Page 7 of Secret Admirer
Kiwi and Caro, on either side of Victoria, each clasped a hand in support. Gio pointed Bart toward chairs near the stage close to where they stood and said, “Take a seat, next to Luke." Luke was their half-brother, and Caro’s husband.
Bart hoped he hadn't ruined the show and scuffed off to his seat. He'd met Luke, who was a doctor, at Gio’s wedding. Luke crossed his long legs. “So, you were talking to Nadia? Caro hopes she likes the designs.”
Bart was the only Morgan it seemed who had no idea who Nadia was. He sipped his drink, glanced at the beautiful woman, but felt nothing for her. She’d been fun--that's all. “I just met Nadia last week and had no idea she was a fashion editor until a few minutes ago. We never discussed our professions or interests.”
And he’d find another woman, either here or when he returned to Rome. No woman was worth his family. More of his half-brothers, men he’d only met once, filled the rows. Luke asked, “She’s not someone you’re interested in pursuing?”
Their father had never been faithful to one woman, which was how there were so many Morgans already. He shrugged. “There are plenty of women in the world. Why choose just one?”
Luke winced. Perhaps Bart had just sounded a little bit like their father.
Bart never wanted to go down that road. And he never wanted to have some woman crying over losing him or cursing his name once she left him like their mother had done over their father.
Luke rubbed his jaw. “Because therightone can make you happier than countless women, who don’t see beyond your name or bank account.”
Caro, Luke's wife, seemed devoted and happy. Bart remembered being told at Gio’s wedding that Caro and Luke had gone to college together and knew each other before Luke found out he was a Morgan. He held up his glass in a toast. “I’m glad you found that one. I don’t think such a woman exists for me.”
Luke saluted him with his wine though before he drank, he asked, “Would you recognize her if she ever showed up?”
“I would hope so.” Bart's gut tightened. Perhaps he was becoming too much like his father. He wouldn't remember Nadia’s name in a week, and if the women he’d known all walked the stage tonight as the models, he'd be lucky to remember half.
Maybe it was time to change.
Chapter 3
Rebecca stared at the front door of the yacht lot from inside her car parked across the street near the sidewalk. She’d driven past three times before she'd had the courage to at least stop.
She’d seen a Maserati Quattroporte head in a half an hour ago. He or she hadn’t left yet, but that silver streak told her that someone at the marina had money.
Or were pretending, anyway--half of Miami lived in a shack but drove a car like they were rich.
The Maserati’s clipped engine exhaust purred in a way only that car did which made it unmistakable.
So he was either rich, which came with its own hazards, or a man about to destroy his credit and not the kind of guy she needed in her life.
This was stupid. Melissa and Destiny's challenge made no sense this morning as the hot sun beat down on her car, and if she hadn’t accepted the dare, she’d have left already.
Last night she’d told her friends she wanted a good guy--like Bart, who gave to charities and was a philanthropist searching for clean fuel options. Who could she meet here, other than a slick salesman?
She turned her engine on, ready to leave, but then she glanced at the door again. If she didn’t go inside, that meant she'd failed.
Rebecca was not a quitter, so at the last second, she drove into the parking lot of Claire’s Luxury Yachts near Starr Island.
She got out and fixed her blue cotton sundress, thin-strapped to show off her slightly muscular arms, squeezed her cheeks for color, and then headed inside the office.
Two men in business suits stared at her like she’d walked in from planet Mars. No, she didn’t paint her nails. So what? She paused in the doorway. She guessed they were son and father from their identical expressions as they wondered who she was, and what she wanted. Rebecca took a step forward, mumbling, “This is stup…” No. She wouldn't back out. She forced a smile as she said, “I’m here to see some yachts.”
Both men, the boy just out of high school and the older man with pepper-gray hair, looked at each other and then at her, sizing her up in her simple blue dress--not designer--with an oil stain near her knee that she hoped was hidden by the flounce at the hem. The older man shrugged and pointed to the exit leading to the marina. “Why don't you take a look around? The used ones are in the back.”
“She can’t afford one, Dad,” the teenager said.
To think she'd combed her hair out of her usual ponytail for that comment. Her heart beat wildly, but she walked past them and headed out to at least pretend to look.
Five minutes and then she was outta here, mission accomplished for the extra beer she’d drink.
"This way, hon," the older man said.
"Okay, thanks."
