French Silk(84)

"All I know is, you haven't been the same since he was found dead. Relax. He can't point the finger at you any longer."

Her friend's insensitive remarks infuriated Claire, especially since Cassidy was within hearing. She had broken her strict rule and let him watch from the periphery of the sets, thinking that maybe if she revealed to him this aspect of her life, he would stop probing other areas of it. His presence seemed not to faze anyone except her. He kept her nervous and on edge, although she performed her duties as competently as ever.

She sensed his ears pricking up at Yasmine's remark, but when she glanced at him, his expression remained impassive and didn't hint at what he might be thinking.

Cantankerously she said, "Just take the pictures, Leon, and wrap this one."

They finished within a half-hour and the subdued group began to scatter. Claire said in an undertone to Yasmine, "I'd like to see you in our room as soon as possible."

Five minutes later, Yasmine opened the bedroom door and strode in. "I know you're pissed."

Claire had passed the intervening minutes sitting against the carved rosewood headboard of one of the twin beds. Behind her back she had stacked pillows stuffed into snowy linen pillowcases that smelled cleanly of Tide and starch. She lowered her clipboard to her lap and removed her eyeglasses.

"Under the circumstances, Yasmine, I thought your remarks about Jackson Wilde's death were uncalled for and in bad taste."

One of Yasmine's perfect eyebrows arched. "Who gives a shit about him or what I said about him?"

"Assistant District Attorney Cassidy gives a shit." Claire tossed her clipboard aside and swung her legs to the edge of the bed. "I wish you hadn't sounded so flippant about Wilde's murder, or so relieved that he's no longer around to hound us."

"You can't possibly think that a remark, spoken as a joke, could influence Cassidy's opinion on your guilt or innocence?"

Claire declined to answer. Finally she looked up at Yasmine and said gravely, "That's not really why I'm angry with you."

Claire then told her about the conversation she'd had with her business attorney the night before she'd left for Mississippi. The instant his name was mentioned, Yasmine's eyes flashed angrily.

"That weasely bastard. I told him not to tell you."

"Then it's true? You asked him to persuade me to let our stock go public so you could sell your shares?"

"It was worth a shot. I've got to unload my stock. That's the only way I can do it."

"The only way?" Claire cried. "You could have come to me."

"Hat in hand, admitting that I'm broke?"

"Dammit, Yasmine, I've known for months that you're broke."

"Oh, great." The former model dropped to the edge of the other twin bed, looking rebellious and hostile.

Claire softened her tone. "It's nothing to be ashamed of. You're overextended, that's all. It happens to everybody at one time or another. I'll gladly loan you some money until things turn around."

"You're the last person I'd ask for money."

"Why?"

"Because you already carry this business. No, don't start throwing up objections. You do, Claire. You brought it from inception to where it is. You do the lion's share of the work. You're the brains behind it."

"And you're the beauty. My small company would have stayed small if not for your endorsement."

Yasmine shrugged as though her contributions amounted to nothing. "This time a year ago, I was rolling in dough. I guess I thought it would never run out. I mismanaged my money, turned it over to 'financial advisers' who probably screwed me out of half of it."

"You threw it away on lost causes like that thousand-dollar offering to Jackson Wilde."

Yasmine raised her hands in surrender. "Guilty. Anyway, I'm down to double zeros. That's why I hoped I could put my shares of French Silk on the auction block."

Claire shook her head. "I'll never go public. If you insist on selling your shares, I'll buy them."

"And obligate me to you."

"I don't look at it that way. It's self-preservation. You know how possessive I am when it comes to my business."

"I know, I know," Yasmine said irascibly. "Jesus, do you think it was easy for me to approach that fat-mouthed lawyer? I never would have except that I'm in dire need of cash. I've sold my last fur coat and all my good jewelry. Those shares are all I have left to liquidate."

"You could use them as collateral to borrow from me."

"I said no, all right?"

"I don't understand—"

Yasmine vaulted off the bed. "Don't harp on me, Claire. I won't borrow from you, but I'll sell you the bloody stocks. Okay? Cam we cap it off now? I'll have some cash, and the company will be saved. Hallelujah and amen! That's the last I want to hear of it because I've got another crisis in my life right now."

"That's no excuse for going behind my back and against my wishes. We've all got problems." She flattened her hand against her chest. "I've been accused of murder."

"By Cassidy?" Yasmine snorted. "He hasn't got anything on you."