Millionaire's Women Part 42

"You sound like an expert."

"Do I?" She shrugged, the movement drawing his attention to her creamy shoulders covered only by a gauze wrap. "Actually, it's been a long time since I've been to a symphony. I listen on the radio sometimes. Do you come very often?"

"Occasionally." The light from the chandelier caused her silver dress to gleam, making it difficult not to stare at her-as he noticed several other men blatantly doing. He put his hand on her elbow and directed her toward the bar. "Some of the people I do business with sponsor the symphony. I have to make an appearance once in a while. Would you like some champagne?"

She gazed at him searchingly. "Do you ever do anything just for fun?"

She sounded half disapproving, half curious. "There's no time for fun if you want to succeed in business," he told her. "You're competing to stay alive in a ruthless environment. But the reward is huge."

She accepted a gla.s.s of champagne from him but didn't drink. "Money, you mean?"

He nodded.

Her mouth formed a little moue of distaste, drawing his gaze to her pursed lips, but before she could say anything, a booming voice called his name. Turning, he saw Ethel Palermo bulldozing her way through the crowd, her meek little husband, George, trailing behind. With an inward sigh, he introduced Eleanor, but Ethel paid little attention.

"Is your sister here?" she demanded.

"I haven't seen her."

"Hmmph." Ethel's snort was full of disapproval. "I talked to her this afternoon. She said she was leaving on a cruise tomorrow and had to finish packing. I reminded her how important it is to support the symphony, and she said she would try to come."

"Maybe Doreen succ.u.mbed to one of her headaches," Garek said. "She has them frequently, you know." Most frequently when faced with the thought of spending three hours at the symphony.

"Hmmph." Ethel adjusted the diamond tiara nestled in her silver, beehive hairdo, then inspected Eleanor with sharp eyes. "Eleanor Hernandez? I've never heard of you."

With an easy smile, Eleanor responded, "There's no reason you should have."

To Garek's surprise, she continued, conversing pleasantly with the older woman. After just a few minutes, Ethel was telling "Ellie" about her three sons-all of them ungrateful slobs-her daughter-a constant source of disappointment-and her ten grandchildren-all amazingly beautiful, intelligent and talented. When Ethel revealed that the oldest showed a remarkable talent for art, Ellie mentioned her gallery experience and talked about ways to encourage the child.

"Although talent is often inherited, it must be nurtured," she said seriously. "Are you or your husband creative?"

Ethel nodded. "I've always liked art. And George plays the violin."

Ellie turned to George, a smile lighting her face. "You do? My father also played. What did you think of the soloist?"

"I thought his improvisation was weak. It lacked pa.s.sion."

"Oh, no! The pa.s.sion was there. It was just very restrained-very subtle."

"Subtle?" A spark lit up George's normally glazed blue eyes and his nasal tw.a.n.g grew more p.r.o.nounced. "Nonexistent, I thought..."

Perhaps it was just a fluke, Garek thought as he listened to George happily dissecting the performances of the whole orchestra, that Ellie had managed to charm the most difficult couple in Chicago.

But the same thing happened with the Branwells, the biggest sn.o.bs west of the Mississippi, and again with the Mitch.e.l.ls, a couple whose doomsday conversation would scare even the most determined optimist.

"You seem to be enjoying yourself," he said in a neutral tone of voice when they were alone for a moment.

"Yes, I am."

"You certainly handled the Palermos well. I've seen veteran society hostesses tottering off in a daze after an encounter with them."

"Oh?" She rearranged her shawl over her arms. "I found them very interesting."

"Interesting?" He couldn't keep the disbelief from his tone. "George and Ethel Palermo?"

She tilted her chin a little. "Yes-why not? George is virtually an expert on the symphony, and Ethel had a lot of interesting insights on her family."

"And the Branwells and the Mitch.e.l.ls? Did you find them interesting, interesting, as well?" as well?"

She nodded, then looked at someone behind him. He turned to see Jack Phillips, an old business acquaintance, approaching-along with a tall, thin blonde dressed in black satin.

"Garek, darling!" Amber Bellair cooed. "Where have you been? I haven't seen you in ages!"

Garek shrugged and performed the introductions.

Amber looked Ellie up and down dismissively, then turned back to Garek. "Why don't you ever call me anymore? I've been terribly lonely."

"You told me you never wanted to see my face again."

"Darling...I was joking. joking. You can always call me." She drew a French-manicured fingernail down his chest. "Anytime." You can always call me." She drew a French-manicured fingernail down his chest. "Anytime."

"Sorry, Amber, that won't be possible." From the corner of his eye, Garek watched Eleanor smile at something Jack said to her. "I'm very busy."

"Busy with Ms. Hernandez, I suppose."

He turned his gaze back to Amber's narrow, aristocratic features. "I'm sponsoring an art foundation through the gallery where she works," he said evenly. "Our relationship is purely professional."

Her mouth curled in a sneer for the blink of an eye, then disappeared, leaving her face smooth and blank. "I understand."

What she understood was questionable, but the bell sounded, cutting off their conversation. The crowd started moving toward the theater doors.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Jack." Ellie's warm smile faded only slightly when she turned to Amber. "And you, too, Ms. Bellair."

Amber waved her hand carelessly, barely glancing away from Garek. "Darling, when you get tired of...working so hard, give me a call."

She strolled off, and Garek escorted Eleanor toward the theater doors.

"Ms. Bellair is a good friend of yours?" Ellie's voice was almost as cool as Amber's had been.

"Not exactly." He tried to increase their pace, but the crowd made it impossible. "We dated for a while."

"But you broke up?"

"She was getting a little too...serious."

"I understand," she said, in much the same tone as Amber had a few minutes ago. He looked at her sharply.

Her expression was bland. "You don't want to give up being Chicago's Most Eligible Bachelor."

He flinched as she said the stupid t.i.tle out loud. "Hardly," he snapped.

She made a slight choking noise. She didn't smile, but her eyes gave her away, and he scowled. "It's not funny," he told her.

"No, of course not," she agreed, coughing.

"That idiotic newspaper article has caused me more grief than you can possibly imagine." He stepped back to allow her to precede him into the row.

She didn't move, the laughter in her gaze gone. In its place glimmered a different emotion, a softness...sympathy?

She touched his arm lightly. "Money must be an awful burden in your relationships."

The muscles in his forearm contracted at the brush of her fingertips, even as he blinked at her words. He'd always found money to be a great advantage. "Why would you say that?"

"Because...oh, I'm so sorry, ma'am!" Ellie stepped forward into the row of seats to allow a woman with sharp elbows to pa.s.s.

Garek followed Ellie, turning sideways, to shuffle past the patrons already seated. He waited until they reached their own seats before asking again, "Why would you say that?"

"What? Oh," she whispered as the lights dimmed and the curtain rose, "just that it must be terrible to have women interested in you only because of your money."

The music started, and she turned her attention to the stage.

Ignoring the opening strains, Garek stared down at her.

Amber obviously hadn't believed him when he said his relationship with Ellie was purely professional, but it was true. He would never be interested in someone as venal as Eleanor Hernandez-she was merely a means to an end.

Still, he couldn't help feeling a niggling annoyance, as he sat through the second half of the concert, that she would a.s.sume that women were interested in him only only because of his money. because of his money.

Chapter Five.

Garek took Ellie to a French restaurant the following week. The tuxedoed waiter seated them in the atrium, a secluded area lit by candles, decorated with flowers and featuring a magnificent view of the city skyline. The decor was elegant, the clientele exclusive and the prices exorbitant.

Naturally, Ellie thought wryly as she ate wild Atlantic salmon and Alsacestyle cabbage and listened to Garek explain a few details of the art foundation. He was obviously used to the best. Which boded well for the foundation. He would make it a success, she was positive. She should be deliriously happy. And she would be, if it weren't for one thing. Him.

She looked at the hard angles of his face, listened to the authority in his voice as he recited facts and figures. He had the kind of self-confidence that came from knowing he could make his own way in the world without out help from anybody. She might have admired the trait, envied it, even-if she hadn't met his ex-girlfriend. It was hard to envy a man who'd been involved with a woman whose eyes were as cold and calculating as Amber Bellair's.

"Any questions?" he asked as the waiter set plates of chocolate-raspberry torte in front of them.

A million, she thought, glancing away from his strong features. Were all the women he knew like Amber Bellair? Did they all look at him like an investor a.s.sessing a potentially profitable enterprise? Were they all like painted photographs, flat and artificial?

"No," she said, fiddling with her fork.

"I received the a.s.sistant's report. She said you've been extremely busy this last week."

Ellie nodded. Preparing for the silent auction and the show took a lot of time. She'd been able to quit her housecleaning jobs since Garek was paying her a generous salary-almost too generous. She couldn't quite shake the suspicion that he had some ulterior motive. But although she'd tried several times to question him, he remained evasive. He wasn't one to reveal a lot about himself.

"Would you like to go over the budget figures?" he asked.

"No, thank you."

His eyebrows rose.

"I've always preferred art and music to math, "she felt compelled to say. "Balance sheets give me a headache."

"Didn't you say Martina was studying business?" he asked. "Perhaps she could go over the numbers for you."

He'd met her cousin when he'd picked Ellie up earlier that evening, and they'd seemed to hit it off immediately. Martina had tossed her mane of long dark hair and smiled flirtatiously at Garek while Ellie got her coat. "You better snap him up quick, El," Martina had whispered in her ear before they left, "or someone else will. If only I didn't have a boyfriend!"

Ellie picked up her fork. "That's really not necessary," she murmured to Garek before taking a bite of the torte.

"You think she won't be able to understand it?"

Ellie bristled immediately. "I'm sure she would. She's graduating in June, a year early. She's absolutely brilliant."

"Is that so?" His mouth curved upward at her defense of Martina, but he didn't pursue the subject of the budget. "Martina said you're from Philadelphia," he said instead.

"Did she?" What else had her cousin said? Ellie wondered uneasily.

"Do your parents still live there?"

"They died in a car accident when I was thirteen."

She said it matter-of-factly, but the long-ago loss still had the power to cause a dull ache in her heart.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "That must have been difficult for you."

She turned away from his steady gaze and looked out the window at the city lights sparkling in the cold, dark night. She didn't want him to be sympathetic. "Fortunately, I had relatives who took me in." She looked back at Garek and forced herself to smile. "What about your family?"

"My father died of a heart attack eight years ago. My mother remarried and moved to Florida a few years later. I rarely see her. There's just my sister and me. And my fifteen-year-old niece."

Her breath caught. Even less did she want to feel sympathy for him. him. But it was impossible not to. He recited the facts as unemotionally as she had, but she knew only too well how pain could be hidden under a facade. But it was impossible not to. He recited the facts as unemotionally as she had, but she knew only too well how pain could be hidden under a facade.

"Are you close to your niece and sister?" she asked, resisting a foolish urge to reach across the table and touch his hand.

He shrugged. "I don't have a lot of time. Work keeps me busy."

His response should have banished all sympathy for him, but it didn't. After her parents died, she'd lived with her grandfather, but she'd called her aunt and uncle and cousins almost every day and stayed with them every summer. They'd filled a terrible void in her life. Apparently Garek's business had performed that function for him.

But that was his choice, she reminded herself. He could have chosen to reach out to his sister and niece. "You should make time," she said quietly.

He sipped his coffee. "Thinking of starting an advice column?"

She ignored his gentle mockery. "I think it's a mistake to put work before family."