Susan Mallery - Lone Star Millionaire

Cal’s father had died before she’d been hired and she’d never met his mother. She’d heard rumors and stories, mostly from Ada, about a cold society woman who put up with her husband’s chronic philandering in order to keep her lifestyle intact. The marriage had been a business arrangement. One half had brought in land rich with oil; the other, technology, engineering know-how and a small infusion of cash. Separately the families had been struggling, together they formed an empire. An empire that, according to Ada, hadn’t left any time for raising children. Cal and Tracey had been put into the custody of an ever-changing staff.

“What are you thinking?” Cal asked.

“That a twelve-year-old is going to change your life.”

“I know.”

“I don’t think you realize how much. Children are a big responsibility. I remember helping Gram with my younger brother and sisters after our parents died. They were a handful.”

He shrugged. “I don’t have a choice. I’ll learn what I have to. At least I want the girl. That’s more than her aunt can say. That should count.”

“It will.” But would it be enough? Sabrina wasn’t sure. After all, Cal wasn’t into long-term commitments. His idea of a serious relationship was one that lasted two months. His record to date was ninety-three days. Still, a daughter was different from a girlfriend.

The limo pulled up in front of an East Side high-rise coop. One of the uniformed doormen stepped to the curb and opened the door. Sabrina accepted his assistance from the vehicle, then waited for Cal to lead the way inside. She’d worked for him for several years and thought she’d grown used to their difference in background and wealth, but occasionally obvious signs of his family’s impressive fortune intimidated her.

“I didn’t call to say we were coming,” she murmured as they stepped into the elegant foyer and walked to the elevators.

“I did. She’s in this morning. She has a lunch appointment, but I told her this wouldn’t take long.”

Sabrina smoothed her hair, then tugged on the skirt of her hunter green silk suit. It was the most expensive work outfit she owned and she’d brought it deliberately. No doubt Mrs. Langtry would consider her beneath notice—after all, she was just the hired help. But she also figured she would need all the confidence-boosting she could get.

Instead of opening into a hallway, the elevator doors pulled back to reveal a huge living room. Marble floors and glass tables reflected the light from outside…light that flowed in through floor-to-ceiling windows. Unlike Cal’s office view, this one didn’t show a flat world, but instead stretched across Central Park, to the equally impressive buildings on the other side. The windows on her left looked south, and Sabrina realized Mrs. Langtry not only had a penthouse, but one on the corner.

Must be nice to be the other half, she thought, before the click of approaching heels caught her attention.

A very elegant, very beautiful older woman swept into the room. She had to be in her late fifties, but she looked substantially younger. Sleekly styled brown hair hung to her shoulders. She was thin, well-dressed and had the air of one born to society and money. Sabrina instantly felt dowdy. Her instinct was to take a step back in the presence of someone so different. Instead, she forced herself to square her shoulders and stand her ground.

“Good morning, Calhoun,” his mother said. “You’re looking well. Taller than I remember. You get that from your father, of course. The Langtrys are always tall. We’ll talk in the morning room. It’s this way.” She motioned to a doorway on their right. “Your secretary can wait in the kitchen.” Mrs. Langtry offered Sabrina a slight smile. “It’s through there, dear. Just past the dining room. Cook will get you some coffee and maybe a pastry.”

Before she could move, Sabrina felt Cal’s hand on the small of her back. “That won’t be necessary, Mother. Sabrina isn’t my secretary, she’s my personal assistant. I don’t have any secrets from her. She’ll be joining us this morning.”

His mother’s expression didn’t change, but her nose twitched slightly as if she’d accidently inhaled an unpleasant odor. Sabrina resisted the urge to tell Cal she was more than happy to wait in the kitchen with Cook. For one thing, she would like to find out if Cook actually had a first name, and maybe even discover the gender of that person.

Nerves, she told herself. Okay, so she wasn’t a Langtry, but she was an Innis, and while they weren’t exactly top drawer, she’d graduated at the head of her class at UCLA. She was bright, funny and good at her job. So what if no one in her family was listed in the social registry?

“As you wish,” Mrs. Langtry said, and led the way.

Sabrina stared at the woman’s beige silk blouse. The fabric looked as if it was made from starlight, it was so smooth and flowing. Did the rich get fabric from a better class of silkworms? Did silk still come from worms? She would have to look that up when they got back to Texas.

The morning room was spacious and bright, with over-stuffed sofas and a low table set with coffee service. Sabrina saw there were only two cups. Mrs. Langtry pushed a button on the wall. When a young woman in a black dress with a starched white apron appeared, she ordered a third cup and some pastries.

Cal motioned for Sabrina to sit on one sofa. She was grateful when he settled next to her. She leaned close and whispered, “So do the afternoon and evening rooms get progressively bigger? I have no experience with this, you know. Back in California, we had one little old living room. It was good enough for the likes of us.”

Cal grinned. “I’ll fill you in on architecture of the rich on the way back to the hotel. It’s pretty interesting.”

“I’ll bet.”

She glanced up and saw Mrs. Langtry frowning. Sabrina doubted the older woman had heard any part of their conversation, so she must be unhappy with their obvious familiarity. She thought about telling Cal’s mother that there was nothing going on between them, nor was that ever going to change, but she figured the woman wouldn’t believe her, and even if she did, she would pretend not to care.

The maid returned with a third cup, then quietly left the room, closing the door behind her.

Mrs. Langtry poured coffee. She handed Cal his black, then looked expectantly at Sabrina. “Sugar? Cream?”

“Cream, please.”

Mrs. Langtry complied, then held out the cup. When Sabrina took it, the older woman’s attention turned back to her son. “I still think whatever you want to discuss would be better done in private.”

“Sabrina knows it all, Mother. Well, not all. Obviously there are secrets even I’m not aware of, but those are the exception. After all, who do you think worked out the details of paying off Tracey’s last husband?”

Mrs. Langtry’s mouth pursed. “I see.”

Sabrina resisted the urge to hunch down on the seat. But she had been the one to take care of Tracey’s problem. Cal’s older sister had a bad habit of falling for men who were only interested in her money. She’d been married six times and had had an assortment of lovers, all of whom used her, taking what they could and leaving as soon as the funds dried up.

It was sad, she thought to herself. All this money and no one was happy. She remembered Ada’s comments about Cal’s mother being a cold witch. What no one could figure out was, had her husband fooled around because life was icy at home, or had his philandering caused the chill in the first place? Considering how they’d been raised, maybe it wasn’t surprising the Langtry children hadn’t found marital bliss, or even a decent relationship.