His Kind of Trouble

by Terri L. Austin

  “Because Cal’s here,” Allie said. So much for changing the subject. “I didn’t want to be a bad hostess.”

  “You’re not a hostess, because he’s not staying here,” Trevor said, glancing up from his phone. “He’s staying at a hotel. I’ve not changed my mind about that.”

  Brynn plucked a muffin from the platter and peeled back the paper. “He’s not staying at a hotel, he’s staying at one of the villas.” Her dark hair and delicate bone structure weren’t the only things that set Brynn apart from her sisters. She was also incredibly shy with strangers. But apparently Cal didn’t qualify as one.

  Monica gave up trying to change the course of the conversation and indulged her curiosity. Only movie stars, whales, and foreign zillionaires stayed in the exclusive casino villas. “What does Cal do for a living anyway, run a country?”

  “He fixes cars,” Brynn said.

  There had to be more to the story. Monica had dated her fair share of motorheads in the past, and none of them had been rolling in expendable income. Cars were a pricey hobby.

  “According to English here”—Allie wagged her thumb in Trevor’s direction—“Cal’s the shit of the old-car world.”

  “Not old cars, darling, vintage cars,” Trevor corrected. “Classics. And he is the shit—an artist, really, when it suits him. He doesn’t just fix them, he restores them to their former glory.”

  “He’s working on the Mustang here because our garage is so tricked out,” Allie said.

  “Yes, lucky us.” Rising from the table, Trevor threw down his napkin and gave Allie a final kiss. “See you later. And remember ladies, play nice.” He patted Brynn’s head on his way out of the room.

  Shoving aside her empty plate, Allie opened the binder and clicked her pen. “All right, let’s get started. The gala’s less than eight weeks away, and there are details we need to go over, starting with the linens.”

  Monica had an urge to bang her head against the table until she was semiconscious. “Al, you know I don’t care about this shit. My priority is fund-raising.”

  Allie raised one pale brow. “Since we’re all a part of the foundation, we all need to decide these things.”

  “Isn’t this what the event planner is for?” Monica didn’t care if they used white tablecloths or pink, had tea roses or calla lilies. She had one goal: to raise more money than last year. She needed to tap donors and contact sponsors. The rest was just a time suck.

  “Do you want to bitch, or do you want to get through this as quickly as possible?” Allie asked. “Because if you want to bitch, it might throw off your precious timetable.” Her tone remained pleasant, but Allie was on the verge of a full-blown snit fit—that placid, disingenuous smile gave her away.

  Brynn sighed. “Stop it, both of you. I didn’t take time off work to listen to another argument. Monica, we’re already here—let’s plow through this. Allie, we don’t need to approve each and every minor issue. We trust your judgment. Just give us the highlights.”

  Allie’s gaze clashed with Monica’s. Finally, Monica nodded. “That sounds like a good compromise.”

  “Agreed,” Allie said.

  For the next thirty minutes, Monica tried to pay attention to Allie’s concerns about lighting and who should be allowed to sit at the front table, but she couldn’t concentrate. Against her will, her mind kept drifting back to that night with Cal.

  Monica had just broken up with one of her deadbeat boyfriends—she couldn’t remember his name. When Cal had swaggered into the room with his brash attitude and disarming smile, Monica had allowed the immediate attraction she felt to override her grief. And after the ceremony, she couldn’t remember what they’d talked about, only that she couldn’t wait to get him alone. She’d nearly dragged him out to the garden.

  The way he’d kissed her, touched her, set Monica on fire in seconds—the man had some wicked skills. If Allie hadn’t come thrashing through the hydrangeas, Cal would have been just another entry on Monica’s long list of past mistakes.

  Now she was a completely different person from that brazen, irresponsible girl he’d kissed in the garden. She no longer hooked up with strangers, or stripped on top of pool tables, and she didn’t put herself in compromising positions. She had a serious job, a life, a home of her own. Cal was right about one thing—Monica had grown up.

  “Mon?” Allie’s voice derailed Monica’s train of thought, pulling her back into the moment.

  “What?”

  “I asked how many donors you’ve contacted,” Allie said.

  “I’ll send you a copy of my master list, along with the spreadsheets. Anything else? I need to go.”

  Allie closed her binder. “I thought we’d have a family dinner tonight, since Cal’s in town. Seven o’clock? Trevor’s parents are coming, along with Pixie and Paolo.” Cal’s mom, Pixie, went miles past eccentric and took a left toward loony. Her much younger Italian husband, Paolo, didn’t speak much, but his lack of communication seemed to work in their favor.

  “That sounds like fun,” Monica said, “but I have too much going on at the office.” Actually, it didn’t sound like fun at all, and while she did have a mountain of work to do, in reality, she wanted to stay as far away from Cal Hughes as possible. As soon as he left Vegas, Monica would breathe a little easier. She wasn’t sure if she could trust herself around him. The fact that she’d been struck immobile by the sight of him was a knock to her hard-won self-restraint. Plus, Monica had been on a sex-free diet for three months now. And like all diets, it sucked. Calum was more tempting than triple-chocolate cake. Just one taste.

  She wouldn’t stop at one taste—that was the problem.

  “I know how busy you are,” Allie said, “but you can take the night off, Mon.”

  “Nope, sorry.”

  Brynn rose from the table and stretched her arms above her head. “I’ll be here, but I may be a little late. I’ve been putting in some overtime.”

  Monica and Allie exchanged a glance. “At least tell me you’re getting paid for it, Brynnie,” Monica said.

  Brynn’s eyes slid to the sideboard, where yellow roses filled an antique crystal vase. “My boss bought me lunch the other day. Does that count?” Brynn was a wonderful person—sweet, kind, funny. Assertive? Not so much.

  “No, it doesn’t,” Allie said. “Quit letting her take advantage of you.”

  Brynn crossed her arms. “Cassandra is helpless, you guys. She’s not a bad person, she’s just flaky.”

  “You’re doing all the work, and she takes all the credit,” Monica said, feeling frustrated on Brynn’s behalf. “Which is why you should demand a raise.”

  “I will, okay?” Brynn pushed her chair beneath the table. “Just not today. And stop ganging up on me. I like it better when you’re fighting with each other.” She walked out of the room with a wave. “See you later.”

  Allie poured herself a cup of coffee and stared after Brynn. “She worries me.”

  “Yeah. She needs to stand up for herself.”

  They sat in silence for a few minutes. Monica had some things she needed to discuss with Allie, but the quiet was soothing. If Monica broached her ideas about the foundation, the peace between them would come to a record-screeching halt. So much for giving Brynn advice about standing up to her boss. Monica needed to grow a pair herself before dispensing wisdom to her little sister.

  So instead of getting into another argument with Allie, Monica shoved her tablet into her bag and stood. “I’ll give you a status report next week.”

  “Why don’t you just cc me on everything?” Allie said. “I think we should set up another food tasting too. I’m not feeling those salmon puffs. Also, make sure our emcee is booked for the right date. We don’t want a repeat of last year.”

  “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you? He was only an hour late.” Yeah, that silence thing was nice while it lasted. “I’m on top of this, Al. I’ve got it covered. You need to trust me.”

  “Don’
t get defensive, I’m just double-checking. Also, we have a meeting with the event planner on Thursday. And I’d like you to contact every media outlet. We need coverage.”

  “The PR committee is in charge of media. Why don’t we let them do their job?”

  “Because if you don’t stay on top of people, details can fall through the cracks. Please contact everyone again? You know how crazy I get with these events. I want it to go smoothly.”

  “Fine, if it’ll shut you up, I’ll do it.” With a sigh, Monica turned toward the door and tried to make a clean break, but Allie asked one more question.

  “Have you talked to Ryan?”

  There it was. “No, why would I?”

  Monica had dated Ryan for over a year. Her family loved him, and her friends adored him. Monica’s feelings didn’t go that far. And while she still had occasional moments of doubt for breaking up with him, she’d done the right thing. Monica had desperately wanted to take his ring and build a future together. It sounded so good in theory, but when it came down to the execution, she couldn’t go through with it. Which was a damn shame, because Ryan was nearly perfect.

  Since their breakup, Monica had done a lot of soul searching, thinking about her old, destructive patterns, the ones that had tripped her up in the past—saying yes to the wrong type of guy when she needed to say fuck off and get a job, and her inability to settle down with Ryan, a man who truly loved her.

  Monica suspected she was defective. For certain, she had a broken picker. Given a room full of decent men and one bad boy, Monica chose the latter every single time. Tatted-up asshole? Two scoops, please. Unemployed heartbreaker? Bring it on.

  And now Cal Hughes. If that kiss five years ago was anything to go by, he was all kinds of wrong for her.

  “Ryan called me last week,” Allie said.

  Monica blinked. Twice. Familiar anger churned in her gut. Allie simply couldn’t stop herself from sticking her nose into Monica’s business. As director of the foundation’s board, Allie may be the boss at work, but Monica’s personal life was just that. “You need to stay out of this, Al. I mean it. I can handle my own relationships without your help.”

  Allie rubbed her fingers across her forehead. “He just wondered how you were doing. He’s so sweet, I didn’t have the heart to hang up.”

  “Commiserating won’t help him move on.”

  “He’s so good for you, Mon.”

  Defective. “I have to go.” Monica adjusted her grip on the computer bag and strode out of the room.

  Allie trotted after her. “Hey listen, I’m sorry I overstepped. If he calls again, I won’t talk to him. It’s none of my business.” It never was, but that rarely stopped Allie from interfering.

  Monica briefly closed her eyes. “No, it’s fine. Do what you want, just leave me out of the conversation.”

  “No, I shouldn’t have butted in. And I’ve been meaning to tell you, you’re doing a great job. I see how hard you work. I’m really proud of you.” Allie lightly squeezed Monica’s upper arm. “Mom would be proud too.”

  “Thanks.” She appreciated Allie’s peace offering, even though she wasn’t buying it. Monica seriously doubted her mother was looking down on her with pride. If Trisha Campbell watched over her from some celestial cloud, she was probably shaking her head, wondering why Monica couldn’t get her shit together. Her mother would have loved Ryan. And she definitely wouldn’t approve of men like Calum Hughes. He was the equivalent of doughnuts or fried cheese sticks. There was zero nutritional value in the Cals of this world. Sexy junk food.

  And Monica was on the wagon for good.

  She smiled for Allie’s benefit. “Before I leave, I’ll tell Trevor good-bye.”

  “Okay.” Allie dropped her hand. “And think about coming for dinner tonight. The twins have been asking for Aunt Monnie.”

  “That’s because I sneak them chocolate when you’re not looking.”

  Allie grinned. “I know. And they love you for it.”

  Monica nodded and walked down the long hallway to Trevor’s office. She didn’t just want to say good-bye, she needed to run her idea by him. He probably wouldn’t be receptive, but it was worth a shot. Rapping her knuckles on the thick wooden door, she opened it and peered inside. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

  Trevor glanced up from one of his computer screens. “Yes, but come in anyway.”

  Monica always felt as if she were breaching the inner sanctum when she walked into Trevor’s office. Like the rest of the house, it overflowed with antique pieces, paintings, and oddities, but this room was command central, where Trevor made his fortune.

  She took a chair in front of his desk. “I wanted to talk to you about the foundation’s goals for next year.” A big part of Monica’s job entailed whittling down grant applications. She spent a lot of time staring at statistics and cost projections. Not her favorite part of the gig, but necessary. “I’ve been doing some research.” She pulled a folder from her bag and handed it to Trevor. “Take a look at that. Developing countries are in desperate need of oncology training and equipment. They’re lacking the most basic care. We could open up the grants next year, go international. Spread the wealth a little.”

  Taking his time, Trevor read through the file. Monica could almost see his big brain processing all the facts as his frown deepened. “You’d be broadening the scope of the foundation’s agenda considerably. You’d have to develop relationships with individual clinics, hospitals, medical schools. That’s a lot of extra work, and it would strain our resources.”

  “The payoff would be worth it. We’re on target for more donations this year. It might mean taking on a consultant, hiring a couple more employees, but it would put us on the international map.”

  His eyes met hers. “Have you talked to Allison about this?”

  “Not yet. I was kind of hoping you might mention it. Pave the way for me.”

  He shut the folder and tossed it on his desk. “Forget it. Do your own dirty work. I’m not going to get involved in a squabble between sisters. Especially you two.”

  “Trevor, please—”

  “No. She’d be angry with both of us if I approached her instead of you.” He held up his hand to stave off her words. “I like fucking your sister. When she’s angry with me, I don’t get to do that. Sorry, darling, you’re on your own.”

  “First of all, eww. I’d prefer not to know the details of your sexy time. Second, you’re pussy whipped. I expected more from you, and I’m deeply disappointed.” Pressing her lips together, Monica slowly shook her head.

  With a laugh, Trevor stood and handed the folder back. “I’m utterly pussy whipped. And I quite enjoy it. Talk to Allison. If you believe in this, convince her.”

  “Thanks for nothing. You know she won’t listen to me.”

  “Sorry.” Pity filled his eyes.

  Monica looked away and grabbed her bag. Feeling deflated, she let herself out of Trevor’s office and, instead of leaving by the side door as she usually did, headed to the front in an effort to dodge Cal and his bare torso. She felt like a complete coward for not wanting to face him, but she did it just the same.

  As Monica walked outside into the hot morning sun, Calum Hughes sat fully clothed on the hood of her Honda, waiting. When he saw her, a wide grin broke over his face.

  Well, hell. She just couldn’t catch a break today.

  Chapter 3

  He’d been sitting here for over forty minutes, waiting. How long could one meeting last, for God’s sake? And what kind of meeting? Did Monica work for Trevor? She dressed like a bean counter, that much was certain. The suit, that horrible, boxy black jacket—it didn’t fit her at all. Oh, it looked fine, dull as dishwater of course, but it didn’t suit her, Monica Campbell, the girl with the wild hair and devilish eyes.

  Cal remembered her clearly, had thought about her from time to time over the years. He fantasized about what would have happened had they not been interrupted.

  Her father’s weddi
ng had been a small, intimate gathering—just family. Afterward, as he’d stood in the conservatory chatting her up, she’d been lively, flirtatious. Her hair tumbled down her back in thick honeyed waves, and occasionally she’d toss her head, causing them to bounce. The perfume she’d worn smelled lightly sweet, with a hint of spice. It reminded him of a winter he’d spent in Germany for some odd reason. And Monica had worn a red dress—rosso alfa, almost the exact color of a 1968 Alfa Romeo Spider. Not just any red, but a deep, dark scarlet. Strapless and glittery, it had showed off her tits, and was short enough to give him a glimpse of her fit legs.

  Yeah, he remembered her—had almost total recall of the event. How she’d felt in his arms, the weight of her breast in his hand. Her lips had tasted sweet, fresh, with a hint of champagne. And if Allison hadn’t stopped them¸ he’d have fucked Monica Campbell against the garden wall and enjoyed every bloody minute of it.

  However, looking back, that may have been taking advantage of her. The thought never would have occurred to his younger self. Cal had simply seen a girl looking for a bit of slap, and he’d been eager to provide it. But she’d teetered on the brink of recklessness that night. He hadn’t understood it at the time—he’d simply enjoyed being on the receiving end of all that attention. Now he realized how hard it must have been for her, watching her father marry a new woman. In essence, replacing her mother. He couldn’t say he was glad they hadn’t shagged that night, but perhaps it was for the best.

  One thing Cal did know: he wanted another chance with her. Monica was older now, in control of her emotions. Too much so for his liking. She could do with a bit of loosening up.

  This morning he’d barely recognized her. Her hair was several inches shorter. She’d forced it into behaving, taming the waves into a more manageable style. And while her eyes were the same crystal blue, he sensed something like unease in their depths.

  While her voice had been cool and impersonal, she’d held that bag in front of her as if she were hiding behind it. The dreadful suit she wore was a buffer as well, camouflaging her amazing curves.