Leanne Banks - Footloose

“Good evening, Amelia.”

“Good evening, Mrs. Bellagio,” she responded, turning toward her temporary boss.

“Did Brooke cause trouble this afternoon?”

“No, ma’am. She didn’t eat anything, but I did get her to drink some water. She watched some television and fell asleep.”

Lillian sighed and rubbed her forehead. “I just don’t know what we’re going to do with her. She doesn’t seem to grasp the responsibilities of being a Bellagio. When she became engaged, we were hoping she would settle down, but that just wasn’t to be.”

“She’s very personable,” Amelia said, feeling the need, for some undetermined reason, to say something positive about Brooke.

“She didn’t insult you?” Lillian asked in surprise.

Amelia supposed she could have been insulted by the topless comment or the junior league statement, but she’d been too busy trying to remain neutral. “She was friendly. She invited me to watch television with her.”

“I’m sure that was enriching,” Lillian said in a dry tone. “If she were just a little more levelheaded and practical, like you, I don’t think she would get into so much trouble.” Lillian studied Amelia for a long moment. “Perhaps if you could spend some time with her. Mentor her—”

“Mentor?” Amelia echoed, her self-protective instincts raging. “I don’t think I would be a good person for that. I’m not sure I could teach her anything. Plus, mentoring suggests that the mentee actually wants to learn something from the mentor. On top of that, Brooke is much more worldly than I am.”

“But that’s part of the problem. She needs a different perspective. She needs to be with different people, sensible people.”

“You fit that bill,” Amelia said. “You’re her great-aunt. You’re the perfect person for that.”

“In other circumstances. But Brooke thinks I’m an irrelevant old bag.”

“After our first meeting, I don’t think she views me as particularly relevant, either.”

“I’ll give you a bonus,” Lillian said.

“Excuse me?”

“I’ll give you a bonus if you’ll help Brooke.”

The woman was desperate. Amelia suspected that Lillian Bellagio was rarely desperate. Amelia also understood her own limitations. “Mrs. Bellagio, as much as I would like to help you, I absolutely do not want the future of my career at Bellagio affected or determined by Brooke Tarantino. I would be horrified if she did something on my clock that upset you or the rest of her family.”

“How about if you just take her to lunch a couple of times, spend an hour or so with her a few afternoons? I won’t hold you responsible for anything she does,” Lillian promised. “This will just be part of your duties and I’ll make sure you have extra time off. There, that’s much better, isn’t it? We can discuss it more thoroughly in the morning. Enjoy your evening, dear.”

Amelia caught a wisp of Lillian’s Chanel Number 5 as the woman whirled away. As she slowly walked toward her own suite, Amelia couldn’t help feeling a big fat knot of dread in her stomach.

It was obvious that all the Bellagios knew that Brooke wasn’t just a ticking time bomb. She was a truckful of ticking time bombs, a caravan of trucks of ticking time bombs.

Maybe this gig down in the Florida Keys hadn’t been such a good idea after all. Amelia entered her bedroom and closed the door behind her. On the dresser, a light flashed from her cell phone. She picked it up and listened to the message.

“It’s Jack. I’m still here if you want to get together. Give me a call.”

Her heart jumped at the sound of his voice. Lillian’s description of her echoed in her head. Levelheaded, practical, sensible.

A woman who fit that description would never return Jack’s call.

Amelia counted to ten for her sanity check, then dialed his number.

“I’VE DECIDED THEY’RE aliens,” Amelia said to Jack as they walked the private man-made beach outside the condo where he was staying. She was ridiculously happy that he hadn’t left and she’d nearly had to tie her hands behind her back to keep from wrapping her arms around him and hugging him when he’d driven up to the estate. He probably would have looked at her as if she were the alien.

Jack laughed. “Who? The Bellagios?”

Amelia nodded. “They look human, normal, even beautiful on the outside, but on the inside they’re aliens. What am I supposed to do with Brooke Tarantino that someone else hasn’t tried?”

“I don’t know. Teach her something she hasn’t learned.”

“She’s an heiress. What have I possibly done that she hasn’t?”

“Stayed out of trouble. Lived within a budget.”

Amelia threw him a dark look. “She doesn’t appear interested in learning how to do either of those things.”

“Well, what about all that domestic stuff your mother taught you when you were growing up? Cooking, being polite, knitting.” He snapped his fingers. “I’ll tell you what you could teach Brooke that she hasn’t learned. How to keep a low profile.”

Amelia thought for a moment. “I don’t know. Knitting,” she said. “Do you really think it would be a good idea to give that woman sharp instruments?”

“Afraid the alien will come after you?” he teased.

“Or Lillian. They hate each other.”

“Really?” he asked. “Strong word.”

“Maybe not hate, but I am definitely not feeling the warmth from either of them. More like resentment from Brooke and desperation from Lillian.”

“Desperation?”

“I know,” she said. “I never would have associated that word with her, but I saw it in her eyes. I almost wish I could help, but this one is definitely beyond me.”

“You’ll figure something out. So what have you crossed off your list since the last time I saw you?”

“Nothing, really,” she admitted reluctantly. “But it seems like I often cross off several things when I’m with you.”

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