Never, ever had she experienced such a feeling. Hot and powerful, as if she could take a single finger and tip him over like a wooden soldier. And never, ever had something lived up to her expectations so completely.
“Hey, sweet thang,” Brandon said, half joking for his friends to hear, half hot as hell. “What’s your name?”
Like she hadn’t told him a hundred times before. But that was the old Nicki. This was the new Nicki, and this Nicki was just about to say something equally hot and provocative when Steve interjected.
“It’s Nicki Landry, you ass,” the younger brother said.
A startled moment passed.
“Hey, Boomer, it’s Goth girl!” One of the guys laughed, the others following suit.
Goth girl? They called her Goth girl?
The old Nicki tried to resurface, making her feel sick and horrible and totally embarrassed.
Brandon’s hot gaze turned disgusted. Or so she thought until he told his friends to shut up. “I never knew you looked like that underneath all that black and baggy shit,” he said to her. “You are totally hot.”
He said she was hot!
A slow drip of confidence started to return. “Thanks,” she said.
“Come on, this is crazy,” Steve said. “The bell’s gonna ring and you’ll be late, Nicki.”
Like she cared.
It was the first time in her life she’d been noticed by Brandon “Boomer” Bonner, and she was not going to ruin it.
“Hey, bro. Go to class,” Brandon interjected with a really great smile. “I’ll walk Nicki.”
And he did.
Brandon Bonner, reigning bad boy at Coronado High, walked—or rather strutted—her to Algebra II. He lingered in the doorway, completely infatuated.
At least that was how she explained his lock-eyed stare at her chest.
She hardly heard a word Mr. Robbins said throughout math, and she didn’t take a single note in English or even first-year Spanish. By the time the lunch bell rang, she had done little more than scribble in her spiral-bound notebook.
Brandon Bonner.
Nicki Bonner.
Mrs. Brandon Bonner.
Mrs. Nicki Landry Bonner. With a hyphen. Without a hyphen.
“What’s that?” Missy Ramos asked.
Nicki slapped the flap shut. “Science homework that I forgot to do last night.” Then she dashed out of biology and ran straight into the focus of her scribbling.
“Brandon!”
“Hey.” He looked at her breasts, then met her gaze. “Are you free for lunch?”
Say you have plans.
Play hard to get.
Leave him off balance.
“Sure!”
With her heart in her throat, Nicki slid into Brandon’s Ford Mustang. Then she had to hold on for her life when they drove about a hundred miles an hour to the Charcoaler. As they squealed into the narrow drive, she managed a bared-teeth smile. She ordered a cheeseburger and a Coke, and pretended not to be surprised when he asked her to pay for both of their meals.
Not that she thought this was an official date. Not really, she told herself, refusing to be disappointed.
She spent the next ten minutes trying to eat and talk and not spill Charcoaler sauce all over Vivi’s princess T-shirt. Which pretty much set the pattern for how she spent lunch during the next week.
Nicki all but exhausted herself sneaking Vivi’s clothes in and out of the house, getting to school early, changing in the girls’ room, and surviving the death-defying rides here and there for lunch with Brandon.
But it was worth every minute when the following Wednesday he asked her to an end of the semester party. She’d heard about it, knew it was between Thanksgiving and Christmas. And she’d heard only cool people went. That could only mean that he really, really liked her.
The plan was working, and that was confirmed the minute Brandon leaned across the console of his Mustang and gave her a quick kiss before walking her back into school.
Take that, Fourteen and Never Been Frenched. The streak was about to be broken.
Chapter Twenty-one
“I’m impressed with the change you’ve brought out in Nicki.”
Vivi looked up from where she was digging around in her closet for a pair of platform tennis shoes, one of the few fun things she had left, and found Max standing in the door that connected their rooms. She was in a hurry, having just gotten off the phone.
She sat back on her heels, forgetting the search, forgetting the phone call. She focused on the strength of him, his glittering blue eyes and those sensuously full lips that made her think of little else besides the things he had the ability to do with her body.
“She’s becoming everything I believed she could be,” he added.
Ah, yes. Nicki.
Vivi was impressed, too, but she didn’t dare say that because next he might ask something like “How’d you do it?” And unfortunately she had no idea.
For the first time since Vivi had met her, the teen seemed happy. Giddy almost, which made Vivi suspect there was a boy involved—Please, God, don’t let it be Brandon—and maybe, just maybe, her missing shoes.
“As much as I hate to admit it,” he continued with a teasing smile, “I think you’ve been a good influence on her. This morning she asked me for money to buy some new things. Apparently she’s tired of all that black.”
Ding, ding, ding. Suspicion confirmed. No wonder Vivi was missing so many clothes recently.
“I’d appreciate it if you took her shopping again. I think this time it will go better.”
“I’m happy to, Max.”
“Thank you.”
He started to leave through her door. Vivi leaped up and followed. Max stopped and glanced at her. “Did you want something?” he asked.
“Nope.” She walked past him, then glanced back and glared at him. “Hattie from your office called. She said that your banker friend needs to move your appointment back thirty minutes. He’ll meet you at the University house at nine.”
Max got really still.
“Yep, she spilled the beans. I can’t believe you were going to see that house without telling me.”
“Vivienne—”
“Girls,” she hollered out. “Quick, I’ve got to get you to school.”
Vivi wheeled the Olds up to the small house on University Avenue. Max stood at the curb, staring at the tiny structure. When Vivi came up beside him, she swallowed back shock at the sight. She had expected a fixerupper—but this unwanted house needed more than a little attention and love.
She never would have guessed that something this awful could exist only a few blocks over from the prestigious Rim Road. Weeds choked the lawn, grime coated the windows, and two old rockers sat out on the front porch, giving the place a very definite Beverly Hill-billies chic.
“Here it is,” Max said grimly. “What do you think now?”
Words eluded her.
Max surprised her when he hooked his arm over her shoulders. “Listen, Vivienne.” He pulled her around until she leaned into him. “You don’t have anything to prove.”
She wanted to give in, let him kiss her. But before she could, it hit her. She did have something to prove. To the world and to herself.
She smiled with exaggerated enthusiasm and pushed away from him. “This is so great, and I can’t wait to get started! We’re going to make the perfect team.”
Max shook his head. “Do you ever take no for an answer?”
“Not if I can help it.”
Another car pulled up, and a man in a three-piece suit got out. “Maxwell, good to see you.”
“Andy,” he replied with a nod.
They shook hands, and when the banker was introduced to Vivi she could feel his appreciative glance.
“As in Stansfield?” the man asked.
“Yes,” she replied warily.
Andy whistled. “Every banker in town is buzzing about your dad. Any word from him?”
“I’m s
ure he’ll return soon and deal with the . . . situation.”
“Actually, I believe you. Your father is like a cat. He always manages to land on his feet and has a whole slew of lives.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Andy looked at her closely, then at Max, and suddenly seemed to realize he shouldn’t have said a word. “Nothing, really, but I’m sure he’ll make this mess go away,” he offered, then forced open the front door.
Thoughts, concerns, and confusion fled when the smell nearly knocked all three of them to their knees.
“Sorry about that.” Andy cleared his throat. “You know how estate property can get. When I heard we needed to liquidate the house for a client, I came over to take a look. I should have warned you. It’s a mess. The owner had cats that the Humane Society finally picked up. The woman was put in a nursing home for the last six months before passing.”
“It definitely has that old-person, neglected feel,” Max observed with a cough.
“The woman wasn’t all that old. But she had cancer and no family to look after her—or the house. She never married, apparently, but from what they tell me, she lived with a man who everyone assumed was her husband. Quite the neighborhood surprise, I hear, when they found out he wasn’t. The guy died about a year ago.”
“Who does it belong to now?” Max inquired.
“The nursing home. The owner used the property as collateral against admission.”
“Looking like this, no one is going to get much in a sale,” Max surmised. “And we both know this isn’t the sort of thing for MBL Holdings.”
Andy only smiled. “I realize that, Maxwell, but I was hoping you’d do it for me as a favor.”
Max studied his friend.
“We go back a long time,” Andy continued, clearly not caring that he was taking advantage. “You and me, two kids from the old neighborhood who made good.”
For a second Vivi was sure she saw a certain vulnerability that flashed in Max’s eyes before it was gone.
Then Andy turned to Vivi. “In fact, we didn’t live far from the old Stansfield plant. It was a sad day when your dad closed it.” He looked at Max. “Come on, say yes. Besides, there’s something I want you to see.”
The men disappeared down a long hall, but Vivi didn’t follow. She stood in the living room, staring at the faded curtains, the putrid shag carpeting, and all the stuff. The place was crammed with old newspapers and magazines, furniture in varying states of disrepair, and even small car parts.
It was truly horrid, but . . .
Excitement started to brew with what-ifs, only they were good what-ifs. That’s when it hit her.
She practically raced down the hall to find the men to tell them her idea. She knew it could work.
The house was silent except for the sound of her shoes pounding against the matted carpet as she wove her way through the tiny cluttered space.
“Max,” she started enthusiastically when she found them in a bedroom at the front of the house.
But words trailed off at the look on his face.
That darkness she had seen before was combined with confusion.
“Max, what is it?”
The banker looked decidedly uncomfortable. “I thought you’d want to know before I let anyone else inside.”
Vivi drew closer, having to step over a huge pile of yellowed newspapers.
Max still didn’t say a word, only stared at an old box. Unable to imagine what was in there, Vivi scooted in beside him. She stepped on a glossy magazine and slipped, but before she could cry out or fall, Max reached out and steadied her. But he never looked away from the box.
Then she saw. Glancing inside the beaten and worn cardboard, she found a jumble of old photographs mixed with yellowed pictures cut out of newspapers and magazines. All of them were of Max and his family.
“I don’t understand,” Vivi said, glancing up at Max. “Who did all of this?”
Without so much as a glance her way, he said, “My father.”
“Your father?”
Max didn’t expand. He turned to Andy. “Sell the place, burn it. I don’t give a damn. But don’t bring it up to me ever again.”
He slammed out of the house, and even when Vivi ran after him he didn’t stop.
She and Andy watched his Mercedes speed down the hill toward Mesa Street. She knew he was upset, and she could imagine how hard it would be to learn that the man who had abandoned him and his siblings had been living so close by and keeping track of them without a word.
She also knew that Max would regret leaving all of this behind for others to see. Which dovetailed nicely into her plan.
The banker shoved his hands in his pockets. “Shit.”
“Andy,” she said, “I have a deal for you.”
He looked at her curiously.
“This house is awful.”
“Agreed.”
“And Max said it won’t bring much looking like it does.”
“No question.”
“So why don’t you let me go through and . . . let’s say, get it ready to sell.” That wouldn’t take a license.
“Meaning?”
“I clean the place out, decide what needs to be thrown away, decide what should go to Goodwill, put everything in order for an estate sale. Underneath all the grime, there are a few decent antiques.”
“How do you know?”
She pointed to herself. “Do you doubt that Vivi Stansfield knows everything there is to know about anything that has value?”
Andy conceded with a smile.
“Good. Then once I’m finished, you will have a property that any realtor will be happy to take on. I guarantee it.”
“What’s in it for you?”
She didn’t so much as blink. “A one-thousand-dollar fee for the work—”
“One thousand dollars!”
“Plus a percentage of everything in the house that sells. A small price to pay for the increase you’ll gain in value. When I was looking at real estate, I learned a thing or two about values. My guess is you can get twenty thousand more out of this when I finish with it.”
He crossed his arms and studied her.
“I can do it, Andy. And if I’m guessing correctly, the bank isn’t doing this out of the goodness of its heart, and will earn a percentage of the eventual sale.”
A slow smile spread on his lips. “All right.”
It was all she could do not to leap up and clap her hands.
“I’ll agree,” he continued, “if you convince Max to accept the listing once you’re done.”
Her excitement took a nosedive. “Max has no interest in this place. We both saw that. Why push it when there are plenty of real estate companies out there?”
“MBL is the top firm in town. The bank wants him. What can I say?” His smile broadened. “If you can get him to agree, you can fix this disaster up to your heart’s content, then handle the estate sale.” He locked the front door behind them, the bright November sun shining a deep burnished gold. He gave her his card. “Let me know.”
Number 15 Pinehurst Drive smelled of baked bread and succulent roast. One of Vivi’s famous Texas pecan pies sat out on the counter, along with an assortment of other goodies she thought might make Max’s mouth water. If she couldn’t get him to see reason through intellectual debate, she would try bribing him with food.
The minute she heard his car pull up, she ripped off her apron and smoothed her clothes.
“Max,” she called out grandly when he walked in the door.
He stopped in his tracks. “What’s happened now?”
Vivi laughed. “Nothing’s happened.”
“You look different.”
Lila and Nicki walked into the kitchen.
“It’s the clothes,” Lila explained.
Nicki leaned over the counter to grab a piece of celery stuffed with crab salad. “And her shoes.”
Max looked Vivi up and down, as did the girls. An unaccustomed blush rushed to h
er cheeks. “What?”
“Like Max said, you look different,” Lila offered.
Vivi wore a pair of wool trousers and a sweater set— one step deeper into the world of boring. She cut off the thought. One step deeper into the world of respectability, she corrected herself.
With Velda paid off and each of her payments made for the month, Vivi had decided that if she was going to be a professional, she had to look the part. Short skirts or even her new khakis wouldn’t do. She had gone to the department store and found the outfit on sale.
Max set his briefcase down on the built-in kitchen desk. “Come on, let’s have it. Something has to be wrong.”
Instead of getting mad, she swallowed back a retort for the good of her cause, then told them to wash up for dinner.
“I’m going out,” Max stated.
“You can’t go out!”
“I always go out.”
“Yes, and . . . and . . . it is so unfair to the girls.”
“Not that again.”
“I don’t mind,” Nicki offered.
“Neither do I,” Lila added.
“Of course you mind. Come on, Max. Please join us. I made all your favorites.”
“How do you know what my favorites are?”
“Actually, I don’t. But I can imagine what a big, strapping, handsome, extremely intelligent—”
“Vivienne,” he warned.
“—man like you would like. Meat and potatoes.” She turned to the girls. “He looks like a meat and potatoes kind of guy, doesn’t he?” She turned back. “Plus homemade bread and fresh baked pie?”
A grin got the better of him, and ten minutes later the four of them sat around the dining room table.
“Wow,” Lila said. “Great dinner.”
“None of that fancy cra—crud you usually make,” Nicki said.
Vivi blotted her lips. “Why doesn’t everyone share a little about their day?”
Lila leaned forward. “Have you forgotten what happened the last time we caught up over dinner?”
This wasn’t going as Vivi planned. But at least Max was in the house.
“So, is everyone ready for your big Thanksgiving ski trip?” she asked.
Nicki said she’d be ready, Lila said she had been ready since Friday, and Max picked up the newspaper and turned to the business section.
The Wedding Diaries Page 20
