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Moving over to the bookcase, he browsed the fiction titles until he came to a high school yearbook. Since she had gone to high school with Donny John and Michael, curiosity had Deacon pulling it out. It was surprising how much Donny’s senior picture looked like Nash—his smile was bright and his eyes mischievous. Michael’s picture, on the other hand, was like looking in the mirror. He didn’t smile, but stared at the camera with a solemn intensity.
“I hope you aren’t looking at my picture. I never did take good school pictures.”
Deacon closed the book and turned to Francesca. She stood in the doorway with a slight smile on her lips. She was an attractive woman, her hair stylish and her makeup not overdone. She had a voluptuous figure, but didn’t flaunt it. Her peach blouse and white skirt looked expensive but demure.
“Just looking up my uncle,” he said.
Her smile dropped, and she walked over and took the yearbook from him, sliding it back on the shelf. “It never does any good to talk about the past.” When she turned, the smile was back. “You shaved.” Her finger traced his jawline. “I like it. But I didn’t mind the beard either. It was quite a conversation piece among my friends. Speaking of which…I have a dinner tonight at Madeline Crowley’s. I’d love for you to come.”
He removed the hand that cupped his face. “I’m afraid I can’t, Francesca. I need to get back to San Francisco.”
She nodded slightly. “I see. And the condos? I won’t trust my money to some construction foreman, Deacon. I thought I made that perfectly clear.”
“You don’t have anything to worry about. Your money won’t be entrusted to a construction foreman. In fact, your money won’t be used at all.”
Her eyes flickered. “So Michael’s daughter paid you for the shares?”
Obviously his father had talked too much. Deacon shook his head. “This has nothing to do with Michael’s will. I’ve just decided not to build the condos.”
She studied him for a moment as if trying to figure out if he was kidding. When she realized he wasn’t, she released a loud, cynical laugh. “So French Kiss lured you away just like it did your uncle? Why am I not surprised? Obviously cheap lingerie is the Beaumonts’ weakness.”
Deacon smiled. “It would seem that way.”
With anger radiating from every pore, she walked to the door and called to her maid. “Sadie, would you show Mr. Beaumont out? Our business is concluded.” As he walked past, she added, “I’d be careful putting all my eggs in one basket, Deacon. From what I hear, French Kiss isn’t going to be around very long.”
“Then you heard wrong,” Deacon tossed over his shoulder as he walked out the door.
