by Lea Santos
Grace frowned, confused. “The paper’s bidding on Madeira?”
“Not the paper. Just the reporter who pitched the angle. With the paper’s money, of course.” Harold scanned the crowd, finally pointing toward the back of the room. “There she is. Britt Mullaney.” He turned back, innocent question in his eyes. “Do you remember her from the press conference?”
Grace’s gaze homed in on the woman Harold had indicated and her stomach dropped to the floor like a cinder block off the Empire State Building. Britt Fucking Mullaney—the upscale blond reporter who’d practically thrown herself at Madeira during the press conference, a.k.a. the dressed-for-sex blonde Madeira had been talking to at the edge of the stage.
The hair on Grace’s neck bristled. She offered Harold a hard slash of a smile—all she could manage with this much jealousy tightening her jaw. “Oh, yes. I remember her. Gosh, what a clever idea she had, bidding on Madeira so she could get a scoop.”
Duplicitous, self-serving cow.
Harold didn’t pick up on her snide tone. That, or he chose to ignore it. “Well, do your old pal, Harold, a favor and cross your fingers that Britt wins the date. Nothing would please our managing editor more.”
“Of course,” Grace managed to say through gritted teeth.
“I’m out, buttercup.” Harold grinned, tipping a nonexistent hat as he backed away from the bar.
“Tell Britt I said good luck.” Grace gave a “toodles” wave with her fingers, unsure what had compelled her to offer the phony wish.
She glanced from Britt to Madeira, an angry throb in her temples, cold resolve in her heart. Good luck is right, you ice bitch. She’d assured Harold she wouldn’t bid on Madeira, but the tables had just turned. No, Grace couldn’t afford her, but she’d let that Barbie doll bimbette win this date with Maddee just as soon as hell froze solid, and not a moment sooner.
*
Naturally, the auction coordinators left Madeira as the very last “item” up for bidding. The crowd hadn’t thinned at all. Bright white television camera lights illuminated various sections of the event hall as the crowd perched on the edges of their chairs to watch the bidding.
In an effort to keep the actual bachelor auction tasteful, the singles themselves weren’t on stage at the time of the bidding. Instead, the audiovisual folks ran a slide show of each person, showing shots of him or her on the job, at home, and posed in true calender cheese format.
A couple of elderly widows jumped in on the early bidding for Madeira but gracefully bowed out when the price edged over five thousand dollars.
“I have seventy-five hundred, do I hear eight thousand? Eight thousand, can someone give me eight thousand?”
Grace nodded toward the caller. The crowd roared.
Britt cast a glare both venomous and exasperated, but Grace didn’t falter. Call her jaded, but she knew damn well the reporter had more than a scoop on her mind.
“Eight thousand, do I have eighty-five hundred?”
“Gracie,” Madeira rasped, half hiding behind the doorway to the service area behind the bar.
She spun, and her mouth dropped open slightly. “What are you doing? We’re still bidding on you.”
She frowned, eyes concerned. “What in the hell are you doing? Stop bidding, for God’s sake.”
The crowd roared, and Grace glanced over her shoulder in time to catch the expression of catlike superiority in Britt’s calculating eyes. She turned back to Madeira. “Why should I? It’s for a good cause.”
“Gracie—”
“Eighty-five hundred, going once, going twice—”
Grace spun. “Nine thousand,” she called out.
Madeira spread her arms. “Nine thousand dollars. You’re bidding nine thousand dollars for a date with me, Gracie. Jesus, do you have any idea how absurd—”
“Twelve thousand!” Britt yelled, cool and confident.
Pandemonium broke out in the event hall, and Grace gasped. Holy fuck. Twelve thousand dollars? Reality punched her in the gut. She simply didn’t have the kind of money it would take to go up against a powerhouse like the Post, she realized. She reached up and clenched the neck of her white shirt, heart pounding. The entire crowd stared toward her, waiting, smiling.
“Damnit, just let Britt win me,” she heard Madeira whisper behind her, her voice an angry rasp that cut like a knife blade straight down to Grace’s soul. “This is craziness. Don’t offer another dime.”
She ignored her.
“Gracie, did you hear me? Let Britt win. I want her to win.”
And there it was.
The truth.
An ache in her heart nearly doubled Grace over. “Just go, Madeira. You’re not supposed to be up here.”
She heard the door jerk shut as Maddee left. The room swayed before her and she closed her eyes a moment, pain clogging her throat. Her hands gripped the bar, knuckles white.
Maddee didn’t want Grace to win the date.
She wanted Britt.
God, how could Grace have been so stupid?
Madeira wanted that phony bitch? Fine. She could have her. Grace shook her head with regret, shrugging at the nearest caller. “I’m out,” she whispered.
“She’s out,” the caller relayed to Bill.
“Twelve thousand dollars, going once, going twice…”
Grace glanced toward DoDo’s table to find all the Bees and her sister staring at her with sympathy she couldn’t bear and didn’t want. They should have been looking at her with scorn. With shaking hands and a never-ending supply of humiliation, she untied her apron and chucked it on the countertop. She made it through the back door, but not before hearing the crack of the gavel and—
“Sold! To the lovely blonde up front.”
*
Madeira stood by Britt Mullaney’s side but her gaze never stopped scanning the crushing crowd for Gracie. She couldn’t believe Gracie had considered dropping that kind of money on her. Didn’t she realize Madeira was hers for the asking? Free and clear? Britt, on the other hand, was operating off an expense account. Madeira had no qualms about taking twelve thousand bucks of the paper’s money, but she couldn’t stomach the thought of Gracie unnecessarily spending the lion’s share of her yearly salary on her.
Where was she?
Britt’s hand snaked around her arm. Madeira’s instinct was to jerk away, but she realized it was her obligation to be cordial. She tucked Britt’s cold hand in the crook of her elbow and fake-smiled down at her.
“Let’s lose this crowd for a few minutes,” Britt said, in a tone Madeira recognized.
Red flag.
“Sure.”
Britt’s hand slipped down Madeira’s forearm to entwine hands and she led her through the crowd toward an empty back hallway. From her caboose position, Madeira continued to look for Gracie. No sign of her. Lola and some of the guys were behind the bar cleaning up. She met Lola’s gaze questioningly.
Lola shrugged as if to say she had no idea where Gracie had gone. Before Madeira could signal for Lola to call her later, Britt gave her a sharp tug and Madeira stumbled forward until their bodies pressed together. Britt undulated her hips in a way that left no question as to what she offered.
“What do you say we get out of here, hmm?” Britt purred. “We can go to my place or”—she pressed her lips to Madeira’s throat—“yours. Wherever.”
Disgusted and, to be honest, offended, Madeira wrapped her hands around Britt’s bony upper arms and set her away as gently but firmly as possible without making her angry. “Look, Britt. You’ve got this all wrong. This was a charity event. What you paid for is a dinner date. Tomorrow night. That’s all.”
“We can let them think that if it’s important to you.” She reached out and grazed a fingernail over Madeira’s nipple.
Stunned, Madeira’s hand snapped up and clamped around Britt’s wrist. She shoved it away. “I’m not interested in what you have to offer.”
Britt smirked, but her blue eyes flashed with barely b
anked anger. “Sure you aren’t. I’ve heard all about you.”
“If you’d heard all about me, sweetheart, then you’d know that I’m in love with Gracie.”
“What’s love got to do with it?” Britt flicked her hand. “I’m not asking you to marry me, I just want my money’s worth. I want to be fucked senseless by the so-called Thief of Hearts.”
Madeira’s anger crested like a tsunami. She’d never been treated quite so much like a piece of meat, and the blatant disrespect blinded her with rage. “We can go to dinner tomorrow night and do the interview for your article—period—or we can forget the whole thing.”
Britt lurched forward, arms rigid at her sides, fists clenched. “Listen up, Madeira. I paid a hell of a lot of money for you and I demand—”
“Demand what? Your employer donated the money. To EMS, need I remind you. What they expect is an exclusive article, and that’s all you’re getting.”
“Says who?”
Madeira shrugged, feigning a nonchalance she didn’t feel. “If you’d like me to let them know how you manipulated me with their money for your own purposes, how you used their money to try and get…how did you put it? Fucked senseless? I’d be glad to give them that particular scoop. How long have you been with the paper?”
Fear and disbelief gleamed in Britt’s eyes. After a moment, they dulled to resignation. She brushed her hair back with slow, shaky fingers and swallowed, visibly subdued. “Shit. No need. Listen, I guess I misunderstood.”
“I’ll say.”
Embarrassment mottled her pale skin. “It’s just…I thought I sensed something between you and me at the press conference.”
“You did. That something between us is called Graciela Obregon. The woman I love.”
Britt’s palms raised in surrender. “Fair enough. I get the picture. I didn’t buy the two of you at the press conference, but I guess I was wrong.”
Madeira stepped back. “And you know, at this point, I think we should conduct our interview over the phone instead of over dinner.”
“Th-that’s fine. Look, I’m sorry.”
Madeira couldn’t see holding a grudge. It wasn’t her style. She blew out a breath, feeling her muscles relax in slow increments. “Britt, no hard feelings. We appreciate the publicity the paper gave the auction and the money you brought into the EMS program. I’m just…not in the market for anything more than that.”
Britt studied Madeira for a moment, then crossed her arms and shook her head slowly with a small huff.
“What?”
“I thought you were supposed to be the one who stole hearts, Madeira.”
“So they say.”
“But instead, Grace stole yours. You’re an imposter. Grace Obregon is the real thief in this story. And it is one hell of a story.”
Madeira warmed just thinking of Gracie. Her crazy fierita, willing to shell out thousands of dollars she couldn’t afford just to keep Madeira from a woman she wouldn’t want in a million years. Madeira had never felt more special, had never felt more like…a keeper.
“That’s another thing you don’t understand.” She stared sadly at the aggressive reporter. “Gracie didn’t steal my heart. I gave it to her willingly.”
Chapter Sixteen
Quien quiera saber, que compre un viejo.
If you wish good advice, consult an old man.
Grace had almost made her escape from the event hall unheeded when Simon intercepted her.
“Hey, Grace,” he called, just as Grace had reached for the door handle.
Damn. She could run, but she didn’t want to tip her emotional hand. Instead, she turned slowly toward the tall paramedic with what she hoped was a placid smile on her face. “Hey, Simon. What’s up?”
He cocked his head. “Are you okay?”
She managed a quizzical pause, ignoring the enthusiastic chatter of the auction attendees who were leaving in steady droves around her. It had been a fun, successful evening for just about everyone. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Uh…because you lost the bidding?” He spread his lanky arms. “Because you’re running out without saying good-bye to anyone? I’m not sure. That’s why I’m asking.”
“Ohhh, all that.” Grace rolled her eyes. “Look, I only bid to drive the price up so you guys could make more money. I never intended to win.”
Simon looked unconvinced. “Oh.”
“And I’m leaving because I have a date.” She tapped the crystal of her wristwatch. “I didn’t realize how late it was getting. I hope you guys don’t mind closing up bar.”
Lo and behold, the worry fled from the man’s expression. Simon actually believed her—more evidence she was a better actress than DoDo gave her credit for.
A slow, chagrined smile lit on Simon’s face. “For a second I thought you and Madeira—never mind.” He crossed his arms and rocked on his long feet. “Anyway, we don’t mind breaking down at all. That was the plan, actually. The least we can do to thank you for all your help is do the dirty work.” He grinned.
“It was my pleasure. I’m glad you guys brought in so much money.” Unshed tears ached in her throat almost to the breaking point. She glanced at her watch again. “I have to run, Simon.”
“Okay, you go on.” He raised his hand in good-bye and began to back away. “Hey, I did win that week off, thanks to your grandmother and her friends.”
“Good for you.” Grace swallowed, heart pounding with the lie she was about to tell, the lie she felt she had to tell in order to guarantee Madeira didn’t come after her. If Grace saw her now, she’d humiliate herself for sure. “If Madeira asks where I am, can you do me a favor?”
“Sure thing.”
“Tell her I was sorry I couldn’t say good-bye, but that I had a date. With Layton.”
*
The only problem with the lie, Grace realized later, as she glumly nursed a cappuccino at the farthest back table in Muddy’s Java Hut, was that she didn’t have a date with Layton. She didn’t even want a date with Layton, not like that, but the fact that she’d used her as an excuse made her feel like a total asshole. Her karma was shot to hell. Layton Fair didn’t deserve to be a pawn in Grace’s emotional chess game with Madeira. She was a great woman, a friend, and a respected colleague. Grace didn’t want to be the kind of a person who would use a friend.
She had to come clean or the guilt would eat her alive.
Fishing her cell phone out of her purse, she punched in Layton’s number before she lost her nerve, hoping it was okay to call this late. She chewed on a wooden coffee stirrer and listened to the phone ring once, then again.
“Hello?”
The coffee stirrer snapped, and she turned her head to spit out splinters of wood. “Layton?”
“Yes?”
She swallowed past the lump in her throat that could very well be her heart. “It’s Grace Obregon.”
The pause was short, surprise-laced, but her tone when she recovered was warm and welcoming. “Hi, Grace. Gosh. It’s great to hear from you.”
Guilt stung her like a scorpion. Layton had pursued her plenty after their first date, despite Grace’s repeated refusals and excuses. Finally, Layton had stopped asking, and Grace didn’t blame her one bit. She bit her lip and held it for a moment. Layton had every right to dislike her, but Layton Fair was a much better person than she was. “I hope I’m not calling too late,” she said, aware of the double meaning of her words.
“Not at all. I’m a night owl.”
“Good. Then how about you let me buy you a coffee at Muddy’s?” she asked, tucking her hair behind her ear.
A pause. “Now?”
“Yes.”
“Is everything okay, Grace?”
“Yes.” Wait a minute. The time for lies had ended. Grace needed to be straight with Layton. “Actually…no.” She sighed. “I need to get something off my chest.”
“Don’t move. I’ll be right there.”
Forty-five minutes and two cappuccinos later, Layt
on reached across the back table at Muddy’s and covered Grace’s hands with her own. Her warm expression softened with sympathy. “Grace. Do you really think it’s a news flash to me that you’re in love with Madeira?”
Grace sniffed, wicking away a tear that had escaped her eye. “It’s a news flash to me. I swore I would fall in love with a great woman like you this time. Not someone like her. I’m sorry you got mixed up in all of it.”
“Whatever gave you the impression Madeira isn’t a great woman?”
Grace shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m an idiot?”
“You just need to relax and let things happen.” Layton tucked her chin. “As for you and me, there are absolutely no hard feelings.”
Now she knew Layton was too good for her. “You sure?”
“One hundred percent.” She released her hands and sat back, looking vaguely sheepish. “Which brings me to my own difficult question.”
Grace cocked her head, feeling so much better for having confessed. “What’s that?”
Layton twisted her mouth to the side in apology, then grinned. “What are the chances your sister, Lola, will go out with me?” She smoothed her palm over her wavy hair. “She gave me a trim the other day and well…no offense, but I haven’t been able to get her out of my head since. She’s so…darn effervescent.”
Grace’s mouth dropped open for a moment, then she laughed with glee. “Layton, it would be my utter pleasure to play matchmaker with you and Lola.”
*
As she and the others combed their way through the event hall, stacking chairs and tables and bussing trash, Madeira reeled from the knowledge that Gracie had left the auction for a date with Layton. Layton! The allegedly perfect woman. How had she managed to miss that?
“Hey, Pacias,” a gravelly voice bellowed.
Madeira glanced up to see her old pal Harold LePoulet winding his way through the crowd. Nostalgia hit her, that and pleasure. Harold was a connection to Gracie, and she’d welcome any connection to Gracie at this point.
