designs.”
She sniffed. “You’ve fiddled for years. You’re relatively intelligent, after all. With three PhD’s, don’t you think it’s time to stop fiddling and do something useful?”
Like plan your disgrace and ruin, perhaps? “I’m working on patenting some of them,” he said vaguely. Let her think he was a vacuous idiot. He no longer cared. Her days were numbered anyway.
“Where on earth is the domestic staff, Marcus?” she demanded. “This place is becoming a sty. The terms of Titus’s will gave you and Faris the right to reside at Worthington House for life, but remember that the place does not actually belong to you. And it never will.”
“I’m well aware of that,” Marcus said. He had, in fact, dismissed the staff months ago in preparation for the Blessed Event, which required utter privacy, to say nothing of the obtrusive presence of several armed professionals. He’d never dreamed it would drag out so long. He was tired of the dust and cobwebs himself. Another inconvenience to lay at Margaret Callahan’s door. Bitch.
“If the place falls to ruin, I will take legal action. And now, if you can drag your attention away from your toys, I have a real job for you.”
Marcus’s stomach tightened, but his smile simply widened. He’d always been good at masks. “Of course.”
“Dr. Driscoll will be leaving his post as lab director. He’s going back to Boston, for health reasons. His place will be taken by Dr. Seymour Haight, who is flying in from Baltimore tomorrow. His plane stops in Seattle for one night. The next day he’ll fly to San Francisco.”
Marcus nodded. Priscilla enjoyed humiliating him by giving him assignments more suited for a low-ranking social secretary. It was all she thought he was fit for. That, and holding Faris’s leash, of course.
“I want you to organize his welcome,” Priscilla went on. “Arrange for lab security to have his enrollment data entered into the system. Highest security clearance. And have Driscoll’s deleted immediately.”
“Of course.” He was glad he had avoided having sex with Driscoll after all. The event would have lost all its power, all its meaning.
“Arrange for housing, and a limo to pick him up at the airport.”
“I’ll need his flight info and contact numbers,” Marcus said.
Priscilla waved her hand vaguely. “Ask my staff. Melissa or Frederico should have the contact data. Tell them to arrange a dinner date for him with me that evening, too. The rooftop restaurant at the Halsey Crowne, that should be nice. Oh, yes, another thing. Where on earth is Faris? I haven’t seen him lurking about in weeks.”
“He’s mountain climbing in the north Cascades,” he said. “He loves climbing. It’s good for him. Keeps him emotionally balanced.”
“Climbing? Unsupervised?” Priscilla’s brows snapped together. “Titus and I only permitted Faris’s release from Creighton Hills on the strict condition that you would monitor him constantly!”
“Faris is under control,” Marcus soothed. “He’s taking his meds regularly. I talk to him several times a day on my cell phone.”
“I don’t care! Get him back here immediately! I cannot risk any embarrassing incidents, particularly not after Driscoll’s little scandal! The one useful function that you serve around here is to keep an eye on Faris. If you can’t even handle that much responsibility—”
“I’ll have him come home immediately,” Marcus assured her.
“Do that,” she said crisply. “I am leaving myself this week to spend a month in our lab in Frankfurt. I won’t have time to orient Dr. Haight myself, beyond our dinner date. Please do what you can.”
Such as that is, being the all-too-clear subtext.
“Of course,” Marcus murmured.
She swept out the door. Maurice’s hulking form shadowed her.
So much for Driscoll. Marcus peeled the glove off his hand and tossed the ragged, transparent scrap into the waste bin. He took the corpselike rubbery hand, grabbed a pair of scissors, and began cutting it into pieces, imagining that the hand was Priscilla’s. Heard shrieks in his mind with each snip of the blades. Chunk after chunk after chunk.
He was back almost to zero. Access to the holy of holies required the tandem cooperation of Priscilla Worthington and the lab director. Priscilla’s mold was still lost, and Seymour Haight was an unknown.
But Faris was in Seattle. Something had to be improvised, and quickly. There was no time left for the careful planning he’d done to obtain Driscoll’s mold. And Priscilla was leaving. It was now or never.
The obvious solution was to obtain a new mold, but seducing Priscilla was not an option. She loathed him, for one thing, and for another, even Marcus’s own practical attitude towards sexuality had its limits. Priscilla’s rabid security staff would not let poor Faris anywhere near her. And though she did indulge occasionally, Priscilla was far too intelligent and self-protective to be taken in by a hired gigolo.
Craig Caruso had managed it, though how he’d found the courage to have sex with that cast iron bitch, Marcus would never know. Perhaps the ten million dollars Marcus had promised had kept his dick hard enough to perform the task. Marcus shuddered at the thought.
His buyer had lost patience, after eight long months of waiting. The plan was falling apart before his eyes. Years of his life, millions of his own private money, invested in this perfect mating of profit and revenge. All blocked, because of Margaret Callahan.
He had to light a fire under Faris. He wanted this to end.
Sean’s truck was parked right in the middle of the driveway, leaving no room for Davy’s own vehicle. It wasn’t the first time. His youngest brother was careless and distracted. He also liked to make his presence felt. Usually Davy just blew it off with a philosophical sigh.
Tonight, his nerves on edge, it bugged the living shit out of him.
He parked up the street from his house and sat there for a while, staring through the trees at the lights from Mercer Island, rippling on the dark waters of Lake Washington. Struggling to pull himself together. It had been way too long since he’d gotten laid.
Humiliating, to reduce it to that, but he was a grim realist about the effects of protracted celibacy. Six months, not that he was counting, since Beth laid down the law. He’d liked Beth a lot, and appreciated the hell out of her fine qualities, but he hadn’t been up to buying her a ring.
He’d tried to make that point clear from the outset, but Beth hadn’t gotten it. Women never did. They insisted on taking it personally and getting their feelings hurt, every fucking time. He wished he could put the whole sex melodrama aside and focus on other things, but his body had other ideas. He hadn’t been able to strike a truce with it yet.
Then again, this wasn’t the prodding of generalized horniness. Steffi, the previous aerobics instructor at Women’s Wellness had been a honey-blonde with a body worthy of a centerfold spread, but she’d never inspired him to babble or grope. He’d casually considered having sex with Steffi—it had been clear that she was more than willing—but she was so damned bouncy. And her nasal voice had grated his nerves.
