Dream 1 - Daring to Dream

by Nora Roberts

  "I'm an unsuitable element," Margo told Kate.

  "That's nothing. I'm an undesirable element. Aren't I, Candy?"

  "You are simply detestable."

  "See?" Grinning, Kate leaned over, staring into Margo's upturned face. "I'm detestable. It's because I'm the poor and distant relation. The Powells were a questionable offshoot of the Templetons, you know."

  "I'd heard that."

  "And I'm an accountant," Kate went on. "Which is much worse than a shopkeeper. We actually talk about money."

  "That's enough," Laura said quietly. "You want the chair to yourself, Candy, it's all yours." She only regretted she wasn't able to break it over Candy's empty head. "That'll give me more time to associate with unsuitable and undesirable elements."

  The easy capitulation was disappointing. Candy had so hoped for a fight. "And how is Peter enjoying Hawaii?" she said with a sneer. "I heard he took that clever little secretary of his with him this time. Though now that I think of it, they did take several… business trips before. It must be devastating to find yourself replaced by an employee of your own company. She's quite young too, isn't she?"

  "Candy likes them young," Kate said, as fury bubbled through her. "How old is the pool boy you're, bumping, Candy? Sixteen?"

  "He's twenty," she snapped, then seethed at the way she had stepped into the trap. "At least I can get a man. But then, you don't want a man, do you, Kate? Everyone knows you're a lesbian."

  Margo snorted, had to slap a hand over her mouth to hold the next one in. "Oh-oh, Kate, secret's out."

  "It's a relief." Kate scooted forward on the bench so that she could leer at Candy's body. "I've had my eye on you for years, Sugar Lips, but I was too shy to tell you."

  "It's true." Conspiratorially, Margo leaned toward Candy. "She's been afraid of her love for you."

  Unsettled, unsure, Candy shifted. "That's not amusing."

  "No, it's been painful, wrenching." Kate swung her legs over the bench, slid down. "But now that you know the truth, I can make you mine at last."

  "Don't touch me." Squeaking, Candy jumped up, fumbled with her towel. "Don't come near me."

  "I think they want to be alone," Laura commented and wrapped her towel over her breasts.

  "I hate you. I hate all of you."

  "God." Kate gave a quick shudder. "Isn't she the sexiest little thing?"

  "You're revolting." Fearing for her life, Candy dashed out of the steam room, leaving her towel behind.

  "Pervert," Margo said mildly when Kate collapsed on the bench.

  "Careful, you might get me hot. If I was a lesbian, I'm sure you'd be more my type." Catching her breath, she looked over at Laura. "Honey, don't let her get to you."

  "Hmm?" Distracted, Laura glanced back. "I was just thinking—how much do you think she paid for that boob job?"

  "Not enough." Margo rose and tucked the towel in place. "Come on, let's go stuff her in a locker. For old time's sake."

  "I do like men," Kate insisted, fidgeting as her toenails were painted. The salon's cotton-candy-pink and spun-sugar-white decor was designed to put a woman into a relaxed and festive mood. It made Kate itchy. "I just don't have a lot of time for them."

  "You won't need time after Candy gets done," Laura said. She sipped her sparkling mineral water and relaxed in the deep cushions of the high-backed swivel chair. "By the time she gets through spreading the word, any man within a hundred-mile radius is going to avoid you like a vasectomy."

  "Well, maybe it's a blessing." Kate flipped through the stack of fashion magazines on the table beside her and found nothing of interest. "It might discourage that jerk Bill Pardoe from calling me all the time."

  "Bill is a very sweet and decent man."

  "Then you go out with him, let him tickle your knee under the table and call you honeybunch."

  "She's always been too picky." Margo kept her eyes closed, nearly purring as her feet were massaged. "She'd have had more fun in her life if she'd gone looking for Mr. Goodbar instead of Mr. Perfect."

  "I look for more in a date than a fat portfolio and a penis."

  "Girls, girls." Laura picked up her mineral water again. "We have to stick together now. If Candy follows through and files charges for assault, it could get sticky."

  "But, officer," Margo cooed, batting her lashes. "It was just high-spirited, girlish fun. Shit, she'd never humiliate herself by admitting in public that for the second time in her life she'd been trapped naked in a gym locker. She'll be more subtle than that. I say within a week we all have new identities. The slut, the shrew, and the dyke."

  "I might like being the shrew," Laura decided. "Being the wimp gets old fast."

  "You were never the wimp," Margo said loyally.

  "Oh, yes, I've been a practicing wimp for years. It's going to take some doing to make the leap to shrew. But I might give it a shot. Josh?" She blinked as her brother walked into the salon, looking hot and harassed.

  "Ladies." He plopped down in a vacant chair, picked up Margo's glass of water, and guzzled it down. "Well don't you all look…" He paused, skimmed his eyes over three faces packed in green goo. "Hideous. Been having fun?"

  "Go away." Living with a man didn't mean he had to see you in a seaweed pack, Margo thought. "This is a girl thing."

  He set her empty glass down, picked up Kate's, and guzzled that too. "I was into my second set with Carl Brewster on the courts here. You know Carl Brewster, television journalist, investigative reporter, and anchor on Informed, that long-running, highly rated, and revered newsmagazine."

  The tone of his voice had Laura biting her lip. "I've heard of it. How is Carl?"

  "Oh, fit and sassy, not that I wasn't whipping his ass, but I digress. Informed is planning to do a series of reports on the fine hotels of the world, with Templeton, of course, as a highlight. I've spent weeks arranging for various crews to film our hotels, interview staff, certain guests. All to show the viewing public the fine, upstanding, sophisticated, and unrivaled class and hospitality of Templeton, worldwide."

  He set aside Kate's glass. Laura wordlessly handed him hers. "I'm sure they got some wonderful footage."

  "Oh, they did. Naturally when Carl suggested we get some clips of the two of us playing tennis at our landmark resort here in Monterey, I agreed. A nice, human touch, the VP of Templeton enjoying the pleasant surroundings where his guests are always pampered and satisfied."

  He paused, smiled charmingly at the hovering beauticians. "Would you mind giving us a moment?" After they'd moved away a discreet distance, his smile turned to a snarl. "Imagine my surprise, my distress, when one of our regular patrons raced screaming into camera range, her Templeton Spa robe flapping open, her eyes wild as she sputtered accusations about being attacked—bodily attacked—by Laura Templeton Ridgeway and her cohorts."

  "Oh, Josh, I'm so sorry." Laura turned her head away, hoping he'd take it for shame. It would never, never do to laugh.

  He showed his teeth. "One snicker, Laura. Just one."

  "I'm not snickering." Composed, she turned back. "I'm terribly sorry. It must have been very embarrassing for you."

  "And won't it just be a laugh riot when they run that little scene? Of course, they'll beep out most of the dialogue to conform to Standards and Practices, but I think the viewing audience, the millions of people who tune into Informed each week will get the gist."

  "She started it," Kate said, then winced when he turned flinty eyes on her. "Well, she did."

  "I'm sure Mom and Dad will understand that completely."

  Even the stalwart Kate could be cowed. "It was Margo's idea."

  Margo hissed through her teeth, "Traitor. She called Kate a lesbian."

  Shaking his head, Josh covered his face with his hands and rubbed, hard. "Oh, well, then, get the rope."

  "I suppose you'd have let her get away with it. She's been trying to damage the shop. She said nasty things to Laura," Margo went on, heating up. "And just the other day she came into the shop and called m
e a slut. A second-class slut."

  "And your answer was to gang up on her, three to one, smack her around, strip her naked, and shove her into a locker?"

  "We never smacked her. Not once." Not, Margo thought, that she wouldn't have liked to. "As for the locker business, it was a matter of tradition. We did nothing more than embarrass her, which is no more than she deserved after the way she insulted us. And anyway, a real man would applaud our actions."

  "Unlike you, and your idiot sisters here, pitiful insults from crazy women don't bother me. And your timing was rare and perfect." He leaned forward, pleased to be able to pay her back, in spades, for the "real man" comment. "I'd just begun to get Carl to nibble at the idea of doing a sidebar story on the latest innovation of a Templeton heir. Laura Templeton Ridgeway's partnership with old and dear friends Margo Sullivan—yes, the Margo Sullivan, and Kate Powell. Smart, savvy women creating and running a smart, savvy business."

  "We're going to get air on Informed? That's fabulous."

  He shot Margo a disgusted look. "Christ, you are an idiot. What you're going to get, unless I can do some fast and sweet talking, is sued and very possibly charged in a criminal action. She's claiming assault, verbal and physical abuse—and now that I know Kate's a lesbian, that explains the sexual abuse she tossed in."

  "I am not a lesbian," Kate fumed. "Though the way she said it was an insult to any rational person who supports freedom of sexual preference." From his expression she realized it wasn't the time to get up on any liberal or feminist soapbox. Instead, she shifted, sulked. "And I never touched her in any sexual way. This is completely out of proportion, Josh, and you know it. She gave us grief, and we gave her some back. That's all."

  "That's not all. The Templeton Resort isn't second-period gym class. This is the adult world. Didn't any of you remember her second husband was a litigator? A litigator who delights in pursuing and winning just this sort of nuisance suit. She could go after the shop."

  Every ounce of blood in Margo's face drained. "That's ridiculous. She'd never get it. No court would take her that seriously."

  "Maybe not." His voice was a cold snap, an unmerciful whip. "But the time and expense you'd have to put into fighting her off could go a long way toward draining your capital." He rose, shook his head at the three of them. "If you haven't been paying attention the last decade or so, school's out. So, you sit here and enjoy having your toenails painted while I go back to work and try to save your sorry butts."

  "He's really steamed," Kate murmured as he stormed out. "One of us should go talk to him." She looked from Margo to Laura. "One of you should go talk to him."

  "I'll go." Laura rose, feeling ridiculous in her little paper slippers and cotton balls.

  "No, you'd better warn your parents, tell them we've put our foot in it." Margo sighed, struggled not to be terrified. "I'll do what I can with Josh."

  She gave him an hour. It took her nearly that long to put herself together, in any case. When facing a furious man, she thought it wise to look her best.

  He was on the phone at the desk in the office when she walked in, and he didn't so much as flick a glance at her. So much, she thought, for a five-hundred-dollar session at the spa. Saying nothing, she crossed to the desk and waited for him to complete his call.

  He'd frightened her, he noted. And he'd meant to. Her wild temperament was part of what he found so appealing about her. But in the past weeks, he'd watched her channel that temperament, all that passion and energy into building something for herself. It infuriated him that with one careless tantrum, she'd risked damaging it.

  "Yes, I said for a full year. Any and all services. I'll draft a memo to that effect. You'll have it by tomorrow." He hung up the phone, drummed his fingers on the desk.

  "Tell me what I have to do," she said quietly. "If an apology will help, I'll go over and apologize to her right now."

  "Give me a dollar."

  "What?"

  "Give me a goddamn dollar."

  Baffled, she opened her purse. "I don't have a single. I have a five."

  He snatched it out of her fingers. "I'm now your legal counsel, and as such I'm advising you to admit nothing. You're not going to apologize for anything because you didn't do anything. You don't know what she's talking about. Now if you tell me there were six other naked women and three attendants hanging around who saw you shove her into the locker, I'll have to kill you."

  "There was nobody else there. We're not idiots." She grimaced. "I know you think we are, but we're not stupid enough to have done it in front of witnesses. Actually, we timed it that way so she'd be stuck in there longer." She smiled weakly. "It seemed like a good idea at the time." When he said nothing, she felt her temper simmer again. "Aren't you the one who broke Peter's nose?"

  "I could afford to indulge myself."

  "Oh, that's typical. The Templeton heir can behave any way he pleases and damn the consequences."

  His eyes flashed, a dangerous, edgy glint. "Let's just say I pick my battles."

  She forced herself to stop. Josh's attitude and position were hardly the point. "How much trouble am I in?" she demanded. "I know you're not a trial lawyer, so that five bucks isn't going to do me much good if this actually goes to court."

  "It depends on how stubborn she is." With an effort, he calmed himself. Her little jab at his character was nothing new. "Templeton's official stand will be shock and distress that such an incident occurred while she was a guest. We're compensating her for her inconvenience and stress with a year's complementary services at any of our Spa Resorts. That, and the fact that publicizing the incident will be embarrassing for her, might do it."

  He ran the five-dollar bill through his fingers, laid it on the desk blotter. "She might be satisfied with bad-mouthing you and the shop and using her influence to have her friends boycott. And since she does have a wide range of acquaintances, a boycott will likely sting."

  "We'll get over that." Calmer, she pushed her hands through her hair. She'd come to apologize, and intended to do it right. "I'm sorry. I know the whole thing was—is—embarrassing for you and your family."

  He braced his elbows on the desk, his brow on his fists. "She came shrieking across the court. I'd just hit a line drive, barely missed beaning her. Cameras rolling, and there I am trying to look my sixth-generational-hotelier best, the athletic yet intelligent, the world-traveled yet dedicated, the dashing yet concerned heir to the Templeton name."

  "You'd be good at that," Margo murmured, hoping to placate him.

  He didn't even look at her. "Suddenly I've got my arms full of this half-naked, spitting, swearing, clawing mass who's screaming that my sister, her lesbian companion, and my whore attacked her." He pinched the bridge of his nose, hoping to relieve some pressure. "I figured out right away who my sister was. Though I didn't appreciate the term, I deduced you must be my whore. The lesbian companion might have stumped me, but for process of elimination." He lifted his head. "I was tempted to belt her, but I was too busy trying to keep her from ripping off my face."

  "It's such a nice face, too." Hoping to soothe, she walked around the desk and sat on his lap. "I'm sorry she took it out on you."

  "She scratched me." He turned his head to show her the trio of angry welts on the side of his throat. Dutifully, Margo kissed them. "What am I going to do with you?" he said wearily and rested his cheek on her head. Then he chuckled. "How the hell did you stuff her into one of those skinny lockers?''

  "It wasn't easy, but it was fun."

  He narrowed his eyes. "You're never going to do it again, no matter what the provocation—unless you sedate her first."

  "Deal." Since the crisis seemed to have passed, she slipped a hand under his shirt, stroked it over his chest, watched his brow lift. "I've been waxed and polished. If you're interested."

  "Well, just so the day isn't a complete loss." He picked her up and carried her to the bed.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Contents - Prev | Next

&n
bsp; It didn't take long for the fallout. Sales and traffic fell off sharply during the following week. Sharply enough to have Margo's stomach jittering as she wrote out checks for the monthly bills. Oh, there were still plenty of tourists and walkins, but a great many of the ladies who lunch, the very clientele Pretenses required in order to move the high-end merchandise, were giving the shop a wide berth.

  If things didn't pick up within the next thirty days, she would have to dip into her dwindling capital just to stay open.

  She wasn't panicked, just uneasy. She'd told Josh they could wait it out, and she believed it. The loyalty of Candy's country club pals could be measured in their demitasse cups with room to spare.

  But that didn't mean her business didn't need a jolt of adrenaline. She didn't want the shop merely to struggle along, she wanted it to thrive. Perhaps, she realized, she wanted it to be as she had once been. In the spotlight, admired, successful.

  As she arranged and rearranged displays, she wracked her brains to come up with a workable concept to turn Pretenses from an intriguing little secondhand shop into a star.

  When the door opened, she had a bright—and, she was afraid, desperate—smile waiting. "Mum. What are you doing here?"

  "It's my day off, isn't it?" Ann pursed her lips as she scanned the showroom. "And I haven't come by here since the first week you opened. It's awful quiet."

  "I'm being punished for my sins. You always said I would be."

  "I heard of it." She clucked her tongue. "Grown women behaving like hoydens. Though I never liked that woman, not even when she was a girl. Always with her nose in the air."

  "This time I put it out of joint. She's managed to slice a chunk out of sales. Though Kate says it's also part of the natural correction of a new business after its initial opening weeks." Margo scowled at an amber globe. "You know how she talks when she's wearing her accountant hat."

  "I do, yes. More often than not I listen to her when she's going on about my investments, and just nod soberly without a clue as to what the devil she's talking about."