That was the killer question, of course. Whose side was she on? Right now she felt like she was on Bobby’s, but she dared not say that to Todd. Besides, she thought sadly, Bobby probably wouldn’t thank her for her support anyway. There was no point sticking her neck out over nothing.
“Yours, of course,” she lied. “But I still don’t approve. Anyway, wasn’t there a clause in your agreement saying you couldn’t drill for oil?”
“There was indeed,” he said. “But unfortunately for your friend Mr. Cameron, private contracts are superseded by the strictures of federal land law. Oddly enough,” he added cruelly, “it was you who first put me onto it.”
“Me?” said Milly, horrified. “How?”
“You told me about those cases in Wyoming with the gas companies, remember? The ones that Bobby was so worried about. Turns out, he was right to be worried. His only mistake was not to strike a deal with the oil companies himself, before I did. I suppose he figured I didn’t know anything about it. Which I didn’t, till you clued me in.”
Milly felt sick. True, they didn’t speak anymore, and true, Bobby had been such a jerk to her last year he’d as good as propelled her into Todd’s arms. But she would never do anything to hurt or betray him. She couldn’t believe that some throwaway comment she’d made so long ago could possibly have led to this.
“Please.” She looked at Todd imploringly. “Please. Don’t go ahead with it. For me. I’d never have said anything if I’d known, you know I wouldn’t.”
“No can do, I’m afraid, sweetheart,” he said. “It’s purely a business decision. But there are other parties involved now. I can’t just pull out unilaterally, even if I wanted to.”
“But—”
“Look.” Moving his chair around to her side of the table, he wrapped his arm around her and kissed her on the cheek. It was the most tenderness he’d shown her in weeks and, despite everything, she felt herself melting with love and relief. “The only reason Bobby hasn’t done this himself is stupid, stubborn pride. It’s ridiculous, sitting on all that wealth the way he is and doing nothing about it. If I hadn’t moved in on the oil, believe me, someone else would have.”
Milly wavered. She so, so wanted to believe him.
“It would mean a lot to me to know you were behind me on this.” Todd allowed his left hand to fall over her breast and brush lightly against the nipple.
“I feel bad for Bobby,” she said, guilt now fighting with desire inside her. “That’s all. It doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”
Later that night, after a long and frankly exhausting lovemaking session, she lay awake beside a sleeping Todd, staring at the ceiling.
The more she thought about it, the more terrible she felt. It wasn’t until they’d gotten home after dinner that it occurred to her what Bobby must be thinking: that she’d known about this all along and hadn’t bothered to call and warn him or do anything to try to stop it.
By seven A.M., having barely slept a wink all night, she could bear it no longer. Creeping down to the kitchen, she picked up the cordless phone and punched out Highwood’s number. It had been a year, but she still knew it by heart.
She was just about to hang up when, after seven rings, she suddenly remembered how early it was. But just then a female voice picked up.
“Hello?”
“Tara?”
“Yes. Who’s speaking?”
Milly’s heart was pounding so violently she almost hung up. But she’d come this far. She might as well guts it out.
“It’s me. Milly,” she said. The silence on the other end was deafening. “Listen, I just called to talk to Bobby and explain. He has to understand, I had no idea about Comarco, about what Todd’s been doing. Last night was the first I heard about it. Honestly.”
“Hold on.” The line went quiet, and she could hear muffled voices talking in the background. Tara had obviously put her hand over the mouthpiece so she could fill the rest of the family in. Milly had forgotten that seven A.M. counted as a late weekday breakfast at the ranch and they were all up already. Then the voices went quiet and she heard the two distinct clicks of a different phone being picked up while the first receiver went down. Someone was taking the call in private.
“Bobby?”
Silence.
“Bobby? Is that you?”
“No.” Summer’s voice sounded more hostile than ever. “He doesn’t want to talk to you. Ever. None of us do.”
And she hung up, leaving Milly holding the phone in shocked, profoundly miserable silence.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
A month after Summer’s curt phone dismissal of Milly, Rachel sat in the lobby of the Mondrian on Sunset Boulevard, picking nervously at the bowl of rice crackers in front of her and waiting for Jimmy Price to show up.
She didn’t even like rice crackers. They always got stuck to your teeth. But she was so wound up, she couldn’t seem to stop eating them.
Des, God bless him, had somehow managed to swing her a meeting with Price, as well as sewing up her ride in next month’s Belmont. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect. With her Belmont selection secure—she’d be riding the famous Never Better for Randy Kravitz—she had a much stronger hand to play with Jimmy. He was famously competitive and, she hoped, would enjoy nothing better than to “steal” his rival’s hot new jockey. Although getting him to sever his links with Milly might be more of a challenge.
Pulling out a silver Links makeup mirror from her purse she made a sneaky check for rice-cracker pieces stuck in her teeth, but luckily all was well. Even her barely there lipstick, carefully applied this morning to give her the natural, sensual look, was still in place. In fact, if she did say so herself, she looked pretty damn hot. She just hoped Price appreciated the effort she’d made, not just to look fabulous but to fly all the way over from Florida for one measly lunch meeting.
“He’ll see you, but it has to be in LA,” Des had explained patiently when she started to bitch about it. “Between his business commitments and the start of the quarter horse season, he won’t leave California right now.”
“But are you sure he’s really interested?” Rachel pressed him. “I mean, I don’t want to drag my ass all the way out there for nothing. What if he sticks with Milly?”
“He won’t,” said Des confidently. “Not in the long term. Milly’s been screwing up royally since the end of last season. She totally tanked in the Derby and the Rainbow.” Rachel’s eyes glazed over. Quarter horse race names meant nothing to her. “And,” Des said, switching back to familiar ground, “she’s been flaking on her promotional commitments too. Word is T-Mobile are starting to get itchy feet, and Jimmy’s had it up to here with her bullshit. If she doesn’t pull something major out of the bag at the All American, she’s finished. Trust me. You’ll never have a better window to squeeze her out.”
“Fine,” Rachel said gracelessly. “I just hope you’re right. Jimmy might think he’s the biggest thing since sliced bread, but I hope he realizes I don’t appreciate having my time wasted.”
Now that she was actually here, though, her fighting talk had deserted her and, after waiting twenty long, awkward minutes, she was starting to panic that perhaps he wouldn’t show after all. But at long last she saw a fat, distracted little man waddling across the lobby. Stopping in front of her, he extended his hand in greeting.
“Rachel.” He gave her a brisk, businesslike smile. “Sorry I’m late. Shall we eat?”
Price was so obsessively private, there were almost no pictures of him in the press, so she’d had to rely on Des’s description. Luckily, it was pretty good. Even so, in her mind’s eye she’d pictured him as having more stature, more presence, some sort of aura to reflect the vast power he undoubtedly wielded both in racing and in the media. The rather bad-tempered, ginger-haired dwarf leading the way to their table was, physically speaking anyway, a crushing disappointment.
The all-white, starkly minimalist restaurant was full, mostly with thirty-something indu
stry types: record execs, producers and the like who glanced up and leered appreciatively as Rachel sashayed by in her coffee-colored pencil skirt and cream silk blouse. LA women were gorgeous, but few of them bothered to change out of their pink Juicy tracksuits for lunch, even in a restaurant as upmarket as this one. A well-dressed woman in West Hollywood was as rare as a stripper at a bar mitzvah, and Rachel drew an equivalent amount of attention.
“So.” Jimmy sat down and immediately ordered caprese salads for both of them. “I hear you’re confirmed for the Belmont. You must be pleased.”
So he’d already heard, had he? That was definitely a good start.
“I am,” she said. “It’s an honor, really. And Never Better is such an incredible horse.”
“Randy must have a lot of faith in you.”
“Yes,” she said, treading warily. “I suppose he does. Rather like you having so much faith in Milly.”
Jimmy smiled. He knew she was casting a line out over the water, but he was happy enough to bite. After all, it was no secret that he was becoming disillusioned with his British protégée. He wouldn’t be having this conversation otherwise.
“My feeling,” he said, shoveling lumps of bread into his mouth while he spoke, “which Milly has always known, I might add, is that no one’s any better than their last race. My guess is Randy’s the same. He’s giving you a shot at the Belmont. But if you fuck it up, I doubt you’ll find him quite so supportive in future.”
Rachel shrugged. “That’s okay,” she said arrogantly. “I’m not going to fuck it up.”
“Tell me,” said Jimmy. “What is it about her that you hate so much?”
He was already intrigued by this cocky, sexy girl and her well-publicized rivalry with Milly. Ironically, Rachel’s confidence reminded him more than a little of the old Milly—the kid he’d been so impressed with until her spectacular meltdown of recent months. It was sad really, but he wasn’t a charity. He liked his horses to win.
Before Rachel could answer, their salads arrived. Jimmy promptly drowned his in a sea of olive oil, while Rachel lightly doused hers with balsamic vinegar. She’d gained weight since moving to the States, thanks to a combination of her natural greed and the enormous helpings of absolutely everything, but she was trying to turn the tide.
“I wouldn’t say I hate her, exactly,” she said, playing for time. Jimmy speared a dripping slab of cheese with his fork and stuffed it noisily into his mouth, waiting for her to elaborate. “We have a history, that’s all.”
“So I’ve been reading,” he said. “Look, I’ll be honest with you. What I’m interested in is promoting a big female racing star. Someone with the ambition and the commitment to stay the course. I thought I’d found that in Milly. But these last few months”—he shrugged—“I’m not so sure.”
Rachel’s eyes lit up like Christmas lights. That was all the go-ahead she needed.
“If it’s ambition and commitment you want, Mr. Price, I’m your woman.”
Leaning forward slowly and deliberately, she pressed her elbows together to afford him a better view of her delectable cleavage. Usually this was a fail-safe tactic with any man that wasn’t a blood relative.
With Jimmy, however, it turned out to be a mistake.
“Let’s get one thing clear, young lady,” he said, not bothering to keep his voice down. “I’m a happily married man. I’m immune to that shit, so don’t even try it. All right?”
Rachel blushed so violently she thought her cheeks might burst into flames at the table. Not since Bobby Cameron had anyone rejected her advances so completely, and at least Bobby was good-looking. To be slapped down by this horrid, fat little man was mortifying.
“Right now the jury’s out on Milly,” Jimmy continued, ignoring her rising color. “She may yet come good. But in the meantime”—he paused for dramatic effect—“I’m happy to explore some options with you.”
Swallowing her pride, Rachel answered him. “What sort of options?”
“I don’t know yet,” he said. “Let’s see how you do at the Belmont and have another chat after that.”
“I don’t know,” she said churlishly. “I may have a number of offers on the table after the Belmont. Or I may choose to stay with Kravitz.”
“Your call,” said Jimmy, looking supremely unconcerned. Rachel had hardly touched her salad. But as he’d finished his, he didn’t hesitate to flag the waiter down and ask for the check anyway. “Your agent has my number. If it makes sense to meet in June, then he can call me. I’ll be in New York that whole week.”
Inside, Rachel seethed quietly. What a rude, dismissive little shit! If it had been anybody else she’d have told him to stick it.
But she checked herself. This was Jimmy Price, after all, the man who held Milly Lockwood Groves’s future in the palm of his fat, clammy hand. If proving herself at the Belmont was what she had to do to steal him from Milly, she’d do it.
“Fine.” Getting to her feet she shook his hand with what was left of her dignity. “We’ll talk again then.”
Candy Price threw her head back against the pillow and moaned.
“Oh, my God, that’s so good,” she panted. “Don’t stop, baby. Please don’t stop.”
Grabbing her around the waist as he bucked harder and harder inside her, Todd smiled. He had no intention of stopping. He’d waited for this moment a long, long time.
Ever since the night he first came to Palos Verdes with Bobby, in fact, he’d had the hots for Candy. But it wasn’t until a few weeks ago that he realized the feeling was mutual.
He’d come to see Jimmy about the Orlando deal but arrived at the house to discover there’d been problems with the great man’s G4 in San Francisco and he wouldn’t be home for some hours. Candy had insisted he stay for dinner—not that he needed much persuading. They ate alone by the pool, where she flirted outrageously with him, at one point leaning over him in nothing but a microscopic gold bikini and heels and spoon-feeding him ice cream. That was an image he wouldn’t forget in a hurry.
If it had been up to him they’d have fucked there and then. But Candy felt nervous in case one of the servants saw them or, heaven forbid, Jimmy got home earlier than expected.
“You surprise me, Mrs. Price,” Todd had said, his lips so close to hers they were almost brushing and she could feel his breath on her face. “I’d put you down as a danger lover.”
“Oh, believe me,” Candy drawled, “I am. But these things are all the sweeter if you have to wait just a little for ’em, don’t you think?”
He’d driven home that night so frustrated he could have strangled somebody, but made do with banging the life out of Milly instead. Still, Candy’s promised delights remained very much on his mind. But first days, and then weeks rolled by and still he heard nothing from her. He was starting to think she must have chickened out and changed her mind. And then last night, out of the blue, she called to say that Jimmy would be tied up in meetings all day, and that she should be able to make up some excuse and sneak out to see him.
“All you have to do is get rid of Milly.”
“Not a problem,” Todd said, barely able to contain his excitement. It was a long time since he’d felt this fired up about a woman. “She’s racing tomorrow, then in the afternoon she’s shooting some new commercial in the Valley. She won’t be back till very, very late.”
Just when he’d thought he couldn’t possibly want her any more, Candy showed up at his door at ten this morning in a berry-red trench coat and matching knee-high boots with nothing but some flesh-colored La Perla panties underneath. And she hadn’t disappointed once he got her into bed either. Not only did she have the perfect body but she knew exactly what to do with it. It was quite a change from Milly’s wide-eyed innocence.
“Mmmmmm,” she groaned, closing her eyes in unashamed pleasure. “You’re so fucking big.”
“You do say the nicest things,” he murmured, burying his face between her perfectly round breasts. He took his hat off to her s
urgeon. Some of those guys were little better than butchers, but Candy’s body was a work of art.
They both jumped when her cell phone rang.
“Leave it,” said Todd, pinning her arms back as she tried to reach down under the bed for her purse.
“Ah will,” she said, wriggling free. “I’m gonna turn it off.”
Retrieving the shrill, vibrating phone, she saw “Jimmy cell” flashing on the screen and, giggling, showed it to Todd.
“You’re sure you don’t want me to answer?” she teased him.
Snatching it from her, he hit the off button and flung the thing on the floor. “Just tell him you were otherwise engaged,” he said, spreading her legs roughly and launching himself back inside her like a Scud missile. “I’m sure he’ll understand.”
Pulling into the driveway at Bel Air, Milly punched in the familiar code feeling more cheerful than she had in many days.
After weeks of disappointing times, she’d finally pulled it out of the bag at the Humboldt County Fair and beaten a decent field of runners, including Ramon Esteves on the awesome Pitchers Prince, to take first place. It wasn’t enough to dig her out of the shit, but it was a start, and the first time that she and Cally had properly clicked, which was an achievement in itself. He was a good horse, really. It wasn’t his fault he wasn’t Demon.
After the race her day had gotten even better. Brad called and told her the director of today’s commercial had called in sick, so they were going to have to reschedule. For the first time in . . . could it really be five months? she was going to have an afternoon off.
It was a bright, clear day, and as the gates swung open she saw the spectacular panorama of Century City, with downtown beyond, spread out before her like a futuristic mirage. It was weird how you could see a view that striking every single day and yet barely register it at all. But that was how it felt to Milly—like she was looking at it for the first time.