White Hot by Sandra Brown Page A

Francisco’s wealthy and elite.”
    She didn’t ask him how he’d learned about the newspaper feature story. He was capable of anything, even spying. He probably knew more about her life in California than she even suspected. Beck Merchant probably gathered information for him.
    “What did you have to pay that old queen to buy out his business?” he asked. “Bet you paid too much.”
    “That ‘old queen’ was my mentor and dear friend.”
    She had interned for the renowned decorator while attending classes to earn her degree. Upon her graduation, he’d made her a full-fledged employee. But she was more than just someone who earned a commission on anything she sold from his home design studio. From the outset, he had groomed her to take over his business.
    He had sent her on shopping expeditions for fabrics in Hong Kong and antiques in France, implicitly trusting her instincts, her business acumen, and her taste. He had forty years of experience along with a directory of valuable contacts; Sayre contributed fresh and innovative ideas. They had made a great team.
    “When he decided to retire,” she continued, “he made the terms of sale very easy for me.” Under her management, the business had grown. She had paid off her debt within three years, half the anticipated time. But she didn’t tell Huff that, considering that her financial affairs were none of his business.
    “Hanging window curtains makes you quite a chunk of change.”
    He was deliberately belittling her business, but she didn’t take the bait. “I love my work. I would almost do it for free. Fortunately, it’s turned out to be lucrative as well as enjoyable.”
    “You’ve earned back your investment several times over.” He rattled the ice cubes in his glass. “So those marriages of yours weren’t so terrible after all, were they? If it wasn’t for the cash settlements I insisted on in the prenups, you wouldn’t have been able to buy out that fairy and do the work you love so much.”
    In order to speak, she had to relax her clenched jaw. “I earned those cash settlements, Huff.”
    “And there are worse ways to make a living,” Chris remarked as he sauntered into the room. “Making a career of divorcing rich men has its perks.” He sat on the opposite sofa and smiled at her across the coffee table. “Not a bad career path at all.”
    Her inclination was to get up and storm out, but she knew that would only amuse him. Giving her older brother that satisfaction would be worse than enduring his snide grin. “You’re as insufferable as ever, Chris. But you’re right about the perks of divorcing rich men. I’m sure your ex-wife would agree.”
    His grin slipped a little, but he said smoothly, “You’ve got your facts wrong, Sayre. Mary Beth refuses to divorce me.”
    She had assumed that the noticeable absence of Chris’s wife from the family fold indicated that her brother’s turbulent marriage had finally come to an end. “Why isn’t she here?”
    “She lives in Mexico now. In a house overlooking the blue Pacific. We were vacationing down there. I imbibed a few too many margaritas on the beach one afternoon. Mary Beth has an uncanny knack for seizing an advantage. I woke up the next day a hungover homeowner. All according to her plan. She got the house with the servants first, then announced that she wanted a separation. Indefinitely,” he added, shooting Huff a glance.
    Sayre hadn’t known her sister-in-law because Chris had married after she left, but she reasoned that, for putting up with him, his missus probably deserved a staffed house on the Pacific coast. She doubted that marriage had put a stop to his countless affairs.
    During Chris’s explanation of his wife’s absence, Huff had remained reclined in his chair, puffing on his cigarette. But he wasn’t relaxed. He was vexed. Sayre noticed now that he was holding his highball glass so tightly his thick fingers had turned white. Huff was unhappy over Chris’s