The old shove-flowers-at-you-and-dash trick.
I carried them into the house almost as if they were poisonous vipers ready to strike. I didn't trust even the floral-fresh packet that was included. There was a card tucked inside on a pick.
If these were from Jesse, I was going to have to move. They'd better be from Luke the producer, because he had just dirty-pooled me to the max. He was trying to force my hand. But apology flowers from a producer shouldn't be red, the color of love. They should be on-their-knees-groveling-for-forgiveness pink.
I gingerly removed the card. It could contain a glitter bomb, for all I knew. I'd been glitter-bombed by a jealous woman before.
I didn't recognize the handwriting on the envelope of the card. Probably the florist's. It could use work.
I opened the envelope.
Congratulations on your TV appearance. You look stunning in white, any way you wear it. Even being manhandled and badly kissed by another guy. All right, call me jealous. But I can out-rose any guy, any time.
Let me show you how much I can romance you. Come away for the weekend with me. Don't say anything. Everything we need to say should be in person. Just meet me at the airport Friday afternoon at six. And bring a bikini. We'll talk then.
All the "fake" love I could ever muster,
Dex
P.S. Lucy will watch Bella and Charlie together at her place. They need to get reacquainted anyway.
Chapter Eleven
I Won't Hold You Back
Shelby (A woman who needs to say it with flowers.)
Oh, damn. Dex had seen the news too. Of course he had. Tears filled my eyes. A smile spread slowly across my face. I put my hand to my mouth. His reaction was so sweet. Not what I would have expected from any of my real exes at all. Truly, Dex was the superior guy. But I still needed to explain myself.
If he wouldn't let me talk, there was something I needed to say with flowers too. I called up a florist friend of mine. I knew nearly every florist in the area, but she was the best, in my opinion. Not as prestigious as the florist Dex had used, but very talented. "I need to say I'm sorry to a guy."
"Ah," she said.
"I'm in a pickle. You saw the news?"
"I did," she said.
Of course she had. Why were people still watching the news? They needed to take my no-news approach. The world would be a happier place.
"You're caught between two men." She didn't sound surprised. After all, she was in the wedding biz, too. She'd seen a lot of relationship drama. We all had. "A classic love triangle pickle. Whom are you saying sorry to?"
"You have to keep it a secret," I said. "No leaks."
"Cross my heart."
"Dex."
"The billionaire boyfriend. Good choice."
I was glad she approved. "So? Any ideas? What kind of flowers signal down-on-my-knees-beg-forgiveness-this-isn't-what-it-looks-like sorry?" And please don't dump me.
"Is he into flowers?"
"I have no idea," I said.
"In that case, orchids symbolize strength and virility," she said. "That makes them ideal for apologizing to a husband or boyfriend, no matter what the transgression. White symbolizes sincerity, which is always good to emphasize. Any color will do, but white orchids are really the best way to let a guy know that an argument, or…" She cleared her throat delicately.
"Having another guy stick his tongue down your throat on camera," I filled in for her.
"Or that," she said. "That nothing can diminish your love for him."
"That's my message. It's perfect. Give me the best you've got."
"As your friend, can I make an additional suggestion?"
"Sure."
"If it's not out of your budget, you might think about sending him a gift hamper of some of his favorite things, too?"
Dex (Man on a mission to vanquish the competition. If only life were a video game. Man who's pretty damn good at those.)
We left the bar and went to Justin's penthouse. Lala, as I called Kayla, and the kids and Data, his dog, were at his main house. He had numerous houses. We had the condo to ourselves.
Justin was smug as we settled in. "Calling Lazer was the right thing to do. You have to admit he was full of good advice. That note he dictated for you to send Shelby—genius."
"I added my own touch."
"And his clout with the best florist in town, getting them to send out that bouquet within minutes of calling. Priority floral delivery. You can't beat that."
I flopped onto Justin's sofa. "True."
"And his plan for a weekend away at Lazer Lodge—nothing says romance like a secluded lodge in the mountains. No interruptions and nothing but fresh air and gorgeous views. Very generous of him to offer it to you, complete with staff.
"The first time I took Kay there, it impressed the hell out of her. You can't beat a sunset helicopter ride with champagne to a romantic remote lodge. Even the air up there is heady—so fresh it gives you an adrenaline rush. And fuels the libido."
I didn't need any help with my libido.
"Yeah, Lazer knows the ladies." I couldn't fault him there, but I wasn't happy about not having the same suave reputation he had and having to defer to him. Lazer had a big head. "Will he keep his mouth shut?"
Justin looked surprised by my question. "Lazer is the soul of discretion."
I was surprised at his faith in Lazer. At one point, before Lazer met Ashley, he'd made a play for Lala, my cousin, who was already Justin's wife at the time. Bygones, I supposed.
"Follow Lazer's advice and that fake reality TV guy will be toast, a has-been, a thing of the past. A distant memory."
"Yeah." I frowned. "Shall we get to it? We have nearly a hundred episodes of Gold Digger to watch, followed by a shit-ton of Internet sleuthing to do."
"Sure," Justin said. "And we'll get Dick Spize, our awesome PI, on the case. He's genius. He was invaluable during my early marriage troubles. As were you. This is nothing compared to that. Piece of cake for the three of us." Justin rubbed his hands together. "I won't let you down, buddy." He smiled devilishly. "This is like old times. The old team back together. You and me piecing together a relationship mystery. Tracking down villains." He clicked on the TV. "Popcorn?"
"Sounds great."
Justin had every streaming service known to man. By the time I found the one that carried Gold Digger, and had consulted IMDB to find which episodes Jesse Parker was in, Justin returned with the popcorn, two glasses, and a bottle of our favorite single-malt scotch. He poured me a shot and handed it to me.
I took a big swig. It went down smoothly. "The douche doesn't show up until season two."
"Good. Saves us a season of torture. We'll start there." Justin settled in next to me.
Almost against our will, we got into the show. The great outdoors. Big machines—dozer, excavators, loaders, dump trucks, and more. Fun equipment. Off-road driving. Engineering puzzles and challenges. Wearing slouchy clothes. Getting dirty. It was a little boy's grown-up fantasy.
Two things quickly became apparent—Jesse took his shirt off at any opportunity and "Shut it down!" were the most spoken words in the show. Words that weren't bleeped, that was. We incorporated them into a drinking game—anytime one of them came up, we drank. It was probably a waste of good scotch, but what the hell.
As we watched, Justin and I argued mining techniques and details.
"He's setting the sluice box up wrong," Justin said of Jesse in his first season as boss.
"Agreed. The grade is wrong. His gold is all going to wash away. It won't get caught in the riffles of the sluice box. He's just washing profit away."
Jesse took his shirt off. We clinked glasses and pounded a shot. One of the joys of being a billionaire—playing drinking games with three-hundred-dollar scotch.
The more we watched—
"Shut it down!"
Clink, have a drink.
—the more convinced Justin and I became that we could have done it better. We argued e
fficiencies we would have made, doing the profit and loss and return on investment calculations in our heads.
"Jesse can drive a loader—" I said.
He whipped his shirt off. Clink, have a drink.
"—but we could teach him a thing or two about business."
"We could learn to drive a loader," Justin said. "We already like to drive. You and I own some hot sports cars. Getting a commercial license would be nothing."
"Yeah. You're right. Look at that guy. Talk about someone who could use Lazer's help. Despite his rippling biceps, he's not good with the ladies," I said.
"Rippling biceps make up for a lot of sins," Justin said. "But he doesn't have Lazer's touch with the ladies, I'll give you that."
"Biceps are nothing compared to a sense of humor." A pleasant buzz settled over me. "Lazer will tell you that. He's done the research. Women love guys with a sense of humor."
"Like us," Justin said.
"Hell yes." Something bothered me. "Shelby doesn't seem like his type. She's nothing like this barmaid he has the hots for here in this season."
"That barmaid has a big rack," Justin said.
"You're saying that makes up for a lot of shortcomings?"
"You said it. If Kay were here, she'd give me the dirty look of dirty looks for bringing it up."
We laughed.
By the time we got to the episode where Jesse went to Vegas with his buddies, neither of us were feeling any pain. I frowned, something dancing around the edges of my memory.
But Justin was quicker to it. "Vegas! Look at the dates of that episode. We were in Vegas at the same time, that last time we were there." He paused to focus. "Without his big beard, Jesse looks very familiar."
Justin turned to me. "Is it possible we ran into him in Vegas? That must be where I remember him from." He put his thumb on his chin and tapped his nose with his finger. "Wait a minute! Isn't he the guy that gave you all the guff about cheating him out of his rightful winnings on the slot machine the night before you hit your head? You and slot machines…"
I frowned, thinking hard. "I don't remember. You told me I won big. I had the cash to prove it. But that part of my memory that is lost."
Justin freeze-framed the show and took a closer look at the beardless Jesse. "I think it is. The douchebag who accused you of taking his machine when he'd just stepped away 'for a minute.'"
"I never steal anyone's machine." I was disgusted by the accusation. "I don't need to. Lady Luck likes me. She smiles on me all the time. If I took his machine, he'd clearly packed up and left."
"That's what the other people around said and the casino security feed verified before they paid you out. He was a sore loser. You hit the jackpot fair and square minutes after he legitimately left. He was simply stupid drunk enough to make a scene about it."
"Small world," I said. "Shelby apparently knowing this douche we ran into in Vegas."
"He was hammered. A mean drunk."
"Yeah. Foolhardy," I said. "He has brawn on his side, but he had no idea who he was up against. Brains win out over brawn every time."
"Our brains didn't serve us so well with my wife. That excuse about how you lost your memory backfired on us big time. She banned us from Vegas anyway." He sighed.
The things we give up for love.
"I really thought that funny story about me sobering you up in the shower and then you slipping and hitting your head would get us in a lot less trouble than some dick shoving you over at the slots," he said. "Either way, you lost your balance and hit your head."
"And got a hell of a concussion along with my side of memory loss thrown in for free." I rubbed the back of my head. I caught myself in the middle of the unconscious gesture. "You mean you thought it would get you in a lot less trouble. You weren't supposed to be at the blackjack tables that night. You promised Lala. She was afraid they'd catch you counting cards, throw you out, and ban you from the casinos."
"She didn't catch me, though, did she?" He flashed a smug look.
I rolled my eyes. "Thanks to me. I alibied you out with your wife."
"Yeah. But she's still suspicious. Since she became a mom, she's developed eyes in the back of her head." He didn't sound particularly happy about her new ability. "What difference did it make? It looked better for you than being a pushover. One shove and you toppled over—"
"The bastard caught me off guard."
"Smashed your head on the slot machine stool. The cops couldn't identify the perp, that chicken shit. He ran like a coward the moment you went over."
"Don't remind me."
"I wish I could remind you. If you remembered, we could find the guy and prosecute him. I never did find out what smartass thing you said to him. You must have said something."
"Not according to the eyewitnesses. They say he walked over to me and accused me of stealing his woman? Or hiding his woman?" I shrugged.
"Yeah, that doesn't sound like you," Justin said. "You didn't have the cachet of being a billionaire back then. You weren't a chick magnet yet."
I laughed.
"The whole incident is water under the bridge. I bought Kay a great gift and gave all of the rest of the blackjack money I won to charity." He flashed a cheesy grin.
"We have more Gold Digger to watch."
Justin started the show up again.
Jesse came on screen for a final shot. He looked beaten. Absolutely devastated. He wore a tux. Carried a red rose.
"She left me," he muttered into the camera. "She left me at the altar." He sounded stunned and looked worse as he talked about losing the love of his life. "I knew her less than twenty-four hours, but she was the one. My soul mate."
I got a deep, sinking feeling in my gut. Who left him at the altar? And why hadn't the cameras captured the incident? Who was this camera-shy woman?
Justin shook his head. "Crocodile tears, as my grandma used to say. I don't believe him. He may be a reality star, but he should get some acting lessons. That dick is all about the ratings. Taking his shirt off every five minutes. Mugging to the camera. Chasing barmaids. Now this."
"I don't know. That emotion looks real enough to me."
"The booze talking."
My doorbell app rang. Justin paused the show. I looked at Justin, puzzled. "There's a florist at my front door, with a gigantic white orchid."
"What?" Justin leaned over my shoulder for a look. "Huh."
My housekeeper opened the door and took the delivery. I texted her—Who is the orchid from?
She texted back, The florist said it's from Shelby Hudson. There's a card.
We were interrupted by the doorbell again. This time she took in a large gift basket.
Also from Shelby, she texted.
Thanks. I'll open the cards and check out the basket when I get home.
"Someone's very sorry," Justin said.
"What do white orchids mean?" I asked.
Justin was already looking it up. We'd lived with Lala long enough to know that flowers had language and meaning attached to them.
"Virility?" Justin gave me a side-eyed look of doubt. "White means sincerity. I think the whole thing means, 'Forgive me, I still love you.'"
"Wow." I felt better. "No one's ever sent me flowers before."
"Don't let it go to your head."
I took another swig of scotch. "She loves me."
"I knew you were going to say something stupid like that." Justin switched the show back on.
As Jesse continued to look like a heartbroken sucker, something still niggled at me. I only knew one "runaway" bride. And the coincidences—her knowing Jesse, him jilted at the altar—put my antennae up.
I turned to Justin. "See if Dick can find out who jilted our gold digger in Vegas. It's interesting the show doesn't tell us. I want to know why."
"I'll put him on it. You think that jilted groom crap is all a lie?" Justin asked. "A ratings ploy? Think we can use it against him?"
"I think I want to know for sure what really went on in
Vegas. And why he kept the woman a secret. If she exists."
Chapter Twelve
Don't Stop Believing
Dex (A man. A plan. A canal for love. Ultimate happiness?)
Friday afternoon
I stood on the tarmac in front of Lazer's private helicopter, waiting for Shelby to arrive in the car I'd sent for her. Fortunately, I knew she wasn't standing me up. Unless she had the driver turn around. He'd texted me that he'd picked up and was scheduled to arrive on time. My heart had inconveniently relocated to my throat.
I have an eidetic memory. Except for the blank created when I slammed backward into a slot machine stool, I don't forget anything. Yet I found myself trying to remember Lazer's instructions. He insisted that I follow them to the letter. Nerves apparently messed with the best of memories. I was like a guy who was afraid of forgetting his big career-making speech before an important audience.
I still wasn't convinced Lazer had been right that whatever I did, I shouldn't call Shelby. Or text. Or communicate in any way other than in person. And that the first in-person meeting would be here.
Lazer claimed there was research about cheating and couples who moved past it that proved his point. Since he'd started his matchmaking company and partnership with Ashley, he'd become insufferable about his knowledge. But he'd shown me the data. And while data can be interpreted in many ways, his interpretation seemed solid.
So here I was. Waiting. With Lazer's words ringing in my ears.
Women like men who show emotion. Wear it on your sleeve. Let her see it in your eyes. But make sure it's not fake. It has to be real.
There was my first mistake. My emotion was real enough. Had been since I'd first laid eyes on Shelby in my office. But the relationship was "fake."
That bastard Jesse has crowned himself king of the red rose. That shot on the Vegas episode—brilliant. Emotion shining in his eyes—classically romantic. Women swoon over that shit. He knows what he's doing.
Trying to imitate that would be a tactical mistake, Dex. You need your own gesture. No red rose in hand when you meet Shelby at the helicopter. Just you, heart in hand. Just you, ready to tell her how much she means to you. Ready to fight for her. No gifts. Nothing that looks like you're trying to buy her love. You're the gift here. You and your undying, unfailing, steady love. Your understanding.
Loves Billionaires and Corgis: A Feel Good Romance Page 9