Chapter 3
Layne pulled into the yard at six-thirty sharp and stopped in the designated parking slot off the driveway. Erik was outside, swinging back and forth, relaxing on a wooden yard swing. He jumped off and walked to her car.
“Saw you coming.” He smiled, opening her door. “We’ll use one of my cars.” He pushed a button on the remote in his hand and waited as one of the doors of the five-car garage lifted open. He took Layne’s hand and led her closer to see into the building. “Take your pick.” He motioned toward two sedans and a van parked beside them. The old pickup was sitting by a new shiny pickup, off to the side.
“We’ll take the pickup,” she said, pulling her hand away from his, “since it’s my choice.” She’d be damned if she’d let him impress her with his two hundred and fifty thousand-dollar Bentley. Just how many cars did he really need?
“The pickup?” Erik smiled as he started toward the shiny new truck.
Layne grabbed his arm, then immediately released it as if it was a red-hot poker. “No,” she said, “the old one.”
Erik stared at her in pure astonishment. “You want the old truck? Why on Earth do you want to go in that one?”
“I grew up with old cars. My father collects them.”
“You’re sure you don’t want the black one?” Erik asked, nodding to the regal black Bentley.
“No. You said I had my choice. I choose the pickup. If you’re going to argue, why bother giving me a choice?” She’d show him she could give as well as take.
Shaking his head in disbelief, he led Layne to the old Ford, opening and holding the door for her as she slid in. “I have to admit,” he said as he closed the door, “this is not what I expected.”
“You expected to impress me with the Bentley? Please,” she said, “I’m not that shallow.”
“How did you know it’s a Bentley?” he asked.
“I told you I grew up with cars. Pay attention.”
“I was. You said old cars.”
“I meant all cars!”
“Look, I’m not trying to impress you. I’m beginning to realize you’re beyond that. Why waste my time?”
“You mean waste my time, but I am impressed,” she admitted, patting the dash of the ancient pickup, “but not so much with you or your expensive Bentley. I understand you’re rich, I understand you’re powerful, and although those attributes are fine, they really don’t impress me like this old Ford does!”
“Well, let me say that you’ve impressed me. That’s a lovely dress, and you look beautiful.”
Oh, you are so smooth, Layne thought, and so full of crap. “Thank you. I don’t have an unlimited choice of pretty dresses, so apparently I lucked out.”
Erik smothered a smile at her comment about not being impressed. He shook his head, pushed the button that opened the garage door, started the truck, and took off down the driveway. “You’re quite a gal, aren’t you? You’re not afraid to speak your mind.”
“Why should I be?’ she shot back. “Would you rather I lied to you? Tell you only what you want to hear? Name something, I’ll lie and compliment you, although I have no idea where I’d find anything to compliment you about.”
“No,” Erik replied, again smothering a smile at her comments. He turned to her. “I have more than enough people doing that. I appreciate your honesty.”
They traveled down the highway in uneasy conversation, at least on Layne’s part. She planned to keep her part of any dialogue as minimal as possible. Soon, the lights of San Antonio came into view. They continued on, finally turning into a restaurant parking lot that was filled to overflowing.
“Good luck finding a place to park,” Layne commented dryly, eyeing the vast number of vehicles crammed into the lot.
“No problem,” Erik replied, skillfully threading through the lot and pulling up to an electric gate. He punched in a code, and the gate slid open, allowing the pickup to enter.
“I’m going to take a wild guess and assume you’ve been here before.”
Erik turned to her. “Yes, I helped these folks get started.”
“So you’re a shareholder?”
“Yeah, a part-owner, I guess.” Erik nodded, taking Layne’s hand and starting to weave through the parking lot to the restaurant. Patrons, impatiently waiting for a cleared table, overflowed to the outside.
“Mr. Rivers,” Layne started . . . His hand firmly but gently clasped hers as he led her through the crowd, and sent the same unwelcome response coursing through her. She allowed him to keep it there. The chance of losing him in the milling multitude was too great.
“Erik,” he interrupted. “My friends call me Erik. It’s not that difficult to remember. I’ll even spell it for you. E.R.I.K.”
“Is that with a capital E?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Sorry. You will always be Mr. Rivers to me. I’ll spell it for you. R.I.V.E.R.S., and it starts with a capital R.” She started again, “We’ll never get a seat. Look at the line. There’s got to be at least an hour’s wait!”
“Just keep holding my hand,” he replied, giving up on his name and giving her hand a gentle squeeze as they worked through the milling crowd. Layne experienced the same reaction as before, but this time it was even more unsettling. She tried to block it out, push it aside, but could not! She should not be having these feelings! But she held on to his strong, warm hand, afraid if she let go, she may never see him again and spend the night lost in the crowd. He led her to the door and held it open.
The young girl behind the reservation desk looked up and shot a worshipping smile at Erik before signaling to the dining area, and soon a well-dressed Maitrè’d was at Erik’s side.
“Mr. Rivers,” he said, shaking Erik’s extended hand, “nice seeing you again. Your table is ready and waiting, sir.”
They were led to a roped-off area where the rope was removed and Layne was seated. While another waiter stood by, Erik opened the wine list and studied it. “Any favorites?” he questioned, looking up at Layne.
“No favorites. Any cheap white wine will be fine, thank you.”
Erik glanced at the waiter standing beside him. “You don’t do cheap here, do you?” he asked.
“No, Mr. Rivers, we do not. But may I suggest a two thousand-five Chateau Petrus for the lady?”
“That’s fine,” Erik agreed, “and I’ll have a two thousand-six Jasper Hill Emily’s Paddock Shiraz.”
As the man walked away with their order, Layne leaned to Erik and asked, “What was it you ordered for me?” These were names she certainly was not familiar with.
“Chateau Petrus,” he replied. “It’s a relatively good wine, and two thousand-five was a relatively good year.”
“With a name like that, it better be good! I don’t suppose it falls into the cheap category, does it?”
“I think not.”
“Out of curiosity, what would a full bottle cost, on the totally unimaginable assumption I ever wanted to buy one?” Layne asked.
“I’m not sure,” Erik replied. “The price fluctuates a bit, but I think it falls in the several-thousand-dollar range.”
“Oh,” she finally was able to say, “is that all? I’ll be sure to order it when I’m out with Mom and Dad.” My God, she thought, how many starving children could be fed with that amount of money, and looking at the goblet just placed in front of her, she wondered how much does that little bit cost? She worked up enough courage to take a small sip. It had a strange, somewhat unpleasant taste on her tongue, nothing she’d ever order again, even if she could afford it. A total waste of money.
Erik noticed the slight twist of Layne’s lips at her tentative sip. “How is it?” he asked, his eyes bright. “Pretty good?”
Layne forced herself to swallow the bitter liquid. “Not bad, yes,” she managed, trying to not let the distaste show on her face. She was not successful.
“That’s all?” Erik questioned incredulously, noting the unpleasant reaction on her face. “Not bad?”
“Look,” Layne replied, controlling the embers of anger threatening to burst into flame, “if I had to order it again, I’ll admit that I certainly would not. I told you I wanted a glass of cheap white wine. The reason I told you I wanted a glass of cheap white wine is because I wanted a glass of cheap white wine. Period. Do you understand? Do not waste your money on me.”
Erik was totally surprised by her rejection of the fine, expensive wine, but decided to leave well enough alone for the time being. “Okay,” he told the waiter, “cheap white wine it will be. Any white wine, your very cheapest, please.” He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. It was time to change the direction of the conversation. “Tell me about your mother and father. Where do they live?”
“They’re in a wonderful little community about forty miles west of Chicago called Glen Ellyn,” Layne replied, pushing the goblet away and hating to expose anything about her life. “It’s a beautiful place, far enough from the big city to be comfortable.”
“West of Chicago, you say?”
“Yes. Anywhere east of Chicago is under water, in Lake Michigan.”
Erik chided himself for giving her that opening. “Do you see them often?” he inquired pleasantly, fully aware of the goblet’s new location.
“Obviously not anymore, but I was with a law practice in Chicago before I moved here,” she admitted, “so I was close enough to see them whenever I wanted. Things are going to be a bit different now, I guess.”
“How long have you been here? With Keith?”
“Keith?” Layne had no idea Mr. Wellington’s name was Keith.
“Keith Wellington, your employer,” Erik explained patiently.
“Oh. A couple months.”
“Where’d you go to school?” he continued.
“University of Illinois.”
“Law school?” Erik pressed on.
“University of Chicago.”
“Wow!” Erik exclaimed. “That’s big time!”
“Why? You don’t think a girl can, or should, do that?”
“No, no, no,” he backtracked quickly. “I didn’t mean that at all. It’s just very impressive, for anybody.” After a moment of silence, Erik continued, “Tell me about yourself, Layne. Did you have a happy childhood?”
“First of all, my friends call me Layne. You can call me Miss Martin,” she corrected him, then thought for a brief moment. “A happy childhood? Yes, the best. In fact, my parents have been married thirty-five years. And,” she added, “that’s exactly what I want for my life.”
Erik nodded. “That’s my wish too.”
Yeah, if you could ever find a girl dumb enough to marry you.
“My turn,” she said. So far she only knew he was rich, owned a legacy ranch, and was arrogant as hell. “Tell me a little about yourself. Since I’m your, uh, for want of a better term—prisoner—I want to know about my keeper.”
“Not much to know,” he answered. “I was born in Dallas, went to UT, and got interested in computers, so I designed several software programs. I made some money, took over a ranch after my parents passed away, but found out I knew very little about running the damn thing. I went back to school, Texas A and M, took some animal husbandry courses to learn what the hell I was supposed to do with my passed-down, inherited ranch, and here I am.”
“Oh.” That was quite concise, to say the least. “Um,” Layne said, unsure of how to approach her next question. “Someone mentioned that you have a child?” She knew she had to make her inquiry vague, but was quite interested in whatever his reply would be.
“No,” Erik replied, “I have no child of my own - that I’m aware of.” He laughed. The joke was wasted on Layne. “I have a niece, though.” A slight sadness darkened his face. “My sister and her husband were killed in an accident a few years ago, leaving their daughter.”
“I’m so sorry!” Layne reached across the table for his hand before quickly pulling it back, chastising herself for what she’d almost done. “Where is she now?”
“With her grandmother.”
“Maternal or paternal?”
“The husband’s mother.”
“And you said your parents have passed away?” Layne asked quietly.
“Gone. Dead,” he replied.
“Do you see the child often?” Layne could see the sadness in Erik’s face, talking about this. “Is this something you’d rather not talk about?” she asked gently. As much as she disliked him, he still had feelings and she needed to be gentle.
“No, it’s okay,” he replied, sweeping the sadness from his face. “I don’t see her. I’m not sure where the grandmother lives, but I think quite far away, and she has custody.”
“There are ways of finding them, you know.”
“I realize that. I just haven’t been ready yet.”
“Would she let you see her if she lived closer? Was physical or legal custody decided by a court of law?”
“None that I’m aware of. Actually, I think she just took her.”
“And you’re just going to leave it at that? You have rights too, you know.”
“Yeah, I know, but I just thought as a single guy, busy running a ranch with no wife, any court would grant her custody, no matter what. So why bother?”
“How can you know? Why don’t you look into that?”
“I’m laying some preliminary groundwork,’ Erik replied. “We’ll see what happens.” He looked straight into Layne’s eyes but she had to quickly turn away on the pretense of arranging her napkin. His eyes were far too captivating. “When that time comes, would it be something you’d be interested in?”
“I don’t understand. Interested in what?”
“Representing me in court - when I go after custody of my niece.”
“No. That’s not my field,” Layne replied. “I’m trying to limit my practice to women, although Mr. Wellington may not allow that. But I think he could suggest someone for you.” When her six weeks of servitude was completed, she was done with Rivers forever, no matter what her law practice was limited to.
Just then, the waiter arrived at Erik’s side. “Are ready to order, Mr. Rivers?”
“Yes, we are,” he replied, planning to have that part of the conversation continued at some later time. Then nodding toward Layne, he said, “The lady with have the prime rib, medium rare, and a garden salad. And I’ll have. . .”
“Whoa! Hold on!” Layne quickly interrupted. “I appreciate your ordering for me, Mr. Rivers,” she said, “but I’d like something different, thank you.” She looked at the waiter, then back at the menu. “I’d like the scallops, sautéed in butter and white wine, on a bed of linguine, and a side of asparagus please.”
Erik looked at her in astonishment. “No, no,” he said, “we’re in beef country. I raise beef. We eat beef here.” He looked at the waiter. “She’ll have the prime rib.”
“No, she will not have the prime rib!” Layne told the waiter through clenched teeth, her hand on his sleeve, pulling him close. “She will have the scallops sautéed in butter on a bed of linguine!”
The waiter looked at Erik, then to Layne, then back to Erik, not knowing what to do. Finally, he said, “I’ll give you a little more time.” He quickly walked away.
Layne glared at Erik. “Understand something, Mr. Rivers,” she said hotly. “You do not control what I choose to eat or drink in this silly little game of yours. If this presents a problem for you, take me back to my car right now.”
Erik found himself taken aback, as much as Erik Rivers could be taken aback. Every woman he’d ever known abided by his suggestions, or commands, as the case usually was. He was used to being the controlling figure in almost every situation, but in this case, one of the rare times in his adult life — the second in recent times, to be exact — he was unsure which direction to take. This gal was proving to be a handful. And a challenge!
“Okay,” he said, “eat whatever you want.” He signaled their waiter, waiting across the room. “We’ve decided on the scallops for the lady.”
~ ~ ~
The ride back to Rivers End Ranch was quiet. Layne remained upset by Erik’s attempts at control, while Erik remained somewhat upset by his loss of control in allowing her to go against his wishes.
Once the pickup truck was backed safely into the garage, Erik turned to Layne. “In order for this relationship to work,” he said, turning off the ignition, “you’ve got to stop disagreeing with everything I want to do or suggest doing.”
“Oh, we’re in a relationship now? If this is your idea of what a relationship is, you are so sadly mistaken.”
“Well, aren’t we?” Erik questioned, a crooked smile crossing his face.
“That’s certainly not what I’d call it. Indentured servant is what I’d call it. I could even call it prisoner. You can call it anything you want, but just remember, I’ve got conditions, too.”
“You’re certainly not letting me forget,” he replied as he opened his door and walked around to open Layne’s side. “Just remember,” he added, “my conditions always trump yours.”
“Look,” she spat, anger rising within her, “to you, this is merely a game, something you idle rich do with your spare time, apparently. But to me, it’s a big interruption and imposition in my life, and truth be told, there is no chance I will ever forgive you for doing this to me, holding my job ransom.” She paused for a breath as she slid out of the truck before going on. “I’m entitled to my conditions, just like you, and I will stick to them, no matter what you do.”
Erik stood by quietly, digesting her words. Not many women had gone against his wishes, but this one fought him at every turn. And was winning . . .
Layne walked out of the garage with Erik and waited as the big overhead door gently lowered to the ground. Satisfied that the door closed, Erik took her hand and started toward the dark lodge, but suddenly she pulled her hand away and stopped. “Why are there no lights on inside?” she questioned.
Erik glanced at the dark lodge. “Saving electricity?”
Layne ignored his attempt at humor. “Shouldn’t your housekeeper have a few lights on?”
“Oh boy,” Erik said, swatting his forehead with the palm of his hand, “I guess I forgot to tell her to stay.”
Yeah, sure! Layne thought about this for a moment. “Well,” she finally said, looking up at Erik with a smile, “the dinner was great, I guess the conversation was okay, and the company was . . . beyond description. Thank you for the evening, Mr. Rivers. It’s time for me to go.”
“Hey wait a minute, don’t go. Let’s go inside, we aren’t done yet.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s only eight-thirty!”
“One of my conditions is, Mr. Rivers,” Layne explained patiently, as if talking to a child, “until I get to know you much better than I know you now, which by the way, will never happen, I would never be alone with you in your home under any conditions. I’ve told you that before. I suggest you start listening.”
“I have no idea what you’re afraid of. I am not the serial rapist you imagine me to be,” he complained.
“I’m sorry, but that’s one of my conditions.”
Erik started to respond, but stopped and studied Layne for a brief moment. She could see he was angry. “Okay,” he said, “I’ve got one more condition. And it’s a final one, so pay attention.”
“So?”
“Either we do things my way or I don’t write the check.” He kept studying Layne, judging her reaction. “I’m sorry, but that’s the way things are going to have to be.”
Layne met his steady stare, anger allowing her to hold it. “Okay,” she finally replied, “I’ll give you my answer tomorrow. And that’s my condition in response to your condition.” She spun around, sprinted as best she could in her heels, to her car, and sped down the long, winding drive in a cloud of dust.
Erik knew he’d hit a stone wall. This gal was going to be a challenge, but he’d already known that. The question being, what kind of challenge? Get her to like him? Not too promising on that one. He was failing miserly, falling flat on its face! Get him to like her? Hell yes, there was a lot of that going on. If nothing else, he thought, arm candy just couldn’t get any better . . .
~ ~ ~
“And that’s when I tore the damn thing up,” Layne finished explaining to Barb, curled up on the other end of the couch. “A one and a half million-dollar check? Puleeze, no way! He was filthy dirty, and looked like he just came out from living under a rock by the railroad tracks. How the hell was I supposed to know who he was? I only knew him as that damn womanizer from the gym!”
Barb stretched her legs out from under her to face Layne and had not missed a word. “And he wants you to be at his, what did he call it, beck and call?”
Layne nodded dryly. “Six weeks. Beck and call for six weeks!”
“Oh my God,” Barb blurted, “Six weeks! Can I take your place? I’ll pay you to let me take your place! Does beck and call mean sex slave? Will you mention my name to him? Put me first in line?”
“Don’t I wish you would take my place,” Layne lamented. “But I’m the one who tore up the damn check, and I’m the one who virtually told him to get lost when he hit on me in the Wellness Center, and,” she continued, “I’m the one who told him it looked like he wallowed in the dirt, on his farm, yet!”
“But this is a dream come true, Layne! Six weeks of doing whatever with the richest, most well known, most handsome guy in all of Texas. I mean, what the hell is the problem?” Barb stopped. “Does beck and call mean what I’d hope it meant? I’d sleep with him in a nanosecond, or an instant, whichever came first.”
“Well, be my guest,” Layne told her, “but that ain’t gonna happen with me!”
“God, if the offer’s there, and you leave it on the table, you are totally insane.”
“If the offer’s there and I do take it, I’m totally insane!” A picture of Erik Rivers in his workout attire —well, the ‘do take it’ part possibly could be interesting—flashed through her mind before she quickly blotted it away. “In the short time since I’ve joined the law practice, my interests are on my work, and nothing else. Evenings, as you know, with rare exceptions, are spent studying briefs with my nose in some gigantic law book or watching television on the couch like we’re doing now.”
Barb merely shook her head. All efforts to interest Layne in a prize-catch guy were doomed to failure. She just wasn’t interested, Barb supposed, because of her failed engagement. She realized that if she discovered the man she loved was cheating, as Layne had, she’d feel the same way, and no one could blame her for that.
Layne picked up the remote and poked up the volume on the television, ending the uncomfortable conversation. She understood why Barb would leap at a chance like this, because Barb was Barb. When they decided to share an apartment, ground rules were agreed upon. Although there was some resistance from Barb, they finally agreed that no overnight male guests would be allowed, other than brothers or fathers.
“You know what?” Barb suddenly said, turning in excitement to face Layne. “You should keep a diary of all this, something to look back on when you’re old and still single.”
“Quite possibly it will be the entire history of my love life,” Layne quipped in agreement, “four pages worth.” She stopped and thought for a moment. “Make that two.”
Barb shook her head, swinging her long ponytail. “Just wait,” she said, “someday your Prince Charming will ride up on his prancing white steed and sweep you off your feet and capture your hard, cold heart.”
“Oh please, spare me. I’m going to be sick.”
They stared silently at the television screen for a moment or two, each in their own thoughts. Finally Barb turned to Layne. “So, what will your answer be? Inquiring minds want to know.”
Layne returned her serious stare. “I’m going to quit.”
Barb flipped around on the couch, stunned. “Quit?” she blurted. “Quit with Erik Rivers?”
“Yes,” she replied, “two quits, actually. I’m going to stop this crazy nonsense with him, and since I’m sure that will result in the loss of my employment, I’m going to one-upmanship Wellington. I’m going to resign at work.”
“You’d leave the practice?”
Layne nodded. “Yup.”
“Are you insane? What the hell will you do? Where will you go? Surely not back to Chicago?”
“Not real sure about Chicago. Most likely not.”
“God, what a great well-thought-out, forward-looking plan.”
Layne took a long, hard look at Barb. “Do you like working for Wellington?”
“I like being an attorney, if that’s what you mean.”
“No, that’s not what I mean. Wellington, the man, do you like working for him?”
Barb thought for a short moment. “No, not really. He’s a total chauvinist. He’s actually quite mean to me at times. Well,” she continued after a short hesitation, “truth be known, I don’t like him at all, but a job is a job, though I suspect I’m on the bottom of the feed trough.”
“Yeah, I agree. I share it with you,” Layne replied. “The very bottom of the pay scale. Let me pass something by you, Barb. There’s a law firm in Chicago, all women, representing only women, no men. They call themselves Women for Women, and wouldn’t represent a man if their lives depended on it.”
Interest showing on her face, Barb waited. “And . . .?”
“And I’ve been thinking about that for a while, and now that I’m being blackmailed, forced to do things I do not want to do, with a guy I do not want to be with, maybe it’s time to do something about it.”
“What are you thinking?” Barb asked. “Quitting Wellington and going somewhere else?”
Layne was silent for a moment, then replied, “No, not going back to Chicago, but setting up my own practice here in San Antonio. I think that’s what I want to do. That’s what I’m going to do!” She gave Barb a beseeching look. “I wish you’d consider joining me. We’d make quite a team.”
It didn’t take Barb long. She jumped from the couch. “Okay,” she replied, “I’m done considering it. Count me in. Let’s do it.”
Layne joined her with her own jump from the couch. “Oh,” she squealed, embracing her in a bear hug, “we’ll make such a fantastic team.”
“When do we start?”
“Now,” Layne answered, leaping around and doing a little celebration jig. “You have any money saved up?”
“Yes, a little. You?” Barb questioned back.
“Yeah, I’ve been working on a bit of a nest egg for a while. We’re gonna do fine.”
Like two gleeful schoolgirls, they sat together on the couch and started to compose their letters of resignation.