by Theresa Weir
Danger, danger! Please don’t let him want a goodbye kiss. He would quickly realize what kind of hypocrite she was. She was such a damn pushover. “What?”
“Get yourself a fucking good lawyer. Someone who’s as cutthroat a bastard as I am.”
And then, instead of kissing her like she expected, he slid his hand down her arm until his hand covered hers. He lifted it, turning it palm up, and pressed a kiss onto the sensitive skin of her wrist. Much more intimate than a kiss on the lips.
With that he walked away and softly closed the door behind him.
She stood there, completely bewildered, before thankfully, mercifully, her anger kicked in. He was toying with her, and she most definitely did not appreciate it.
Forty-five minutes later, lying stiffly on her back in the bed that still smelled like him, Brooke’s mind tumbled over itself like stones in a polisher. Too bottled up to rest. Bottled up anger, bottled up desire, bottled up…about a lot of things. She sighed a heavy breath, quite disgusted with her bottled-up self, and tucked her arm behind her head. And beneath all her superficial distractions, her worry over Roscoe battered at her heart and mind. She couldn’t lose him. She would be devastated, bereft. He was her one and only sweet boy.
She pushed back the tears and took a deep breath—and got another delicious lungful of Drew. With a cry of frustration, she got up, ripped off the blankets and sheets, and remade the bed with linens that smelled of laundry detergent instead of gorgeous man.
She was pathetic.
She lay back down and resumed staring at the ceiling while seeing something else entirely. Someone. Drew. Of the forever-rumpled blond hair, green eyes that should be outlawed for their pervasive abilities alone, and ridiculously sexy grin that never failed to set her pulse to pounding. He wanted her every bit as much as she wanted him, but there was a gigantic obstacle in the way.
Kristen Wright-Davis and her ruinous, completely spoiled, yappy, cantankerous poodle, Mimi.
She sat up in bed with a squeal of frustration, pounding the mattress.
She’d had enough of this. She’d apologized, sent that unreasonable woman a wonderful basket. Everyone loved her homemade dog treats, from her clients to her best friends. She’d even been offered money by the couple who owned the Hot Diggity Dogs shop to sell them in their store. That woman was going to see reason if Brooke had to twist all of that bleached blonde hair out by the roots.
In fact, Brooke was going over there, first thing in the morning after she checked on her boy. She had something personal at stake, and she wasn’t going to cave and lose it, or leave her staff unemployed. It was Pawlish that was at stake. Right. Her business, she affirmed to herself. As she lay down, she could swear she caught a whiff of his intoxicating scent.
* * *
First she went to St. Mark’s to visit Roscoe, who was much better. He vigorously wagged his stumpy tail, and moisture gathered in her eyes as she hugged him. She was told he had to stay for one more day to make sure all was well. She could pick him up tomorrow. He gave her such a dejected look when she left, she decided to come back after visiting Kristen.
Brooke drove out of the city onto Long Island and to the small seaside resort of East Hampton. Pulling up the long drive to the Wright-Davis’s “cottage” on the shore, Brooke rolled her eyes. This wasn’t a cottage. The woman was so pretentious.
She had an uneasy sensation in her stomach, as if she was on the deck of a ship and the pitch and roll had somehow gotten embedded there. Squaring her shoulders and remembering what was at stake, she marched up to the door and knocked.
After a few minutes a maid answered the door. “May I help you?”
“I’d like to speak to Kristen.”
“Who is it, Marta?” Her voice came from the top of a sweeping staircase. A magnificent glass and gold chandelier tinkled in the breeze from the open door.
Brooke didn’t wait for the maid to ask her the question. She brushed by her. “It’s Brooke Palmer.”
“Brooke? What are you doing here? You can simply go through my lawyer if you have anything to say to me.”
Polished mahogany floors with matching stairs and banister led to the top. Brooke’s shiny black boots clicked as she walked across and mounted the stairs. Kristen stood at the top, a digital camera in her hands. This time her nails were a bold, hot pink. Her blue eyes narrowed and she held up her palm.
“Don’t come up here.” Her hard gaze focused on her maid at the bottom of the stairs. “Marta! Why did you let her in?”
The maid gave an apologetic curtsy and said, “I’m sorry, mistress. She came in without asking.”
Kristen’s maid curtsied, and her employees thought Brooke was tough on them? Kristen looked down at her, her eyebrows arching elegantly. She pursed her lips. “As rude here as you are at your place of business. How surprising.”
Brooke climbed the rest of the way. She spied the offensive, nasty Mimi curled up at the top of the stairs at Kristen’s feet. “There’s your little…” The dog growled at her, showing the whites of her eyes and her upper lip pulled away from her pointy muzzle. Little monster is what came to mind, but instead she finished her comment by substituting “baby.” Brooke came up the final few steps to the landing and saw Marta slink out of the foyer from the corner of her eye. She heard a door close off in the distance.
“I need to talk to you.”
“I’m very busy. I have to get this film to Design TV’s Town and Country Show. I have every expectation that my cottage will be featured on TV. I’ve always dreamed of it.”
“You think DTV featuring your chandelier is more important than my employee or my business?”
Kristen didn’t even look at her. She just kept filming her chandelier. “My stupid photographer quit. I hate doing manual labor.”
“Manual labor! Kristen, that isn’t manual labor. Manual labor is farm work or digging ditches. I’ll tell you about hard work. It’s getting up at five o’clock every morning, getting your two kids breakfast, getting them to school, slogging across a crowded and congested city to your place of business and putting in an eight hour day.”
“Well, aren’t you snarky. I didn’t think you had it in your meek little body. You’re wasting your breath. You can talk until you’re blue in the face. I’m not going to change my mind.”
“That’s what Drew said.”
“Drew, is it? Don’t tell me you’ve wooed him with your big brown eyes and little curvy body. My husband gave him this task because he’s a pit bull. He won’t waver.”
“Rest assured, he hasn’t.”
“Good. That stupid cow will be fired, or I will make sure you lose everything you own.”
Brooke took a step up to the top of the stairs to face Kristen head on. “That’s an empty threat, Kristen. You don’t own the courts.”
She framed up a shot and filmed with a steady hand. Looking over her shoulder with a smug, predatory smile, she cooed. “Actually, I do. I have a very good friend who’s a judge. He simply dotes on me. Guess who will be hearing our case?”
Then Kristen went back to what she considered important. “Does the chandelier look good in this picture?” she asked.
Brooke huffed out a breath and, patsy that she was, looked down at the video camera and said, “It’s too close. You should back up a bit.”
“Oh, boo, you’re right.”
Wrestling the conversation back to her reason for coming, she said, “That’s not justice, nor is it fair. I’ll appeal.”
Kristen laughed. “With what? You won’t have anything left. When I take over Pawlish, the first thing I’ll do is fire that stupid cow myself.” She turned back to her filming.
“I know Harper Sinclair. In fact, she is a close personal friend. She’s offered me the full weight of her reputation…and her lawyer.” Brooke hadn’t wanted to stoop so low as to name drop, but she was getting desperate. Drew had been right. The woman was self-absorbed beyond belief.
Kristen paled at that and bit
her lip. Knowing it was petty, Brooke still had to suppress a smile when the camera wobbled in her hands and the shot was ruined.
Kristen’s head whipped around. “You’re lying.”
“You think so? Do you have a copy of the New York Scoop?”
Kristen narrowed her eyes at Brooke, turned and stomped down the hall and into the master bedroom. Her boots made angry, clomping noises. She returned with the magazine in her hand. Brooke took it and flipped to the middle. There was bound to be a picture of Harper with Poe, Callie and her. They had just gone out last week.
It was her time to deliver a smug smile. “There we are. Harper Sinclair, Poe Madigan and Callie Lassiter. I’d say that’s a pretty good picture of me.”
“You know Callie Lassiter, too?” Kristen snatched the magazine out of Brooke’s hands, giving her an incredulous look. “Owen McKay’s fiancée? We didn’t get an invitation to the wedding.”
“They haven’t gone out yet.”
She tried not to show it, but Kristen’s estimation of Brooke just went up a notch. The calculation clear in her eyes. “How would you know?”
“I’m her maid of honor.”
Kristen scowled and smoothed her hand over her braid. “Everybody who’s anybody is going to be at that wedding. Is Harper going?”
“Yes, she is. Kristen, why can’t you be reasonable? Have some compassion. You’re wealthy, have all you want. Why make me fire Rachel, who, by the way, was the only groomer I had who was willing to clip Mimi. Everyone else refused.”
Lost in thought, Kristen took a moment to register what Brooke had said. “What? Are you saying no one at your establishment wanted to handle my sweet baby?”
Kristen bent down and petted Mimi who licked her hand, then snarled at Brooke again.
“All the more reason to sue you,” she grumbled, looking down at the poodle again, then at the magazine. “You really know Harper Sinclair and Callie Lassiter?”
Brooke nodded.
“You’re not going to fire that stupid cow, are you? You’re willing to fight for her even if it means losing your business,” Kristen said grudgingly.
“No, I’m not going to fire her, and yes, I’m going to fight for her.”
“Dammit, now if I go through with this suit, I’ll be blacklisted from the Social Register. I’ve heard Harper takes care of her friends.”
Hope bloomed like a giant sunflower in Brooke’s chest. “You can save face by just letting it slip that you have accepted my offer of free grooming. Reference the fabulous doggie basket I sent you and the apology.”
Kristen looked down then cut her a sideways glance. “Mimi did so love the dog treats, especially the crowns. She is such a princess. Where did you get them?”
“I made them.”
“You what?”
“I made them,” she said through gritted teeth. The woman had the attention span of a teenager hopped up on Red Bull. “I didn’t come here to talk about dog treats.”
“You are quite the talented entrepreneur. Mimi is pretty picky.” She paced to the rail and rested her hands on the deep, rich wood, her eyes unfocused. “Okay, here is the deal.” She turned around and walked back to Brooke. “I want an invitation to that wedding and weekly deliveries of those dog treats. I’ll even pay you.”
It took every ounce of her self-control not to smile. “Okay—”
“Not so fast. I want an introduction to Harper, and a standing invitation to her fabulous tea parties.” Kristen extended her hand to shake.
Brooke crossed her arms over her chest. “I can’t guarantee Harper or Callie will agree. It’s really up to them.”
“But they’re your friends, Brooke. I know you can sweet talk them into it.”
“I expect you’re right,” Brooke said. They wouldn’t like it, but they would do it for her.
“Then we have a deal.”
“Not so fast.”
Kristen released a heavy sigh.
“You will personally apologize to Rachel and never call her a stupid cow again. When you bring Mimi in, you will sedate her. You will donate four hours a week to the shelter of your choice. Maybe you’ll learn some humility.”
“You are tougher than you look.”
“I’m not done.”
“Okay, what else?”
“You’re a bully, Kristen. You should get some counseling for that and learn compassion.” Brooke grabbed her lapel and pulled the woman’s face to hers. Kristen’s eyes widened. “I’ll also warn you. While you are at Callie’s wedding or Harper’s tea parties, you will always act like an adult. Those fabulous women are like sisters to me. I’d never sell them short by foisting someone who behaves as you have on them, even if it meant the lawsuit would move forward. I want your word on that.”
“I like a chick with moxie.”
“Your word, Kristen.”
She nodded and all the knots in Brooke’s body unwound. “So we have a deal?” Brooke asked.
“We have a deal.”
* * *
Brooke still had a wide grin on her face when she entered St. Marks. Poe stood at the desk and waved when she saw Brooke. “You look happy. What’s going on?”
“I got Kristen to agree to drop the lawsuit.”
Poe’s jaw dropped. “How?”
“Harper, Callie, and dog treats.”
“Oh, my!” Poe couldn’t stop laughing after Brooke told her the whole story, but she sobered when she said, “You do have moxie! What are you going to do about the Phantom?”
“I sent him back to the opera.”
“It was for the best. Even though that guy is smoking hot. I mean, that hair alone is enough to make me swoon, but those eyes and his body, wow. But I didn’t trust him. Although he was very sweet to you. Was that an act?”
“No, I don’t think so, but we have other issues. I think his carefully laid plan backfired into his handsome face.”
“Serves him right. What are you going to do now?”
“I’m going to take Roscoe home, then have lunch with Callie. After that, we’re going to a bakery to check out the cake for the wedding.”
“No, I meant with Mr. Tall, Golden and Handsome.”
“Things go back to normal.”
Poe nodded, wistfully. “I’m no marine biologist, but it occurs to me that there are plenty of fish in the barrel, you just have to get yourself a shotgun.”
Even though her stomach dropped at the mention of never seeing Drew again, Brooke laughed and grabbed Poe around the neck and hugged her. “You are too cute. Thanks for that.”
Poe shrugged and said, “I’ll get Roscoe for you. He’s really turned around. Oh,” she turned back, “I just gave the receptionist his insulin. The instructions on how to administer are there, and she’ll go over them when you check out. If you have any questions, let me know.”
When Poe trotted her dog out, Brooke went down to her knees and greeted him. He licked her face, almost purring deep in his throat. His rich brown eyes told her he was happy to be going home. “Awww, why do you look like that, my pretty boy? I’m sure Poe treated you like a king.”
“We did. He’s such a sweet, lovable dog. His presence even quieted the other sick animals, so I let him loose and he settled in the back. He’s so well-behaved and fearless.”
“Awww, Dr. Roscoe dealing out his own special medicine.” He tilted his head as if understanding every word she said, looking like a proud daddy. He barked his confirmation. Brooke laughed and scratched his silky ears.
“Let’s go home.”
* * *
Drew half listened to his sister talk to the baker about the cake. He had no idea there were so many choices, and he tried to remain attentive while simultaneously feeling like he was being drawn and quartered by the memory of last night.
Traditional, based on flavor, smaller cakes, individual cakes, frosted cakes, and even cupcakes. Then there was icing to discuss. Buttercream, snow-white buttercream, chocolate, royal, rolled fondant, quick-pour fondant, w
hipped. Then the cake itself. Marble, lemon, carrot, chocolate, marzipan—whatever that was—meringue, and the traditional white. His head was spinning and he had to give women the kudos they deserved. Wedding planning wasn’t for the faint of heart.
He hurt Brooke yesterday, and he couldn’t stop thinking about that and how the pulse in her wrist had jumped when he’d kissed it.
Even though he knew she and Callie had an appointment here—one of the premier bakeries in the city—to sample wedding cake, when he saw her at the door he still felt the impact from the top of his head to his toes. She looked radiant, and his heart lurched in his chest. She had on a tight black skirt that hugged every inch of her curvy backside, and a sweater with cherries all over it—which for some inane reason turned him on—along with a plain white blouse.
“What do you think, Drew?”
“Huh?”
“Weren’t you listening?”
The baker sat up and peered into the shop through the open office door when he heard the bell. When he saw customers out in the main part of the store, he raised a finger to Emma and checked his calendar. “Oh, dear. I must have double-booked my appointments. Do you mind terribly if Ms. Lassiter tastes the cakes at the same time you do, Ms. Hudson?”
“No, that would be wonderful. I can ask her opinion.” She cut him an exasperated sister look. “My brother is obviously more interested in something else at the moment than he is in cake tasting.”
“Ah, he’s a man. They usually eat anything.”
Drew opened his mouth to protest, then realized the guy was right. He shrugged.
He waited almost breathlessly for her to notice him. When it happened, she looked…pole-axed. There was something quite…naked in the expression that crossed her face. Then her eyes shuttered, hardened, and she looked away. Callie saw him and her eyes narrowed as she glared at him.
He stared out into the main part of the bakery, watched as she seated herself, quite stiffly—but elegantly—in one of the central chairs, her back to him. As guilty and concerned as he was, he found himself smiling. So she was pissed at him. Royally. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, because it was also revealing. Because that kind of anger could be fueled only by one thing: passion. He mattered to her or she wouldn’t be acting like he didn’t.
