but had decided to give her a few more days. After all, he’d been waiting for this for thirty-one years. He could conduct business anywhere and Bellagio’s grande dame could be useful.
She hadn’t invited him to her home or to a restaurant in town. No. She still didn’t want the public to know of his existence, but it didn’t bother him. Jack was accustomed to being a dirty secret.
He researched the address she’d given him and learned it belonged to a cottage Lillian owned. She allowed a longtime friend to operate a catering business out of it.
Jack wore a Brooks Brothers suit that fit him perfectly due to his demanding tailor’s specifications, Bellagio shoes and a gold watch. Everything about the way he looked spelled success. He knew it because he had earned it, bought it and paid for it.
Arriving five minutes early for their appointment, he allowed himself to be led inside by a thin woman with iron gray hair and neutral gray eyes. She offered him tea, coffee or lemonade but he politely passed and wandered to the back verandah, where a table was set with a white tablecloth, fine china, crystal and sterling silver.
He couldn’t help thinking the plastic placemats and veneer table his mother had bought at a yard sale were worlds apart from this. He was worlds apart.
He’d been a scrawny, skinny, illegitimate Irish-Italian kid with a mother who favored illegal drugs over feeding and clothing him. Swearing under his breath at the beautifully tended hedges that provided privacy, he felt a sudden tightness in his chest—a suffocating sensation he’d felt too often when he’d been a kid.
Glancing at his watch and noting that Mrs. Bellagio was now fifteen minutes late, he decided to leave. The old bag would have to get her fun jerking some other poor fool’s chain. He headed for the front of the house in time to hear a car door close. Out the window, he saw the gray-haired woman embrace Lillian Bellagio and Lillian return the hug.
That surprised him. From what he’d heard about her, the southern belle who had captured the heart and bank account of Dario Bellagio would eat her young. Maybe that was why her son had moved to the west coast to pursue a career in research and education. Instead of joining the family shoe empire, Lillian’s precious son had turned up his nose at the idea of working for Bellagio, much to the grave disappointment of both Lillian and Dario.
“Life’s a bitch,” Jack muttered under his breath. “And I’m getting ready to meet the top she-dog of them all.”
He returned to the patio in the back and took a seat. Within a moment, Lillian, every white hair in place and dressed in a crisp navy dress, navy shoes and bag, stepped toward him.
He stood, but waited for Lillian to speak first.
“Jack, I’m Lillian Bellagio.” She extended her hand. “Please forgive my tardiness. I had to address an unexpected matter at home.”
He accepted her hand and gently shook it, looking into her eyes. She was warmer than he’d expected. His mother had always told him how cold she was.
“Forgiven,” he said, because her tardiness was the least of her sins. “I’ve looked forward to meeting you.”
She gave a slight nod, as if she wasn’t sure she could say the same. “Please have a seat. Margaret will bring us tea. Or do you prefer coffee?”
“Coffee, thank you,” he said, sitting down.
“Margaret, darling, would you please get Mr. O’Connell some coffee? Would you like a cappuccino or latte?”
“Black will work,” he said, studying her. She had a fluid natural grace and at the same time she emanated good breeding and energy. Despite the fact that she was impeccably groomed, her facial features were anything but fixed. He would guess that she could be charming when she felt inclined.
He also knew she could get hostile when defending her turf. Talking with Amelia had given Jack a big advantage. He knew Lillian’s sore spot—her crushing disappointment that the heir she had produced for Bellagio had thumbed his nose at the family company and headed west. Worse yet, from what Amelia had told him, Junior only visited Lillian every other year at the most.
Margaret delivered coffee, tea and pastries on a tray. “Thank you, dear,” Lillian said and fixed her cup of tea. “That may still be a little too hot,” she murmured, then looked up at him and took a deep breath.
He felt her gaze travel from his hair to his eyebrows, lingering on his eyes, over his cheeks and nose, down to his mouth, chin and shoulders. Her expression was cool and assessing.
“You have the Bellagio hair, eyes and mouth.” Her mouth twisted in a half smile. “You did better in the height department than your father.”
“My mother’s brother and father were both over six feet tall.”
She nodded. “Then I suppose you can thank her for those genes.”
“A little late for that since she’s dead.”
She nodded, her smile fading, her mouth tightening. “So she is. Please accept my condolences.”
“I might,” he said, feeling a nick of impatience. “If I thought you were remotely sincere.”
She parted her lips in a half breath of surprise before she recovered. “My lack of affection for your mother is understandable.”
He nodded. “Is it understandable that you kept me from meeting my father?”
She looked down at her lap for a long moment. “Understandable, perhaps.” She picked up her cup and set it down. “Not forgivable.”
That was when he knew he had her. Lillian Bellagio felt guilty and needed to assuage that guilt. Jack knew exactly how to help her.
She took a small sip of her tea. “From what I’ve heard, it appears you may have inherited some of Dario’s business acumen.”
“I don’t know much about inheriting anything, Mrs. Bellagio, but I do understand hard work.”
“Jack, many people work hard. Very few reach your level, especially coming from your circumstances. Before I supported Marc Waterson’s proposal to the board that Bellagio agree to your offer to provide venture capital for the redesign of the men’s activewear shoe line, I made a few calls. I know your net worth, the deals you’ve made, your business associates, your friends and enemies and your real estate holdings.”
“What made you decide to vote in favor of accepting me as Bellagio’s money man?”
“Because I know you’re not nearly as detached as you present yourself. You’ve bought and sold a South American shoe company, I suspect for learning purposes. You’ve purchased an accessory line that has the potential to complement Bellagio’s existing products.” She smiled. “You also attended a workshop on how to make shoes. How did yours turn out?”
He shouldn’t have been surprised at her thorough investigation of him. “Not bad. I wear them around the house. Did you also learn how many cavities I’ve had filled?”
“If the gene gods were good and you brushed your teeth when you were a child, then you probably don’t have very many. Bellagios have great teeth. I don’t apologize for investigating you and your background.”
