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When others joined the table, Lenny was surprised to find herself seated next to ninety-two-year-old, Ida Dalton. She wasn’t just any exquisitely dressed, dripping in jewels, ninety-two-year-old with the surname Dalton; Ida was a Dal-Industrial Dalton. A member of America’s wealthiest family.
“I’m the black sheep,” Ida said, in introduction. One of her rings was a diamond skull and crossbones. Lenny had to look twice to be sure. “Every family has one. I never married, though not for lack of invitation from terrible, boring men. Couldn’t see the point of it. Or motherhood. More than enough people have children. I did missionary work that was considered beneath me for years, collected art, was a patron to hundreds of brilliant painters and writers, and had mad passionate affairs you could hardly imagine. Now I come to events like this and terrify people by being older than God, and looking it, and not caring what I say.”
Lenny was a little intimidated and a lot fascinated by Ida. “I think my family is probably a whole flock of black sheep. I’m Lenore Bradshaw.”
“Not that Bradshaw who ran a Ponzi scheme and went to jail?”
“My father.”
“Oh, my dear, goodness, you are more notorious than me.”
“Being notorious doesn’t seem to have slowed you down.”
“Not at all, though I had no disadvantages. It’s not the same for you. Half the fashionable part of the city will snub you, and the other half will make sure you’re locked out of their circles forever. No matter what you do, you will always be disreputable by association.” Lenny’s expression must’ve given away how she felt about that because Ida added, “I hope you don’t have delicate ears. Fuck them. You are not your father, any more than I was my family.”
And now she was in love with Ida Dalton.
“What are you doing here?” Ida nodded toward Cookie Jar. “You know he’s probably not all he’s cracked up to be. No man is.” Lenny stumbled over a response, and Ida pounced on it. “What do you know about him? I’ve heard rumors. Nothing of substance, but still.”
She recovered, whispering, “I’ve heard rumors, too.” It was the most she could admit to.
“What about your beau? He’s a looker. Is he a decent man?”
Lenny glanced at Halsey, who was introducing himself to new arrivals at the table. “He’s a little disreputable,” she said from behind her hand.
Ida laughed. “The handsome ones often are. I imagine your father has rather messed up your view of confident men. They can be a problem. Some of them were never taught their place in the world, their responsibilities. My only regret in being so old is I’m not yet old enough to see more women in charge of things. I refuse to die until we have a succession of women in the White House.”
“That sounds like a good plan.”
Ida patted her hand. “And what are we going to do about you?”
“I’m going to prove you wrong about the disadvanta
ges of my family, and you’re going to tell me about your wild affairs, which I promise not to leak to the tabloids.”
That pat on her hand became a light pinch. “I never kiss and tell. But I want all my love letters published after I’m gone to embarrass everyone. Shame you’re not in publishing. I’d consider giving them to you. It’s still my opinion your father has screwed things for you, my darling girl, and I am sorry for that. But what we’re going to do is have our photograph taken with the princess, I’m going to make sure it goes in all the right social pages, you will be able to say Ida Dalton is my friend and I consort with princesses, and some of those dreadful snobs with money will wonder about that. Fuck them,” she said, making a toast to the room in general with a raised glass. “I assume you have a charity, and I’ll make you a good donation, but my advice is to find a way to live your life from the outside looking in. You’ll be surprised how much easier that will make things when you stop caring what people think.”
Ida took a breath, and Halsey used the opportunity to introduce himself. When the seat closest to him was claimed and he stood to pull it out, Ida leaned against Lenny’s arm and said, “Embrace the disreputable, my dear. That’s where you’ll find all the sexiest men, all the good rogues and scoundrels and heartbreakers. And from experience I can tell you, they are the only ones worth having in your bed.”
Chapter Nineteen
Halsey went to work reluctantly the moment they took their seats at the table. It meant he couldn’t be as attentive to Lenny as he wanted. Attentive. Understatement. He wanted to attend to the raging flood of desire flashing between them. To give her all the answers she deserved with his lips pressed on hers and their tongues doing all the talking. He wanted to touch her skin and smell the paradise of her and make her forget what a bad idea hooking up with him was.
He wanted to wipe from his consciousness the whole concept of being the next worst thing that happened to her.
More than ever, he wanted to take her to bed and show her who he was under the surface of quality clothing and criminal activity. But that had to wait. He wanted to help her get her restitution and her revenge more. The victory would last longer, because Lenny would do exactly what she’d promised—flirt with him, use him, and then get the hell away from him. He loved her for the righteousness of that.
First thing he did was subtly swap some name tags, so Baiba Jansons was on his right and Lenny was on his left.
Cookie Jar had noted their presence, but all Halsey gave him was a nod of recognition while Lenny worked the conversation and her connection with Ketija. Sonny had to want what he was going to sell, and the only way to get that to happen was to make what he was selling unobtainable. That meant making himself unapproachable while he made everyone else at the table admire him.
This was the kind of thing Cal and Zeke did as easily as breathing. He was already uncomfortable, and he’d barely begun, and he wasn’t a fan of the hyperaware state his body was in because of Lenny, all his senses working overtime. He took in Ketija’s sassy response to Cookie Jar’s boasting. He could hear Ida Dalton telling Lenny her life story. He knew the first course about to be delivered was lobster ravioli and that Tyrell and Eliza Washington two seats over were in oil and gas and funded cultural exchanges.
It was a relief when Baiba arrived at the table, because he could focus on her and on Cookie Jar’s response to that. He pulled her chair out, and as she sat, he said quietly, “Object to every piece of advice I give you.”
“Delighted to see you, Mr. Sherwood. I will take your advice on that,” she said for others to hear.
As the starter arrived, he engaged Baiba and Tyrell Washington about cryptocurrency investments, talking about stunning gains, and the way blockchain and bitcoin would change the world. He made it sound like it was a gold rush for those well enough connected. This was the trap he was setting for Cookie Jar.
