Secrets of the A-List Box Set, Volume 1 Page 16

  All through his growing-up years, he’d been Elana’s go-to guy. Although Elana had a constant string of suitors, she always made sure that Thom was on her arm for important events—prom, coming-out parties and family galas. As Harrison’s empire grew, so did the public face of the family. Thom was always there, part of the dinners, the parties, some of the getaways. Being a pseudo member of the family, he benefited from the power the Santiago-Marshalls wielded. It provided the perfect cover for him, while at the same time stoking a longing that he could never fulfill.

  His impending wedding to Elana was a blessing and a curse. The pressure from his family for him to settle down grew more intense, and his father insisted that Elana Marshall was the perfect woman for him. Thom cared for Elana. Deeply. But he wasn’t in love with her, not the way a husband should love a wife. What they had between them was an enduring friendship, and that would have to sustain him. There was a part of him that sensed that Elana was not in love with him, either, and that their marriage was only what her family wanted as well. They were both pawns in their family game. But in the end it would work for them both. They would each be what the other needed. They were the best of friends. He hoped that would be enough.

  Thom dropped the curtain back in place and strode toward the door. He could actually use something to nibble on and went in search of Joy. When he entered the foyer, he heard movement down the hall and headed toward it. He poked his head in the door of the library, expecting to see Joy or Vanessa.

  Instead he found a man.

  Rafe turned at the sound of movement behind him. “Thom...what are you doing here?” He shoved his cell phone in the pocket of his designer jeans, washed and worn enough to be soft and formfitting at the same time. His imported leather belt and loafers were offset by the blinding-white open-collar shirt that stood in contrast to his warm olive skin. Rafe ran his fingers through thick dark hair, tucking aside the troubling lock that forever fell across his brow. He clearly had his mother’s alluring Spanish looks, while Luc took more after their father.

  “Hey, sorry. I thought you might be Elana or one of the staff.”

  Rafe lifted his chin and nodded. “Late, I take it.”

  Thom chuckled. “Would she have it any other way?” He came fully into the room.

  “Drink?” Rafe asked before crossing to the bar. He lifted a bottle of tequila and checked the level.

  He probably shouldn’t drink on an empty stomach. “Sure, why not?”

  Rafe poured for them both then handed Thom a shot glass. He lifted his own. “To Dad.”

  “To Harrison.”

  They tossed back the content of their glasses and simultaneously ahhed.

  “Good stuff,” Thom said over the slow warmth that spread in his belly.

  “Only the best for the Marshalls,” Rafe said, his tone a mixture of scorn and sadness to Thom’s ears.

  Thom studied Rafe’s pensive expression. “How is your father? Any progress?” he asked gently, instantly regretting his question when he saw the shadow of pain pass across Rafe’s face.

  Rafe lowered his head, blew out a breath. “Not good. I suppose we should be grateful that he hasn’t deteriorated. But no change.”

  Thom covered the space that separated them and clasped Rafe’s shoulder, the wiry power of his body vibrating beneath Thom’s fingertips. “I’m so sorry, Rafe. He’s going to pull through. You have to have faith. Miracles happen every day.”

  Rafe nodded, moved away and fixed himself another drink. “It’s going to take a miracle. Seconds?”

  “No. I’m good.”

  “How are the wedding plans coming along?”

  Thom heaved a sigh. “That’s part of the reason Elana and I are getting together today. She’s been distant...even talking about postponing the wedding.”

  “Understandable, with Dad’s accident.”

  Thom shook his head, frowned. “No, the change in her started even before the accident,” he said, hoping Rafe might have some insight into what was going on with his sister. “I keep feeling like she is going to call the whole thing off.” He couldn’t let that happen. He needed this.

  “Hmm, well, you know Elana. She can’t keep her mind on one thing longer than a minute. The accident with Dad has us all in a bad place. Elana only needs one thing to spin her in another direction, but I’m sure everything will be fine.”

  “I hope you’re right. On second thought, maybe I will take another drink.”

  “Help yourself. Mi casa, su casa. Besides, you’re going to be a full-fledged member of the family. You have to be up to tossing them back with the rest of us. Helps make the rough edges nice and fuzzy.”

  Thom came to stand beside Rafe. Their shoulders brushed as Thom reached for the tequila. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He refilled his glass.

  Rafe turned and leaned his hip against the bar. His gaze settled on Thom’s face. “How’s the real estate biz?” he asked.

  Thom shrugged. “Being ushered into a family real estate business...a little different from doing your own thing.”

  “Nice to do what you love. Be who you are.”

  As heir to his father’s high-end real estate enterprise, Scott and Associates Inc. Thom knew image was everything. Thom’s father, Sam, prided himself on creating the illusion of exclusivity, from the polished appearance of his tailored suits to his expensive haircuts, designer jewelry and driving the right car. He passed those sensibilities onto his son. His mother, always at Sam’s side, was the beauty and charm of the business.

  Thom’s father made it clear that having a beautiful wife on his arm was part of a man’s success, part of the package. Equally important was the Marshall name and reputation and all the bells and whistles and contacts that came with it. His parents were fully on the marriage bandwagon. He couldn’t disappoint them.

  Rafe folded his arms across his chest. “Hmm, always tough to step out there, break the mold.” He shifted his stance. “Especially when the shadow of expectation is so high.”

  Thom blinked away the gamut of thoughts running through his head. He slowly nodded. “How do you handle it...the expectation? I mean, I know it couldn’t have been easy, with your parents being who they are and growing up in the spotlight.”

  Rafe gave a slight shrug. “It was a part of life, all we knew. But it wasn’t always easy—at least not for me.” He took a breath and looked off into the distance as he spoke. “Luc was the firstborn. Never got in trouble, the mediator. He always had the right girlfriend, the right clothes.” He snorted a laugh. “Luc always had a plan. I think he knew what he wanted from the moment he was born.” He finished off his drink and set down the glass. “Me, on the other hand...” He slowly shook his head. “I don’t know. I always felt like I never fit in, never lived up to my father’s expectations of what his son should be.”

  “Why?” Thom asked. “You’re a success in your own right, just like Luc.”

  Rafe looked him in the eye. “Let’s not fool ourselves. We both know why, Thom.” Rafe pushed up from his reclining positon against the bar. He moved away. “So, uh what do you think about the Fixer?” He turned to face Thom.

  Thom was completely caught off guard. He’d never expected that he would be asked about the inner workings of the family. He’d always been a silent observer. He slid his hands into his pockets. “Wow.” He shook his head. “Tell you the truth, from the little I overheard, it’s like something out of a made-for-television movie. I mean, some unknown person behind the scenes pulling strings.”

  “Yeah, all very cloak-and-dagger.” He angled his head to the side. “Could be you.”

  Thom’s eyes widened, then he burst out laughing. “You’ve got to be kidding. Me?”

  “Hey, why not you? You’re always around, been around for years.” Rafe gave a nonchalant shrug. “Anyway, I gotta run.” He cla
pped Thom on the shoulder. “Hopefully my sister will show up at some point.”

  “At some point,” Thom murmured, still off center by Rafe’s question. Did he or anyone in the family really think it could be him?

  Rafe strode toward the door then stopped. “Hey,” he said and pointed a finger at Thom. “I haven’t forgotten your promise to beat me at tennis. As soon as things settle down, we’re on.”

  “You got it. Just say when,” Thom called out to Rafe’s retreating back. Him, the Fixer? If only. There was plenty in his life that needed fixing.

  Thom drew in a breath and stared at the doorway. Snippets of his conversation with Rafe replayed in his head. It was true what Rafe had said about how being who you truly were was hard—especially when you’d rather marry your bride-to-be’s brother than the woman you pretended to love.

  Chapter Three

  “Yes, fifty thousand. Transferred today.” The Fixer ended the call and tossed the cell phone on the desk. It had been a busy morning, and things didn’t seem as if they were going to slow down.

  The deal with the news anchor had had the desired effect—for the moment—but there was still the reality that Harrison remained in a coma. There was only so much that stalling and hints of blackmail could do to keep that news off the airwaves. But one crisis at a time.

  Now the Fixer had to smooth the way for a renegotiation. The latest client had signed on the dotted line for a property he now no longer wanted. The contract was rock solid, but everyone had a price, and once it was determined that the lawyers for the property were amenable to some creative paperwork, the Fixer put the plan in play. Problems like this one were what the Fixer lived for. The thrill of the veiled threat, the power of bending a person’s will by using inside knowledge was a turn-on. Time spent on building alliances and securing confidences were the centerpieces for success. By the end of the week, the client would be free and clear, and the lawyer’s boss would never know how he’d been skimming from the firm with his billable hours.

  The Fixer’s tentacles were long and far-reaching, stretching from the corridors of politics to the boardrooms of Wall Street. The Fixer preferred creative methods to any kind of strong-arm tactics. That wasn’t the MO. The Fixer’s skill was the ability to be seen and not seen, to constantly keep an ear to the ground, to build confidences and alliances. Having countless people in debt was the lifeblood of the operation. The Fixer knew things, knew secrets and knew when and how to leverage that knowledge. More importantly, the Fixer knew how to uncover those secrets with the right questions and the perfect incentives—favors. The business flourished because of the Fixer’s innate instincts to spot weakness in the prey, and now the well of favors owed was bottomless.

  The Fixer leaned back against the thick cushion of the Italian leather executive desk chair and stared off into the distance. What had started out as simple favors for Harrison’s friends in need had morphed into a lucrative business, far beyond anything they could have imagined. The Fixer was the brains behind the operation and moved all the puzzle pieces into place, yet forever remained in Harrison’s shadow. It was best that clients believe Harrison was the master puppeteer, although there were times when the Fixer wanted to stand in the light and take the bows.

  At the moment, however, the biggest concern for the Fixer was the family. Between Joe and his meddling and then Mariella finding the bank statement...what were the odds of that happening? But none of this would be an issue were it not for that fucking accident! Harrison, what were you thinking? The Fixer fumed, concern and frustration mounting, one fist slamming on the desk. It was Mercury retrograde in full effect. Now instead of focusing on business as usual, extra precautions had to be taken to ensure that the family never discovered who the Fixer was. All hell would break loose if they did. For the first time since venturing into this line of work, the Fixer was at cross-purposes with the family. While they were on the hunt to uncover the identity of the Fixer, all efforts must be used to make sure that didn’t happen. Whatever it took.

  Chapter Four

  The private party room in the back of El Acantilado had been set up for Mariella and Elana to make their selections for the engagement party. Even though the restaurant was closed until dinner, the elegant establishment bustled with activity. Deliveries were coming in from florists, linen companies, stationery businesses and everything in between. Mariella and Gabe had agreed to allow one of the top team members to handle the arrangements, but in light of Harrison’s accident, Mariella was unable to fully let go of the reins.

  Mariella picked up the white coquillage linen sample and rubbed the fine fabric between her fingertips. There were two other choices, but so far this was her favorite. Although Gabe insisted that Mariella focus on Harrison, working on her daughter’s engagement party was the only thing that kept her sane. The mere thought of spending hours sitting at the bedside of her comatose husband chilled her to the bone.

  “Mrs. Santiago-Marshall, the champagne flutes and the floral samples have arrived.”

  Mariella placed the fabric on the table and turned her attention to Teresa St. Claire, the engagement party planner from MSM Event Planning. She and her team were responsible for all the ordering and vendor deliveries. As much as Mariella was hesitant to admit, Teresa was beyond efficient. She ran her team like a master drill sergeant, albeit in her standard classy black pantsuit and white silk blouse.

  “Thank you. Have them brought in. And be sure that the delivery people do not leave until the packages have been approved by me.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” She tucked a lock of blond hair behind her ear and spoke into her headset. She referred quickly to her iPad and hurried off, her stilettos clinking rhythmically across the floors.

  Mariella took a sip of champagne and checked her watch. Late, as usual. This was for Elana’s engagement party. Even though she’d told Mariella to do whatever she wanted, Elana needed to take some interest in its preparations. But her flighty daughter could barely keep her mind on one thing at a time, and clearly her impending wedding wasn’t one of those things. Who the hell knew where she was, and Mariella didn’t want to give voice to what she was thinking.

  Three of Teresa’s assistants brought in boxes on hand trucks, unloaded and set up the samples on the table. Teresa was right behind them to give a quick inspection of the contents and check off the items from her list.

  Mariella lifted one of the flutes and held it up to the light. The delicate Baccarat crystal flute was a work of art. She flicked her glossy pale pink nail against the glass and smiled at the tiny ping. She set that one on the table and went to the next box that held the Swarovski flutes. This sample had a faceted clear-crystal base that sparkled like diamonds. Hmm, tough decision.

  “What do you think, Teresa?” Mariella was testing her, curious to see if she would offer a decision or defer to her.

  Teresa stepped closer. She lifted the Baccarat then the Swarovski. “I prefer the Swarovski,” she said without hesitation. “Feels a bit more substantial in your hand.” She picked up the bottle of champagne and poured into the flute. She held it up. “And it carries the light.”

  Mariella smiled. If there was one thing she admired it was backbone, people who weren’t intimidated by the Santiago-Marshall name. Of course it was wonderful to have people scrape and bow, but if you allowed her to walk over you, Mariella would gladly place one of her red-soled heels in your back and not think twice about it. She expected the highest level of professionalism and perfection in all of her staff members, and it extended to anyone that she did business with. She would settle for nothing less than she was willing to give. She suspected they called her perra—bitch—behind her back, but she didn’t care. It fueled her and made her more focused.

  “The caterer should be here in about a half hour with the samples for the entrées and main courses.”

  “Thank you.”

/>   Teresa offered a tight-lipped smile and walked out.

  Teresa reminded Mariella of a younger version of herself. She made a mental note to speak with Gabe about Teresa. Although she knew the names and faces of the employees, Gabe was the one who worked more closely with them on a regular basis and knew of their capabilities. When Mariella had refused to turn over the reins of overseeing Elana’s engagement party, even in light of Harrison’s condition, he’d suggested Teresa in the hopes of alleviating some of Mariella’s burden. It was working. Teresa was good. Maybe there was more that she could handle. Perhaps she’d like to be Elana’s wedding planner, too, from here on out instead of Mariella? Most of the final decisions were already made, but Teresa could take over on the actual day to keep everything running smoothly.

  Mariella had returned her attention to the assorted linens when she glanced up and saw Joe coming in her direction. Her heart seemed to stop beating, and a flood of heat rushed through her. Her hand flew to her chest.

  Joe rushed toward her when he caught the look of terror in her large eyes.

  “Please...don’t tell me...”

  “No. No. I’m so sorry.” He clasped her shoulders. “I didn’t mean to alarm you. Everything is fine...well, at least the same.” Mariella sank into his chest. Joe held her lightly against him and rested his chin on her head. “I came by because I figured you could use some moral support with all this planning.” He looked around at the display of boxes and samples.

  Mariella stepped back and looked up into his eyes. She stroked his cheek. “Always thinking of the family. What would we do without you?”

  He took her hand and kissed it. “I’m always here for you, Mariella.”

  She took him by the hand and led him over to one of the chairs, sitting opposite him. “I want you to be honest with me.”

  “Always.”

  “Do you think we should still go through with the wedding?”