Page 36 of Skin Deep

She nodded across the table to Fred’s twin, who looked shocked and not a little delighted at the drama. As she looked, Frank shrugged, then wrapped an arm around Mark. “None taken. As you can see, it’s worked out all right for me.”

“I never—” Rosemary started, but Amy wasn’t done.

“As for who approved my lease, that would be you, Mr. Vaughan.” Reaching into one of the hidden pockets of her sleek dress, she removed a thumb drive and tossed it at him. It fell into his plate of beef Wellington. “Perhaps you allowed it because, in addition to offering works of art that use skin as a canvas, it is a gallery. Both of your sons have agreed that its aesthetics go above and beyond most tenants in the plaza.”

Frederick Sr. blustered, but he actually stopped when Amy held up a hand to indicate she wasn’t done.

“On that thumb drive, you’ll find a copy of the lease agreement, with your signature, in case you disbelieve your own role in events.” From the corner of her eye, she saw Fred rise to stand with her. “You’ll also find letters from every single tenant who signed that petition, recanting their signature.”

“How did you manage that?” Across the table, Frank whistled. “Some of those tenants have iron rods up their bums.”

“It wasn’t difficult.” Amy smirked at him, and he grinned back. Okay, he was growing on her. “I merely did some statistical work. I researched traffic into and out of the plaza on a random sampling of days. Conversion of that traffic to sales, and where they shopped. Compared the numbers to the likelihood that these shoppers had been drawn into the plaza due to any given piece of advertising, be it the plaza’s, another tenant’s or my own. And guess what? Since the day the plaza opened, Four Sisters Ink has been the reason that twenty-eight percent of shoppers have entered the plaza. And in case you’ve forgotten, there are two hundred and twelve storefronts, so let’s please dispense with the notion that I am an unsavory element scaring people off.”

“Fascinating,” Frank muttered, drumming his fingers on the table. Beside Amy, Fred stood still. She couldn’t see his face, couldn’t bring herself to look. Was he proud of her? In disbelief? Angry?

It didn’t matter. She’d wanted to impress his family, but at the end of the day, all she could be was herself.

“How did you get them all to back off from the petition, though?” Frank continued, speaking over the inarticulate sounds his parents were making.

“I wrote out a case study about my own marketing methods, and the percentages by which each tactic had increased my business. I broke it down into ideas that other businesses in the plaza could apply to themselves.” She sucked in a breath. “They all backed down, and most apologized on the spot for judging me on the nature of my business. The petition you drafted the warning in response to is now null and void, I would think, so unless you have some other problem with my business being in the plaza, I think we’re done here.”

“But...” Frederick Sr.’s face was scrunched so tightly that he resembled a bulldog. “How do I know your numbers are true? That you didn’t just make them up to get yourself out of trouble?”

“I guess you don’t.” Amy pinched her lips together as she looked at Frederick Sr., then at Rosemary. “But before you continue with your judgment, I’ll tell you that I have a business degree. It’s from a community college rather than an Ivy League school, but let me assure you, I’m as savvy as I am artistic.”

There—she’d had her say. She’d expected to feel relieved, triumphant, even. Instead, as she turned to Fred, still standing silent beside her, she only felt empty.

“I’m sorry. I can’t do this.” The words were heavy on her lip. He’d risen to stand beside her, but she couldn’t quite read the expression on his face. He was silent, too, and she didn’t know if it was because he was proud of her for standing up for herself, or because he was loyal to his family and Vaughan Enterprises, to the end.

She supposed it didn’t matter, really. No matter what she’d thought had sprouted between them, it would shrivel and die with the way his family felt about her. She looked up at him, into the eyes of the only man who had ever made her want more, and she took a single, painful step back. Something hot stung at the backs of her eyes.

She would not cry in front of these people. Not ever. So she went with the only other option available to her in that moment—she decided to leave. Spinning on her heel, she crossed the dining room, her steps loud on the marble floor. Just before she passed through the archway that led back to the sitting room, she paused, looking back over her shoulder.

“By the way,” she started, catching Rosemary’s eye and winking, “I have a frequent shopper card at Discount Depot. I think I’m almost at a free bottle on my stamp card. When I drink it, I’ll make sure to think of you.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

FRED HEARD THE front door slam, and before he could even think about what he was going to do, he was halfway across the room, following her.

“Frederick!” His father used a tone that Fred was well familiar with, conditioned to, and he turned around even though every cell in his body called out for him to follow Amy.

“Explain yourselves.” Fred couldn’t remember ever being this angry. He looked into the faces of the people he’d thought he’d known so well, the people who had raised him, and wondered how he could have been so wrong.

“I beg your pardon?” Placing his napkin very deliberately on the table, Frederick Sr. rose to a standing position. “Watch your tone, young man. When you are under this roof, you will show some respect.”

“That’s the thing, though, Dad. You’ve always taught us that respect is earned, not automatically given.” Fred flexed his fingers, surprised to find that his hands were actually shaking with rage. “Why would I show you respect when you just treated the woman I love so horribly?”

“Love?” Rosemary gasped, clutching her short pearl necklace to her throat. “Oh, surely not, Fred!”

“Fred.” His father tried a placating tone now, one Fred had heard him use on investors when they became antsy. “Look. I must admit that your young woman has, ah, spirit. A certain resourcefulness and business acumen that I hadn’t expected someone like her to have.”

“Someone like her. What does that mean, exactly?” Fred shifted his weight, itching to go after Amy but understanding that this conversation had to happen. “Are you referring to the fact that she’s a tattoo artist? To the way she looks? To the fact that you don’t know her family? Which is it, exactly? Please, enlighten me.”

“That’s enough.” Frederick Sr. waved a hand in the air, gesturing for Fred to stop talking. “As I was saying. I suppose I can see the appeal as you sow your oats, or whatever this attraction is. But even if the Lawrences and the Lassiters have approved matches with girls in this family, you are a Vaughan. Blood is thicker than water, and this is not the girl for you.”

Fred stared at his father for a long moment, silent. He’d convinced himself that introducing Amy to his parents would be fine, but now that the words had been spoken, he wondered if he hadn’t expected this the whole time. Expected it, and wanted it.

Being with a woman who was so true to herself had made him understand things about himself that he’d never before been brave enough to acknowledge. And one of them, the biggest one, perhaps, was that while he would always love his family, and be grateful to them for the opportunities they’d provided, he was no longer interested in being associated with the way they handled business. The way they treated people, on the most basic level of human decency.

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