The Space Between
THE SPACE BETWEEN
A Novel
By
Victoria H. Smith
* * * *
The Space Between
Copyright © 2013 Victoria H. Smith
Cover design by Okay Creations
Cover photo by javi_indy
Editing by Marcie Turner
EBook formatting by JTFormatting
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Author’s Note: This author acknowledges that the theaters in which Lacey performs are fictitious.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Sample - Coffee and Cockpits
Chapter One
Drake
By my count? I would have guessed we were at two hundred—no, two hundred and fifty tonight. There were two hundred and fifty overly dressed, robotic-like socialites attending Senator Drake’s campaign fundraiser in the ritzy gold ballroom of the city’s country club. Two hundred and fifty people who most likely knew their left hand from their right hand only because that was the one the checks were signed with. Checks: the equivalent of gold in my father’s eyes, and the reason why this Armani suit choked the hell out of me. I yawned watching them and their dreadfully dull existence. One would think going to these things would be exciting, but when a guy’s been to enough of them over the years, the “thrill” of it all quickly leaves.
With glassed-over eyes, my focus drifted to the navy ball gown with sequins thingies all over it. Mom. I learned a while ago it was best to keep her within watch at all times. She worked the stage as usual, cocking her head to the side as if intrigued by whatever the stiff in the suit with extremely elongated nose hairs had to say to her. I had to hand it to my mother. She was the ultimate good wife. She had her script ready, and her performance cued up at all times—the perfect little woman. Too bad my father missed the memo.
Confirming her preoccupation, I searched for the man of the hour. In his navy suit—to match my mother, of course—he cheesed like a Colgate model. The man could whore himself out better than the most talented prostitute. If he were to stand next to one of his campaign posters, you couldn’t tell his smile from the one on the cardboard. He was that rehearsed. That defined. That good.
Knowing I didn’t have to worry about that one, I refocused on the crowd. Maybe I could grab a waitress, find an opening, and slip out before my father’s thank you speeches. If I stayed long enough to hear those there wouldn’t be a point to leaving. I’d be knocked out from sheer boredom and no fun for whatever girl I wanted to party with later.
“That’s not a Merlot.”
My eyes flicked to the right. Glistening gold locks, and a long red dress with cleavage straining against the material met my eyes. The girl was about two seconds away from indecent exposure with the way her nips were razor blading out of that dress. Did she ice those things or something? Why the hell did girls try so hard at these events?
“Um, Sorry?” I attempted to keep the boredom in my voice at bay, but really, I always got attacked at these things, so it couldn’t be helped. I was like a new toy to these people, even more so since this campaign fundraiser was my father’s introduction to this district’s elite. Once the hobnobbers initial reaction to me was over, I could usually tolerate them more. Until then? Fun times at the fundraiser!
Goldie Locks pointed a ruby fingernail at the glass of punch I’d been sloshing in a circle for the last hour. “Your drink. It’s not wine. You don’t need to swirl it.” She gave a whispery Marilyn Monroe laugh. “I don’t think it needs oxygen. It hasn’t been in a bottle.”
Giving a half-smile, I leaned against the marble wall. These girls were too easy. I only wished I had an interest in her. I learned very quickly that getting involved with the daughters of political Satan was a marriage death wish. A guy shows interest, and he might as well be walking down the aisle. “I guess you’re right.”
A waiter in his black vest and matching tie passed. Catching him on the fly, I deposited my glass on his platter. I held out my hand to Goldie. “Truman Drake.”
Her eyes widened. Perhaps, she didn’t get the memo. As her eyes went back to normal size and into a smoldered gaze, I figured she quickly hid her surprise and went back to her pervious pursuit of the guy hiding out by the chocolate fountain. “Ah, the Truman Drake.”
“Just Drake.” Best to fix that issue right away. My parents had great taste in names.
Sarcasm.
She slipped her hand into mine. Smooth as silk. “Well, Drake, my name is Ashley Jameson.
Raising her hand, I brushed my lips against her silky skin. “Charmed, Ms. Ashley Jameson.”
The blush crept its way onto her cheeks. Too easy. Again, I wished I had an interest.
“Do you want to tell me why you’re over here when you should be out mingling alongside your dad?” she asked, tucking her arms behind her and pushing out her breasts. “He is making his debut in Chicago after all.”
My attention went to my father. Tonight was a big night for him. New move equaled new town. And new town equaled new moneybags to siphon. With his re-election coming up, the old man was going into major whoring mode, and that meant the “good family” had to be extra good. “As you said, it’s his debut. Thought it best to lay low and keep the focus on him.”
As Ashley opened her mouth, I zoned out again. I blinked my way out of it and forced myself to concentrate on her crystal-blue eyes. God, why were these things so dull?
“So, if you’re free then you should come back around here on Saturday. The junior members are having a pool party. You can meet the gang.”
My eyes flicked. “Um, sorry?”
She giggled like ignoring her was a compliment. “Saturday. Here? Pool part
y at the country club? You should come.”
“Hey, dude, save me a seat okay?” said a low voice.
Two waiters around my age by the silver double doors of the kitchen adjacent to me took my attention. I seriously had the attention span of a goldfish at these things, but since they were clearly trying to keep their voices down they kept my focus.
One of the guys handed the other some cash. “Here’s my money for the game. Tell the boys I’m off in ten.”
If my ears weren’t perked before, they were now.
The server who took the money unbuttoned his vest, then headed through the double doors. The other picked up a silver platter off the serving station by the doors and headed over to a couple of women wrapped in furs and diamonds.
Ashley still went on about something, but I’d already mentally left the conversation. There was a game of some kind going on, and whatever it was had to be more exciting than this.
“Saturday it is then, since you’re nodding your head, Drake.”
I am. I was? “Uh, yeah. Sure. Sounds like fun.” I guessed it would be good to make some friends. Maybe some of them were headed to Northwestern, too. Mom and Father would love it if I got in with the locals. Saves them the trouble of setting up a playdate.
I was sure Ashley said “great” or “goodbye” or something, but I was already headed toward that set of double doors. My patent-leather shoes scuffed the marble floor when a familiar face stopped me in my tracks. The green eyes of my father and the porcelain skin of my mother all surrounded by cascading brown waves. My sister was a goddess. I threatened enough barely pubescent fifteen-year-old boys to know.
“Dear brother.” She crossed her arms over her red, satin ensemble. “I know that look, and it’s not going to work.”
I smirked. My sibling knew me too well. “Oh, dear sister, whatever do you mean?”
Her smirk matched mine. “Mom and Dad have this place locked up like Fort Knox. Whatever escape you’re planning will not work.”
I guessed she didn’t know me as well as I thought. “See, there is where you’re wrong. There’s always a way out from under the ‘rents.” I tapped her temple. “You just have to use your noggin.”
“I think a bet’s in order then.”
Of course it was. “The wager?”
“One hundred bucks. If they don’t notice when you get back five hundred.”
Most siblings argued over who got to drive the old family beater. Adele and I? We made bets. “Up it to five hundred dollars and a grand, and you’ve got a deal.”
Her mouth made a small “o.” “Really? Confident tonight, I see?”
“I take that as a yes then?”
With a shake, it was cemented. Mid-shake, our smiles left when Mom made eye contact with us over the suited stiff she spoke to. Dropping our hands, we gave a small wave to her. She knew us well, and shakes meant trouble.
Her look of distrust wasn’t lost on us, but the good wife had a job to do, and she couldn’t watch the kids around the clock. With a final sharp look, she re-engaged in her conversation.
Adele’s plastered grin escaped with her wave. “She’s on to us quicker and quicker.”
She didn’t have to tell me. Damn this was going to be harder than I thought if Mom was on the alert.
“So, what’s your plan?”
“I’m thinking the ole’ switcheroo,” I said, scoping the crowd for potential victims. Six-foot-two wasn’t a hard height to match. As long as the dude was at least five-eleven, Mom seeing him from a distance wouldn’t be a big deal. And if he had dark hair, I was as good as gone.
“It’s worked before, but I think you’re fresh out of luck this time,” Adele said.
“Why—” As soon as I said it, I quickly got my own answer. Not one. Not one stinkin’ server was dark haired. Blond. Blond as far as the eye could see!
“Told you she was on to us.”
I gritted my teeth, my eyes blazing over the crowd. I was about to lose the damn bet already. Until . . . I met my guinea pig in the form of the server who just walked through the kitchen doors. “Two thousand bucks if I make it back.”
Adele’s curly brown lashes fluttered a bunch. “That’s my entire summer savings.”
I took my eyes off the victim just enough to watch my sister. I didn’t want to steal money from the kid but really anything she wanted, Mom and Father would grant her anyway. She had them wrapped around her finger; a matching set of piggy banks at her disposal. “It’s not like you to be scared, Adele. Like you said, I might be out of luck this time.”
I said the key word: scared. My sister feared nothing and no one and was quick to let anyone know.
She didn’t say a word, just gestured me ahead with her hand.
Game on.
With a casual stride, I made my way over to the server surrounded by a group of hungry socialites as they picked at his platter of goodies. The cogs in my head turned with every step. This was all new territory for me. I’d never worked here before. New town also meant new plans and rogue variables. Taking on a task like this would take finesse as to not scare the fish.
Making it over to the guy, I gazed over my shoulder. Adele’s jaw dropped when she saw whom I had approached. I didn’t need to read her thoughts in the moment. This one was going to be a stretch.
Spinning his plate of caviar, he gave me that well-rehearsed grin. “Hors d’oeuvres, sir?”
I gave my deep, throaty chuckle—well rehearsed. I wasn’t my father’s son for nothing. “Oh, no thanks. I actually have a proposition for you.”
His dark eyebrows twitched up. “A proposition, sir?”
“Call me Drake.” Grabbing his tray, I handed it off to a server I hoped needed something to do. “Walk with me.”
He hesitantly followed me to a marble column about ten feet away. This was a safe distance. Out of Mom’s radar enough, but still considered within the mix of the event.
“Did you say your name was Drake? As in one of the Drakes?”
My name precedes me, yet again. “Yes, my father is Senator Drake.”
His stare was as if he was in the presence of royalty. No confusion at all read across his features, and he easily got past the surprise of me. I liked this guy. Made me kind of feel bad that I was about to sucker him.
Almost.
“Great to meet you. Excellent event your father has going on tonight.”
“Thanks, um—” I gestured with my hand for his name.
“Omar.”
“Yes, Omar. Great to meet you. I was hoping you might help me with a little problem I have.”
He stood tall, alert like I was a general, and he was a soldier waiting for a command. “Of course, sir. I mean, Drake. How can I help?”
“I overheard a few of your fellow servers discussing a game of some sorts.”
His eyebrows narrowed. “A game?”
I straightened my cuff links, the light of the chandelier above reflecting off the gold. “Yes, a game. I want in, and I need your assistance to make that happen.”
He stared at me a moment before he spoke. “Drake, I would love to help you, but I’m unaware of the game you’re referencing—”
I raised my hand to halt his denial. “Look, Omar.” I placed my hand on his shoulder. “You help me, I help you. I promise I will make it worth your while.”
With an anxious expression, he looked from side to side before he answered. “There’s a poker game going on between the staff in the stock room. High buy-ins.”
Not a problem.
“But I don’t advise you go. The players can be a bit—”
I raised my hand again. “No need for your warning, Omar. I can handle myself.”
He nodded once, biting his lip in a nervous manner. “But, Drake, how can you leave? Aren’t you needed here? This is your father’s fundraiser.”
Me? Needed? I was an accessory to my father. Nothing more than a body to keep up the appearance of his perfect family unit, and with Omar’s help, that b
ody would be supplied. “My presence here is merely for show; which is why I need a stand-in so I can go have my fun.”
“A stand-in?”
I gestured toward him.
Dipping his chin, he studied himself, then looked at me. “But I look nothing like you.”
I draped my arm over his shoulder. “Omar, all these people know is that my father has an adopted Asian son.”
If Omar didn’t look nervous before he did now. “But, I’m Indian Asian.”
“I see that, brother, and these people won’t know the difference. If they assume what part of Asia I’m originally from, then that’s on them, and not my problem.”
Omar looked behind him like he was seeking backup.
Time to raise the stakes.
“Two thousand dollars will get you the high life for one night while pretending to be me, and a night off from work.” I patted his chest. “You have to be tired from doing all your server duties. Why not take a rest?”
“Two thousand dollars? That’s more than I make in a month.”
Sure, giving the server the majority of my winnings was a lot for just one night of fun, but if the offer got me out of this event, the loss of money would be worth it. Besides, I’d make it back at the table anyway. “So?”
He gazed at me like he was about to make a deal with the devil. “Are you going to get me fired?”
I patted his chest again. “Everything will be fine, Omar. You won’t lose your job. I won’t let that happen. I promise.”