Page 18 of The Dauntless (Spy Girl 5)
“Really? But it has long sleeves and hits well below my knee.”
“Trust me.”
I want to tell him I’m not supposed to trust anyone, but I don’t think that applies to fashion, so I leave it on and then grab the suggested heels and bag. “Let’s go.”
“Can I drive one of your dad’s cars?” he asks as we walk out the front door.
“Is anyone going to see it?”
“Oh, yeah.”
I take him to the garage where he spends at least twenty minutes studying all the cars before settling, not surprisingly, on the most expensive one—the 1962 Ferrari 250 GTO.
“This is quite the collection,” Peter states. “It’s one thing my dad never really got into. Too bad because I can’t drive his art.”
I find the keys, he fires up the engine, and we take off.
“Who are you texting?” he asks me.
“I’m taking your advice and trying to hire my personal shopper full-time. I’ve got events coming up in London that I’m not prepared for.”
“Does she seem interested?”
“She’s playing hard to get,” I suggest, which is sort of the truth.
Mostly, she’s reiterated that she already has a job. I sweeten the pot by telling her that I will be in London and need appropriate clothing for the Von Allister board meeting, the British Grand Prix, and other social events as well as attending a ceremony at Buckingham Palace with William Gallagher—which finally causes her to agree to dress me for those occasions.
“I assume you won’t be staying at Lorenzo’s place. You’re welcome to stay at our home in the city. And just offer her more money,” Peter says sarcastically. “With women, it’s all about the money.”
“Thank you. Although, for someone who is driving a priceless Ferrari and going to a party, you seem to be in a foul mood all of a sudden. Are you upset about Allie and my brother?”
“No, it’s not that. Don’t get me wrong. Allie is a great girl, but you’d think someone as beautiful as she is would be more confident. She needed constant attention. My father and I don’t agree on much, when I do decide to settle down, it will be with a strong, confident woman.” He gives me a conspiratorial grin. “While my father is the ruthless businessman—”
“Ruthless?” I ask, interrupting and still wondering if his father has a ring like Ares’s.
“Maybe that’s the wrong word choice. He’s always in command, and he makes difficult decisions with ease, but at home”—he laughs—“my mother is very much in charge.”
“Are you saying you want a woman to wear the pants in the relationship?”
“Not necessarily, but she could at least provide a bit of a challenge. Most girls bore me.”
“Ah, you like the thrill of the hunt.”
He turns to give me a handsome grin. “Maybe. You, Huntley, seem strong under pressure. Honestly, if you ask me, other than the fact that you are not Montrovian by blood, Lorenzo made a big mistake. You’re new to all this, but even so, you’ve handled it with strength and grace. You would make a better queen than Lizzie, in my opinion. Are you going to tell me what happened between you two?”
“We slept together for the first time on the night before the announcement, and I woke up in bed with him to learn of it.” I skip the part about the proposal and wedding.
“Wow. That’s pretty low, even for him. You didn’t have a clue?”
“I did know his mother had been pressuring him to be in a committed relationship, and I had agreed to a formal courtship with him.”
“You could stop it, you know,” he says as we pull up to a modern Georgetown townhouse.
“Betrayal doesn’t sit well with me,” I lie, but I’m pretty sure, even with my training, I can’t hide my true feelings when it comes to Lorenzo.
“Then he deserves to see us together on the society page. The press will have a field day. First, Daniel is swimming to you at the Olympic Trials, and now, you’re with me, attending the engagement party for the Speaker of the House’s granddaughter in her eight-million-dollar engagement gift.”
The party seems to be more of a family affair than the kind of all-night rave I expected Peter to want to attend, and I’m thankful we didn’t go with the shorter dress even though his assessment of the bride-to-be is correct. She’s wearing a very fitted hot-pink mini with a large shoulder bow and designer zebra stilettos—and she totally rocks it.
I let Peter parade me around for a while, introducing me to many people he deems as influential, while checking out the beautiful new home. It reminds me of Daniel’s townhouse, Old World charm in the moldings, doors, and fireplaces but updated for modern living.
“And the man of the hour,” Peter says, shaking hands with a distinguished-looking older gentleman with slicked-back salt-and-pepper hair, discreet frameless spectacles, and a Savile Row suit. “I’d like to introduce you to my escort for this evening, Huntley Von Allister. Huntley, this is Royston Bessemer, who is the grandfather of the beautiful bride-to-be and the Speaker of the House of our great nation.”
The man gives me a warm politician’s smile with perfectly capped white teeth as he shakes my hand. “Huntley, it is a pleasure to meet you. Of course, I knew your father well and was very sorry to learn of his passing.”
“Thank you,” I reply. “It’s very nice to meet you, too. Are you excited for the wedding?”
“I am. Blair is marrying a fine young man. Comes from a hard-working family.”
When he says this, Peter taps my hand, and I know what he’s thinking. Hard-working family is code for he’s not as rich as they are. Based on what I’ve learned in my conversations with other guests, the Bessemers are from very old money first made in England with more wealth added as steel barons in the United States, which was then parlayed into politics.
“His father is a naval officer, and the future groom is in Yale’s ROTC program. And here is my granddaughter,” he says and then introduces me.
Peter offers Blair his congratulations along with a kiss on the cheek, causing her to blush slightly, giving me the impression that their relationship, however brief, was slightly scandalous in nature.
“Would you like to join me for a drink at the bar?” I ask her grandfather, thinking it might be good to give them a moment alone.
“I would love that,” he says, holding out his arm.
I slip my hand around his elbow and let him lead me across the room.
“Your father was trustworthy, Huntley. Did you follow in his footsteps?”
“I’m not sure,” I say. “I really don’t know all that much about him.”
“I’ve heard through the grapevine that you will be attending the Von Allister board meeting in London in a few days.”
I smile with my lips firmly clamped shut. How the heck does he know that? I only recently decided to go. “You must be a friend of Mike Burnes,” I say. “Apparently, he’s not all that trustworthy.”
“A spy never is,” the man says with a chuckle. “I will be attending that meeting as well.”
“What for?” I ask, realizing I need to find out who is on the board.
“It hasn’t been announced yet, so please keep this under your hat, but I will be retiring from politics this fall. I’ve been asked to fill the spot on the board left vacated by John F. Hillford after his untimely passing, and I will be attending the meeting this week in an observatory capacity.”
John F. Hillford was on the board?
“My brother and I were told that Ares had liquidated most of his assets. We only recently found out we still own the majority of his company. And about the upcoming board meeting. And the voting that will take place. Do you know all about that?”
“Yes.”
“And how would you vote, sir?”
“Since Mike Burnes told me, you assume that I want you to vote how he wants you to vote, correct?” he asks.
I shrug. “Maybe. But I’ll be honest. Mr. Burnes hasn’t been very convincing.”
?
??You don’t know how you will vote?”
“Not yet.”
“It sounds like you need a very quick education on your father’s business. Have you met the chairman of the board yet? Harrison McClellan?”
“No, which I find a little odd. You’d think, as chairman, he would have personally reached out to us and wanted us to understand the business since my brother and I do control the majority share.”
“Only if you vote the same way,” Royston says. “Technically, when your father passed, your assets would have been split based on his will. How was that set up?”
“Um, I’m really not sure.”
“Before I became a politician, I was an estate attorney. Granted, it’s been a while, but if you need assistance understanding the nuances of his will, I’m sure I could walk you through it. I’ll be in London on Thursday. Would you like to have lunch to go over it?”
“Very much so, thank you.”
“Of course,” he says, handing me a glass of champagne along with his business card. “Text your contact information to the number on the card. That’s for my personal assistant, Marty. He’ll set everything up. Great to meet you, Huntley.”
I can’t seem to find Peter, so I’m aimlessly wandering around, my mind on everything Bessemer said, when I notice a boy in the parlor, playing a shell game to entertain the younger crowd.
A guy in full military dress stands next to me and comments, “My dad taught me how to play army.”
“My mom taught me memory and word games,” I say back. “What do you think his dad does?”
“Well, the obvious answer for this town would be politician, but if I had to guess, I’d say he has something to do with money or gambling. The kid is good. He could earn beer money for college if he keeps it up. What do you think?”
“Money launderer?” I tease, wondering who this guy is.
He’s tall, dark, and quite handsome. And I do love a man in uniform—particularly when he is the king of a certain small European country.
“Where did that idea come from?” he asks.
“The game. Think about it. Hide the money and make it disappear when no one is looking. Then when they think they know where it is, you prove them wrong by picking up the shell. What better way to explain what you do for a living to your kid, if that’s what you do?”
