profits, the city council, and the senior center spent a couple of years getting it off the ground. A lot of heads would roll if this were true. It’s a model for other communities.”
“Which is why a collaboration between them and our program would be a selling point for the college.”
“I’m remembering Fiona now,” Vincent nodded. “She was a senior when I was a freshman. Student council president, leader of the debate team, and seriously hot.” He smirked at the glares from the women. “What? I was a hormonal teenager.”
“Fiona’s parents are first-generation Americans and very successful,” Marcia ignored Vincent, taking back her phone. “They started with one nail salon, opened four more in the area, and then opened a school for training nail technicians and cosmetology students. Both of the Han kids worked in the salons during school, attended university on scholarships, and worked in the family business. Fiona was the accountant before taking on the director’s role at Keeney Works.”
“So, she could have set up the false bank accounts,” Vincent speculated, then shook his head. “But that doesn’t sound like the Fiona I knew. She was seriously a straight arrow.”
“She could. But she has so much to lose. Why would she do it?” Hilary frowned.
Vincent rose from the couch. “Why marry Eddie is a better question,” he called over his shoulder on his way into the kitchen. He was back in a moment with the bottle of wine and a fresh beer for himself.
Marcia put a hand over her glass and shook her head. “When he wants to be, Eddie can be quite the charmer. She was obviously blinded to his asshole-ness.” She caught Hilary’s eye and smiled innocently.
Hilary looked up at Vincent. “You went to school with both of them. What was Eddie like?”
Vincent carefully filled her wineglass, then looked at his mother, who nodded. “Cocky and condescending. He was always the first to have the newest thing—cellphones, sneakers, video games, and would rub your nose in it. Nothing I wanted, but I could see how it bugged other guys.”
“Was he popular with the girls?”
“I guess. He obviously overwhelmed Fiona at some point. They’ve been married for three years. Do you think he’s done with her already?” Vincent sat on the couch and handed Hilary her refilled glass. He rewarded her thank you with a kiss on the nose .
Hilary darted a look at Marcia to see her reaction. The older woman wore a pleased grin. Hilary did not know how to feel about that but decided to drink her wine and worry about Marcia’s reaction later.
“It’s possible. I doubt Eddie married for love. It threw me that he didn’t marry a white girl.” Marcia pondered the question. “And I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s ready to move on. There was an article recently in the Keeney Courier about Fiona’s parents. They’ve set up a trust stating their fortune will go strictly to charity, and that none of the children will inherit.”
Hilary eyed Marcia speculatively. “I wonder if Fiona knows what Eddie is up to? Or even suspects.”
“No idea. But I have a friend who plays Scrabble with her mother. Let me see if I can find out what the scoop is.”
Hilary choked on her wine again. Vincent hid a smirk as he handed the glass of water to her.
“Are you okay?” Marcia asked, looking up from her phone.
“I’m fine. I just…didn’t know Scrabble was so popular in this town.”
Marcia resumed looking at her phone. “Yeah, competition can get heated at the senior center.”
Vincent snorted. Hilary gave him the side-eye and elbowed him in the ribs.
“Aha!” Marcia looked up and beamed at them. “I just bought tickets to Keeney Works’ fundraising gala. You’ll have a chance to meet Fiona Han next Saturday.”
“Oh! Wow,” Hilary said and gulped her wine. “That’s good. Good idea.”
V incent’s eyes narrowed. Why had Hilary shut down? She was clutching her wineglass so hard he was afraid the stem would break. He stroked the back of her neck. She jerked up and gave him a quick smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Fortunately, his mom didn’t notice. She chattered on about the fundraiser and convincing Ali to wear a suit jacket.
Standing up from the couch, he announced, “Ma, I’ll walk you out to the car.”
Marcia stuffed her phone into her purse and rose as well. “Thanks, honey. Hilary, I’ll call you tomorrow. I bought six tickets so we can figure out who all will be at our table.”
Still clutching her wineglass, Hilary stood and moved woodenly toward the door. “Sounds good.”
After kissing his mother goodbye and watching her pull out of the driveway, he walked back up the stairs to find the kitchen and living room empty. He followed the light coming from the bedroom to find Hilary standing in her walk-in closet, arms wrapped tightly around herself. He leaned against the doorway and checked out the closet as well.
It was a damn fine job. On the cedar-lined wall to the left were shelves for sweaters and shoes, with a bank of drawers beneath them. On the right were three rods for hanging clothes; one for dresses and longer items, two mounted, one above each other for shirts, jackets, blouses, and the like. Directly across from the pocket door was a full-length mirrored cabinet for jewelry.
Hilary didn’t have many clothes. Unsurprisingly, they were arranged neatly and by color. Not that there was much of it. She seemed to wear mostly muted tones.
He followed her gaze, which was fixed on the rack of dresses. There were three of them. All conservative, all rather shapeless, all dark. Vincent didn’t know much about women’s clothes, but he could guess …
“Do you need to go shopping?”
She caught his eye in the mirror and grimaced. “I have nothing for a gala.”
Vincent pulled his hands out of his pockets and stepped forward to wrap his arms around her, and rest his chin on her shoulder. “Neither do I.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, but you’re a man, and you look like you. Pants, a shirt, and your good to go. Me, on the other hand…”
“So, buy a dress. There’s more than a week before the event.”
“Um-hum,” she agreed but didn’t look happy.
“And maybe some killer shoes to show off those gorgeous legs of yours.” He waggled his eyebrows. She smiled slightly at that.
“What is it?” He kissed her behind the ear, and squeezed her gently.
“Are we going to this together?”
“Yeah. I figured you and I would meet Ma and the others there. Or we could pick Ma up on the way.”
Hilary shook her head. “No. I mean, are we together? Are we a couple? Because if we’re not, if this is just us hanging out and having sex, I’m okay with that. But if we go to the gala together, people might wonder. It will be the first time we go out in public and…” She wasn’t meeting his eyes, and it didn’t feel like she was breathing.
He kissed her behind the ear again, then tilted her chin until she met his gaze in the mirror.
“We are together. We are a couple. We are walking into the gala holding hands. I want everyone there to know you are mine .”
Her eyes widened as she took in the possessive tone in his voice. “Okay,” she whispered, “but I still don’t have anything to wear.”
Turning her in his arms, he kissed her soundly. “You’ve got time,” he muttered before wrapping his arms around her and cradling her against his chest. He stared at their reflection. Her riot of silvery curls against his own raven-dark hair. It didn’t bother him at all. He couldn’t care less how old she was or that her body didn’t conform to society’s view of femininity. Now, if only she could be comfortable with that.