In the Dead of the Night

by Spear, Terry

  But first, she had to get a refund for her wedding gown.

  She jerked her car door open. Taking two deep breaths, she attempted to calm her rapid pulse, and grabbed the bag filled with lace and satin.

  To think Pembrooke had the gall to reschedule the wedding for the next Saturday. And to think everyone, including her family, planned to attend…again.

  She shook her head. Even her boss, owner of Fox and Sons Auditing, was threatening her with mayhem. She should never have dated Pembrooke, one of their biggest clients. He’d insisted, and her boss had said go for it. No way was Lisa marrying that two-timing, no good, son-of-gun, Pembrooke.

  She hurried into the shop and took a breath of the air conditioned air instantly cooling some of the heat that had built up in her system.

  After crossing the floor to the checkout register, Lisa laid her wedding gown neatly on the countertop. Smiling most amiably at the clerk, Lisa attempted to ignore the sign hanging above the register. No refunds on wedding gowns. No exceptions!

  The clerk reminded her of her almost mother-in-law…chopped off black hair, icy blue eyes, and thin lips painted a bright red. Scrawny and mean. If the woman ate more than a hummingbird’s portion of food, maybe she’d be more jovial.

  “I need to return this.” Lisa spoke in her most professional auditing voice, the one she used when she’d find a discrepancy in financial accounts and didn’t want to upset the business owner.

  The clerk didn’t even attempt a smile. “We don’t take used gowns back.” The emphasis on the word used and the snotty way the clerk said it nearly pushed Lisa beyond the boiling point. Having clerked in college, Lisa was taught the customer was always right, so what was this woman’s problem?

  Endeavoring to settle the knot forming in the pit of her stomach, Lisa straightened her back. “You don’t understand.” Her voice raised a notch. “It wasn’t used. To be used, you have to wear it. I mean, they take back shoes, if they haven’t been worn outside, you know.”

  The buzz of conversation in the store instantly died. Lisa turned to see several female patrons—brides-to-be, bridesmaids, mothers-of-the-brides—watching her, amusement written all over their smug faces. Sure, the brides’ fiancés would show up for their weddings right on time. She took a deep breath. Hers had too for that matter, so there.

  She caught sight of a gentleman trying on a tux in front of a mirror, only his brown-sugar colored eyes, the sexy dark variety, didn’t focus on the cut of his tux. He watched her in the reflection of the mirror, his mouth turned up slightly at the corners.

  To her annoyance, her whole body heated with mortification.

  Facing the clerk, Lisa lowered her voice and continued, “I didn’t wear it to my wedding. So you see, it isn’t used.”

  “We don’t give refunds on gowns.” The clerk pointed to the sign hanging on the wall, as if Lisa was too stupid to have noticed. “You can try the resale shop across the street.”

  “The gown has never been worn. It is as new as fresh fallen—”

  The clerk folded her arms and creased her brow, her cardinal red lips thinned even further in a grim set look. Attila-the-Hun.

  Lisa grabbed up the gown. “Forget it. This is the last time I ever shop here. And you better believe, I’ll let all of my girlfriends know how poor your customer relations are, all of whom any day now will be looking for just the right wedding gowns for their special occasions. You can count on it!”

  She whipped around and stormed across the store, her rubber heeled sandals slapping the white marble floor in her hasty exodus.

  With every intention of banging the door on her way out, the spring keeping it from slamming thwarted her.

  She growled under her breath instead when the door closed excruciatingly slow behind her.

  ***

  Peter Crawford laid the tux on the counter, his gaze fixed on the blonde—a sporty compact—sleek, hot, and a real spitfire—as she hastily departed the store with the bundle of satin and lace crammed in her arms.

  “Do you need anything else, Mr. Crawford?”

  He turned his attention to the clerk. “No. That’ll be all, Rheba. So…who was the blonde?”

  “Lisa Robbins.”

  “And the groom?”

  Rheba pointed a three-inch, bright red fake nail at a corkboard proudly displaying wedding announcements for ceremonies scheduled within the month.

  Peter walked over to the board while the clerk rang his credit card through. He searched through the announcements until he saw the one with Lisa’s name on it. “Pembrooke Hastings?” He couldn’t help the way his voice elevated with the notion. How in the hell had the lady ever snagged him into a marriage commitment? He and Pembrooke often competed for the same game, women they met at the same parties who had similar backgrounds. But neither were interested in settling down—Pembrooke because he was too much of a philanderer, Peter because of the scheming woman who played the joke of a century on him and had a fling with his best friend, which was finally the last straw.

  “Yeah. Pembrooke Hastings is the one,” the clerk said.

  “What was the problem?”

  “Apparently, he didn’t show up for the wedding.”

  That didn’t surprise Peter at all.

  They turned as Lisa hurried back into the shop, her honey-blond curls bouncing in the same rhythm as her breasts did underneath the form-fitting rosy pink shirt she wore. Had she heard their conversation? Her full shimmering lips pouted with annoyance while her blue eyes couldn’t have appeared any frostier when she looked from Peter to Rheba.

  She laid her wedding dress on the counter, then headed straight to the board. After yanking off her wedding announcement, she ripped it into several small strips, then dropped it on the counter. “For your information, Pembrooke showed up for the wedding. I was the one who didn’t,” she said to Rheba, sarcasm dripping from her words. Grabbing her gown, she twirled around like a ballerina doing a pirouette, and stalked out of the store again, her ass jiggling in the short denim shorts.

  In her wake, the sweet fragrance of jasmine scented the air. Peter took a deep breath of the tantalizing bouquet and leaned against the counter. “Long engagement?”

  “A year.”

  “So who is she?”

  “Don’t tell me you’re interested?” The clerk pulled a plastic garment bag over the tux. “I’ve heard no girl can ever tie you down to a wedding engagement.”

  He smiled. “You’re right. I was just curious how she ever hooked Pembrooke Hastings. He was a confirmed bachelor, too, the last I heard.”

  “Well, she caught him and lost him, apparently.”

  Grabbing the tux, Peter said, “Ah, but he turned up at the wedding. So it sounds to me like she ditched him rather than the other way around.” Which truly did surprise him. With the kind of bucks Pembrooke had, the women swarmed around him to get his attention. Peter couldn’t imagine any woman giving him up once she’d caught him for good.

  The clerk laughed. “She’s an auditor with Fox and Sons.”

  “Fox and Sons? Hmm, they audit my books, but I’ve never seen her. Thanks.” He headed for the door, totally intrigued with the saucy blonde.

  “Have a nice day, Mr. Crawford.”

  “Thanks, you, too, Rheba.” He paused at the glass door as Lisa exited the resale shop across the street with the wedding dress still in hand.

  After shoving the door to the wedding shop open, he stepped outside, captivated by the petite woman who’d not only somehow convinced Pembrooke to marry her, but then dumped him at the altar.

  Knowing Pembrooke, that had to hurt. Arrogant to the core, Pembrooke had to be in denial that she’d ditched him.

  Slowing his step to his car, Peter watched Lisa dodge traffic to cross the street. The look on her face, threatening any who even considered running her over, amused him as he thought about rescuing her in the middle of the road. But she was doing a great job of intimidation on her own.

  When she reached the s
idewalk where he stood, he shook his head. “Jaywalking could get you killed, Miss Robbins. You ought to be more careful.”

  “Are you a cop?” Fire blazed in her Caribbean blue eyes, and her words were laced with venom.

  He fought to contain a smile, but wasn’t very successful, and his amusement brought a fresh shade of tantalizing blush to her cheeks.

  Brushing past him to a brand new Ford Taurus, she struggled to extract her keys from a too large straw purse, while juggling the cumbersome satin wedding gown and train in her hands.

  He raised a brow. “Can I help you?”

  She turned her head sharply to look at him, and he envisioned her neck was so taut, it was ready to snap. “Do you want to buy a new wedding gown?”

  “Nooo,” he said elongating the word for emphasis, the idea of marrying anyone instantly making him ill after the last near miss. “I thought maybe if you’d let me have your car key, I could get the door for you.”

  “I’d rather unload the gown.” She dropped the keys in his outstretched hand.

  “You work at Fox and Sons?”

  She pursed her lips, her eyes as hard a blue gemstone.

  “They do my auditing.” Pushing the keypad button, the door lock clicked open. He opened the back door for her. “I don’t remember having seen you before.”

  “Maybe because you’re an old client of theirs. Generally,” she said, shoving her gown into the back seat, “I get their new business.”

  She turned as he rubbed his chin, then smiled at her. “My keys?” she asked, her palm outstretched.

  “Certainly.” He dropped the car keys in her hand. “I never thought of myself as old.”

  “We all get old, Mister…”

  “Peter Crawford of Crawford Industries.”

  “Ahhh.”

  He raised his brows at the tone of her voice inferring something, but he wasn’t sure what, though it definitely sounded negative. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing, Mr. Crawford. Thank you for helping me with the door.”

  “It’s already noon. Would you like to have lunch with me?”

  She laughed, her tone haughty. “You know what?” She pointed at the plastic-covered tux he held. “The last time a man asked me that, I ended up saying I will. A year later, I’m stuck with a three thousand dollar wedding gown and no husband. So thank you for the kind invitation, but no! I don’t want to do lunch…or anything else with you or any other living man on the whole earth, for that matter. But don’t take it personally.”

  She smiled, and though it was one of the most faked happy looks he’d ever seen, she couldn’t have appeared any more beautiful with the way the sun shone on her golden hair, highlighting the lighter streaks, or the way her cheeks were positively rosy. Cocking a brow, she added, “Have a nice day.”

  ***

  Lisa slammed her rear car door shut, then hurried around to the driver’s side. Once she climbed in and closed her door, she turned her New Age music on high, shutting the whole world out.

  Still, Mr. Crawford watched her every move, a hint of a smile still curving his lips while the warm Texas breeze tugged at his hair, the same rich color as his eyes.

  Bedeviling, that’s how she’d describe him. Peter Crawford…one of Dallas’s most eligible bachelors? Hogwash. He would never in a millennium settle down with one woman, forever. Never. Hell, she’d heard how he’d gotten snookered into an engagement…purely an old girlfriend’s attempt at revenge. And it worked. Poor guy. But then again, maybe he deserved it. What did she know? All she knew for certain was no man would hurt her like that again.

  Yet the notion occurred to her…if confirmed bachelor Pembrooke Hastings would commit to her, why not try for confirmed bachelor number two…Peter Crawford?

  She considered the notion for a moment or two.

  Nah, she was through with men. She pulled out of the parking lot, then drove straight back to her office.

  When she walked into the outer office, she knew at once something was the matter the way her secretary silently motioned with her head toward her door.

  Now what was wrong?

  Samantha whispered, “Your ex-fiancé is sitting in there, waiting for you. And the boss wants to speak to you as soon as you’re finished with this other business.”

  Lisa glanced back at the double doors leading to the three-office suite Ben Fox and his two sons worked out of.

  Samantha added, “The boss wanted you to straighten this matter out with Mr. Hastings, first.”

  “Great.”

  “Were you able to return the wedding dress?”

  “No.”

  “Maybe you can still wear it then.”

  “Over Pembrooke’s dead body.”

  “Frankly, I believe the boss wishes you to resolve this matter with Mr. Hastings because he is one of Fox’s biggest clients.”

  Lisa rolled her eyes and headed into her office. Blackmailing her would never work if Ben Fox thought he could force her to marry Pembrooke, now or ever.

  She closed the door to her office, folded her arms, kept her distance, and nodded at her ex-fiancé, red-haired and freckle-faced, his green eyes showing a hint of remorse. He wasn’t what you’d call handsome in the standard sense, but had more of a boyish charm. She wouldn’t fall for another guy like that. He was a total fake.

  Immediately, he rose to his feet and crossed the floor to greet her, his arms outstretched as if he intended to wrap them around her in a loving embrace.

  “Don’t, Pembrooke.” She planted her hand on his chest when he tried to draw close.

  “Lisa,” even the way he said her name now, grated on her, “you can’t let a little thing like this get between us. We can reschedule the wedding date for next week. I already checked with the church and it’s a go.”

  She dropped into her leather chair behind her desk to put the cherry wood barrier between them before she did something unladylike. “No, and that’s my final word on the matter.”

  “You’re being unreasonable.”

  She was being unreasonable? Who was standing nearly upside down, naked in her bed performing sex acts with her stepsister? If her secretary wasn’t listening so hard at the door to their conversation, Lisa would have brought the subject up with Pembrooke…again. But why waste the breath? Besides here, she didn’t have anything hard to throw at him. Well, she did, but nothing that would hurt enough.

  Her phone buzzed. She grabbed up the receiver. “Yes, Samantha?”

  “The boss wants to see you, pronto.”

  Fearing the worst, she gritted her teeth. Her boss wanted her to make up to one of his biggest clients. “Now what?”

  “I don’t know, but he’s adamant you see him now.”

  “All right, thanks.” Lisa stood up from her desk. “I have to speak with Mr. Fox. I believe we discussed this matter long enough.”

  Pembrooke rose from his seat. His cheeks matched his red hair as he glared at her. “We’ll work this out, or else.”

  Or else? The look on her face must have made him change his tune.

  “I’ll call you later, honey, when you’ve had a chance to think this over a bit. In the meantime, I’ll make arrangements with the church for a wedding on Saturday.”

  He shoved the chair aside, then hurried out of the room, before she could tell him who he could take to the altar.

  Lisa straightened her shirt, then headed for Samantha’s office.

  Her secretary shook her head. “It didn’t look like he was pleased with what you had to tell him.”

  “He’ll have to live with it.”

  “You’re not going to tell me what happened?”

  “No.” Lisa frowned. “The boss knows I wasn’t supposed to be working today, didn’t he? I only came in to do a few things, but I’m not dressed to do any auditing today.”

  “He knows the next two weeks on your schedule are blocked out. Though he might figure since you’re not going on a honeymoon, you’ll want to work instead, know
ing that you can’t ever sit still for long.”

  “Tomorrow sure, but not today.”

  Lisa walked down the hall to the double doors. After entering the waiting area furnished with upscale polished cherry wood tables and butternut leather chairs, she crossed the carpeted floor to Mr. Fox’s office.

  She knocked on his doorframe, and he motioned to her to enter. “I hope you’ve reconsidered your situation with Pembrooke. Please take a seat.”

  She sat in one of the leather chairs across from his desk. “No, sir.”

  He ran his hands over his desk and took a deep breath. “You’ve done a good job for us the past two years.”

  This was it. Time for the thank you very much, but your employment is now terminated. And time to pick up a voodoo kit sold at the local bookstore to take care of a pain-in-the-butt ex-fiancé.

  “You were well aware when you met Pembrooke at one of his dinner parties, my policy concerning my auditors dating our clients.”

  “Yes, sir. And you know how many times I said no to him when he asked me out for dates. As I recall, he finally asked you to give me permission to date him. You said by all means, go out with him.”

  “Yes, well, we have a new problem.”

  “He’s going to seek another auditing company for his firm?”

  Mr. Fox pulled off his wire-rimmed glasses and leaned back in his chair. “I don’t know how you do it.”

  She stared back at the graying-haired man. He normally got right to the point and told her what he wanted of her, end of business. He definitely wasn’t the social kind of guy, not with his employees. What the heck was this cat-and-mouse game for anyway?

  “I just received a call from Peter Crawford.”

  Peter Crawford? Confirmed bachelor number two?

  The day hadn’t gone at all well, so what now?