Hitts & Mrs.

by Lori Bryant-Woolridge

  His job? Melanie thought. How about our job? Or has he totally forgotten who was responsible for most of the design ideas going into this hotel? Melanie felt herself teetering on the verge of full-fledged fury. To avoid a potentially embarrassing outburst, she silently recited the alphabet before mentally rejoining the conversation.

  “I was also under the impression, gentlemen, that I was to have full control from concept to finish on this project. Has something changed that I need to know?”

  “No, absolutely not, John. We trust your judgment completely.”

  “Yes, Roberto, but surely thirty million buys us some say,” Felipe said, his temper now flared.

  Suddenly a bomb of XY chromosomes dropped, releasing over the table an uneasy silence fat with male ego. This meeting, and perhaps project, was headed straight for the toilet, and Melanie refused to let this important opportunity become career sewage because of some silly testosterone-induced terrorism.

  “Señor Martinez, maybe I can explain,” Melanie offered with a subtle touch of feminine wiles.

  “Please. Perhaps a woman’s voice of reason is just what this meeting requires,” Felipe replied.

  “When John and I discussed the external look of the Casa de Arte, like you, we wanted it to be different and stand out on this crowded street of flashy exteriors. So we based its design on the same appeal a classy and elegant woman has for a discerning gentleman. Like any great beauty, the sexiest part of the Casa de Arte allure will be her mystery. Her exterior may be wrapped in understated sophistication, but once the doors are open, she comes alive with color and sensuality.” Melanie completed her statement and then looked at each man. Felipe appeared charmed and placated; Roberto, amazed that she had a brain; and John’s face remained expressionless. Was he grateful for her positive interference or angry with her for speaking up? Melanie had no clue.

  “Ms. Hitts, you make your point well. As the interior designer, what other thoughts do you have about our project?”

  “If you wouldn’t mind, Señor Martinez—”

  “Felipe.”

  “Felipe. I do have a couple of thoughts,” Melanie went on. To hell with John Carlson. For all intents and purposes, he had deserted her and Melanie was on her own, fighting for her professional integrity. For the first time since arriving in this sun-drenched city, someone attached to this project was asking for her opinion, and she was going to deliver. She purposely avoided looking John’s way, but took their clients’ nods as a positive sign of their interest.

  “As we were surveying the hotel site this morning, I happened to notice a flyer announcing the Art Miami Festival. It occurred to me that this might be the perfect time to announce the coming of Miami’s newest and most fabulous art repository. I know the turnaround is short, a little over a month, but I’m sure it could be done, and done well.”

  “That is a clever idea, Ms. Hitts. One we will get our people on immediately. You are a surprising wealth of creativity.”

  Finally, a man in this crowd who recognizes that fact and is willing to acknowledge it, Melanie thought.

  “Thank you, and please, call me Melanie,” she said with a smile sprinkled with her natural allure. “While I am totally behind our design thematic, both exterior and interior, I do understand your concern, Felipe. Sometimes, less needs just a tad more. And it is true that every ‘woman’ needs some special accessory to make her more memorable,” Mel remarked, fingering the amber clasp of her vintage garnet necklace for emphasis. “So, I have an idea. One that I think will bring you all the recognition and star pull you desire.”

  “I’ve come to learn that Ms. Hitts is an unending source of inspiration,” John added, his voice perfectly pitched between sarcasm and sincerity. He knew exactly what idea she was referring to and he had no intention of opening up that can of Spam, not with everything else that had just crashed onto his plate. “But it might be best to share any new concepts after we’ve gone over the original plans in greater detail.” There was tempered admonition in his tone, suggesting to Melanie that she rethink her decision.

  Mel, fed up with John ignoring her contributions while dictating every phase of this meeting, heard the warning and refused to heed it. “No, John. I think now is as good a time as any.”

  Melanie defiantly proceeded to share her idea for the Starlight Gallery Restaurant, emphasizing the unique charm and atmosphere its retracting roof would provide. She didn’t dare risk a look John’s way, but the growing enthusiasm overtaking Roberto and Felipe fueled her courage.

  Not wanting to appear out of control of his project, John joined in the conversation. “I would suggest a slightly domed ceiling, much like a large skylight,” he said, drawing a quick sketch on a cocktail napkin. John continued to offer suggestions for other potential designs, cautioning that such an extensive change would be a costly augmentation. Despite his seemingly enthusiastic behavior, Melanie could tell that he was furious with her for defying his wishes.

  Roberto and Felipe were completely sold, dismissing the extra expense into the you-must-spend-money-to-make-money category. So enamored with both the idea of starlit dining and Melanie, they ordered a bottle of Tattinger’s premiere curvée, Comtes de Champagne, to toast the deal. By the time the last delicious drops had passed their lips, the decision had been made—the Starlight, or Luz de la Estrella, was to become the top marketing tool of the Casa de Arte. Felipe also decided that if they were to announce this incredible gem by the Art Miami Festival on January twenty-fifth, a new budget and updated drawings had to been done immediately. Their afternoon appointment was canceled and rescheduled for late the next day.

  John bade his goodbyes at the table and took care of the bill while Melanie walked their clients through the billowy white linen curtains on the Delano’s front porch. Before returning indoors, she sat down on the porch sofa, nestled her body into the large white pillows, and allowed herself a moment to revel in her professional coup. Her instinct to let the client decide on the change had been correct. More importantly, they were entirely on board, now trusting John and Melanie with both their vision and their millions.

  Melanie stood and once again raised her face to the sunshine. She soaked in the extra energy in preparation for the wrath of John she was sure to encounter upon her return. Despite her clients’ joy, her partner was no doubt livid. Whatever had put him in this foul and funky mood was now compounded by her perceived act of insubordination.

  Mel’s glee over her personal accomplishment began to pale as momentary uncertainty over her bold behavior surfaced. Still, as she stepped back into the cool darkness of the lobby, her anger over John’s behavior came rushing back. Moving down the center corridor with a calm and confident stride, she could feel her contrition completely dissolve. In her soul Mel knew she’d done nothing wrong. In fact, from her vantage point, she had actually saved the project from an early demolition. John Carlson had hired her for her design expertise and whether he liked it or not, that was exactly what he was going to get.

  Melanie walked onto the balcony of John’s suite, leaving him to make his calls. She could hear him talking to his employees in New York, angrily demanding numbers crunched, phone calls returned, and faxes sent posthaste. When she heard him slam the receiver back into the cradle she reentered the room, ready to skirmish. This fifty-year-old man was behaving like a two-year-old child and she’d had just about enough.

  “John, can we please talk?”

  “I have a lot of pressing business to take care of, Melanie. Now is not the time.”

  “I think it is. We need to work through this if we’re to put on a united front tomorrow.”

  “Fine. Let’s start with, what the hell were you thinking?” John lambasted her. “Didn’t I specifically tell you not to mention the retractable roof?”

  “Yes, you did, and I’m sorry, but it was a great idea. You even said so yourself. I thought it should at least be heard.”

  “I told you it was too much, too late.”

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nbsp; “But if the client likes it and is willing to pay for it, what does it matter? So what if we have to draw new plans and work up a new budget? In the end it will be well worth the effort.”

  “That’s not the point,” John sniped as he walked to the mini bar and poured himself a drink.

  “Then what is?”

  “You were told not to bring it up and you ignored my orders.”

  “Your orders?” Mel snapped back, totally losing her temper. “You’re upset because you think that I challenged your authority? My mistake. I thought this was a partnership. Or is this how you treat all of your partners? Equality exists only if you dare not defy the great John Carlson?”

  “Your behavior at the meeting made us look unorganized and unprofessional.”

  “What behavior? I barely had an opportunity to speak. You made damn sure of that,” Melanie added sarcastically.

  “You were flirting with Felipe Alvarez. Comparing our building to a sexy, mysterious woman. Smiling coyly, fingering your jewelry. All very manipulative and not at all businesslike.”

  “Flirting with him?” Mel asked, angrily continuing to repeat every asinine charge he threw at her. “I was not flirting with him, and how dare you suggest otherwise. But even if one word or action of mine could be construed as flirtation, it got us much further than your display of outdated and unnecessary machismo.”

  “Men doing business,” John stated simply.

  “Don’t give me that boys-will-be-boys baloney. Do you know what I think is really bothering you? I think it’s the fact that it wasn’t your idea that they loved the most, but mine.”

  John blew a deep breath—a sure sign of deep frustration. Whether she knew it or not, Melanie had hit a chord—one that reverberated long and deep in John’s fragile ego.

  “You are the interior designer on this project. Curtains, couches, carpets, those are the items under your domain. The structure, from top to bottom, is mine,” he stated with a iron force that left Melanie temporarily speechless.

  The residue from their angry words pollinated the room, dropping weeds of disillusionment among the flowers that had recently sprouted between them.

  “I will remember that,” Mel said as she walked toward the door. “I learned a lot about you today, John. Who would have known that your reputation as the all-seeing, all-knowing architect from Oz was earned by taking credit for other people’s hard work?”

  “Where are you going? We have work to do,” John said, feeling the sharp, uncomfortable sting of her disappointment.

  “No. You have work to do. My domain is complete. These changes are about structure. You don’t need me,” Melanie retorted before walking out the door. Out in the hall, she took several deep breaths before walking back into the room with one final thought.

  “You know, less than seventy-two hours ago, we were sitting in your office making revelations about our feelings for each other. But ever since we’ve been in Miami, you have revealed yourself to be nothing but a major jackass. I’m so glad I learned the truth before I did anything stupid.”

  The door slammed behind her, and regardless of her harsh words, John found himself smiling, impressed by her constant show of spunk. But as quickly as it surfaced, his grin died.

  Did you see the look on her face? She’s totally disappointed in you. And she’s right. You are a jackass, a stern voice from inside reminded him.

  Melanie had every reason to be angry with him. Hell, he was incensed with himself. Everything about this trip from the beginning had gone wrong. What he had hoped would be a wonderful professional and personal trip for the two of them had disintegrated into an unqualified mess and he was the only one to blame.

  The vibration of his cell phone interrupted his self-repudiation. It was Austin Riley with more bad news about the Vogue Belize Resort. “How many?” he asked. “Damn. Call me when you know for sure,” John said, and hung up. Twenty more men had walked off the job and there was suspicion of sabotage by disgruntled workers who wanted more money. Construction on the resort has slowed considerably and all signs were pointing to a complete work stoppage. He now dreaded answering his phone because with each report the situation got worse. A job he thought was in the simmer stage, allowing him to concentrate on this, his pet project, was now back on the front burner and about to boil over.

  John pushed aside the Vogue’s problems as he walked over to the desk and pulled out the Casa de Arte blueprints. He unfurled them across the bed and let his eyes run over the plans while his brain unraveled the disappointing string of events that had put him in this uncomfortable place with Melanie.

  Austin had initially delivered the bad news yesterday as John sat in LaGuardia Airport waiting to board the flight to Miami. By the time Melanie had arrived, the full impact of what this delay would cost all parties involved had set in. On the flight down he had been much too consumed with trying to figure out a way to contain the damage to have any meaningful conversation with her. Once in Miami, he retired into his room to make calls and put out fires, emerging this morning with his irritation still intact. The worst part—John hadn’t explained any of this to Melanie. It was no wonder she was perplexed and angered by his mood.

  He’d mishandled so many things these past twenty-four hours, like being so concerned about receiving credit for the project that he’d allowed Roberto to shut Melanie out of the meeting. John knew he was wrong, but how could he make her realize that after months of feeling washed up and out of step, Roberto Alvarez’s admiration and obvious confidence in his abilities made him feel on top again? And how could John possibly explain that his reluctance to give Melanie her well-deserved credit came not from ego but fear? Would she understand his panic that these clients, who were putting millions of dollars behind his expertise and vision, would see right through him? See that he’d lost his creative edge? Felipe Martinez certainly had.

  He too had questions about the exterior, but ultimately felt his approach worked the best. In the past, John would have a well-thought-out rationale for his decisions, but today, in a slip of confidence, he hadn’t felt adequately prepared to defend his choice. Melanie had stepped in and done a spectacular job of deflecting the investor’s concerns. And how had he shown his gratitude? By accusing her of being unprofessional, when in truth he was childishly trying to hide his jealousy.

  As the swell of John’s bloated ego subsided, he realized that Melanie had been correct to mention the new roof. Looking over the blueprints, it was clear to him that the Luz de la Estrella’s addition had made a great concept even better. But John had known that at the time she’d first presented the idea. Yet instead of acknowledging it for what it was—another superb inspiration—he’d simply dismissed it, unwilling to add another tally to Melanie’s already long list of conceptual milestones.

  Melanie had spoken the truth about so many issues. But she was wrong about one very important thing—he did need her. It was as if a part of him was broken and she held the repair kit. In just three months, this incredible young woman had captured his essence—flaws and all—and made him feel good about being who he was as no other person had ever managed to do. She understood him better than those he’d been acquainted with for most of his existence. Melanie Hitts had fast become one of the good things in his life, and John couldn’t bear the thought of her thinking that he was some arrogant, idea-stealing tyrant.

  He sat down at his desk and began to sketch with new determination. In less than an hour he had finished his renderings for the retractable roof and faxed them up to New York to be properly drawn and sent overnight with the new budget for tomorrow’s meeting. With that task complete, he picked up the hotel phone and called the concierge. Just as Mel had so aptly pointed out, he had work to do.

  Chapter 14

  Melanie had just finished writing her monthly letter to the Hawkins family and was trying to figure out what to do for dinner when the bell to her suite rang. She looked through the peephole and saw a hotel employee holding an impressive
floral bouquet. She smiled broadly before opening the door to accept the delivery. Her smile turned into laughter as she inspected the flowers. Someone had sent her Stargazer lilies.

  Still chuckling, she examined the attached card. On the outside of the envelope, written in handwriting she didn’t recognize, it said, “Thank you.” Mel quickly unsealed the flap, sure that the flowers were a token of appreciation from her clients, and read the card.

  Great ideas are meant to be shared. Only idiots try to block them.

  John

  Melanie buried her nose into the blooms and sighed. She wanted to give in to her feelings of appreciation for John’s effort, but she still had doubts. Yes, his note implied contrition for trying to silence her ideas, but what about everything else? What about him calling her unprofessional and manipulative? Plus, he hadn’t even bothered to use the words “I’m sorry.” So was he really regretful or was he simply trying to smooth things over in order to get through the remainder of this project?

  John Carlson, what am I going to do with you?

  Before she could even think of an answer, Melanie’s thoughts were interrupted by the telephone.

  “Did you like the flowers?” John asked, his voice soft and tentative.

  “Yes. Interesting choice. They’re beautiful. Thank you.”

  “I thought they were a rather apropos icebreaker. Melanie, I’ve made such a mess of this trip,” he admitted. “I’d like to take you to dinner and explain everything,” he told her.

  Melanie’s silence spoke volumes. Afraid he’d alienated her friendship, John continued to gently push and cajole her into saying yes.

  “Okay, give me ten minutes to get ready,” Melanie said, amused by his persistence.

  “Thank you. I’ll wait in the lobby. Dress casually, and it might be best to leave your high heels in the room tonight,” he cautioned with a laugh. Already his heart felt lighter. Thank goodness she’d agreed to see him.