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One
“No gold-digging for me… I take diamonds! We may be off the gold standard someday.”
—Mae West
THERE WERE TWO TYPES of people, Jayne Scott told herself as she hurried from the waiting car toward the international terminal at the Los Angeles airport. Those who skated through life never spilling coffee on themselves, or tripping, or showing up at the wrong time for the wrong event. And the rest of the world. As she dabbed at the growing damp spot on her shirt, left by her grande nonfat latte, Jayne knew exactly into which camp she fell.
She scanned the crowded arrivals area, ignoring the dozens of different languages, the happy families reuniting, the couples in love. Instead, she looked for a tall, beautiful blonde with an excessive amount of luggage and a half dozen or so minions. Seconds later she spotted two porters with overflowing luggage carts, a burly guy with a briefcase chained to his wrist, and a head-turning woman wearing leather pants and a leopard duster. Rebecca always did like to make an entrance.
Jayne waited until her friend spotted her, then waved.
“I’m late,” Rebecca called, then hurried forward and hugged her. “I got stuck in customs. They thought I was a jewel thief. Don’t you love that?”
“Anyone offer to do a strip search?” Jayne asked, hugging her back and inhaling a custom-blended floral perfume.
Rebecca straightened and wrinkled her nose. “No, and I didn’t want anyone to.”
“No one cute enough?”
“Pretty much. Jayne, this is Hans, my bodyguard.”
The burly guy barely made eye contact before returning to scanning the crowd.
Jayne glanced at the briefcase in his hand. “You couldn’t use a courier service like everyone else?” she asked, leading the way to the waiting limo. “You had to bring them yourself?”
“That’s what the customs people said. They lack imagination.”
“Or maybe they were overwhelmed by seeing a couple million in loose gemstones.”
“I’m a jewelry designer. It’s what I do.”
“If you were a ship builder, would you travel with a three-ton hull?”
“Of course not. Ships are so last year,” Rebecca said, linking arms with Jayne. “Thanks for coming to meet me. I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too.”
They walked out to the waiting limo that Jayne had arranged. She’d known better than to bring her own car. Not only did Rebecca prefer to travel in style, there was no way all the luggage would fit in Jayne’s Jetta.
Rebecca stared at the vehicle with approval. “It’s a stretch limo.”
“I know you love them.”
“Wait until you see the place I rented in Santa Monica! It has a view of the ocean and everything. I’ll have to get a car, of course. Everyone needs a car in L.A.”
“You could just hire the limo permanently. It could go with you everywhere.”
Rebecca slid in the backseat, then looked up at her. “Now you’re mocking me.”
“I can’t help myself.” Jayne settled next to her. “Do you want to talk about your mother now or later?”
“How about never?”
“She’s the reason you’re back.”
“I’ve returned to announce myself,” Rebecca said, leaning back in the leather seat. “To reintroduce myself to society after a ten-year absence.”
“You’re here to be a pain in her ass.”
“That, too.”
“Rearranging your life to annoy your mother is expected at thirteen. At twenty-nine it’s just kind of sad.”
Rebecca turned to her. “Tragedy keeps my art fresh.”
“I see you’re still dramatic.”
“I see you’re still dressing badly.”
Jayne glanced down at the faded magenta scrub shirt she wore, now decorated by the latte stain. “I came straight from work.”
“Maybe something more tailored?”
“I’m a nurse, Rebecca. This is what I wear.”
Rebecca gave a little sniff, then pulled a bottle of water out of her carry-on.
She was the only person Jayne knew who could fly from Italy to L.A. and look ready to step into a photo shoot. Carefully highlighted blond hair hung past her shoulders in layered curls. Her skin was flawless, her lips full, and gold-and-diamond earrings, her own design, glittered as she moved.
Hans finished supervising the luggage being loaded into the trunk, then walked to the front passenger seat and slid in next to the driver.
“What about a workspace?” Jayne asked. “You’re not going to be making jewelry at the condo you rented, are you?”
Rebecca laughed. “I think the landlord would object to me melting gold in my living room. I’m going to look at a place in an industrial park.”
“You’re not the industrial-park type.”
“People grow and change, Jayne. I have.”
Jayne ignored the smug smile. “Is this where I remind you that you’re back in L.A. to piss off your mother?”
“Not if you love me. Speaking of the socially correct Mrs. Worden, how is Elizabeth?”
“Stuck in France.”
Rebecca raised her eyebrows. “Seriously? Did the private jet develop mechanical trouble? Are my parents being forced to fly commercial?”
“Nothing that dramatic. There’s fog. She and Blaine are delayed a few hours.” Jayne glanced at her watch. “Which means I asked the driver to drop me off at my place. I need to head to your parents’ house.”
“Why?”
“I have to open it up for David.”
Jayne was careful to keep looking at Rebecca as she spoke. Her friend might be self-absorbed, but she wasn’t stupid. Still, after nearly twelve years of keeping her secret, Jayne was an expert at making sure nothing ever showed.
It was foolish, really. One of those freak things that happen every now and then—like plane-grounding fog in France. Twelve years ago, at the age of sixteen, Jayne had gone on vacation with the Worden family. They’d spent the holidays at an exclusive resort in the Bahamas. The hotel had been fabulous, the weather perfect, but what Jayne remembered most was how she’d taken one look at David, Rebecca’s older brother, and fallen madly and completely in love.
Well, as completely as a sixteen-year-old could.
Since then, she’d seen him every couple of years. The conversations had been casual and friendly. Siblinglike. Because that’s how David saw her. As a sister.
Having him ignore her would have been better. At least then she could have held on to the fantasy that one day he would look up, finally notice her, and utter the classic, “Ms. Scott, you’re beautiful.” He didn’t even need to think she was beautiful, although it would be a nice little bonus. But no, he thought of her as a sister.
She’d overheard the damning truth about eight years ago, at a lovely Worden Christmas celebration. The tasteful party had included a few hundred of Elizabeth and Blaine’s closest friends. David had flown home, and Jayne had been all quivery at the thought of seeing him again.
She’d been supervising the catering staff, checking that everyone had enough stuffed puffs or caviar when she’d heard David’s girlfriend du jour asking who Jayne was.
“A friend of the family,” he said easily. “Has been for years. She’s nice. Sort of a second sister, without being a pain in the ass.”
And that had been that.
She’d consoled herself with the knowledge that at least he’d had good things to say about her. While “not a pain in the ass” wasn’t anything she wanted on her tombstone, it was nice. In a dismissive, I’ve-barely-noticed-you kind of way.
Now in the back of the limo, she reminded herself it was better this way. It was one thing for her to be friends with Rebecca and an unpaid part-time assistant to Elizabeth. It was quite another to get involved with the heir… or, as Rebecca loved to call him, the “young prince.”
Over time Jayne had accepted that her feelings were little more than an intense crush. But knowing they were irrational, and based on nothing but her personal vision of what she wanted David to be, didn’t make her knees tremble any less when he was around.
“Carmine can do it,” Rebecca said.
Carmine was the Wordens’ housekeeper.
“Carmine is visiting her daughter in Chicago.”
“Let me guess… Mother called and asked for your help.”
“A few hours ago. She had planned to be back this morning, but fate intervened.”
“You’re choosing her over me?”
“On nearly a daily basis.”
Rebecca pouted. “You’re my best friend. You can’t do what she says. You have to take my side.”
“It’s an hour,” Jayne said calmly, used to Rebecca’s tantrums and mostly immune to the guilt. “I’ll be by later. Besides, if I don’t do what Elizabeth asks, she’ll want to know why. If she starts asking questions, she might find out you’re back before you want her to.”
“I hate it when you use logic on me.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Fine. Go be dutiful. One of us should be. It’s a family thing.”
Jayne didn’t bother pointing out she wasn’t family. Not in any way that mattered, at least from their perspective. From hers, the Wordens were the closest thing she had to relatives, which made her relationship with all of them complicated.
The driver pulled off the freeway. Rebecca looked out the window. “You still live in your condo?”
“We can’t all have a vi...
