to her. Very close. Close enough to smell the perfume she always put on at night after her shower. He wondered how many other men had stood like this, scenting her, wanting her, and then peeling off one of her silk wrappers and diving in. But thinking about that would just piss him off.
“You may or may not get to keep Artists Cove.”
“ Sandy Cove. And I’ll keep it.”
“Maybe. And maybe Savvy will cut a deal with the Pickfords.”
“Then I’ll raise the kind of holy hell that will make the kind of headlines Daddy doesn’t like.”
Rory just shook his head wearily. He knew Ward could just stall signing the Artists Cove compromise until the merger was complete. Then he could tell his daughter to go to hell. And he would.
“You think Daddy’s going to beat me on this one, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Is that why you came here?” She crossed her arms defensively. “You never used to like singing in the I-told-you-so choir.”
“I came here to find out how much cash you have that isn’t attached to your father.”
“Interest on the trusts. A few investments.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Why? Is he threatening to cut me off again?”
“He hasn’t ever threatened that and you know it.”
“I know it’s always there, like a gun at my head. If that isn’t a threat, what is?”
“Then why do you keep poking at him?”
“Because I’m an adult and I shouldn’t have to run to Daddy for money!”
“Try living on your income.”
She made a disgusted sound. “Saint Rory. Why should I live like dirt? He never did. All he did was marry into Savoy money and he had the world at his fingertips. I’m a Savoy by birth . I deserve better than to be kept at heel like Honey Bear.”
The corners of Rory’s mouth turned down. “The blood thing again. Jesus, Blissy. Maybe if Gem hadn’t rubbed Ward’s nose in her wealth and bloodlines, they’d have had a marriage instead of an armed truce.”
“The only people who sneer at bloodlines don’t have any.”
“As usual, this is going nowhere.” He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “You’re too much like your father. That’s why you drive each other nuts.”
“Just because I don’t spend my life saying ‘yes, sir, whatever you say, sir’ doesn’t mean—”
“We’ve been around this track,” Rory cut in, turning away. “Thanks for the omelet.”
Bliss hesitated, then stretched out a hand he didn’t see. Hastily she withdrew it. “Rory.”
He turned toward her.
“I…” Her voice died. She began gnawing on her thumb. “Oh, hell. Is he really mad?”
“He’s really determined. Different thing entirely.”
“He wants to develop the Savoy Ranch in his own image, a monument for the ages.”
“Maybe. And maybe he just wants to make enough money to keep all the Savoy-Forrests in beachfront condos. The deal you cut with CCSD will cost half a billion in land alone, not to mention what the developed property would be worth.”
“But the tax write-off—”
Rory’s laugh wasn’t humorous. “Blissy, you should talk to that accountant of yours. If we can’t develop the ranch, we won’t have any profits to write off taxes against. If you don’t sell off or develop big chunks of the land, all that Savoy wealth everybody is busy spending won’t amount to a fart in a tornado.”
Dana Hills
Tuesday evening
10
T he high school gymnasium smelled vaguely of old socks and sharply of fresh floor cleaner. Instead of the usual crowd of teenagers working painfully hard to be cool, there was a swirling, ever changing flood of people holding paintings from their attic or basement for Susa Donovan to anoint as worthy of cultural as well as familial interest.
“Sweet God,” Ian muttered. “I haven’t seen this much crap since I raised geese for a 4-H project.”
“Geese?” Susa asked.
“No room for a pig or a pony. Besides, the geese mowed the lawn for me.”
Susa laughed and felt like hugging him. For the
“You may or may not get to keep Artists Cove.”
“ Sandy Cove. And I’ll keep it.”
“Maybe. And maybe Savvy will cut a deal with the Pickfords.”
“Then I’ll raise the kind of holy hell that will make the kind of headlines Daddy doesn’t like.”
Rory just shook his head wearily. He knew Ward could just stall signing the Artists Cove compromise until the merger was complete. Then he could tell his daughter to go to hell. And he would.
“You think Daddy’s going to beat me on this one, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Is that why you came here?” She crossed her arms defensively. “You never used to like singing in the I-told-you-so choir.”
“I came here to find out how much cash you have that isn’t attached to your father.”
“Interest on the trusts. A few investments.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Why? Is he threatening to cut me off again?”
“He hasn’t ever threatened that and you know it.”
“I know it’s always there, like a gun at my head. If that isn’t a threat, what is?”
“Then why do you keep poking at him?”
“Because I’m an adult and I shouldn’t have to run to Daddy for money!”
“Try living on your income.”
She made a disgusted sound. “Saint Rory. Why should I live like dirt? He never did. All he did was marry into Savoy money and he had the world at his fingertips. I’m a Savoy by birth . I deserve better than to be kept at heel like Honey Bear.”
The corners of Rory’s mouth turned down. “The blood thing again. Jesus, Blissy. Maybe if Gem hadn’t rubbed Ward’s nose in her wealth and bloodlines, they’d have had a marriage instead of an armed truce.”
“The only people who sneer at bloodlines don’t have any.”
“As usual, this is going nowhere.” He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “You’re too much like your father. That’s why you drive each other nuts.”
“Just because I don’t spend my life saying ‘yes, sir, whatever you say, sir’ doesn’t mean—”
“We’ve been around this track,” Rory cut in, turning away. “Thanks for the omelet.”
Bliss hesitated, then stretched out a hand he didn’t see. Hastily she withdrew it. “Rory.”
He turned toward her.
“I…” Her voice died. She began gnawing on her thumb. “Oh, hell. Is he really mad?”
“He’s really determined. Different thing entirely.”
“He wants to develop the Savoy Ranch in his own image, a monument for the ages.”
“Maybe. And maybe he just wants to make enough money to keep all the Savoy-Forrests in beachfront condos. The deal you cut with CCSD will cost half a billion in land alone, not to mention what the developed property would be worth.”
“But the tax write-off—”
Rory’s laugh wasn’t humorous. “Blissy, you should talk to that accountant of yours. If we can’t develop the ranch, we won’t have any profits to write off taxes against. If you don’t sell off or develop big chunks of the land, all that Savoy wealth everybody is busy spending won’t amount to a fart in a tornado.”
Dana Hills
Tuesday evening
10
T he high school gymnasium smelled vaguely of old socks and sharply of fresh floor cleaner. Instead of the usual crowd of teenagers working painfully hard to be cool, there was a swirling, ever changing flood of people holding paintings from their attic or basement for Susa Donovan to anoint as worthy of cultural as well as familial interest.
“Sweet God,” Ian muttered. “I haven’t seen this much crap since I raised geese for a 4-H project.”
“Geese?” Susa asked.
“No room for a pig or a pony. Besides, the geese mowed the lawn for me.”
Susa laughed and felt like hugging him. For the
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