Rarities Unlimited 03 - Die in Plain Sight

last—proposal before we let the courts sort it out. Bliss won’t like it, but she’ll sign it. She just had to throw a public fit.”
    “Bottom line. What’s in it for us?”
    “We get to develop the hills above Riker and Artists Cove at forty percent of our original proposed density. The remainder of that parcel, approximately fourteen hundred acres, becomes Savoy State Park, the newest jewel in the California State Park system.”
    “That’s the best you can do? We give up a half a billion dollars worth of prime beachfront property and in return we get to develop a handful of houses with an ocean view you need fucking binoculars to see?”
    Savoy leaned forward and put the proposal on his father’s desk. “You forgot the hefty tax write-off. Here’s the profit/loss I did.”
    Ward’s fist slammed down on the papers. “That’s bullshit!”
    “It’s a way of not being in court when New Horizons wants to close the merger. You know how wary Angelique White is of any negative publicity.”
    Ward went still. “You’re blackmailing me.”
    “No. Bliss is. She’s the one who cut the CCSD deal that left Artists Cove intact.”
    “Bliss did this? Bliss did this?”
    “Like I said, you really should stop jabbing at her with Rory. I squeezed another seven percent density out of CCSD. Take it or leave it.”
    “That’s not a deal, it’s a hose job!” His fist slammed onto the table.
    “It’s the best deal we’re going to get. Think of the positive publicity if we make the gesture of donating an incomparable piece of California history and landscape to—”
    “Fuck that. I’d rather think about how long Blissy will last without money.”
    “I take it you agree to the deal?”
    Ward’s mouth thinned. “Hose job. Yeah, do it. And if you see your sister, ask her how she likes paying her own bills.”

Newport Beach
    Tuesday evening
9
    s ome women made a dinner ring out of the wedding or engagement diamonds left over from past loves and lusts. Bliss Savoy Forrest had a splashy diamond pin created from the postmarital jewelry. She also had frown lines between her eyes that no amount of expensive shots could wholly erase. She’d reverted to her maiden name of Forrest after her first divorce, and had kept that name through three more husbands, but she hadn’t forgotten what it was like to be in Rory Turner’s bed. What really pissed her off was that she didn’t know if he thought of her in any way but as a rich man’s spoiled daughter.
    Blue eyes narrowed, she tapped a manicured nail on the kitchen counter of the oceanfront condo she leased. She had several such homes-away-from-no-home scattered throughout California, plus one in New York, London, Hawaii, and Aruba for those times when only a complete change of scene would lift her spirits.
    Now, for example. She would turn fifty soon. No matter how manynips and tucks, shots and peels and ego-boosters she paid for, the mileage showed. The half-century mark was coming at her like a freight train from hell. If it wasn’t for her money, she wondered if any man would even buy her a cup of coffee.
    The ringing phone startled her. She grabbed the receiver, grateful to have something to concentrate on besides unhappy thoughts.
    “Hello?”
    “Hi, Bliss. Buzz me up.”
    “Rory?” she asked, though she knew his voice all too well.
    “No, it’s frigging Santa Claus. Ring me up. It’s cold down here.”
    “I’m out of gin.”
    “I brought my own.”
    “I’m not dressed,” she said.
    “I’ll take off my clothes.”
    Without really intending to, Bliss found herself smiling and punching the button that released the lock eight floors down. She and Rory were divorced, but they weren’t exactly strangers. She wondered if the blue lonelies had ambushed him the way they had her.
    When the elevator opened, she was waiting in the doorway.
    “You’re dressed,” Rory said, giving her a lazy, masculine once-over.
    Bliss hoped he couldn’t see through the baby-blue silk wrapper she wore to the carefully hidden surgical scars and insecurity beneath. It was so damned unfair that men got distinguished and women got old.
    “You don’t have any gin,” she said, looking at his empty hands.
    “Since when have we ever told each other the truth?”
    Before she could change her mind, he walked by her and into the front room. Thirty feet ahead, a wall of glass showcased the darkly lustrous Pacific Ocean. Occasional searchlights stabbed across the breakers.