Her Frog Prince

by Shirley Jump

  Gigi let out a bark, as if in agreement.

  "You know how I feel about suits," he said to the dog.

  Gigi barked again.

  "And women in general."

  Gigi whined.

  "You're right. There would be a lot of wealthy people there. The Kingmans, for instance. Some of them might even sit on the board for the research foundation. I could go for…career reasons."

  Gigi sighed and laid her head on her paws.

  "And I'm only wearing a suit because it's a good professional move. Not to impress Parris Hammond."

  Gigi snarled.

  "In fact, I won't even look her way."

  In response to that, Gigi rolled over and played dead.

  Merry saw Parris enter The Banyan Room from one end and Brad enter from the other. After the way Parris had hightailed it back to the resort the night before, Merry had been sure this was going to be her first matchmaking flop. She'd be stuck in orthopedic shoes forever.

  But no, here they were, in the same room. A prime opportunity to work a little magic—if her godmother didn't catch her. Merry glanced over at the front door. Lissa was busy greeting people and making sure the table settings were perfect, serving as a right hand to Jackie and Parris. In other words, her attention was diverted.

  So if Merry cooked up a little mood music or an "impromptu" run-in between Brad and Parris, no one would be the wiser.

  She smiled to herself, then circled her finger toward the band. They segued from the upbeat tempo they'd been playing into a slower, more romantic melody.

  Parris hadn't noticed, though. She was crossing the room in Merry's direction, about five feet away. Away from Brad. Merry twitched her nose and flicked her finger, first at Parris, then at Brad.

  She hadn't done it fast enough. "What was that?" Parris asked, approaching Merry.

  "What was what?"

  "That thing you did with your finger."

  "Thing I did?" Playing dumb was the best course, Merry figured. Let people think she was getting dementia. Probably the only course right now. She'd never been caught by one of the matchmakees doing her thing. How the heck was she supposed to get out of this?

  "You pointed at me, then at…" Parris turned and looked over her shoulder, in the direction of Merry's magical vibes. "Ah…at Mr. Smith."

  Merry raised her hand and let the fingers tremble a little. "Merely an accident. Arthritis, you know. Makes me go all twitchy sometimes." She flung a finger up, then another out. "Oops, there it goes again."

  Parris gave her a dubious look, so Merry threw in a third frantic digit movement. "You should see a doctor about that," Parris said finally.

  "It's a temporary condition." She smiled. "Should be gone by the end of the summer."

  Or sooner, if you hurry over to that handsome man you're supposed to fall in love with.

  Parris opened her mouth to say something else, then shook her head and walked away.

  Well, I'll be. Parris Hammond speechless. Maybe next I'll see pigs flying with the gulls.

  Parris refused to look at him. Or even acknowledge he was there. She had a job to do. Plenty on her plate without adding Brad Smith into the mix.

  Then why did she find herself pivoting to catch a glimpse of him in the dark navy suit? His tie was a jumbled mess, as if he'd never gotten the hang of a Windsor knot, and his collar looked like it had been pressed by a monkey with an iron, but overall, the effect was…

  Jarring.

  She hadn't expected to find Brad Smith this handsome. Or this sexy.

  But he was, more than she wanted to admit. He had been, even in the shorts and tank top on the whaling boat. And in the pale blue short-sleeved shirt that seemed to glow under last night's moon.

  Whoa. For a woman who didn't want to think about him, she was doing some pretty damned heavy thinking.

  "Miss Hammond?" A petite woman in Donna Karan, carrying a miniature Doberman with a crystal-studded collar, came up to Parris.

  "Yes, I'm Parris Hammond."

  "Victoria Catherine Smith." She extended one bejeweled hand. "So pleased to finally meet you in person. I met your sister earlier. You two are both beautiful young women."

  So this was Brad's mother. She couldn't have been more different from her squid-slogging marine biologist son if she'd tried. "It's a pleasure to meet you, too," Parris said, shaking hands with Mrs. Smith. The other woman's many rings cut into Parris's palm. "I'm looking forward to your auction in two more days."

  "I do hope it goes well. I want the aquarium to be something really…" Victoria's voice trailed off for a second and she took a glance around the room. "Special."

  "It will be. Everything's right on schedule."

  No lightning bolts struck her dead in the middle of the posh Banyan Room. She was safe from the flames of liar's hell for now.

  "Glad to hear it." Victoria patted Parris's hand. "Your sister Jackie tells me you're single."

  "Uh…yes." Oh, no. She could already feel where this was leading.

  "You should meet my son, Bradford. He's a smart young man. Wonderful personality." She leaned forward, clutching the mini dog to her chest. "A little rough around the edges looks-wise, but all he needs is a good woman."

  Clearly Parris was being sized up for more than one job tonight. "Actually, I've met him. He's very nice."

  She could practically feel the flames licking at her feet now. Describing Brad as a "nice" man was an understatement to the nth degree.

  "You've met him?" Victoria's eyes took on an inquisitive look. "And you liked him?"

  "Yes, of course."

  "Well, maybe you could help me with another project," Victoria said, lowering her, voice. She stepped closer to Parris, draping an arm over her shoulders as if drawing her into her confidence. "Since you've been such a pro with the auction and all."

  "Well, I wouldn't say—"

  "Brad needs help," Victoria went on, as if she hadn't heard a word Parris said. "He's a little distracted. He's a man, you know."

  "I noticed." Often.

  "My son is…determined to follow his own path. Even if that path leads him straight to the bottom of the ocean," Victoria said, displeasure clear in her voice. "I'm sure, however, with the right influence, he could see his talents are best used elsewhere."

  "The influence of a woman, you mean." Parris didn't bother phrasing it as a question because she already knew the answer.

  Victoria nodded, a hint of a smile on her fuchsia lips. "A beautiful woman who's got his best interests at heart, of course."

  "Mrs. Smith, I could never steer Brad toward anything. I mean, we hardly know each other." Parris cast a quick glance at the ceiling. Still no lightning bolts came out of the sky to strike her down in her Ferragamo heels.

  "He's kept his eye on you all night. I'd say he wants to get to know you very well." Victoria smiled. "You're an intelligent woman. Surely you can see that for Bradford, using his brains in a business environment would be far smarter than spending his days in some silly rowboat looking at dead fish."

  Parris thought of the day she and Brad had spent on the whaling boat, the magical night by the tide pools, of the fascination on his face every time he came eye-to-eye with an ocean creature, and felt herself bristle, but she tamped it down. Victoria Catherine Smith was her client—her only client right now.

  The business was Parris's livelihood. Part of her decision to make a new life for herself, whatever that might be, with this chance her father had handed her. Despite that, she wouldn't betray a friend for it. But she also wouldn't ruin the auction. No matter what, Parris couldn't afford to tell Victoria what she really thought. "Brad, ah, doesn't seem the corporate type."

  Victoria patted her hand. "That's just because he hasn't met a woman who encouraged him. He's been…drifting." Her smile widened at her pun.

  Parris sent a glance Brad's way. He looked ready to die in the suit, as if the mere presence of neckwear had him feeling suffocated. She couldn't imagine him in a suit every d
ay, sitting behind a desk. On the ocean, he'd seemed at home.

  Happy as a clam in wet sand.

  Why did he want the makeover then? Was he gearing himself up for a corporate job? She couldn't imagine it, but maybe he was.

  "I don't think I'm the right woman for the job." Parris turned toward the bar and accepted a fruit-topped cocktail from the bartender. She'd guzzle down arsenic if it would get her out of this thorny situation. She looked toward Jackie, hoping for an escape route, but her sister merely flipped her a thumbs-up and went back to talking to the Phipps-Stovers.

  "I think you're the perfect woman." Victoria laid a hand on Parris's shoulder, then withdrew it to stroke the sleeping dog in her arms. "You know, I have a number of friends involved in events such as this. Auctions. Gallery openings. Charity dinners. I'd love to be able to recommend you and your sister to them."

  The promise was clear in Victoria's voice. Make Brad come around to his mother's vision and Parris and Jackie's business could be set for the next twenty years.

  "Well, you think about it," Victoria said after a second. "I want to go say hello to Morton Kingman." She walked away, as if she hadn't just dropped a loaded bomb in Parris's lap.

  A bomb that involved the one man she'd promised herself she'd stay away from not five minutes earlier.

  Brad could see the trouble brewing from ten miles away. His mother with Parris Hammond. Undoubtedly, she was convincing Parris—and anyone within earshot—that Brad belonged in the corporate cage, fodder for the other CEO lions.

  His mother gave him a little wave, using her dog KayKay's paw. Then she went back to stroking Morton Kingman's ego, gesturing toward her son as she spoke.

  Oh Lord. Now she was recruiting help from the sidelines.

  He shouldn't have worn the suit. It gave his mother ideas, not to mention made him feel uncomfortable as hell. He never had mastered the tie thing. The silk crimson looked like it had been knotted by a three-year-old.

  He'd burned his thumb pressing the collar and used too much starch on one side, so half of it stood stiff against his neck while the other side kept flopping inside the jacket's lapel as if trying to hide from the crowd.

  He might as well face facts. He needed help. An extreme makeover for the suit-impaired.

  Then he took a second look at Parris and knew damned well why he'd worn the suit.

  To impress the goddess in the sea-green dress who was pretending not to notice him and doing a terrible job of it. If getting her attention meant wearing a gorilla costume, hell, hand him a banana and a fur coat.

  Because that kiss had been the only thing he'd thought about for every waking minute. And every second of REM sleep.

  Brad tossed back the rest of his champagne, laid the flute on the tray of a passing waiter and crossed to Parris. The closer he got, the faster his heart beat, as if it were a homing beacon acknowledging her proximity.

  "You look stunning," he said, his voice low and just between them, "like a mermaid in the ocean."

  She paused, her breath a hitch, then she cocked that Parris smile he'd come to know—and know to duck from. "And are you trying to net me for your evil devices, fisher boy?"

  "Oh, if I could, I would. You still owe me a favor or two." He gave her a grin. "But I have a feeling you'd put up a fight."

  "You've got that right." She turned, picked up a clipboard and began comparing the list on her board to the place cards that had yet to be picked up by the front door.

  "And what if I did catch you? And decide to keep you?"

  "For what? Some fantasy happy ending?"

  "Hey, it worked out for Ariel and Prince Eric."

  "That was the Disney version. The real mermaid tale didn't end with a sunset and a kiss." She finished checking names and moved over to the donations table, where a few of the items for the auction had been set out as a preview for the guests at the thank-you dinner. "The Brothers Grimm were a lot more realistic."

  Brad stepped around her, so that he was now between her and the table. He noticed her attention go to the suit, her eyes light up with approval, then she washed the look away with a blink. "You know what your problem is?" he said.

  "A man in a suit blocking my line of sight?"

  "Besides that."

  "Besides that, I have no problems." She stepped to his right.

  Brad moved with her. "You live in a world of black and white. No gray, no rainbows."

  She snorted. "What is this, The Wizard of Oz? I have news for you. Rainbows don't last."

  "How do you know?"

  "They disappear, Brad. You can't count on them."

  "Just like you can't count on men, huh?"

  "When did I say that?"

  "You didn't have to. It's written all over your face every time you look at me. It was in your voice when you ran away after that kiss on the beach."

  "I did not run away from you. You walked away from me." She took a step closer, her pen now directed at his chest, as if he were one more thing on her checklist. "I'd say you're the one who's scared."

  "Me? I'm not scared of anything except great white sharks that haven't eaten in the last week."

  "And women who might expect more out of you than you're willing to give?"

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  She shrugged. "You're the one with the college degree. You figure it out. And if you can't, maybe you can ask those smart octopuses for help."

  Then she turned on her heel and went back to her guests.

  Brad wanted to throttle something. He'd never met a woman who infuriated him more. She was right about one thing, though—he was better off sticking to cephalopods than females.

  The rest of the night, Parris noticed Brad. He was always within her peripheral vision, as if the sight of him had been burned on her retina. She saw him chatting with the guests, greeting the Phipps-Stovers like old friends, chatting with the Kingmans, talking with several of the other donors. He seemed to be everywhere.

  Of course, he was in the same room as her. That did make for close proximity.

  She would not look at him. She'd walked away with a hell of a closing line. Leave it at that and concentrate on work. That was priority one. Not the fact that he sent her head and her hormones into a raging turmoil every time he was nearby.

  "Mr. Kingman," she said, putting out her hand in greeting as she approached Morton Kingman. The rotund man had on a bright purple suit with a pink shirt and floral tie. His much-younger blond wife was dressed in gold lame, with a scoop front that redefined daring.

  "Parris! What a beautiful name. And city." Morton let out a hearty laugh. "Have you ever been there?"

  "No, I'm sorry to say I haven't."

  "Oh, my dear, you are missing an adventure! You simply must go!" Morton pouted, lips sinking into deep jowls. "Though there isn't much marine life there. Such a pity. France really needs some whales. Maybe a few sharks. Perhaps Candy and I can start a sea-life revolution on our next trip abroad. So, tell me, what's your favorite?"

  "Favorite?"

  "Why, sea creature, of course. Myself, I'm partial to manatees." Morton leaned closer to her. "You are what you love, you know," he said, clutching his generous belly and laughing.

  "Manatees are…nice," Parris said. What else could she say? Cute? Cuddly? Wet?

  "And what do you love?" Morton put up a palm. "Wait! Let me guess." His gaze skipped over her. "Tall, statuesque blonde. Self-assured yet a tad vulnerable. You must be a fan of—"

  "Mr. Kingman, really, I don't think—"

  "No, don't tell me. I'm very good at this, just ask Candy. She loves silver dollars, don't you, baby?"

  Candy clutched at Morton's arm and looked at him with adoration. "Oh you know me too well."

  He patted her arm, right over the four-carat diamond. Parris wasn't so sure Candy was after the silver kind of dollars at all. "I do think our dear friend Parris is a sea horse lover. Independent woman, but at the same time looking for a man who is strong and dependable enough to
carry half the load."

  Parris let out a laugh that sounded almost hysterical to her ears. "I don't think so."

  "Oh, you may not think so, darlin', but your true ocean heart never lies." Morton nodded. "Our sea selves are our honest selves."

  "And my Mortie knows his stuff," Candy said. "He's a genius."

  Morton smiled at Parris. "You need to find another sea horse and have yourself some ponies." He laughed at his ocean humor, then patted her hand. "I like you, Parris, and not just because your name reminds me of a beautiful city."

  "Thank you, Mr. Kingman."

  "Mortie, please. If I'm going to be making out a generous check to this charity auction for the aquarium, the least you can do is call me by my first name."

  "Mortie it is, then." She'd swayed the Kingmans over somehow…somewhere between the manatees and sea horses. She didn't care how she'd done it, just that it had happened. Something was finally going right with this auction.

  And that felt good. Damned good. For the first time in her life, Parris could feel success. Her own success, not someone else's. She could do this. She envisioned a career ahead of her, a path of her own making.

  "That Brad Smith, he's a good guy," Morton continued. "Said such nice things about you that I knew I had to support this cause, even if his mother drives me up a wall." Morton scowled. "A dog lover, that woman. You know what they say about dog lovers?"

  "Uh, no."

  "That they're fans of fur, not fins." He shook his head. "Doesn't matter. You have Brad Smith's endorsement. To me, that's as good as gold. Expect a check in the morning. And I'll throw in one of my rare Manatees by Mark Monetee paintings for the auction, too."

  Parris bit back her emotions enough to thank the Kingmans several times for their generosity and drew them over to Victoria's table to share the news. Then she walked away, heading straight for Brad.

  "Why did you do that?" she said when she reached him at the bar.

  He thanked the bartender for his rum and Coke, then pivoted toward Parris. "Do what?"

  "Put in a good word for me with the Kingmans?"