Читать книгу Millionaires' Destinies: Isn't It Rich? / Priceless / Treasured - Sherryl Woods, Sherryl Woods - Страница 11

Richard had stayed up till midnight watching the romantic comedy he’d bought. He’d heard the unspoken message in Melanie’s parting shot the night before. The suggestion that he had no idea what women wanted, that he couldn’t keep one, had rankled.

If he wanted a woman in his life, he’d have one. He’d achieved every other goal he’d set for himself. He didn’t doubt for a second that he could have a wife if he wanted one. He’d simply chosen to remain single. Period.

He’d been tempted to follow Melanie upstairs and tell her that, but had managed to stop himself from making that mistake. A discussion with Melanie—in her bedroom no less—could not lead to anything but trouble.

Still, he had watched the movie. He hadn’t much enjoyed watching the hero twist himself inside out trying to figure out how to win the heroine’s heart. If that was what Melanie—or any other woman—wanted from a man, she was fresh out of luck with him.

After watching the end of the video, he’d gone to bed in a foul mood. And he was still feeling cranky and out of sorts when Melanie breezed downstairs in the morning looking fresh as a daisy. Obviously she hadn’t lain awake all night grappling with any aspect of their relationship. Or, more precisely, their nonre-lationship.

“You look chipper,” he said in a way that even he could hear made “chipper” into a less-than-positive thing.

“Feeling great,” she concurred, ignoring his testy tone. “Is that bacon I smell?”

“Yes, and I have batter for waffles, if you want one,” he offered.

“Heaven,” she said as she poured herself a cup of coffee. “Did you sleep well?”

“Like a baby,” he lied.

She gave him a doubtful look but didn’t question his claim. “I noticed that the road in front of the house has been plowed. I’m sure you’ll be relieved to have me out from underfoot and have this place back to yourself,” she said. “I’ll take off as soon as I’ve had something to eat.”

Instead of cheering him up, her announcement made him want to dawdle. Because that was so completely ridiculous, he immediately poured batter onto the steaming waffle iron and snapped the lid closed. He took the plateful of bacon he’d microwaved earlier out of the oven where he’d been keeping it warm, then slammed it down on the table with more force than necessary. Melanie gave him another questioning look but remained silent.

“Juice?” he asked. “There’s orange.” He peered into the refrigerator as if there were some uncertainty, then added, “And cranberry.”

“Orange juice would be good,” she said, watching him closely. Apparently she could no longer contain her curiosity, because she added with concern, “Richard, are you upset about something?”

“Absolutely not,” he said sharply, in a tone guaranteed to contradict his words.

Melanie retreated into wounded silence, which was what he’d been hoping for—wasn’t it? Instead, he felt like he’d kicked a friendly puppy.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “Obviously I got out of bed on the wrong side this morning.”

She shrugged. “Just proves you’re human.”

“Stop that! Stop letting me off the hook,” he snapped, annoyed with her, with himself, with the universe.

She stared at him. “Okay, what’s really going on here? Have I missed something? Did you want me to take off right away? Have I tested your patience long enough?”

Richard sighed. “No. It’s not you. It’s me. To be honest, I don’t know what I want. Blame my lousy mood on stress, not enough sleep, whatever.”

“You said you slept like a baby.”

Naturally she’d been paying close attention to his stupid lie and just had to call him on it. He should have expected that. Frowning, he admitted, “I lied.”

“Why?”

“Because you came in here all cheerful and bright eyed and I didn’t want you to think I’d lost even a second’s sleep last night.” He kept his gaze firmly fixed on the waffle iron when he made the admission.

“Are we having some sort of competition?” she asked, sounding genuinely perplexed.

“My entire life has been about competition,” he muttered, as he snagged the golden waffle, put it on a plate and placed it in front of her.

“With whom? Your brothers?”

He shook his head. “With myself. I set goals, mostly based on my father’s expectations, then I battle with myself to attain them.” He gave her a wry look. “So far I’m right on track.”

“But are you happy?” she asked quietly.

“Of course,” he said quickly, possibly too quickly.

Melanie kept her steady gaze on him and waited.

“Mostly,” he amended finally. He’d been completely happy until he’d watched that ridiculous movie and started questioning the lack of a woman in his life.

“What do you win in these competitions of yours?”

“Respect,” he said immediately.

“You mean self-respect.”

Richard shook his head. “No, just respect.”

She regarded him quizzically. “Your father’s?” she asked, her voice incredulous. “Is that it, Richard? Are you still trying to earn your father’s respect?”

As she said it, he heard how ridiculous that sounded. His father had been dead for twenty years. “That would be impossible,” he said, shaken by the sudden awareness of what he’d been doing for far too long. He’d been living his life to please a man who could no longer be satisfied—or dissatisfied—with his accomplishments. And overnight he’d been examining his entire life based on a movie premise…and on one offhand comment from a woman who barely knew him.

“Yes,” Melanie told him. “It would be. Self-respect is far more important, don’t you think?”

This was more self-analysis than Richard could cope with on an empty stomach. “Enough of this,” he said brusquely. “How’s your waffle?”

Her gaze held his, challenged him, but then she finally let it drop to the forkful of waffle she was holding. “Perfect,” she said. “You could always open a restaurant, if you get tired of running a multinational conglomerate.”

“We have restaurants,” he noted as he sat down with his own plate and poured maple syrup over the waffle.

She chuckled. “I doubt you’ve seen the inside of the kitchen in any of them.”

Richard shrugged. “They have fine chefs and great managers. They don’t need me in there. All I care about is the bottom line of that division.”

“Adding up all those numbers is what gives you pleasure?” she prodded.

“Of course. It’s what I do best. Numbers are logical.”

“And that’s important to you, isn’t it? You need everything in your life to be logical.”

He frowned at her. “You say that as if it’s a crime.”

“Not a crime,” she said lightly. “Just not much fun.”

How many times had he listened to exactly the same lecture from Destiny? It hadn’t bothered him half as much when his aunt had tried to get through to him. “I have fun,” he insisted.

“When?”

“All the time.”

“Are you talking about all those charity balls you attend?”

He nodded. “Sure.”

“Then why do you always look so miserable in the pictures they take for the papers?”

“Miserable?” he repeated, astonished. “I’m always smiling.”

Melanie shook her head. “Not with your eyes,” she told him. “That’s where the truth is, you know, in the eyes.”

Richard’s gaze automatically sought out her eyes and saw compassion and warmth and even a hint of yearning. She was right. The truth was in the eyes. He wondered if she had any idea what message was shining in hers.

All he knew for certain was that the message scared him to death, because it so closely mirrored what he was trying so damn hard to hide.

“How did your weekend go?” Destiny inquired innocently on Monday morning when she put in one of her rare appearances in Richard’s office.

He’d been expecting her today, though. He was ready for her, or at least he thought he was. “The house is still standing, if that’s what you’re asking. I came away without any broken bones.”

“And Melanie?”

“I didn’t strangle her.” He gave his aunt a hard look. “What are you up to, Destiny? I know what you told Melanie, but I’m not buying the innocent act. I want the truth.”

“I’m trying to find you a good marketing person,” his aunt claimed. “Did you even look at her proposal?”

He had. He’d studied it in the wee hours of Sunday morning when he’d been unable to sleep for thinking about the movie…and about Melanie’s presence in the guest room. She was an annoying little chatterbox, but she’d been growing on him. The entire weekend he’d been able to think of only one way to shut her up. Since she’d ruled that out, she’d wisely scampered off to bed alone and he’d stayed up nursing the last of the wine while he watched that ridiculous comedy with its feel-good happy ending. When was real life ever like that?

Suddenly aware that Destiny was regarding him with an amused expression, he tried to focus on their conversation. “She has some interesting ideas,” he conceded.

“Then hire her.”

“She’s ditzy,” he said, falling back on his original impression because recent impressions were far too complicated. “She’d drive me crazy in a week. Maybe less.” He knew that for a fact, because she’d driven him crazy in just two days. She’d upended his need for logic and made him crave all sorts of things he’d never expected to need. She’d tapped into emotions he’d spent a lifetime avoiding.

“What’s wrong with that?” Destiny asked, her eyes filled with knowing laughter.

Richard cringed. It was almost as if Destiny had been an eyewitness to the way Melanie had rattled him and thoroughly approved of it. Maybe she was merely psychic. Whatever, if she got it into her head that her scheme was working, she’d never let up.

Before he could list all the things wrong with any kind of relationship with Melanie—business or otherwise—she said, “You need someone around to drive you crazy. Everyone else in your life bows to your every whim.”

“You don’t,” he pointed out.

“Yes, but I’m your aunt. I might get on your nerves, but you cut me a lot of slack.”

“I’ll cut you a lot less now that you’ve sent Melanie into my life,” he vowed.

She laughed, clearly unintimidated. “If you don’t hire her, you’ll regret it.”

In Richard’s opinion, if he didn’t sleep with her, he’d regret that more, but he wasn’t about to share that insight with his aunt. Especially since it was probably exactly what she’d had in mind in the first place when she arranged all of this.

He really needed to get on the phone with Mack and Ben and warn his brothers that their aunt was dedicating herself to playing matchmaker these days. If she tired of her lack of success with him, they were definitely next in line. He owed them the heads-up. Then, again, it might be more fun to let her take them by surprise, the way she’d sneaked up on him.

“Why don’t you meddle in Mack’s life?” he suggested hopefully. “Or Ben’s?”

Destiny’s eyes sparkled with merriment. “What makes you think I haven’t?” she inquired blithely, then turned and sailed out of his office, leaving him speechless and not one bit closer to being off the hook.

Melanie stared glumly at the Carlton Industries folder on her desk. It had been such a wonderful opportunity for her, but the odds of Richard ever changing his mind and hiring her were so astronomical, she might as well run the folder through the shredder.

She was genuinely considering doing just that when Becky came in with two cups of latte and cranberry scones from the café down the street. She held them just out of Melanie’s reach.

“If I give you these, will you tell me everything that went on between you and Richard Carlton this weekend?” she asked.

“No,” Melanie said, snatching the coffee out of her friend’s hand. She could live without the scone if she had to. Caffeine was another story.

“Testy, aren’t you? It must not have gone very well.”

“That depends on your definition of success,” Melanie replied, taking her first sip of the heavenly latte. “He didn’t toss me out in the snow.”

“Interesting,” Becky said with a thoughtful expression. “Then you were stranded there all weekend?”

“Yes.”

“And with all that time on your hands, you couldn’t convince him to hire you?”

“I never even convinced him to read the proposal,” she admitted grimly. “I was just about to shred my copy and write the whole thing off as a loss.”

Becky stared at her in shock. “What kind of defeatist attitude is that? You never give up.”

“I do when the odds of winning are impossible.”

Becky’s gaze narrowed. “Did he seduce you?”

Melanie scowled at her. “No.”

“Did he at least try?”

Melanie thought back over the weekend and the dance they’d played. Richard had tossed out a proposition, she’d dodged it, he’d parried, then she’d taken a turn muddying the waters. “It was a bit confusing,” she said finally.

“Then he did try,” Becky concluded. “And you what?”

“I said no, of course.”

“And then?”

“What makes you think that wasn’t the end of it?”

Becky gave her a knowing look. “It was a long weekend.”

“Okay, then I threw myself at him.”

“Interesting.”

“No, stupid. I corrected the mistake almost immediately.”

“Almost?”

“Soon enough,” Melanie said. “I didn’t sleep with him. In fact, I only kissed him once. No big deal.”

“Oh, right. The sexiest, richest man in all of Alexandria, maybe in the entire Washington metropolitan region, kisses you, and it’s no big deal.”

Melanie sighed. “Okay, the kiss was a big deal, but that’s as far as it went and it won’t be happening again. He couldn’t get me out of there fast enough yesterday morning.”

“Probably because he was tempted,” Becky concluded. “Men do that, you know. They act all weird and crazy when they’re losing control.”

Melanie heard something in Becky’s voice, a faint catch, that hinted she was no longer talking about the weekend Melanie had just shared with a prospective client. “Something happen with you and Jason?” Jason was the love of Becky’s life, or so she’d persuaded herself. He was the fourth one this year, but even Melanie was almost convinced he was a keeper.

Becky’s eyes immediately clouded up. “We broke up. More precisely, he broke up with me.”

That was new. Usually Becky was the one running for cover. Melanie tried to muster the appropriate amount of sympathy, which was getting harder and harder to do. It was somewhat easier with Jason, because she’d genuinely liked him. She’d even thought Becky had gotten it right for once. “Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry. I know you thought he was the one.”

“He is the one,” Becky said fiercely. “He’s just being stubborn and scared and stupid.”

“It’s really hard to argue with stubborn, scared and stupid,” Melanie pointed out. “You should know. You’ve done it often enough yourself.”

“But if it’s what you want, you have to fight for it, right?”

“I suppose.”

Becky gave her a challenging look. “Okay, then. I will if you will.”

“Meaning?” Melanie asked cautiously.

“I’ll keep fighting for what I have—what I want—with Jason, if you’ll keep fighting for Richard.”

“This isn’t about Richard and me. What’s going on with us isn’t personal,” Melanie replied irritably. “It’s about the Carlton Industries contract.”

Becky gave her a sympathetic look. “Oh, sweetie, it might have started that way, but it’s taken on a whole new twist. I can see it in your eyes, hear it in your voice. The sooner you wake up and accept that, the better off you’ll be.”

“It’s about the contract,” Melanie insisted stubbornly.

“Fine. Whatever gets you to pick up the phone and call the man,” Becky said.

“I will not call him. The ball’s in his court.”

“Not if you packed up all the balls and brought them with you when you left his house,” Becky said, then sighed heavily. “Okay, never mind. I recognize that tone. I’ll stop pushing. Just promise me you won’t shred the file.”

Melanie stared at the file she’d been fingering throughout the conversation as if it were some sort of talisman that linked her to Richard. “Fine. I won’t destroy the file.” She stared hard at Becky. “And you won’t call Jason.”

“But—”

“No, buts,” Melanie said firmly. “Let the man grovel for once. You know he will.”

“Eventually,” Becky agreed confidently. Her cheerful mood returned. “Before I land him, the man is going to have groveling down to a fine art.”

“Now there’s a goal.” Melanie regarded Becky wistfully. “I wonder if Richard knows the first thing about groveling?” She thought of how goal oriented he claimed to be and sighed. “Doubtful,” she concluded.

“Maybe he’s trainable,” Becky suggested.

Destiny had had a certain amount of luck teaching him manners, but she’d started at a relatively early age. Melanie had a hunch she was catching Richard far too late to change his ingrained habits.

Too bad, too, because more than once over the weekend, she thought he’d displayed amazing possibilities …and not one of them had anything at all to do with his candidacy for City Council.

She was still pondering that when the phone rang. Becky picked it up.

“Hart Consulting,” she said cheerfully, then listened, her expression going from surprised to dismayed so quickly that Melanie’s heart was thudding when Becky finally handed over the receiver.

Becky punched the hold button before Melanie could speak. “Prepare yourself. It’s that columnist from the morning paper. He’s asking about you and Richard.”

“About the consulting?” Melanie asked hopefully.

Becky shook her head. “About the weekend you spent together. He seems to have details.”

Oh, hell. This was a publicist’s worst nightmare, even when she wasn’t personally involved. Worse, it was too late to duck the call. Melanie sucked in a deep breath and prepared for some fancy tap dancing. She had to find out how much the reporter knew, or thought he knew.

“This is Melanie Hart,” she said briskly.

“Pete Forsythe, Ms. Hart. How are you? We met at the heart association gala last month.”

“Of course, I remember you, Mr. Forsythe. What can I do for you?”

“I’m looking for confirmation on something I heard this morning from an extremely reliable source.”

“Oh?”

“It involves you and Carlton Industries CEO and chairman Richard Carlton.”

“Really? I can’t imagine where you’d hear anything linking the two of us in any way. I barely know Mr. Carlton.”

“But you do know him,” he persisted.

“We’ve met.”

“Is there any truth to the rumor that the two of you are involved? That you spent this weekend with him at a family cottage at the beach?”

Melanie’s laugh sounded forced, even to her. “Don’t be ridiculous. As I said, I barely know the man. Sorry, Mr. Forsythe. I can’t help you.” She hung up before he could press her into saying something she’d regret, something that would send Richard into a blind rage.

“Is he going to print an item anyway?” Becky asked.

“More than likely.”

“Are you going to warn Richard?”

Melanie considered it and decided it wouldn’t help anything. She hadn’t given anything away. Richard might be angry enough to call Pete Forsythe and protest the man’s intrusion into his privacy, which would only add fuel to the fire. Better to let Forsythe think that there was no fire, that the rumor was off the mark. Maybe then, if he had even the tiniest shred of integrity, he’d have second thoughts about printing it.

“No,” she told Becky. “Maybe without my confirmation, Forsythe will conclude that there’s nothing to the gossip and drop it.”

Becky promptly shook her head. “I think you’re being blindly optimistic. This is too juicy. I’d certainly want to know if a powerful man like Carlton, who’s thinking of running for office, was holed up in a cozy little getaway with a major PR consultant. That’s hot stuff in this town. With what he has now, he can spin it a lot of different ways. An intimate rendezvous? A campaign strategy session that confirms Richard’s intention to run for Council? Either way, it’s news.”

Melanie couldn’t deny that. She could only pray that Pete Forsythe was the kind of reporter who’d want confirmation from at least one of the participants before printing anything, before deciding on what angle to pursue. He hadn’t gotten any sort of confirmation from her, and she doubted he’d risk going straight to Richard. Carlton Industries spent a lot of money in advertising, and Richard was a powerful man in the business community. Would Forsythe or his paper risk offending him for a titillating tidbit in tomorrow’s paper? The story could still die, she told herself staunchly. Really.

Sure, she thought grimly, and pigs could fly.