Page 1 of Collateral Claim
Chapter 1
Party favor
Scarlett
“Is Dad looking over here?” I ask my sister, who’s holding her daughter’s hand as I apply another bandage over the child’s knee. Beatrice scraped it when she jumped down the few steps connecting the dining hall and the gardens, where the rest of my father’s sixty-fifth birthday party is to be held.
“Yes, he is. Making eye contact with me too. Tilting his head slightly toward you in that way he does when he wants me to get your attention.”
I kiss the bandage I placed on my niece’s knee and help her down from the table. I keep my back to my father. “What do you think he wants?”
Charlotte tucks her short blonde hair behind her ear before picking up the nearest pamphlet listing the evening program and pretending to read it as if she and I weren’t the ones who’d organized the evening for our dad.
“It’s time for his speech,” she says. “You think he wants you to say a few words?”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“I could faint so you have to perform CPR,” my little niece suggests, staring up at me with her father’s blue eyes.
Charlotte and I exchange looks. Beatrice is far too strategic for her age.
My sister tells her no while I fix the thin leather belt around my waist, then search for Dad’s business partner, who usually knows more than we do about our father’s intentions. As certain as chaos in the gut after a broad-spectrum antibiotic hit, Wilfred is already making his way toward us. If I had to guess, he’s coming to fetch me.
“Uh-oh,” Charlotte says. “Here comes Daddy’s Doberman.” She covers her lips and barks subtly so only I can hear.
Wilfred’s dark, cropped hair, dark eyes, and slim built remind us of a Doberman, but it’s more his attitude she’s referring to. He’s a man few dare cross. Luckily, he likes me, so I’ve only ever experienced his bark, never his bite.
As Wilfred nears, Beatrice woofs twice. Loudly.
People turn their heads while Charlotte and I dip our chins.
“You better go see what Wilfred wants,” my sister says. “Before my child bites his ankle.”
I start walking toward the stage but turn my head when Beatrice barks again.
Charlotte puts a hand over the girl’s mouth, suppressing her own laughter. Since I’m walking but not looking where I’m stepping, I trip. My foot slips out of my sandal, I hurl forward, arms extended, but at the last moment, somehow manage to save myself from falling.
Thank God. That would’ve been embarrassing.
I lift my gown to check on my sandal and notice the strap snapped off.
Wilfred’s on his way over, and since I’m either going to wobble or walk barefoot, I smile politely at anyone who might’venoticed I almost fell, subtly reassuring them I’m fine. I’ll wait here for him.
Oddly, he stops dead in his tracks.
Frowning, I follow his gaze to my left, where a group of five men wearing black suits over black shirts descend the steps. At the bottom of the steps, four of them spread out. The fifth person, walking in the middle of the group, is a tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired man with a five o’clock shadow over a strong jaw. He locks eyes with me and starts toward me.
I’ve never seen him before, so I turn around, thinking there’s someone behind me or near me that he recognized. Nobody’s here. Maybe he’s nearsighted and can’t see well over a distance.
I stand still.
On the way over, the man snatches a plastic chair. When he reaches me, he plants the chair in front of me, then bends and hooks his palm under my knee to lift my right leg. I yelp, but then remember I’m in public, so I pinch my lips and rest my hands on his shoulders for balance as he puts my foot on the chair.
The slit on the side of my modest couture gown parts and reveals my entire leg. I’m five-nine and leggy, but even if I weren’t, this is wildly inappropriate. I try to lower my leg back down, but he catches my calf, stopping me. His grip tightens around my ankle like rope. His palm is more on the rough side, as if he sometimes works with his hands.
When his thumb swipes back and forth over my bare skin, my cheeks burn. I’m painfully aware of our intimate positions, his head near my thigh, his pleasant, masculine cologne, and the way he (using one hand only) fixes my sandal strap that broke when I tripped.
He’s an attractive man. If a little too forward. Probably mistook me for someone he knows. People who first meet meoften say I look like someone they know. This must be the case with him.
