by Donna Hill
“Like I said, I’m leaving on Sunday and I need to start packing.”
“I could come to you,” she blurted out. “I mean, we could meet, in Manhattan.”
“Is holding onto a client that important to you?” he asked, his tone suddenly sharp and accusatory.
“What?”
“Look, you can keep the fifty grand if that’s what you’re concerned with.”
Her neck snapped back. “We don’t need your money, Mr. Montgomery. Our business is built on satisfied clients. And the list is long.”
“I’m sure it is,” he said, the sarcasm sharp and hurtful. “Do you make sure that all of your clients get the same treatment that I did?” There, he’d said it, the question that had tormented him from the moment he’d opened his eyes and found the space in the bed next to him empty.
Melanie was so stunned she couldn’t speak.
Hot, tension-laced air hung between them.
“I’ll have the check delivered by messenger,” she said, finding her voice, though she barely recognized it. “Do what you want with it. Have a good day, Mr. Montgomery.” Her hand shook as she hung up the phone.
Is that what he thought of her? Oh God. Her eyes burned with tears of shame. She had no one to blame but herself. She looked at the phone. She was so tempted to pick it up and call him back. Explain that night. Explain why she’d left. Explain how she’d been feeling ever since. She reached for the phone and before she could talk herself out of it, she hit “last call” and his number dialed.
Her pulse raced as she listened to the ringing, waiting what seemed to be an eternity before it was answered. “Montgomery residence.”
Was this the woman from the hospital? Her brain seemed to freeze and she couldn’t think.
“Hello? Montgomery residence,” the voice repeated.
Melanie cleared her throat. “Yes, I was calling for Mr. Montgomery.”
“I’m sorry. You just missed him. May I take a message?”
“Oh…no, thank you.”
“May I tell him who called?”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll try him later. Thank you.” She hung up before she was pressed for any more details.
She covered her face with her hands. Her insides shook. Was he really gone? Did he know it was her and simply refused to answer? Who was that woman?
The questions ran behind each other like children playing follow the leader.
She pushed back from her seat and stood, then began pacing the room. Maybe it was best that he didn’t answer after all. She probably would have only made matters worse. If that were possible. She inhaled deeply. There was nothing she could do about it now. She returned to her desk and pulled out the checkbook from the drawer.
In the history of the company they’d never returned a client’s money. As she filled in the amount of fifty thousand dollars, she consoled herself with the fact that there was a first time for everything. Her next hurdle would have to be explaining it to the team. At least she had a couple of days to think about what she would say. Just before she stuck the check in an envelope she ripped it into tiny pieces and threw it away. She took out her personal checkbook and rewrote the check from her account. Simply because she’d been a fool was no reason for the business to pay the cost of her stupidity.
After she wrote the check she called the messenger service that she used. She wanted the check off of her desk, out of her house and in his hands sooner rather than later. The service assured her that someone would be there within the hour.
With that nasty task out of the way, she went downstairs to the home gym in the hopes of working off some of her frustrations.
As promised, the messenger service arrived and she handed over the check. The sun was still high in the sky. A balmy breeze blew in from off the water. She could hear the laughter of beachgoers in the distance. She shut the door behind her. A perfect day. And she had no one to share it with.
Just as she was heading upstairs to look for a good book to curl up with, she heard the sound of a car pulling into her driveway. Must be one of the kids, she thought until she heard the doorbell ring.
She went back down and came face to face with the last person she expected to see.
“What are you doing here?”
“Is that any way to greet your clients?” His grin was infectious.
“Come in, Mr. Lawson.”
“I thought we’d gotten past that,” he said, stepping inside.
“Rafe.” She smiled and shook her head. “You still haven’t answered my question.”
“Actually, I finally took the painting out of my trunk and opened it up. Don’t know if all the banging around did it, but the frame was cracked. I just took it back to the gallery to have it fixed. Cynthia was off today.” He shrugged and his dimple winked at her.
“I was in the neighborhood.”
“Hmm, ummm. You should be home getting ready for your date tonight.”
“Oh, I figure I’ll just throw something on.” He chuckled.
“Yeah, right. Can I get you something to drink?”
“Sure.” He shoved his hands into his pants pockets.
“Getting a little muggy out there. But at least you get the breeze from the ocean.”
“Thankfully. Come on in the kitchen.”
He followed her out. “House is quiet.”
“Yeah, everyone is off today. Have a seat. Tea, coffee, juice?”
“Whatever you’re having.” He took off his jacket and hung it on the back of the chair and sat down.
She poured him a mug of coffee, then took the half and half from the fridge and brought both to the table. She sat opposite him. “I think you’ll really enjoy your evening tonight.”
“I’m sure I will.” He lightened his coffee just a bit and dropped in a cube of sugar.
“Why do you do this?” he asked, looking at her over the rim of his mug.
“Do what?”
“Spend all your time getting other people together?”
“I enjoy making people happy.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Who makes you happy?”
She glanced away. “No one at the moment. This isn’t—”
“Maybe I could,” he said cutting her off.
She drew in a sharp breath. She looked him square in the eye and was stunned to see what almost looked like sincerity in his brandy-toned eyes. “I don’t get involved with my clients.” At least not anymore.
“We can fix that right up.” He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out his checkbook. “Fifty grand, right?”
“What are you doing?”
“Giving you back your money. If I’m not a client, you don’t have any excuse not to take me up on my offer of making you happy.”
Had the whole world gone crazy in one day or was it just her? What was going on?
“Don’t be silly. I’m not going to take your money. And I’m not going to get involved with you.” She stood and folded her arms.
Rafe chuckled and slowly stood up. He looked down into her upturned face. “I always get what I want, cher, and I don’t have to pay for it. It may take some time, but I do. So get ready.” He took his coat from the chair. “Thanks for the coffee. I’ll be sure to let you know how the date went.” He turned and walked out.
Moments later she heard the front door close and the sound of Rafe’s car engine. She stood there until she couldn’t hear anything except the pounding of her heart.
Chapter 14
Claude returned home from his doctor’s appointment with an all-clear to return to work. Getting back into the swing of the job was just the medicine he needed. The past month and a half had been a pure roller coaster ride: from meeting Melanie, sleeping with her, the accident, the mess with Traci and now today’s blowup with Melanie. He’d come full circle, and he wanted to get as far away from the center of the storm as possible.
He shook off his lightweight jacket, which h
e really hadn’t needed, and hung it on the hook in the hallway. The house was quiet. Lin must have left early to beat the thunderstorm that had been building all day.
He walked into the living room and turned on the television. The weatherman was trying to explain the unexpected storm that was powering across the East Coast. The weatherman needed a new job, he thought absently. He crossed to the bar and fixed a short drink. That’s when he noticed the package on the table. He bent to pick it up. It was from a private messenger service. The address was from Sag Harbor. He ripped the envelope open. A small white envelope was inside. He opened it and took out the check. His jaw clenched. He stared at the neat handwriting before carefully folding it and tucking it in his back pocket. He fixed himself a drink, then went up to his bedroom to finish packing.
During the course of the next two weeks, Rafe had been set up on three perfect dates. Any one of the women would be right for him. They all but gushed when they spoke about the fabulous time they had, how attentive he was, how funny, sexy, such a gentleman. They couldn’t wait to see him again.
Rafe, however, was lukewarm about each and every one, and it was driving Veronica crazy.
“I think he’s intentionally giving us a hard time. This is a game to him,” she said in frustration as she looked over a slide show of potential candidates.
“The thing that kills me,” Jessica added, “is that he comes across as totally into them. If you listen to the women talk about the time they spent with him, you’d have no doubt that we’d done our job.”
“Exactly. Until we talk to Rafe.” Veronica shook her head.
Melanie listened without comment. It was a game to him. He’d said as much that night weeks ago at the Embassy. It was a challenge, something for him to do. She hadn’t told Veronica or Jessica that he’d been to the house or what he’d said. It was probably all part of his game.
“For the time being let’s not subject any more women to Mr. Lawson’s endless charms,” Melanie said. “We’ll restrategize after the party. The next few days are going to be crazy and I don’t want us to be distracted with Rafe’s foolishness.”
“And what’s the story with Claude Montgomery?” Jessica asked. “I would have thought that he and Grace would have really hit it off.”
Melanie ran her teeth across her bottom lip. “He had a change of heart.” She shrugged. “It happens.”
“But we promised Dad,” Veronica said. “Maybe we should try again. I know there are—”
“Forget it!”
Two pairs of eyes landed on Melanie.
“Just forget it,” she said with more calm.
“What’s wrong, Aunt Mel?” Veronica asked. “You’ve been out of it for a while now. What’s going on?”
“Nothing. I’m trying to focus on this party, that’s all. I have a lot on my mind. And if we have troublesome clients that we can’t seem to satisfy, I say the hell with them.” She pushed back from the table and stood, then walked out of the room, leaving her nieces with their eyes wide and their mouths open.
Melanie closed the door to her bedroom. She hadn’t heard a word from Claude since she’d returned his money. She hadn’t told the team that she’d even given it back. That would lead to questions of why and she wasn’t ready to answer them. But she had heard from Rafe. Often. When he would call, the conversation would start off as business, generally a follow-up to a date and before long he would have her engaged in conversation about a movie that she must see, or a book he’d read, places they’d both traveled, music, politics, religion. Rafe Lawson was well-versed on many subjects, which is why she could see how the women he dated were totally captivated by him—in addition to which, he made you feel that listening to you was the most important thing he could do.
When she talked to him she had to keep her wits about her and not be sucked in by his southern charm, and, she had to admit, it wasn’t always easy, especially if the call came late in the evening and she’d been thinking about Claude, who she’d catch glimpses of on the news from time to time among the cadre of politicos flanking the senator.
But it was getting a little easier. The sting wasn’t as bad and she didn’t beat herself up as regularly as she once did. Good signs, she consoled herself.
But today, for some reason, she’d lost it. She’d blown up at her nieces for no good reason, at least not one that she could explain to them, which was the fact that the party was in two days. They’d have a house full of guests. And she had no idea if Claude would be among them.
On the morning of the party the house was buzzing with activity and delivery trunks were in a waiting line to get to the front door. Party planners were busy in all of the rooms, draping, moving furniture, adding centerpieces and floral arrangements among other things. Coat racks were delivered and new linen had arrived for the tables along with extra tables, chairs, dinnerware and glasses. The catering trucks were unloading most of the morning and were finally setting up to begin preparing the food. The wait staff arrived at noon and were met by the head chef and the six bartenders. Vincent met with the head valet and attendant and gave instructions on where the cars should be parked. Spotlights had been set up on the lawn. A professional cleaning crew had been brought in to clean the house from roof to basement and would return for the big cleanup the morning after the party.
The guest list had been rounded out to one hundred and fifty and all of them planned on attending. It was going to be a big, loud night. The two bands were scheduled to arrive soon so that they could set up and do sound checks.
Once all the players were in place, Melanie and the girls slipped out and let the party coordinator deal with all the details while they went to get their hair, nails and toes done.
“Ahhh,” Veronica moaned in pleasure as hot sudsy water swirled around her submerged feet. She wiggled her toes.
“We’ve been doing this for years,” Jessica said as she held her hand out to the manicurist. “You would think we’d be used to the craziness by now.”
“I know, but it never seems to get easier. There are a zillion details even with a coordinator.”
“Hey, Aunt Mel.” Veronica peeked her head around her cousin. Melanie was seated in the next chair with her head back and her eyes closed.
“Hmm?”
“I was just thinking that with all this technology at our fingertips, we should move into the twenty-first century and have a virtual party.”
Melanie opened her eyes and peered at her niece. “What?”
“You know, everyone could party from the comfort of their Web cam.” She laughed at the novelty of the idea. “It would sure cut down on the craziness.”
Melanie slowly shook her head. “That’s what’s wrong with you young people now. You’ve lost the art of conversation and socializing in the real world. Everyone is connected by a gadget, an email address or some social network that really only exists in cyberspace, wherever that is. The art of really getting to know people is being lost. I can pretend to be anyone I want behind a screen or some name I make up for my email address,” she snapped, her tone growing testy. “But at some point you have to come out from behind all the façades and actually meet people face to face, write a real letter, without texting and deal with a person.”
Her nieces looked at her for a moment, then they both laughed. “Aunt Mel, you are too funny. You’re getting old.”
She grumbled deep in her throat, then returned to her mini nap while her feet were being massaged. Of course technology had its place, she thought, drifting along on a cloud of relaxation. But it couldn’t take the place of real communication. Sitting behind some computer screen, the person on the other end can’t see your sincerity and you can’t see theirs. They can’t tell if you are lying, hurt, crying or even paying them any attention. You can be whoever you chose to be for the moment.
Just as she hid behind her screen and read Claude’s email that he’d sent to her personal BlackBerry early that morning.
Sry. won’t b abl 2 atten
d. njoy ur party. sry 2 miss it. Regards 2 all. CM.
And that was it. He couldn’t see the hurt in her eyes and she didn’t have to pretend that it wasn’t there.
By the time they returned to the house the decorators had turned the mansion into a virtual wonderland of lighting, drapery that hung from the ceiling encrusted with tiny crystals that made it shimmer and, incredibly, an ice sculpture in the center of the entryway. Beyond was the magnificence of the ocean, captured in the glow of the setting sun. The lights from the votives that had been placed throughout the space gave the entire atmosphere an elegant feel.
Mouthwatering aromas floated from the kitchen and the long linen-topped tables were ready for the platters of food that would fill them shortly. It was enough to take one’s breath away.
The staff who had been hired for the festivities had all changed into their uniforms and were hurrying about to ensure that everything was taken care of.
The guests were scheduled to arrive in about two hours. The ladies went to their rooms to start getting ready. Melanie firmly believed that the hostess must be ready to greet the very first guest no matter how early they arrived. It was a credo that her grandmother had instilled in her, so she kept her eye on the clock as she bathed and dressed.
Although her preference was the short cocktail dress, for tonight’s occasion she’d chosen a floor-length deep chocolate brown Vera Wang dress, strapless with a fitted bodice, jeweled across the top, fitted at the waist and tapered down to the hem just above her feet. A simple diamond necklace and matching earrings were her accessories. She wore her short hair cut away from her face, accenting her features with minimal makeup, which illuminated her near flawless complexion. Her sling-backed shoes were a perfect match for her dress. She added her favorite scent behind her ears and at her delicate wrists.
Within an hour she was ready and went to do a final check of every detail with the coordinator. Nothing was left to chance.
