Sweet Fortune

earlobe now.
    “I still have no intention of marrying you.”
    “I haven't finished this damned courtship yet.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

    V incent Benedict was simmering. The initial explosion had dissolved into the customary roiling boil, which in turn was now all the way down to the mild, bubbling simmer.
    Jessie was familiar with the pattern. She'd dealt with it all her life. Her father definitely had a problem with money, especially when it came to giving any of it away.
    It was not that he was an ungenerous man; quite the opposite. Over the years Vincent had doled out thousands to his clan. But Constance and Lilian were right: he liked to attach strings. He liked to make certain the receivers were properly grateful and that they kept him posted on where every dime went. He felt free to make loud judgments on whether or not the money was being well-spent. He criticized, approved, or grumbled about what the recipient did with the money. And always he wanted everyone to remember where it had originated. Jessie routinely fielded the grumbles and complaints from both sides.
    “Jesus H. Christ, those two women are never satisfied,” Vincent roared. He slammed a palm down on his desk and regarded Jessie with a baleful gaze. “They're like sponges, always soaking up more of my cash.”
    “Dad, you know that's not true.” Jessie was slouched low in the chair across from her father. She had her legs stretched out in front of her and her thumbs hooked loosely in the pockets of her jeans. She was wearing a snug-fitting, long-sleeved black dance leotard with the jeans, and her hair was caught back behind one ear with a large silver clip.
    “The hell it isn't true. What happened to all that cash I gave Connie and Lilian two years ago to open that damn furniture store?”
    “It's not exactly a furniture store, Dad, it's more of a showroom they use to give ideas to their clients. Now they want to expand it. Turn it into a design store. They're going to specialize in avant-garde European furniture styles.”
    “What's wrong with American furniture?” Vincent pointed to the wide mahogany desk in front of him. “Nothing wrong with good, solid American furniture.”
    “Dad, Connie and Lilian do not have a lot of clients who are into Early American.”
    “I'll tell you something, Jessie. That European crap is for the birds. I had one of those silly little Italian lamps in here for a few weeks and the damn thing broke.”
    “Only because you tried to bend it in a direction it was never intended to go.” Jessie remembered the lamp. It had been a delicate device. Too delicate for her father's big hands. “And your opinion of Italian furniture has got nothing to do with the issue. The fact is that a lot of people like that style. Connie and Lilian cater to that crowd.”
    “Probably the same crowd that eats sushi and pays good money to watch films that have subtitles,” Vincent grumbled.
    “You hit the nail on the head when you said it's a crowd that pays good money for what it wants. Come on, Dad, you're a businessman. You know a business person has to cater to the client's taste. That's all the moms want to do. They've been very successful up to this point, and you know you're proud of them. Why not finance another expansion for them?”
    “They treat me like I'm some kind of bank.”
    “You want them to go to a real bank instead?”
    “Hell, no.” Vincent turned a dangerous shade of red at that suggestion. “Damned interest rates are sky-high again. Like throwing money down the drain. Can't trust bankers, either. They won't stand by you. First hint of trouble and they call in the loans.”
    Jessie grinned. “And besides, if the moms went to a bank, you wouldn't have a license to complain, would you? Be honest, Dad. You like controlling the purse strings in this family.”
    “Somebody has to do it. God knows they all go through money like it was water. No common sense. No appreciation for the hard work involved.”
    “You know that's not true. The rest of us just aren't as tightfisted about it as you are.”
    “Yeah, well, maybe that comes from never having had to do without. Men like Hatch and me, we know what it's like to do without.” Vincent narrowed his eyes. “How come you never ask me for money?”
    Jessie widened her eyes in mocking innocence. “Are you crazy? There would be too many strings attached, and you know it. You'd hound me constantly, asking me what I was doing with it, where I'd invested