Belle had no problem saying no. Most of the time. When she agreed to Theo's proposal, it had been a huge mistake—and the reason she shouldn't say yes to Ashe. About anything. Not that it mattered. She couldn't seem to help herself.
"Okay. Have your day out with the girls. I'll hit the store this afternoon. Drop by my place around six o'clock."
"Oh. I almost forgot. If possible, one doll should be dressed in pink, the other purple."
Just to be safe, Belle jotted the colors down—though she couldn't imagine forgetting.
"Got it."
"I can't thank you enough, Belle."
"Give your nieces a day to remember. That will be all the thanks I need. And Ashe?"
"Don't worry. We're taking a picnic—and some kites—to the park. Followed by ice cream. In a hat and sunglasses, I'm unrecognizable."
Belle doubted that. But she knew Ashe wouldn't put those little girls in the path of stampeding fans. A weekday in the park was the perfect place for them to blend in and bond.
"See you at six."
"I won't be late," Ashe promised.
There was nothing she could do, Belle thought, hanging up the phone. The man got to her—on every level. With a resigned sigh, she swiveled around in her chair until she faced the small office window that brightened the room with a sliver of sunlight. She could admit to herself that Ashe Mathison tempted her resolve. The secret to holding her convictions firm was not admitting them to him.
That decided, Belle checked her schedule. The toy store she had in mind was only a few blocks away. She could use her lunch hour to shop, spending the rest of the afternoon to clear up what looked like a bunch of not-so-important busy work.
Belle felt a surge of anticipation. It had been a long time since she had visited a toy store. Though married, her siblings had yet to reproduce—much to her mother's increasing dismay. There were no children in her immediate family to spoil with ridiculously impractical gifts. Having a reason to wander through the aisles was a treat she hadn't expected but would thoroughly enjoy.
Lunch time fluctuated greatly. Somedays, Belle had Pru order in something that more often than not wasn't worth the time it took to unwrap and toss in the garbage. Today, things fell perfectly into place, and she was able to leave the office at twelve thirty sharp.
The walk to the toy store gave Belle a chance to stretch her legs and breathe in the surprisingly mild mid-August air. As her heels clicked briskly along the pavement, she hummed a random song. Or not so random, as it turned out. You Bring Me Trouble had been a big hit for The Ryder Hart Band. A song she knew for a fact who wrote it. Ashe. Belle's peal of laughter drew admiring glances from a few suited passersby, but she didn't notice. If she had, it wouldn't have mattered. For now, there was only room for one man—and his songs—in her thoughts. Whether she liked it or not.
There was something about a toy store. The way it smelled. The sense of wonder. There weren't many children at this time of day, but those Belle could see were wide eyed with endless possibilities. Sensory overload. Belle imagined every parent came through the doors with a plan—determined not to waver. She admired their fortitude. Those big, pleading looks would be hard to ignore. Then again, she didn't have years of experience. Saying no—no matter how cute the kid—had to become easier over time.
"May I help you?" a smiling young woman asked Belle. Her name tag, shaped like a bundle of colorful balloons, spelled out Willa in sparkly purple letters.
"Thank goodness," Belle smiled back. "I could have happily wandered for hours. I've passed this store dozens of times wishing I had an excuse to come in. Your selection is amazing."
"If we don't have it, nobody does." Willa pointed to the sign on the wall. "It's a good slogan. And true. Special orders usually arrive within a day."
Belle knew the importance of keeping clients happy. It could be the difference between a business flourishing or floundering.
"I need two dolls. Big ones." Belle spread her hands wide as if describing the fish that got away. "Pink and purple. Is that doable?"
"Come this way." Willa led Belle down an aisle. "Doll Land is one of our largest—and most popular—areas."
"Wow," Belle said, her eyes as big as any child's.
"You look the way I felt my first day working here." Willa flipped her long, dark braid over her shoulder. "I had a blast learning the inventory. I could play with the dolls with the pretext of doing my job."
"I would have done the same." Belle turned in a slow circle, trying to take it all in. Halfway around, she spied exactly what she was looking for. Raising her hand, she pointed at a shelf toward the back. "There."
"The twins. Good choice." Willa retrieved a step ladder, climbed the rungs, before carefully retrieving one of the dolls. "Except for the color of their dresses, Millie and Jilly are identical."
Almost three feet tall, Millie was dressed in yards and yards of pale pink lace. Dark haired, the tresses hung down her back in long curls. Her face was sweet. Welcoming. Somehow, the manufacturer managed to avoid the vapid doll expression that—in Belle's opinion—sometimes boarded on creepy.
"Jilly is exactly the same?"
Willa handed over Millie's twin. The lace was a pale lilac. Otherwise, there were no visible differences.
"They are perfect," Belle declared.
"Are you sure you don't want to look around before making your final decision?"
"Positive."
As easy as her shopping expedition had been, by the time Willa retrieved a set of boxed dolls, elaborately wrapped them in velvet paper and curly bows, Belle's lunch hour was almost over.
"Do you want to take them with you, or would you like them delivered?"
Belle frowned. She thought about the size of the boxes. Wrapped and beribboned, they were huge. "I walked from my office. Otherwise, I would put them in the trunk of my car."
"If it isn't too far, I can have one of our stock boys carry them for you."
Impressed by the personalized service, Belle accepted. Ten minutes later, she and Zeke, a gangly young man who carried a large shopping bag in each hand, were in the elevator, heading to her building's underground parking garage.
"I'm right over here."
Stepping through the open doors, Belle led the way to her car, a happy bounce in her step. She wished she could see Naomi and Nadia's faces when they opened their presents, but that was a small blip in her good mood. The important part was helping Uncle Ashe spoil them just this side of rotten.
"Holy cow." Zeke came to a halt in front of Belle's car. "You must have pissed off somebody good."
Belle felt her level of happy drop—considerably. All four of her brand new radial tires were flat. Slashed to pieces, by the looks of it. Damn it. The point of paying an exorbitant monthly fee for parking—besides the convenience—was the supposed high level of security. Belle always felt safe walking to her car alone no matter how late the hour. Looking at her car, she would have to rethink that.
"I didn't piss anybody off good," Belle sighed. "It's vandalism. I doubt I'm the only car they hit."
"You don't want me to stay until the police get here. Right?"
Zeke's gaze shot around the garage as if he expected the cops to pop out of the shadows. Belle didn't know if his jumpiness was because of personal reasons or a general distrust of law enforcement. At the moment, she didn't care.
"I'll call them from my office." Belle popped the trunk lid. Not trusting Zeke, she carefully laid the packages flat, careful not to squish the bows. "There's no reason for you to stick around."
"Thanks, Ms. Richards." Zeke breathed a sigh of relief.
As soon as they entered the elevator, Zeke pushed the button for the lobby. The doors were still opening when he scampered away, clutching his generous tip. He had done his job, and Belle appreciated it. Considering the way he turned squirrely, she gave him bonus points for not dropping her packages and running. Not leaving her alone in the pa
rking garage when it was obvious he wished he could be anyplace else, was worth a few extra bucks in Belle's estimation.
Thoughts raced through Belle's head. She was certain the slashed tires had to be random vandalism. There was no other logical explanation. She didn't make enemies. It wasn't her style to bully her way to what she wanted. Not wanting to make a scene, she calmly returned to her office, asking Pru to join her. Closing the door behind them, Belle told her assistant what had occurred.
"That's horrible," Pru gasped. "All four tires?"
"Unfortunately. Why couldn't this have happened last week when the old ones were still on?"
"I admire your attempt at a joke, but this is serious, Belle."
Belle considered it the perfect time to toss out a mood lightener. However, Pru was just processing the disturbing news. When Belle first found her car, she hadn't been in the mood to laugh.
"I need you to contact the police. Then call my insurance agency. And Pru," Belle said as Pru made notes, "do not mention this to anybody. Especially not my father."
"He's bound to find out." Elias Richards had eyes and ears everywhere. "Don't you think you should be the one to tell him?"
"I will. After I've spoken to the police."
Belle didn't want her father to overreact. She would fill him in after the police confirmed that her car was simply in the wrong the place at the wrong time. It turned out, the police were not convinced that was the case.
"We can't be certain this was an act of simple vandalism, Ms. Richards."
"I don't understand." Puzzled, Belle frowned at the uniformed officer sitting across from her. "Are you saying somebody deliberately targeted me?"
"At the moment, we aren't saying anything." Officer Clarke's gaze was cool and steady. "Your car seems to be the only one targeted. Did you notice the words scratched into the paint?"
"No." Belle felt a chill race up her spine. "What did it say?"
"Die, Bitch, die." He watched Belle closely. "Are you certain you can't think of anybody who would have a reason to do this?"
"Slash my tires and wish me dead? I'm happy to say I can't think of a single person."
Belle knew her sarcasm wasn't helping. But Officer Clarke's tone made it sound like he didn't believe her. The whole thing had freaked her out. The policeman was pissing her off. Belle did not consider it a good combination.
"We have the security footage from the garage." Standing, the officer handed her his card. "If you think of anything, give me a call. Whether you think this is a threat or not, Ms. Richards, I suggest you take it seriously. Don't walk to your car alone. Always lock your doors."
"Are you trying to scare me?" Because he was doing a good job.
"Yes." Officer Clarke didn't smile, but his expression softened. "I tell the same thing to my wife. Taking precautions is smart, Ms. Richards. No matter the situation."
"You're right, Officer Clarke." Belle shook his hand. "Thank you for coming so promptly. I promise to take your advice."
"Well?" Pru entered almost immediately after Officer Clarke's exit. She brought Belle a cup of tea and one for herself. "What did he say?"
"The world is either paranoid, or I'm screwed." Filling Pru in, Belle sipped the hot drink. The chill had moved from her spine through her entire body. "I can't for the life of me think who would do such a thing."
"Everybody loves you." Belle snorted, almost spitting her tea across the surface of her desk. Pru laughed. Just as quickly, she sobered. "That's how I see it. It makes no sense. I suppose you could have picked up a weirdo stalker."
"That's a lovely thought." One Belle hadn't considered. "Whatever the answer, Officer Clarke had a point. We—and I'm including you—need to rethink our personal habits. Just because we are strong, independent women, it doesn't mean we're invincible."
"There's a self-defense course I've been thinking about taking. The first class is next week. I'm certain I can get us in. Want to go?"
Pru's enthusiasm was contagious. So much so, Belle decided to expand their circle.
"That's a great idea, Pru. Ask around the office to see if anybody else wants to join. But—"
"I know. Don't tell them about your car." Pru shook her head. "Everybody saw the police officer, Belle. The speculation has started."
"Nip it in the bud. Casually mention that I'm donating money. That should slow the gossip for now."
"And your father?"
Belle sighed. "I'm on my way to his office."
They walked out together, Pru detouring to her desk. Belle continued down the hall. Guarding the entrance to the office with the fierceness of a Doberman, was her father's longtime assistant.
"Is my father free, Connie?" It might have been cowardly, but for once, Belle hoped the answer was no.
Connie Bernard, an attractive woman of indeterminate age, looked at Belle over the rims of her no-nonsense glasses.
"He has a conference call in twenty minutes." Without a flicker of expression, Connie pressed a button. "Belle is here to see you, Mr. Richards."
"Send her in."
Girding herself, Belle entered the office. She expected her father to blow up. Instead, he was calm. And completely unreasonable.
"You should move back home."
"Dad—"
"It's safer. The security on your building is a joke. I don't know why I didn't say something before now."
"Because I'm a grown woman capable of taking care of myself." This over-protective father mode needed nipping in the bud. "I will be cautious, but I won't change my life, Dad."
"It will only be for a month. Once you and Theo are married, I won't have to worry about you living alone."
"Theo can barely protect himself. If somebody broke into our home, his first instinct would be to hide in the closet." Considering Theo's recent sexuality admission, that probably wasn't the best example.
"Do you think this is funny?"
Belle hadn't meant to smile. Since she couldn't share the joke with her father—not that he would find it funny—she bit the inside of her cheek.
"I love you, Dad. And I appreciate your concern. However—"
"Dinner."
Belle was used to her father's interruptions. Not that it made them more palatable.
"What about dinner?"
"If you won't agree to move home, I insist you come to dinner. Tonight. No arguments, Belle. I won't take no for an answer."
"Fine. It's been awhile since we've all sat down for a meal."
It wasn't difficult to figure out her father's strategy. He would enlist her mother to guilt Belle into moving home. It was an old tactic. One that hadn't worked since she reached puberty. However, Belle had to give him props for pulling the old chestnut out of his bag of tricks.
"With your car out of commission, you can catch a ride with me."
"The insurance adjuster has come and gone. Pru called the tire store, and they are sending somebody to replace the old ones. There's no reason I can't take my car."
"What about the other damage? Die, Bitch, die? Do you really want to drive around with that for everybody to see?"
Her father had a point, Belle admitted reluctantly. Her car was drivable. But she didn't want to deal with the questions raised by the all-too-obvious vandalism. She had planned on dropping her car at the body shop on the way to work in the morning. Now, it seemed like a better idea to take care of it today.
"I'll ride with you." Belle knew it would placate her father if she gave him something to do. "Can you get somebody to take care of my car? I'll have Pru send Connie the name of the shop."
"You look tired." Elias walked her to the door where he gave her a warm hug. "A nice relaxing evening with your family is exactly what you need."
Hugging him back, Belle gave herself a moment to rest in her father's strong, loving arms. "I'll be in my office. Let me know when you're ready to leave."
Belle was halfway down the hall when she remembered the
dolls in the trunk. If she were the type to believe in fate, Belle would blame this afternoon's drama on her mixed feelings about seeing Ashe again. She had waffled between thinking it was no big deal and the worst thing she could do. Fate stepped in and took the choice from her. It was a drastic way to eliminate temptation. However, it was effective.
Flopping onto her chair, Belle tried to decide the best way to get the dolls to Ashe when her phone rang. Tracy. Why hadn't she thought of her right away?"
"Hello, my favorite best friend."
Belle laughed. "How many best friends do you have?"
"One. And she's my favorite." Tracy made it sound perfectly logical. "I wanted to call sooner, but I was under a deadline."
Tracy was a freelance artist. The pay was great, and it gave her time to paint. Next month, a very prestigious New York gallery was hosting a night of her work. The world had finally discovered what Belle had always known. Her friend was wildly talented. From now on, the sky was the limit.
"Deadlines are your drug of choice. Your blood wouldn't pump quite as vigorously without them."
"How sad it is that?" Tracy quipped. "I need deadlines, and you need…"
"Don't say it," Belle warned.
"Ashe Mathison."
"You said it." The truth didn't hurt, but hearing it from her best friend made it impossible for Belle to ignore.
"Damn straight. It's a good thing, Belle. One of us should get our jollies from good old-fashioned sex."
"There was nothing old fashioned about it."
"Yes! Something did happen last night. You can't see, but I'm doing a happy dance."
"Halt the boogie, Ginger Rogers." Tracy needed to find a man. Her friend was way too invested in Belle's sex life. "I was talking about what happened in Los Angeles. Last night, Ashe and I talked. Nothing more."
"Oh, come on! You had no problem jumping his bones when that stupid engagement was a real thing. Why deny yourself now that it's caput?"
"I promised to keep that under wraps. Remember?"
"Belle." Tracy heaved a huge, frustrated sigh. "You told me."
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