Читать книгу Love Contract - Lisa Watson - Страница 11

Chapter 3

“For the last time, I didn’t have an ulterior motive,” Norma Jean said with exasperation. “I suggested Milán contact you because she’s looking for a job, and you’re looking for an interior designer.” She regarded her son from over her glasses. “Seemed a perfect fit to me.”

“Yeah, like her being crazy beautiful had no bearing in sending her my way?”

Adrian’s mother sat back in her chair. She stopped her scrapbooking and observed her son carefully. A knowing smile crept onto her face. “You think she’s beautiful.”

Adrian looked indignant. “And you didn’t? Come on, Mom, you’re killing me. You knew darn well I’d think she was gorgeous, but I recall having told you somewhere between one and a million times to stay out of my love life. Why won’t you do this?” He slammed down into the nearest chair. Adrian released a loud, harsh sigh, and then gazed up at the ceiling before shaking his head.

Norma Jean resumed placing small patterned shapes across her page. “Honey, you really should calm yourself. Maybe you should take up yoga? It would teach you how to release that pent-up stress you’re carrying around.”

“Calm myself? How can I? I honestly never know who’s lurking around the corner waiting to pounce on me compliments of Norma Jean Anderson.”

“I resent that.”

With a raised eyebrow he shot back, “Tell me I’m exaggerating.” Adrian rubbed his hand over his face. When he opened his eyes again, his gaze traveled around his parents’ family room. It looked like Cupid had set up shop and never left. Every surface had something pertaining to romance: his mother’s stack of inspirational love stories, the two red his-and-her teddy bears joined at the lips on a bookcase, the rose-scented tea lights with the red heart-shaped candleholder and family photos stored in floral decorative boxes. It was a good thing she kept her walls and carpet neutral. Any other color would have clashed with her “love couture.” His mother wasn’t dressed in a frilly pink number right now, but she might as well have been. Norma Jean was a die-hard romantic in every bone of her five-foot-nine-inch frame.

Married to her childhood sweetheart, his mother thought everyone on the planet should be as lucky in love as her and his dad. To prove the point, she’d been fixing him up since middle school. How he’d escaped matrimony this long was anyone’s guess. Frankly, Adrian thought it was nothing short of a miracle.

Taking a deep breath, he jumped back into the fray. “Mom, when are you going to understand that love isn’t something you can orchestrate like one of your bingo nights at the community center? That’s not how it works. That’s not how I work.”

His mother rolled her eyes. “Okay, now you’re being dramatic. Need I remind you that since your breakup, your track record with superficial playthings—that don’t have the wits or the foresight to be wife potential—is staggering?”

“I’m glad my heartbreak amuses you,” Adrian snapped.

Norma Jean slid her glasses into her short, spiked gray hair and stood up. She pointed a well-manicured finger in her son’s direction. “Don’t you use that tone with me, or so help me I’ll put my women’s safety classes to good use and drop you on this floor.”

Adrian was instantly contrite. “My apologies.”

His mother smoothed her hands over her knit jogging suit and returned to her plush chenille chair to resume her scrapbooking. A minute or two later, she glanced up to find Adrian still brooding.

“Honey, believe me I was only thinking of your company when I sent Milán to you. I know how hard it’s been for anyone trying to make a living in the housing market these days. Besides, you’re always so stressed out about that Ludlow man getting one up on you.”

“I’m not stressed,” he refuted.

“Call it what you will,” she continued. “The point is I saw a perfect opportunity to help you so I took it. And if you’ll recall, since Justin got married last year—to the blind date that I had arranged for you by the way—”

“I was there, Mom, remember?”

“Like I was saying,” she elevated her voice and pressed on. “I may have set you up on a date or two since then, but I’ve respected your right to find your own wife. No matter how long and drawn out that process seems to be,” she added. “What I don’t understand is why you’re so against my choices—or yours for that matter. You date someone once or a few times and then poof. They vanish into thin air. Everyone’s been kicked in the teeth by love, son. The trick is to get back on that horse and gallop.”

Adrian stared at his mother. “It’s not that I’m against marriage or a serious commitment. I envision myself with a wife one day, but I refuse to enter into another long-term relationship without knowing exactly what I’m dealing with. I won’t make that mistake again. Ever.”

She shook her head. “I might as well resign myself to the fact that sooner or later I’ll have to rent some grandbabies.”

He snorted. “Now who’s being dramatic?”

As much as he hated to admit it, she was right. That matchmaking scheme his mother had set in motion had forced him to stand up his blind date, Sabrina Ridgemont, in an effort to teach his mother a lesson. Unbeknownst to Adrian at the time, his best friend, Justin Langley, had gone to break the date, in person. Through a series of events, Justin had led Sabrina to believe he was Adrian. The fiasco that ensued gave Adrian a headache just thinking about it. Fortunately, the outcome was what mattered. The truth had come out eventually, and despite a rocky start, Justin and Sabrina were now happily married. Thanks to Norma Jean and her machinations.

“Okay,” he conceded. “I apologize for jumping to conclusions about your friend. Now can we change the subject? It’s true, I would like a designer on staff to give my clients’ homes an edge, but I doubt Milán Dixon will be the one.”

“Oh?” his mother queried. “I don’t see why not. She’s perfect.”

She is most definitely perfect. Suddenly, Adrian looked uncomfortable. “Because I screwed up big time. I thought... Suffice it to say, when I saw her, I assumed you were up to business as usual and that it wasn’t a real interview. I let her know point-blank what I thought of her—and your interference.”

“Adrian,” his mother gasped. “Tell me you didn’t embarrass me.”

He recalled the scene in his office. “You don’t know the half of it,” he mumbled.

Norma Jean shifted in her chair. “Now I raised you better than that.”

He held his hands up in front of him. “Please, no sermon. I’ve already been properly chastised today—in two languages.”

“Well good.” She nodded approvingly. “You deserved it. I recall her telling me that she was bilingual. What language does she speak?”

“Is that relevant?”

His mother arched her eyebrow.

“Spanish,” he grumbled. “She speaks Spanish.”

Humph. “You learned the language to increase your client base. This would have been a perfect arrangement. If you ask me—”

“I didn’t.”

“You got off light,” she finished. “I can’t believe you botched the meeting. You need to call her and apologize.”

“I tried.”

“And?”

“And, as soon as I told her who I was, she hung up.”

“Serves you right, but you have to try again.”

“Mom, she knows my phone number now. The next time she won’t even bother to pick it up.” He eyed his mother. “Unless...you can—”

“Forget it. You messed this up, now you’re going to find a way to fix it. I’m not bailing you out.”

Adrian’s eyes bugged out. “Need I remind you that you were the one that put me in this position to begin with?”

“I merely presented you with an opportunity. Your big mouth made you blow it.”

“What’s all the ruckus?”

Both turned to see Heathcliffe coming into the room.

Norma Jean brightened at seeing her husband. “Hi, honey.”

“Long story, Dad.”

His father leaned against the closest wall. “So give me the condensed version.”

“Our son insulted Miss Dixon, put his foot in his mouth, and got blessed out in the process.”

“Thanks for the recap,” Adrian drawled.

Norma Jean flashed a smile. “No problem, sweetie. Anyway, Cliff, I merely suggested he make amends for being loud—and wrong.”

“Sounds good to me. I mean if he—”

Adrian sat up. “Am I not sitting right here?”

His parents resumed their conversation.

After a few moments, Adrian threw in the towel. Getting up, he kissed his mother before walking over and patting his father on the shoulder. “I’m leaving now. I know when to call it quits.”

“I guess that’s true. It has been a rather long, eventful day for you, hasn’t it?”

Adrian nodded. “Dad, you have no idea. Mom, I’ll be over for dinner on Thursday, okay?”

“Tell me something I didn’t know,” Norma Jean joked.

Before Adrian got to the door, his mother’s voice stopped him.

“Wait a minute.”

Adrian turned. “Yeah?

“Since you know Spanish, why didn’t you just answer her?”

For the first time today a smile lit up his face. “And ruin that exit? Not on your life.” Adrian winked.

“Scoundrel,” his mother called after him.

When Adrian left the room, Heathcliffe settled himself in the seat his son had vacated and went back to discussing things with his wife.

* * *

Realizing he’d forgotten to ask his father something, Adrian headed back into the family room. He stopped dead in his tracks when he heard his dad say, “Okay, Jeanie, fess up.”

Silently, Adrian crept out into the hallway and stood there waiting to pounce.

“Cliff, I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Heathcliffe scrutinized his wife. “You set him up again, didn’t you?”

That got Adrian’s attention. He leaned forward to hear his mother’s confession.

“I told you both, I only suggested Milán contact him for a job. No more, no less.”

“Jeanie?”

“She’s a nice young woman that I met in church through a mutual friend—”

“And that’s it?” her husband interrupted.

Adrian saw his mother shoot his dad the look. Despite being worried that he might have been duped, he was glad not to be on the receiving end of his mother’s pique.

“Like I was saying,” Norma Jean continued. “Milán mentioned she’s looking for a job as an interior designer. Naturally, I thought of my baby. What’s the harm in that?”

“Nothing, darling, as long as that’s your only reason for bringing them together.”

“Oh, please. I haven’t involved myself in Adrian’s love life in forever. I’m not about to start now,” she huffed returning to her project.

Heathcliffe got up and leaned over his wife. When they made eye contact, he flashed Norma Jean his look. She blushed when he kissed her soundly. “That’s my girl.”

That was Adrian’s cue. The last thing he needed to see was his parents making out. There had been enough disasters today without adding that bit of horror.

Stealthily, Adrian headed for the entrance. He was completely wrong about his mother. A huge grin began. For once in Lord-knows-how-long, she had respected his wishes to stay out of his love life. He was satisfied that his dogged determination had finally paid off. The good humor was short-lived when his thoughts returned to a hot-blooded Amazon beauty he had ruthlessly insulted. Great, you’ve prevailed in the war with your mother, he told himself. But how are you going to win the battle with Milán?

* * *

Later that evening, Milán raised her yellow-rubber-gloved hand to her forehead to wipe the sweat away. Returning to scrubbing her counter, she increased her efforts. “The man’s an idiot, Nyah,” she complained to her sister over the speakerphone. “I didn’t think they had men left that full of themselves. What, do they take aside boys that show the most potential when they’re young and program them to be self-absorbed idiots? I’m telling you if they do, Adrian Anderson got in line twice. You should have heard all the things he said to me. I swear he’s lucky that all I did was walk out. I felt like breaking something over his arrogant piñata head!”

“Will you calm down?” Nyah Dixon pleaded.

“No, I will not. I’m too pissed to calm down. El me besó, Nyah.”

“¿Qué?” Her sister shrieked. “¿Por qué?”

“Because he thought I was some stupid matchmaking setup. He thought his mother sent me and wanted to prove a point. I showed him my point,” Milán said hotly. “He’s lucky I didn’t land it farther south.”

“Oh my. No wonder you’re in a cleaning frenzy.”

“No lo soy,” Milan lied.

“Honey, I can hear the exertion in your voice over the phone,” Nyah replied. “Clearly, you’re scrubbing the heck out of something. Not that it surprises me. You always take out your frustrations on your house, or whoever’s house you’re in at the time. Cada vez que te disgustarse, te conviertes en un limpiador obsesivo.”

“I do not,” Milán protested. “There’s nothing obsessive about my cleaning.”

“Uh-huh... ¿Qué aspecto tiene?”

Milán halted scrubbing and straightened up. “¿Qué dice?”

“You heard me.”

“What do you mean, what does he look like? What’s that got to do it?”

“Responde la pregunta.”

Exasperated, Milán let out a loud sigh. “He was too obnoxious for me to tell. After he made me mad, I didn’t pay much attention.”

“I’m not buying that,” Nyah said, firmly. “Come on, tell me.”

Milán groaned. “Must we do this now?”

“Deje de darle vueltas al asunto y dime. ¿Buen besador? ¿Hace que el corazón palpite solo mirarlo? ¿Es alto?”

Milán groaned. “I didn’t ponder if he was a good kisser or not and no, my heart didn’t flutter. It was racing, but that’s because I was angry. And he’s tall. At least six foot two.”

“Athletic, or really muscular?”

Milán paused. “Somewhere in the middle. He’s definitely in shape.”

“What about the rest of him? What color are his eyes? Does he have a strong jaw? What about his skin? Is it a warm caramel, luscious milk chocolate or soft delectable nougat?”

Unable to help herself, Milán laughed. “Why do you always compare men’s attributes to some kind of sweets?”

“I don’t know. I just love desserts. It’s my second favorite pastime.”

“Men being the first,” her sister replied.

“Yes, now speaking of which—”

“Fine,” Milán interrupted. “Yes, he’s good-looking. Very—and he knows it which is a definite turnoff, second only to his overbearing personality. His skin was like...desert sand at sunset. His eyes were like Oloroso sherry. A warm, vibrant brown that was very expressive.” Her breath caught in her throat as she remembered their ill-advised encounter. “His body was...firm in all the right places. There’s no doubt he works out often. And...he tasted like...hazelnut coffee.”

Nyah snorted. “Hazelnut coffee? Didn’t pay attention, huh?”

Milán frowned against the phone. “It wasn’t like that. I can appreciate the physical attributes, while disliking his arrogant nature and superiority complex. Trust me there was nothing impressive about that.”

Worked up just remembering Adrian’s behavior, Milán went back to cleaning. The scrubbing continued, but this time on a quieter scale.

“¿Oye, puedes aguantar esperar? Tengo otra llamada telefónica.” Milán clicked over when she heard a beep. “Hello?”

Silence ensued. “Hello?” Milán repeated. When nobody spoke up, she clicked back to her sister. “Lo siento.”

“¿Quién era lo?”

“No sé.”

The line beeped again.

“Un momento,” she said to her sister as she clicked to the second line.“Hello? I can hear you breathing, you know,” she told her caller. “Fine,” she snapped and returned to her sister.

After another few minutes, her line beeped again.

“This is getting ridiculous,” Milán complained.

“Hablarémos después,” Nyah replied and hung up.

“Look, I don’t know who taught you phone etiquette, but—”

“Miss Dixon, wait. Don’t hang up. This is—”

Milán’s expression darkened upon recognizing the voice. “I know who it is,” she said coldly. “Your rudeness is becoming legendary.”

“I’m sorry about that. My battery was going dead on my phone so I switched.”

“I see.” Her voice was laced with skepticism. “So how did you get my number?”

“Your résumé.”

She grunted in response.

“I’d like to speak with you, if now is a good time?”

A long bout of silence ensued.

“Just a few minutes,” he persisted. “That’s all I’m asking.”

Milán leaned against the kitchen counter. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mr. Anderson.”

“Why not? Are you afraid to talk to me?”

“Ha,” she laughed in his ear. “Nice try, but I don’t rise to bait that easily.”

“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to call me Adrian, would you?”

“No.”

“Fair enough. The reason I’m calling, Miss Dixon... What is that?”

“What is what?”

“That noise?”

Frowning, Milán stopped scrubbing the inside of her refrigerator. “Nothing.” She closed the door as quietly as she could, and then set the cleaning supplies down. She moved to the far side of the room. “You were saying?”

“Anyway, what I called to say is that I wanted to...apologize...for my...behavior earlier today. It was uncalled for and I was wrong to jump to conclusions like that. I’d like to make it up to you.”

“You don’t do that very often, do you?”

“What?”

“Apologize.”

“No.”

Despite herself, Milán’s lips curved into a smile. At least he was honest. Boorish, but honest.

“So am I forgiven?”

Her eyes widened. “Hardly. You kissed me—without my consent.”

“I know. I was out of line.”

“You think?” she snapped. “Besides, your apology didn’t sound genuine. Try again.”

“Fine, it would appear my heartfelt sincerity—”

She couldn’t help the snort that escaped her lips. “Heartfelt?”

“Sincerity,” he continued, “isn’t enough for you. So tell me how I can make amends?”

“To be honest, I’m not sure. Apparently you’re used to getting your own way—even when you’re wrong.”

“That’s hardly a fair assessment,” he countered.

“According to whom?”

“Okay, Adrian Anderson apology—take two. Miss Dixon, I got caught up in my own personal issues earlier and took my frustrations out on you. It was rude, unprofessional and I apologize.”

Milán peeled her rubber gloves off one at a time. “Yes, it was.”

“So, am I forgiven?”

“No, you’re not.”

“Will you come back for a proper interview?”

“I don’t think so, but I appreciate the phone call.”

“Wait,” Adrian said, quickly. “I really think we should meet face-to-face to discuss this.”

“Not a snowball’s chance, Mr. Anderson, but if I change my mind, you’ll be the first to know.” She hung up. Serves him right. Sliding her gloves back on, Milán grabbed her sponge and returned to scrubbing the hell out of her kitchen.

* * *

“Well, that went well,” Adrian groused. He put his phone down and headed into the kitchen. Practically ripping the door off its hinges, he bent over to scan the contents of his fridge. Grabbing a beer, and a mound of other things, he pushed the door shut with his leg and set his bounty on his granite island.

“What’s for lunch?”

Adrian glanced up to see his best friend walk into the room. He scowled. “I don’t remember hearing the doorbell.”

“When have you ever heard the doorbell?” Justin Langley washed and dried his hands. He walked over to a nearby cabinet and retrieved a small plate before sidling up to the counter to fix himself a sandwich.

“Back in the day, people got shot for less.”

“We’re not out on the range or in a saloon,” Justin countered not the least bit intimidated by his friend’s foul mood. “So I think I’m safe.”

With a flick of his wrist, Adrian popped the top off his bottle and took a long pull on his beer. “I wouldn’t count on it.”

“So, who pissed you off?”

“Long story,” Adrian groused.

Justin pulled up a bar stool and sat down. “I’m all ears.”