Her Frog Prince

by Shirley Jump

  "I thought you could use the help. After all, it was partly because of me that you missed their brunch and your opportunity to convince them to donate."

  "Why? You think I'm not good enough or smart enough to handle this auction? Do you think you have to keep coming to my rescue?"

  "No, I just thought—"

  "Listen, if I need a knight on a white horse, I'll whistle. Until then, just stay out of my business." She turned on her heel and walked away.

  "Hey, Parris."

  She pivoted back. "What?"

  "To whistle, you just put two fingers in your mouth, you know. And I'll come running to do your bidding, princess." Then Brad gave her a teasing grin that sent her frustration level into the stratosphere.

  If she'd had a magic wand right now, Parris would have turned Brad Smith into a toad.

  Chapter Seven

  "I take it the evening didn't go well?" Jerry asked Brad the next morning.

  "What makes you say that?"

  "You're torching your tie over a Bunsen burner."

  "Hate the things. They don't do a damned thing for me anyway."

  "And you can't tie one to save your life."

  "That too." Brad tossed the charred fabric into the wastebasket. He'd thought it would make him feel better to see it disappear, but it didn't.

  "So what went wrong?"

  "What went right would be a better question. The only one who paid me the slightest bit of attention was Morton Kingman and that was only to get information on Parris. He threw in something about putting in a good word with the committee for me, then asked whether Parris would be attending the awards dinner with me. I might as well have been invisible."

  "Well, you are a bit hard to…digest." Jerry raised an arm over his head and ducked.

  Brad tossed a crumpled wad of paper across the room and conked his assistant in the elbow. "Are you saying people get sick at the sight of me?"

  "You use all that scientific language when you talk to them and their eyes start to glaze over. They look like a bunch of penguins stuck inside an iceberg."

  "Gee, thanks."

  Jerry shrugged. "Anytime."

  Last night had proved Jerry right, though. Every time Brad tried to make a case for his giant squid research to any of the aquatic donors, he'd lost them as soon as he'd uttered the word Architeuthis.

  Clearly, changing into a suit wasn't enough. If he wanted to make a dynamic presentation, he needed to polish more than his wingtips. He wanted to be valued for his research, not his name or his connections. But unless he found a way to excite the committee about his data, he wouldn't be able to get the dollars he needed.

  "Maybe my mother is right," Brad said, making sure the gas was off on the Bunsen burner before turning to the last bit of research left to do on the samples he'd collected last week. "Maybe I should go back to the corporate world."

  "What, and leave all the dead algae and tentacles behind? Are you nuts? You could have this," Jerry shook a jar with a formaldehyde-preserved squid inside at Brad, "and you're thinking about a company car and health plans?"

  "There are benefits to a real job, you know." Brad loaded the slide onto the compound microscope and adjusted the magnification settings.

  "Like what? A hot secretary to take 'memos' and add a little sweetness to your coffee?" Jerry scratched at his chin. "Hey, wait a minute. Why don't we have a secretary like that?"

  "Because we can't even afford ourselves, never mind any help." Brad focused the lenses on the slide, adjusted the eyepiece to fit against his face, then studied the specimen, making little notations on a pad by his side.

  "I'd gladly take a pay cut if it meant we could get a pretty—"

  "Oh my God." Brad jerked back from the microscope, blinked at Jerry, then pressed his face to the eyepiece again. "It can't be."

  "Evidence of merpeople? If you find a mermaid, I get first dibs on her, considering I've been dateless longer."

  "No, better," Brad said. He increased the power on the lenses, then refocused.

  And stared at a miracle he'd waited an entire career to find.

  Parris had twelve hours to pull off the final details for the auction. Jackie had woken up with a migraine that morning and begged for a couple more hours of a dark room and peace. Parris had assured her sister she could handle everything.

  She prayed she didn't prove herself a liar.

  "Miss Hammond?" Lilith Peterson, the resort's concierge, was the first to greet her in the lobby. "I hate to be the one to tell you this, but the chef just notified me the menu will have to change."

  "What? Why?"

  "The prime rib shipment didn't make it onto the ferry. Someone left it on the docks, where it sat all night, unrefrigerated, because it had been unplugged for loading."

  Parris's grip on her planner tightened. "Let me guess. Now it's E. coli on a plate?"

  "Exactly."

  "What can he substitute?"

  Lilith put a bright smile on her face. "Chicken."

  "How original." Parris withdrew a pen and flipped to the page for the auction's menu. She doodled for a second, thinking. "We could have seafood."

  "At an auction to raise money to preserve ocean life?"

  "You're right. Might not be so nice to see a dead fish on the plate at the same time we're asking for money to support live ones." Parris tapped her pen against her lip. "Okay, I'll meet with the chef in a minute and we'll think of something. Maybe color the chicken brown and drench it in au jus sauce. Call it mystery steak." She smiled.

  Lilith blanched.

  "I'm kidding." Sort of.

  No sooner had Lilith left than Joyce Phipps-Stover came striding down the hall, a porter struggling to keep up with her, juggling two wheeled suitcases and three handled ones. "I'm leaving, Miss Hammond."

  "But the auction is tonight," Parris said, hurrying to catch up. "You'll miss the whole thing." She put on an encouraging smile. "It's going to be a wonderful event."

  "I won't be attending, nor are my husband and I donating that stupid piece of art."

  Oh no. Not another disaster. Not with only a few hours to go. Jackie wasn't going to be the only one reaching for the headache medicine today. Parris's spirits plummeted.

  "You're withdrawing your donation? But you can't do that. It's the day of the auction."

  "It hasn't been auctioned off yet. We certainly can withdraw it. I'm leaving because that husband of mine is an idiot and I don't want to look at his face for one more second." Joyce snapped her fingers at the porter. "Get me a car and get me to the airport as fast as possible."

  "B-b-but," Parris sputtered.

  "There are no buts and there is no painting. I'm sorry, Miss Hammond, but that thing has nearly cost me my marriage. We aren't going to donate it to some auction and give that bad luck to someone else." She gave Parris a little nod and walked away. "I wish you well."

  The prime rib had become prime food poisoning. The Phipps-Stovers' painting was gone. What else could go wrong?

  When she saw Merry Montrose hustling over to her, Parris considered running away to avoid more bad news. The resort manager hustled across the lobby as fast as she could in her clunky senior citizen shoes. When she reached Parris, her face looked ashen and she had a palm pressed to the left side of her chest. Maybe all the effort of moving so quickly had exerted her too much. "Was that Mrs. Phipps-Stover leaving? Without her husband?"

  Parris sighed. "Yes. And with her painting."

  "Why didn't you stop her? Or do something?!" Merry almost shrieked the words. "Anything but let her leave without her husband!"

  What was with this woman? She seemed so invested in the marital future of this couple. She was annoying, like one of those elderly neighbors who had nothing better to do than stick their noses into everyone else's love lives.

  "Mrs. Phipps-Stover seemed pretty determined," Parris said. "I'm sure they'll work it all out. Any couple that calls each other 'poopsie' on a regular basis is destined to be together."
>
  Merry inhaled, then let the breath out slowly, her hand still against her chest. Lord, was the woman going to have a heart attack right here in the lobby? Parris knew some first aid, but not enough to stop a cardiac event. And besides, she didn't have time for the resort's manager to try playing dead today.

  "Yes, you're probably right," Merry said after a minute of deep breathing. "Their marriage will be okay."

  The old woman was definitely one of those closet matchmakers. As long as Merry kept her two-by-two hands off Parris, they'd get along just fine.

  Merry Matchmaker or not, she did a great job as resort manager and had a number of qualities that reminded Parris of a girl she'd known in college. The manager wasn't all bad, just a little too…involved for Parris's tastes. And that thing she did with her finger…

  Well that was just creepy. Like a live-action Bewitched rerun.

  "Is everything on track for the auction tonight?" Merry asked.

  "Oh, sure. Just fine," Parris said, pasting a nice, big, fake smile on her face. No need to worry this hippity-hearted woman any more.

  "Good." Merry smiled, too, but hers had an almost apologetic look. "Then I suppose it won't bother you too much that the florist had to run off site and might not be able to finish getting the decorations up."

  Oh no. Not another thing. "Why?"

  "His mother was rushed to the hospital with an acute attack of appendicitis. He's all upset. Went through ten hankies this morning, poor thing. His assistant is on vacation, and the other helper is attending some workshop on floral design up in Boston." Merry patted her hand. "I'm sure everything will be lovely all the same."

  "Lovely is the perfect word," Parris said, sarcasm weighting her words. "Absolutely perfect, given the way everything has gone for this auction." She dropped her planner onto the lobby desk and ran a hand over her face. "I'm going outside for a second. I'll be right back."

  Merry's mouth opened, closed and her hand went back to her chest. Parris could not deal with that right now. She needed a moment. Maybe a lot of moments. She spun out of the lobby and away from the mounting problems.

  Once on the beach, she kicked off her heels and let her bare feet squish into the soft, dry sand. She ignored the stares of the sunbathers who clearly wondered what a woman in a bright lime Kenneth Cole suit was doing barefoot on the beach and crossed to the ocean. She dropped her matching shoes onto a dry patch of sand and waded into the water up to her ankles. The cool water hit her skin like a salve, sending a sense of calm through her.

  It was so unlike the world where she'd grown up, the world she'd left to come down here to the resort and get her first taste at a career of her own. A few months ago, she'd been more worried about what time the mall opened than whether a charity would raise enough money to support its penguin exhibit. She'd spent her nights at parties, her mornings nursing headaches.

  Now it all seemed like years of fluff. Like she'd been stuck in cotton candy.

  She'd so wanted the auction to work out, to prove herself. But all she'd proved was that she couldn't handle it. Left under her tutelage, everything had gone wrong.

  She let out a breath, hands on her hips, and faced the horizon, the resort at her back. She drank in the view, letting it ease her worries. After a moment, she bent down, swishing her hand in the salt water. Beneath her palm, a whole world swirled back and forth. Minnows darted along the shoreline, empty shells tumbled in the curling tide, smooth rocks peeked under the pristine sand. A ray glided across the smooth sandy bed. A tiny pale orange crab scuttled away, disturbed by her presence. Down the beach a pair of terns dodged the incoming tide.

  Here, it seemed everything was perfect and real.

  The problems of the auction disappeared, washing out to sea with a slim piece of sun-bleached driftwood.

  "It's amazing, isn't it?"

  Brad's voice. It sounded so natural behind her, as if he was part of the ocean, too. She didn't turn around, just stayed where she was, bent and staring at the wondrous world below her. "Someone told me I was looking at the ocean from too far away."

  "Someone wise and intelligent. Someone very handsome, too, with a killer personality."

  "Someone who often presses his luck." She stood, pivoting toward him. "What brings you to this side of the island?"

  "I found something," Brad said with a smile. "Something big."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I need to do more tests, but I think, well, I hope…" He ran a hand through his hair, as if he'd lost his train of thought somewhere there. "Remember that day I rescued you?"

  "Vividly."

  "I had gone diving earlier that day, before I found you, and had taken several samples from the water. I'd found a few Illex illecebrosus and had come across a barracuda finishing his lunch. I'd thought it was the remains of an Illex because I could see tentacles, but I was wrong. Anyway, I was just getting to the last of the samples last night and in it…" His voice trailed off and he took in a breath, grabbing her hands as he did. "In it was a tissue sample from a giant squid."

  "Really?" Parris's eyes widened. "Are you sure?"

  "The probability is ninety-four point—"

  "Brad, a yes or no would do."

  He grinned. "Sorry. I'm a scientist. I'm reasonably sure. How's that?"

  "About as good as I'm going to get from you, I guess." She smiled.

  "You're right about that." Silence extended between them, broken only by the soft swoosh-swoosh of the ocean. The cool water swirled around Parris's ankles, tickling at her skin, reminding her that she was standing in the middle of the surf in a business suit talking to a bearded man in shorts. If she hadn't looked crazy when she'd been dabbling in the water, she sure as heck must look it now.

  "I'm glad for you, Brad, I really am." She strode out of the water, back up to the beach and grabbed her shoes off the sand.

  "Do you know what this means?"

  "You'll finally get that research grant you need." She smiled at him and realized that no matter what Victoria Catherine Smith wanted, Parris knew Brad wanted that grant. And because she liked him, she wanted it for him, too.

  "Maybe. Maybe not. I heard another scientist found evidence that bluefin tuna comingle during migration. That's a big find because it blows previous theories about them out of the water. Maybe theories about other migratory fish, too. The competition's tight."

  Parris smiled. "You'll do fine."

  He let out a gust and started following her up the beach path. "I don't think so. I need your help. Now."

  "Now? I can't do anything right now except save my own skin." She shook her head and increased her pace. "No. Sorry, Brad. I can't help you."

  "I didn't mean this second. After the auction is okay. I know that's today."

  "I'll be going back home to Manhattan then." Even as she said the word, though, the city didn't sound like home to her anymore. Home, oddly enough, seemed to be here.

  "You're avoiding me." Brad grabbed her arm and gently spun her around. "Admit it."

  "I am not. I have a business to run."

  "Then tell me what your next project is."

  Fixing her own life. Finding out who she was, beyond being the daughter of Jeffrey Hammond and the sister of Jackie Hammond. And finding out what she was good at, besides mixing and matching designer outfits. "I can't tell you. That would be violating client privacy."

  "Bull. You're afraid of getting involved with me so you come up with one excuse after another to avoid me. It's simple. You owe me a favor. You refuse to repay it." He released her arms and took a step back. "Go ahead and run, Parris. You do it well."

  She let out an indignant gasp. "How dare you?"

  "How dare I? How dare you? We shared something that night by the tide pools and you won't admit it. Instead, you insist on driving me completely insane. I must be a glutton for punishment because I keep coming back here, asking for more. I thought I saw something in you, but I was wrong."

  His words hit her like a punch. They wer
e the ones she'd been waiting to hear. All the men she'd ever dated had said them, at one time or another.

  She wasn't the woman he wanted. Wasn't who he thought she was.

  Parris bit her bottom lip and swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat, like a ball of candy was stuck there. "You imagined something in me."

  He saw her as the girl on the whaling boat. The one by the tide pool. He was wrong. That wasn't Parris Hammond. Even she wasn't sure who Parris was anymore. There was no way Brad could know her better than she knew herself.

  "No, I didn't." He took a step closer to her and caught her chin in his hand. "Why are you so afraid of letting down your guard? Of being who you really want to be? Just once?"

  "I'm myself." Her voice sounded defensive to her ears.

  "This is you?" He gestured toward the suit. "The woman in the power suit, barking orders, demanding perfection? Or are you the one I saw a few minutes ago, her eyes wide with wonder at the sand crab scuttling by her feet?"

  She raised her chin out of his grasp. "I was relieving a little stress and cooling my ankles. Nothing more."

  "Oh, get real, Parris," Brad said, letting out a chuff of frustration. "And when you do, you know where I am."

  She watched him stalk off. She should let him go. After all, she had a million details to take care of today, a hundred things to do in the next hour. A dinner to plan, a pulled painting to replace, flowers to find.

  Damn that Brad Smith. He'd had the last word once already with her. Once was enough with Parris. She stomped after him, her bare feet gaining little traction in the soft sand, causing her to struggle against the beach. By the time she caught up to him, her perfect chignon had come undone and her unbuttoned suit flapped against her waist. "You're not the only one with a problem or two, Mr. Smith."

  He spun around, clearly surprised to see her there. "And what do you mean by that?"

  "You have a family fortune you've turned your back on so you can go panhandling—"

  "I'm not—"

  She put up a hand. "Begging for money from a grant committee. And all because you won't tell your mother what you really want to do for a living."