Page 39 of Don’t Go Stealing My Heart

He didn’t need the lecture. The stakes if he failed kept him up most nights. “I won’t be doing a CNN interview. There’s just this…girl. She’s the one who came by.”

His mother leaned back, giving him her famous side-eye. “A girl?”

His neck heated. “We met on the road. She helped me with granddad’s Jag, and she’s in town for a couple of weeks.” A timeline that pitted his gut. “I like her and not telling her is causing problems.”

She sighed, everything in her posture softening. “You never excelled at lying. We’re impressed you’ve managed this long.”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“You still don’t have a choice, but this girl—she’s important to you?”

He rubbed his chest and nodded.

Sylvia David, a romantic at heart who’d gotten married eight weeks after falling for his father, got teary eyed again. So emotional these days. “Then tell her, sweetheart. Make sure she knows she can’t breathe a word, but tell her and invite her to stay for dinner.”

He kissed her cheek. “I’ll ask her to stay.”

Jack found Clementine in the library. She was running her finger along a row of bound spines. The room smelled of resin and lemon floor cleaner, mingling with her freshly showered scent. His mother’s linen pants hung loosely on her, the blue T-shirt snug enough to emphasize her lack of bra. He swallowed a groan. “Find something you like?”

She spun and faced him, eyes wide. “It’s a tad overwhelming.”

“You say that a lot around me.”

“You’re overwhelming.”

He could say the same about her. “The room doesn’t get used much.”

She tipped her head back and scanned the upper shelves. “I’ve never seen anything like this. Except in movies.”

Like with the bathroom, he tried to see the library from her perspective: thousands of books no one read, a piano that gathered dust, velvet couches and ornate curtains better suited to a Baroque era, brash in their extravagance. “My father wasn’t wealthy as a kid. He built David Industries from the ground up, and all he wanted was to give my mother a palace. It’s excessive, but it came from his heart.”

She walked behind a couch and traced the gold-trimmed detailing. “Right. The heart.”

Her judgmental tone cut. There was a time when his wealth had embarrassed him. On top of his stutter and awkwardness, he’d also been ostracized for his posh upbringing. They’d called him Caviar and Richie Rich and other inventive slurs. That was then. This was now. His confidence wasn’t top notch with the opposite sex, unless they were in bed, but he wouldn’t apologize for his money or how it was spent. Or how it wasn’t spent, as was the case these days, too worried he’d need to liquidate his assets eventually.

Those facts didn’t change her judgment. “My father likes to spoil my mother. He likes nice things, as do I. It’s all been hard earned.”

“Do you give to charity?”

“Several.” He didn’t elaborate on Marco’s work.

At Jack’s urging, his best friend had grown their philanthropy tenfold the last five years, always looking for new ways to give back locally and abroad…before David Industries was faced with economic disaster. If Jack failed, the charity work would suffer. Marco’s job security would vanish. He quickly silenced those thoughts. Failure wasn’t an option, and if Clementine liked him, she’d have to like him as he was. High school had taught him pretending to be something you weren’t was a fast track to misery…and jail.

She didn’t push him or ask other questions. She gathered her wet hair over her shoulder, waiting on the explanation he’d promised.

“Do you want to sit?” he asked.

“Think I’ll stand, thanks.”

She was either worried about wetting the couches or spending too much time with him. Probably the latter.

He leaned against the mahogany desk and gripped the edge. “I’m sorry I missed our running date.”

She shrugged one shoulder, still quiet. All he could do was look at her head on and hope she saw sincerity in his openness. “My father isn’t traveling. He’s here, and he’s very sick.”

She made a tiny sound, the sucking in of a shocked breath. “I didn’t know.”

“No one knows.”