Her Man Friday(44)
Author: Elizabeth Bevarly

"Maybe I don’t feel like playing anymore," she said. But there was no venom, no surly adolescent anger, tainting the comment.

He wondered if she had intended for the remark to have a double meaning, then decided that, even though she was obviously brighter than the average kid, she probably hadn’t.

"Well, then," he said. "I suppose that will be my loss, won’t it?"

She studied him in silence again, until the moment began to stretch taut, making Leo feel more than a little awkward. So with another hastily offered, "Miss Sandusky," he spun around again and made his way out, pushing thoughts of Chloe Sandusky and her oeuvre to the back of his brain. The last thing he needed right now was to be bewitched, bothered, and befuddled by a child genius.

Because God knew he had plenty of other things to bewitch, bother, and befuddle him right now. His phony identity. Kimball’s booby-trapped files. Fifty million missing dollars. Lily Rigby’s delectable underwear. Man, his work never seemed to end.

Seating himself in front of Schuyler Kimball’s computer one more time—for all the good it would do—Leo went back to work.

Chapter Twelve

Schuyler still couldn’t quite figure out how his darling Lily had talked him into this one. Although he’d been paying the bills for the Van Meter Academy ever since Chloe Sandusky had come to live with him, he’d never even glimpsed the place in person. Or, rather, in edifice. Or, more accurately, in mausoleum. Because that was exactly what the place looked like. Only not an expensive mausoleum where Joe Dimaggio might send roses to a tragic blonde for all eternity, but a cut-rate mausoleum where people took their pets to be entombed.

Hesitant to get out of his car, even though his driver, Claudio, would be watching every step he took, Schuyler stole a few moments to gaze at the dilapidated building that overlooked Fairmont Park in the heart of Philadelphia. Some distance across the vast expanse of green space, high up on a hill on the other side, glowing like an amber jewel in the setting sun, stood the Philadelphia Museum of Fine Art. The Van Meter Academy was like a smaller version of that building, complete with frieze and columns and wide marble stairs—except that the Van Meter Academy was…

Schuyler twisted his lips in distaste. Where the museum was pristine and beautiful and in very good shape, the school Chloe attended was… He sighed again. Was in shape that was considerably… less good.

Thinking back, he supposed he probably should have checked the place out before enrolling Chloe, but the Van Meter Academy had come so very highly recommended by everyone he’d spoken to. And besides, he really hadn’t wanted to be bothered with the matter of the girl’s education any more than he had to be. Still, for what he was paying for this place, it ought to be gilded in gold, its steps encrusted with precious gems. He couldn’t imagine where the money would be going otherwise.

He uttered a sound of discontent, then tapped on the smoked glass separating him from his driver. "Claudio," he said, "I’m ready to go in now."

Within seconds his door was swept open from outside, and Schuyler unfolded himself into the warm-hued, red-tinted light of early evening. He buttoned up his jacket as he went, his gaze still fixed on the Romanesque-looking structure before him. "Keep an eye on things, will you?" he asked the driver, as he always did whenever he left the security of his limo.

Claudio was, of course, much, much more than a driver, as anyone who gazed upon the hulking six-foot-six, two-hundred-and-fifty-pound man would probably surmise. His various roles, in addition to chauffeur, included bodyguard, navigator, storyteller, shrink, astrologer, meteorologist and, at the odd moments when the occasion arose, he made a damned fine margarita. Schuyler would be lost without him. Claudio was almost as important to the billionaire as Lily was.

Almost.

"No problem, Mr. Kimball," Claudio replied.

He closed the door behind Schuyler and followed him up the stairs, buttoning his own double-breasted blazer as he went. To the untrained eye, the two of them might well have been visiting educators or fathers of two of the students. Except that educators didn’t usually wear Ungaro suits, and fathers of students didn’t generally carry MAC-10 pistols under their jackets.

Not that Schuyler was armed. Good heavens, no. He paid other people good money to be armed for him.

Six o’clock marked the end of the working day for most people, but evidently not for Mrs. Caroline Beecham. Because six o’clock was the time Lily had designated—no, threatened—Schuyler should show up at the woman’s office. Actually, what she had told him was that if he didn’t attend this meeting with the headmistress—he savored the word as it unrolled in his mind—then Lily would, quite simply, emasculate him.

Of course Lily hadn’t actually said she’d emasculate him. Oh, no. She’d used infinitely more colorful language than that. Sometimes he wondered why he kept her on, the surly wench. Lucky for her she was so damned darling. Not to mention essential.

He found Caroline Beecham’s office easily enough, seeing as how it was right inside the front door, straight ahead, with a sign that looked freshly painted proclaiming director in big, black letters. So Schuyler strode toward it, indicating Claudio should wait for him on a bench outside, one normally reserved, he supposed, for recalcitrant gifted children.

As he lifted his fist and rapped three times in quick succession on Mrs. Beecham’s door, Schuyler wondered how many hours Chloe had passed on that bench. Probably not as many as he’d spent on a similar one when he was fourteen. Of course, he hadn’t been able to attend some tony school for gifted kids when he’d been a gifted kid himself. No, he’d had to make do with the public school system instead. No one had even realized, when he was fourteen, what he was capable of accomplishing. No one had cared to find out.

In fact, no one had given much thought to Schuyler at all in those days. Not until he’d been tested just before college. And even then, no one had really encouraged him beyond filling out endless reams of scholarship applications. It wasn’t until, oh… all that wonderful money had started flowing in, that people began to pay him much mind. But once they’d all begun to understand exactly what he was capable of creating, once they’d realized his inherent value could potentially rise right into the ten-figure range… Well, by golly, then suddenly everybody was interested in Schuyler Kimball.

Lily, of course, hadn’t been like the others then. Nor was she now. Her interest in him had far predated any kind of promising future he might have. And her interest in him had never been financial in nature. Well, not really. Not the way the others had been interested.