Another benefit of her Monday-morning ritual, she beat everyone else to the realty office, giving her peace and tranquility to sip a third cup of coffee and scan through her e-mails before the deluge of office chatter and phone calls swept away the calm. This morning she especially needed her quiet time. Granted, she had spent Sunday vegging out on the couch, napping, reading, and catching up on a few TV shows. The visit with her grandparents this morning left her unsettled.
Shaking her head, she agreed with her gram; most men, especially her gramps, were a little crazy. Kicking her sensible pumps to the corner of her office, she wandered out to the receptionist desk in the main lobby to gather her snail mail. She loved her job as a property manager, mostly because it allowed her the flexibility to set her own hours so she could volunteer her time to the community and the center.
Speaking of, now that the auction was done she should think about what to do next. Like maybe go back to school. Things were good now—between work and the committee, she kept the blues away—but come fall she’d have lots of free time again to stare at the walls and gorge on cookie dough.
Besides being able to work when she wanted, she could work from where she wanted to, be it her cozy little office or even a beachside café. Not that she spent many days sitting in the sun with her fair skin, but the thought was liberating on its own.
Right now, she wouldn’t mind kicking back under a giant umbrella to celebrate Saturday night’s success. Or what she’d thought was a success until she’d opened up the contractor’s bid waiting in her mail this morning. Sitting on the edge of her chair, she stared at the numbers.
“Holy crud. Are they kidding?” She flipped a page and perused the list and dollar amounts. “Six hundred dollars for one toilet? Does it come with an entertainment system and self-clean? Because for the quoted price, it should.”
To check off all the items on their dream list would take millions of dollars. They knew that, knew that the gala wouldn’t cover all of the costs. Secretly, she had hoped to be wrong. Dang reality, it loved nothing more than reaching up and smacking you in the face. The half mil the tickets had brought in—minus the costs—would still go a long way toward repairing the building, bringing it back up to code so that next time it would be able to withstand a category 5 hurricane. The auction brought in another sixty-five thousand, and the committee would have to determine where to best spend it between the indoor equipment, the outdoor fields, and the programs they wanted to offer. At least they could start now.
Or could they? This particular contractor, the one the majority of the committee had been leaning toward, had quoted three times the amount she had calculated. Granted, she was no math whiz, but jeez Louise, she’d done her homework. Maybe she’d subtracted when she should have carried.
The bell over the front door jingled and Cherry looked up to find Tawny, with a happy grin and her arms filled with papers.
“Aren’t you Miss Mary Sunshine this morning?” Cherry asked. Her friend’s eyes filled with delight and Cherry added, “I’m pretty sure it’s illegal to be so cheerful on a Monday morning. What’s up?”
Dropping down in the faux-leather visitor chair, Tawny pulled its match closer and dropped her load—papers, files, and purse—onto it. “Good morning to you too. What’s wrong with you? Switch to decaf or something? Speaking of, I’d love a cup of joe, but the real stuff, none of the fake junk for me.”
Cherry walked over to the coffeepot, filled the cup three-fourths with hot liquid, and diluted it with cream and sugar until it turned light beige in color before handing it over to her friend. Just looking at the sweet stuff made her teeth ache. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”
“Ever hear of banker’s hours?” She waved a hand to shush Cherry, laughing at her own joke. “Kidding. Mr. North was thrilled with how well Saturday went. He’s such a great boss. I’m really glad he got involved in this project by getting the bank to support the auction. Anyway, he told me to take the day off.” She took a sip of her coffee, giving Cherry a chance to sit.
“North also said the higher-ups were quite satisfied with the results and pleased with the PR this event has brought the bank and that my volunteering will look good on my evaluation. The big shots love it when we do community projects. Whatever, what’s more important is my parents are proud of us.”
Cherry nudged the sheet with the gala’s income and expenses toward Tawny, keeping the bid in front of her. “According to the spreadsheet, the night was a hit. Wish we had brought in more with the auction. I’m sure if Heather Judson had made it, we could have, but it is what it is.” Letting her friend scan the rows of numbers, Cherry reviewed the bid again. “When is the deadline for submitting proposals?”
“Friday, but I think most of the members are set on going with RI Builders. They’ve been around a long time and Stan knows the owner, vouches for their work. Why?”
Handing over the proposal, Cherry let the numbers speak for themselves.
“Dios. You’re kidding me, right? This seems a little steep. Stan assured us they would give us a discounted rate.” She kept flipping back and forth through the pages of the proposal, shaking her head. Cherry understood the feeling.
“That was my reaction too. We might need to extend the deadline, rerun the ads for the job and see if we can get any other qualified bidders. I know RIB is good, but simply being around the longest doesn’t make them the best at what they do or the perfect candidate. Maybe we undercalculated.”
Tawny gave her the steely-eyed stare of death. Yes, how dare she question Miss Math, what on earth was she thinking?
“Since we’re on the topic of bad news, now seems like the time to bring these up.” Tawny held up the newspaper and stack of papers she’d dropped in the chair. “I was looking for write-ups on the fund-raiser. I’m sorry, if I’d thought this would happen . . .”
Cherry took the proffered stack. Front page, above the fold, the headline screamed “Providence’s Sweetheart for Sale.” Quickly she scanned the printouts from the various websites: “She’s Back!” and “Man Wars,” and other similar titles.
I wonder if it’s too late to join a convent.
Her head dropped to the desk. Thank goodness her gram didn’t see these. The titles were tame compared to the less-than-stellar comments in the article. Never mind that she’d spent months working—for free—to put the event together. Did any of them mention her role as co-chair? Nope, not one word. As far as the one reporter in attendance was concerned, her stepping onstage made her an attention-seeking whore, and the rest of them ran with it. Man, she hated the media. And when would they learn to take a decent picture? Every shot got her at the worst angle and revealed her hidden love affair with the Pillsbury Doughboy and his chocolate chip cookies.
Cherry mumbled, “I look like a fat slut. Did your mom see these?”
“Who do you think gave them to me?”
Cherry peeked with one eye, waiting, knowing there was no way Mama Katia didn’t have an opinion on the pictures.
“She was shocked with that dress you only brought in fifteen hundred and said your date better take you somewhere nice and treat you like a lady or he’d answer to her. Think junior prom all over again. I, on the other hand, got an earful for not bidding on either the sexy cop or the fireman. As she put it, I’m not getting any younger. When did twenty-eight and single become an old maid?”
Seeing herself as now the entire world saw her, Cherry thought about burying her head in the sand or locking herself away in her apartment for the next five or ten years. Just long enough for people to forget the strumpet on the front page. She couldn’t believe she’d let Tawny talk her into wearing a dress two sizes too small, leaving her highly exposed. Her so-called date probably thought he was going to get a lot more than dinner, and really, she couldn’t blame him, given how she looked. Initially, her plan had been to dress the part of the TV star, play the diva card, and give him a few hours to brag about to his buddies. Now, the idea didn’t sound
like a wise option.
Cherry folded the papers up and stuck them in the trash where they belonged. Nothing she could do about it now. Instead she focused on her friend. “Don’t let her pressure you, she only wants grand-babies.”
“What, four from my sainted brother George aren’t enough? Never mind, I know with my mom there is no such thing as enough grand-kids to spoil. She could at least nag Mateo and Dante once in a while. They’re both over thirty now, and neither are married. She should be worried about them, not me.”
Running her finger around the edge of her coffee cup, Cherry glanced at her friend. “Let’s look at your options. A: You could hang out in the bars after work and try to meet Mr. Right, but chances are pretty high he’d turn out to be Mr. Married and Looking for a Fling. B: You could troll the aisle at the grocery store, scope out single guys shopping. Not a terrible idea, as you could automatically weed out those who live on nothing but junk food and cheap beer. C: Let your friends and family fix you up on a blind date.” A shudder ran through Cherry at the mere thought, reminding her of her own upcoming date. “D: You could apply to Finding Mr. Right.”
“Been there, done that, and Mom still hasn’t forgotten how I asked to go home.”
“Edward was all wrong for you. As it turned out, he was all wrong for all of us. There is one more option. You could go on my date with Jason Valentine.” Cherry held her hand up to stop Tawny’s argument. “It’s not like he’s even the one who did the actual bidding. He probably won’t remember what I look like or even my name, and technically you were on the show for three episodes, so that does make you a reality star too.”
“Nope, I’m pretty sure going in your place would fall under the same category as false advertisement or bait-and-switch or breach of contract or something.” Tawny stood, gathered up her belongings, and turned for the door, but hesitated. “Are you mad at me about the auction? I know you hate being in the public eye. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“If I say yes, will you go on my date?”
Tawny’s big brown eyes glistened.
Rounding her desk, Cherry enveloped her friend in a quick hug. “No, of course I’m not mad. If the shoe was on the other foot, I would have done the same thing.”
Jason cursed the broken tile, then apologized to the Big Man above for disrespecting the church, but Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, he’d already replaced the same square twice before. Just when he thought he could tell the good padre the new floor in the kitchen was done, he’d have to wait. Again. Not that he had anything pressing or urgent to get to, as this was the last job lined up on the books. For now. However, he’d promised Pastor Perky the job would be done by today, and Jason always kept his word. If the damn tile wasn’t in the middle of the kitchen it wouldn’t be a problem, but seeing as how tonight was the church social and dinner to celebrate the end of the renovations, it was a problem. Or rather a pain in his ass, kind of like a certain friend of his.
Dropping to his knees, he pulled a chisel out and went to work removing the broken piece so he could level out the space and try again. A quick glimpse at his watch told him lunch came and went hours ago, which explained the loud grumbling from his stomach. “Where the hell is David?”
“That’s probably a strike against you, Jase,” said Dave from directly behind him. “I’m fairly certain only ministers are allowed to swear in church.”
“Where have you been and where’s my fu . . . freaking lunch? I’m starving.”
Dave tossed a bag his way before taking up residence on the only stool in the room. “Bad news, bro. We lost the bid on the restaurant.”
“Who to?” Jason asked around a mouthful of stale sandwich.
“RI Builders, and I hear they’ve put in for the community center too.”
Jason’s hand holding the sandwich dropped to his leg. “No way they underbid us. They charge extra for their name alone. Shit . . . shoot. How do we keep losing to them? Do they have everyone in town on their payroll?” Looking skyward, Jason said yet another apology and a prayer.
“Rumor has it they’re not above giving kickbacks, which is why we need an ally when they go to vote on this project.”
At the rate things were going, Jason would be making the chain sandwiches instead of buying them, and his business would be a forgotten dream. “All the more reason why you or Brody should take what’s-her-name on this date.”
“Her name is Cherry, Cherry Ryan. You have the most well-rounded knowledge for the job. I’m just the electrician and Brody only knows how to talk contracts. Be on your best behavior. Compliment her. Tell her she looks amazing, you love her outfit, shoes, hair, all that junk. Ask her about herself—women love to talk about themselves. Don’t bring up the proposal for the rec center at all. Hand-deliver it to her the next day. Tell her you were going to courier it over, but wanted to see her. You’ll have her eating out of your hand.” Dave stopped talking, a miracle in itself. His eyes opened wide before turning to a squint. “Dude, you look like a dog about to attack. Is there a reason you’re snarling at your sandwich?”
The food tasted like sawdust. Tossing it in the trash, he walked over to his worktable and prepared the mortar, shoulders slumped. He knew Dave was right. He had to do whatever it took to get the diva on their side. “You know I hate playing effing mind games.” Score a point for him, he didn’t curse.
“The whole world is a giant chessboard. You should know that by now.”
“Never did learn to play chess.”
“Maybe it’s time you did.”
Slapping the mortar on the floor, Jason scraped it back and forth. “I’ll leave that talent to the fairer sex.”
“You’re talking about Stephanie, aren’t you? Bro, not all women are as evil as your ex. Yeah, I know she screwed you over big-time. I mean, dedicated fiancée by night, full-service masseuse by day. It doesn’t get much worse, but I’m not talking about sleeping with Cherry.”
“Good, cause it ain’t happening. I need to concentrate on the business.”
Wadding his sandwich wrapper up into a ball, Dave took a free throw and scored as the wrapper went into the trash. “Okay. She was on the show twice, first as one of twenty-five women all dating one guy. She was one of the last four when she went home, and a fan favorite. They invited her back, this time with her dating twenty-five guys. In the end, the guy she picked broke up with her by the time the final show aired.”
Jason stood staring.
“What?”
“When did you turn into a wuss and start watching chick shows? Next you’re going to tell me your favorite show is Project Runway and start crying over Hallmark Channel movies.”
Dave threw his empty chip bag at him. “Brody’s secretary, Angie, brought me up to speed on Cherry Ryan when the proposal was sent out. And it’s called doing your homework, dipshit.”
“Keep talking and I won’t be the only one going to the eternal basement when this life’s over.” Jason shot him a lopsided grin before laying the new tile in place. “I’ll go on the freaking date, but we need to start drumming up some new business or you and I will be asking people if they want fries with their burgers real soon.” He’d worked too hard for too long to pull himself out of the gutter he’d grown up in and make something of himself. Not that Stephanie could see his efforts paying off. Didn’t matter. She was gone, and he’d do anything to not land back where he started.
“Listen, I’ve got to go. I need to swing by my mom’s place and do some rewiring for her. I’ve got a good feeling about this. Hang in there and have some faith.”
Jason snorted. Yeah, faith hadn’t gotten him squat in this world. Hard work and learning early on you could only count on a few select people got him where he was today. Dave’s footsteps faded along with the tune he whistled, leaving Jason alone with his dark thoughts as he cleaned up his mess and double-checked everything they’d worked on throughout the church. He had plenty of time to worry about charming a princess later; right now he needed to focus on pl
easing a pastor. The church had a healthy number of parishioners, and possibly a few might be impressed with the changes and refer their services or hire him straight out.
Footsteps brought him out of his reverie. Jason turned to see a man in jeans and a button-down shirt headed his way. The pastor was only about fifteen years or so Jason’s senior but had a soul and aura about him that went years beyond his physical age. If the man’s smile and lively step were anything to go by, Jason would say the pastor was very pleased about something. Hopefully his work.
“Ah, there you are, my boy. The church and the community room look wonderful. I hope you and David will join us tonight as we celebrate your accomplishments.”
Step one down. “Thanks, Pastor Perky. We’ll try to be here.” Jason walked over to where he’d placed the stepladder. “I did have to replace this tile again. Not sure why, I’ve never had one break twice before in the same spot. Keep an eye on it and let me know if it cracks again, please.”
The pastor patted him on the shoulder as he looked around the room, a satisfied expression on his face. “You know what they say, third time’s the charm. Have a little faith, my son.”
He sure hoped the pastor was right. Otherwise this would be the third proposal turned down this month for his company.
Chapter Four
Cherry stood in front of the fountain at Piazza di Amore, the Plaza of Love, with no date in sight. Digging a penny out of her purse, she closed her eyes and mouthed the words she’d said since she was a child. So silly after all these years, but she made the wish anyway.
The coin flew through the air, her wish cast, and it gently slipped below the surface of the water in the fountain as a hand landed on her shoulder. Spinning around, Cherry stumbled smack dab into the middle of Jason Valentine’s rock-solid chest.
Drat, I was hoping he bailed.
He looked down at her with a slightly amused tilt to his mouth. Tonight his eyes looked more green than blue, and with him this up close and personal, she realized he stood about a foot taller than her.
Bachelorette for Sale Page 4
