Saying Yes to the Mess

by M. Kate Quinn

  “Yes, there’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”

  “Like?” She was stalling. What could he possibly want to talk to her about? It had something to do with her shop, obviously, but what? Maybe he really was getting married—why did that make her heart suddenly squeeze?—and wanted to scope out a place for his beloved fiancé to obtain her dress. Yeah, that could be it. “Are you in the market for a wedding gown?”

  That laugh again. Oh, Darius Wirth, please don’t be delighted by me or anything I say. This man couldn’t know she was just off a wrong-guy relationship. He couldn’t see her raw nerves or know how exposed they were, like open wires ready for one touch to ignite them. So this charmer needed to stop. Stop that handsomeness. And he could stop smelling so good too, if he knew what was good for both of them.

  “In one way, yes, but not how you’d imagine.”

  A cross-dresser. Oh, please be a cross-dresser. “Okay, now you’ve got me curious.”

  “So what do you say? Jo-Jo’s Java?”

  She could very well assume that whatever he was selling, she wasn’t or shouldn’t be buying. She could walk away from this appealing pirate. Hasta la vista. But, nope.

  “Okay.” Before she could even think twice, she fell into step beside Darius Wirth in the bomber jacket, and they walked in sync to the coffee shop where she and her raw nerves almost couldn’t wait to explode. That was just how crazy she was.

  ****

  This Rylee would be a tough sell. Darius knew that with each step toward the coffeehouse. She and her long, blue-jean-clad legs kept pace as they walked. The silence between them only served to conjure a cacophony of thoughts in his head. She wouldn’t even graciously accept a payment for her coffee the other night. She sure as hell didn’t seem like someone who would jump at the chance of having a stranger, one she obviously had developed a leeriness toward, to come into her shop and mess with it for the sake of television. But there was gold in that little run-down-looking store with the faded stripes on its awning and the rusted hinges on the front door.

  He was paid handsomely to notice such things and turn them around, to make businesses hum, thrive, become the best they could be. And already he was summing up what the little shop needed aesthetically. But that was the easy part compared to convincing this girl with the swingy brown ponytail and the chin she was quick to jut in his face that he was the answer to what she needed.

  He sneaked a glimpse. She was definitely nice looking, with a hot silhouette, but it was her spunk, the way she eyed him dismissively, untrustingly, her pretty face in a scrunch of attitude, that intrigued him. Frankly, not many women were so unimpressed with him. Most women fawned, if he were honest.

  It wasn’t boastful to think such a thought. It was true. He owned a mirror; he knew he’d inherited his mother’s looks. Hell, it was one of the reasons the network had signed him. They’d called his looks “exotic,” which was kind of ridiculous because there was nothing exotic about him. But the audience liked him, according to all the polls and the research done by the network. A man’s man, Darius had found it easy working with the business owners from the earlier episodes. But those choices in businesses needed a change. Change or get the axe.

  “Ladies, first,” he said with a deliberate coat of charm as he opened the door to Jo-Jo’s.

  Rylee flashed him a give-me-a-break kind of look from her cool-looking eyes. Yeah, this Rylee McDermott was not so much impressed with him. However, tonight over a cup of caramel macchiato, his memory served him well. He would see if she was the answer to his problem.

  ****

  Rylee sat at a table in the cozy coffeehouse, surrounded by the rich smells of ground beans. She studied her fingers as they cradled the warm ceramic mug. Darius Wirth hadn’t even asked her what she’d like. Instead, he went to the counter and ordered her caramel macchiato with a shot of extra caramel. She wished she’d been irritated that he’d taken it upon himself to assume her beverage of choice. Instead, though, something tugged low in her belly. She was having an out-of-body experience. She watched the way her hands moved gently as they brought the hot drink to her lips. She took a sweet sip and savored the way it warmed its way through her on this chilly night. So cozy.

  If she would have bet that she’d ever be here with Darius Wirth, she’d have lost. And it was kind of surreal to think that just days ago she sat across from Freddie in a dimly lit room, hoping and praying he was not going to get on one knee in the middle of the fine restaurant and propose marriage. Ha. Could she read people any more incorrectly?

  She let her gaze filter to the man opposite her, who was quiet as he ran a finger over the rim of his mug. Round and round. That was one hypnotic fingertip. He had nice hands. Although she didn’t want to think such thoughts or notice such things, the truth was that she was painting a picture of him in her head. She couldn’t help it.

  “So.” She had to break the string of counterproductive thoughts that zipped around in her head like Pac-Man gobbling up her common sense. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

  “Do you know who I am, Rylee?”

  She swallowed the sarcasm that came to her mind and tried to make its way to her lips. No. She dared not give him a bit of her famous “lip,” as her mother used to call it. Because of the way her body and her eyeballs were reacting to him, there was a very good chance anything that came out of her mouth would turn into a kind of flirtation, and that would be just stupid. He’d probably laugh at such a thing.

  “Why don’t you tell me who you are?”

  “Have you ever seen the show on Living Loud TV called Wirth More?”

  “I don’t watch much TV.”

  “Okay.” He pulled a little smile. “I’m the host of the show. We help businesses that need some guidance in getting to their, um, potential. Getting new businesses off the ground, steering already up-and-running establishments to meet their challenges. You know, such as what happens when a business changes hands.”

  “Like my bridal shop.” So this was it. She couldn’t explain the sudden stab of disappointment that hurt her midsection. What did she think this was, a date? Nope. This was just one more nonbeliever in the string of folks who didn’t think she could run a bridal shop all by her lonesome. She sat up straighter. “I’m not into becoming anybody’s guinea pig. Sorry.”

  “I read an article on your grandmother. She was the original owner of the store, am I correct?”

  She took another long pull of her coffee and plunked the mug down onto the table. She wasn’t going to discuss this with him. The last thing she needed was for somebody to swoop in and find out all that was wrong with Rosie’s Bridals, especially this pirate of a guy.

  “Yes, my grandmother owned and operated Rosie’s Bridals for more than forty years. I’m looking forward to continuing the legacy of the place. So, again, I’m not interested in being on your TV show. Thank you for the coffee, though.” She pushed back her chair.

  “Wait.” He reached across the table. His fingers rested on the cuff of her jacket. The touch was unpressured, but it weighed on her somehow. She studied the etched silver ring on his right hand. It was classy looking, not overstated, but a definite statement nonetheless.

  She pinned him with her gaze, hoping he’d take the hint to remove his charming hand from her coat sleeve. However, her mouth went dry when she met his eyes, black like the surface of a lake at midnight. Lakes at midnight were dangerous, and jumping into them was just lunacy, but right now something whirred in her at the thought of being swallowed in those eyes.

  “I didn’t mean to insult you in any way, if that’s what you’re feeling.” His voice was warm and laced with a tone of contrition. Had he practiced that tenor? Probably. He was in TV, and the convenient apology was that good.

  She shrugged. “Not a problem. I am just not interested in your TV show. That’s all. But, um, thank you for, you know, thinking of us.”

  “Would you do me one favor?”

  With that
hand still resting on her jacket sleeve, she could think of a couple of favors she could do for him, yes indeed, but God help her, she slowly slid her arm away from his touch and let her hands rest in her lap where they belonged.

  “Will you watch an episode of the show? You can get it on demand. And then make a decision if you’d like to discuss this with me further?”

  “I’m pretty busy.”

  “I know. I saw the sign in the window. A free bit of advice, Rylee. Don’t jump the gun on the reopening. Better to get it right. “

  Insecurity came flooding back, pelting her with questions and doubt. And for some reason, his mentioning the storefront notice was too personal, an invasion into her tender new game plan. Her feelings made no sense. The sign she’d posted was clearly marked on the front window of the store for anyone, the world, to see. Yet, this conversation delivered a flush to her skin with an intimacy she could not explain. And the way he said her name. Hypnotic. She liked it. Darius Wirth was dangerous for a sap like her.

  She stood and for good measure, shoved her hands into her jacket pockets. “I’ll take that under advisement. Thank you for the coffee. Again.”

  Darius stood. He wasn’t quite six feet tall, she guessed, but he was broad, fit—a manly pirate, for sure. And the way the collar of his nut-brown jacket was turned up, the shock of hair that refused to stay in place but rather take residence on his brow, well, it was nearly irresistible, and she wondered how many women could attest to the allure of this man.

  He extended his hand. “Thanks for listening.”

  Unable to be rude thanks to her grandmother’s constant rearing while she was growing up, she slipped a hand out from her jacket pocket and wished like hell she’d worn gloves. She accepted his warm hand into hers, and he gave it a gentle yet firm shake. But her skin liked his skin. Her fingers liked his fingers. Her palm squeezed closer inside his palm. She pulled away slowly, her finger pads sensitive as they trailed over his skin. She did her best to quell the rush of heat in her veins, the quickening in her chest, the clear and irrefutable zoom. This was nuts.

  “You’re welcome,” she managed. A long, awkward pause hung heavy in the air as she breathed herself down from the steeplechase going on in her insides. Besides, she’d probably never see him again after this. Even though in the last several days they’d crossed paths three times, that was probably the limit of chance meetings. Bad things happened in threes is how the saying went.

  “Please watch an episode.” He gave her a smile, a melty kind of butter-on-a-griddle smile.

  “No promises.”

  Darius Wirth held her gaze. “Good night, Rylee.”

  Before she did anything further to complicate her thoughts and her already disheveled life, Rylee turned and left Jo-Jo’s, scrunched her shoulders up to her ears to combat the cold night, and stomped her way to Kit’s apartment on Farragut Place.

  Chapter Thirteen

  When Kit opened her door, she was quite the sight in her oversized man’s pinstriped pajamas and her hair bunched up on her head. “Hey,” she said, her face quizzical.

  Rylee recognized that look in her friend’s eyes. Kit was worried. Those big round orbs of hers were locked on Rylee’s face.

  “Come on in.”

  “Thanks.” Rylee stepped in and let her eyes scan the small, tidy room. She ran a hand through her hair and breathed evenly to quell an antsy urge to jump out of her own skin. Maybe caffeine at this hour hadn’t been a great idea. She was full of not-so-great ideas.

  “Can I get you something?”

  “Anything potent.”

  “I have white wine and almond liquor.”

  Rylee studied her for a moment. “I’ll have some of the white wine. Thanks.”

  She followed Kit into the kitchen cubicle, which was the best way to describe the square little space. Still, it was cute with its greenery on the windowsill and the copper-bottomed pans hanging from a wrought-iron rack.

  Kit handed her a glass of wine and poured one for herself. She tilted her head in contemplation. “Come on. Let’s go sit.”

  In the living room Kit positioned herself on the sofa. She began tentatively. “Something about the store?”

  Rylee put her wineglass down on the coffee table and placed her hands on her hips. She looked up at the ceiling and blew out a lungful of air. “This has been one weird-assed night.”

  “Oh boy. Tell me.”

  “I suck at men. Irrefutable, right?” When Kit didn’t respond, Rylee plopped down on the sofa beside her. “I’m looking for you to agree with me here, Kit. Okay?”

  Kit shrugged while she took a sip from her glass. “We all do to some degree, friend. Men are tricky.”

  “No, really, I’m not exaggerating. I fail at the whole thing. Picking them, reading them. Especially reading them. Which brings me to the point of why I’m here.”

  “Are we going to need a refill?” Kit held up her dwindling drink.

  “Bring the bottle.”

  While Kit poured, Rylee reiterated the news of Darius Wirth and his television show and, especially, his inquiry regarding Rosie’s Bridals.

  “So he’s a television personality, your pirate.” Kit nodded as if that made sense.

  “Yes. He’s not my anything. I’ve never heard of his show, though. Have you?”

  “Wirth More. No, but that’s easily remedied.”

  “He said it’s on demand.”

  “Well, come on, then.”

  Kit pointed the remote at the television, and while surfing through numerous screens, she uttered a triumphant “voilà.”

  They watched in silence. Watched and sipped their wine. Darius looked good on screen, but that was no surprise. Each time he looked into the camera lens, his eyes piercing as though the conversation were a private one just between the two of them, a zing of heat charged through her. Maybe it was stress or the wine she was drinking, but suddenly she felt herself morphing back into an eighth-grader as her brain began tacking on a ridiculous in bed to everything he said. “Let me show you how this works in bed. The renovation will bring you plenty of action in bed. Now, this is how we create success in bed.” She was morphing into an eighth-grader minute by minute. She could almost feel a zit brewing on her chin.

  The episode involved a pizzeria somewhere in New York. The place had been struggling with local competition, the area saturated with other pizza shops. Wirth More went in and helped them revitalize their menu options, gave them ideas on a new look for the interior of the place, everything black and white with touches of red. The transformation was pretty dramatic. By the end of the episode, the owners of Brothers’ Pizza happily announced business was up and their customers raved about the new menu choices. Wirth More made Brothers’ Pizza just that—worth more.

  They watched a second episode, this one involving a tackle-and-bait shop somewhere in Ocean County. It had been a top spot, according to the episode, until Superstorm Sandy ravaged the area. Now Bait This was struggling to hold on for dear life. And the swashbuckling Darius Wirth swooped in as big as day to rescue the fledgling little store.

  By the end of the episode, Bait This was back on track. The store got a facelift, new paint, new counters, and an endorsement from some big-shot rod-and-reel manufacturer. There were new displays, ongoing promotions, and before they knew it, the little place was jammed, and according to the final voice-over, they were on the road to big things—in bed. Oh God.

  Kit aimed the remote at the screen, and with a push of a button, the screen went black. “What are your thoughts?” She turned to Rylee and finished her wine.

  “I told him no. Actually, I told him I’d consider watching an episode. So I did, and it’s still no.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Kit leaned closer. “Did you hear what they said? If they pick your business, they give you ten grand for renovations and marketing and stuff. Ten thousand dollars, Rylee.”

  “I know, but so?” Rylee stood and walked over to the little bistro table at th
e other side of the room. She set her wineglass down. “I don’t want to be paraded all over the world as some kind of loser who needs Superman to swoop in and save the day.”

  “He kind of does look like Superman, you know, if Superman were a conquistador.”

  “Irrelevant.” Rylee folded her arms.

  “True. But let’s look at this for a second. We don’t know how Rosie’s Bridals is going to fare once we open. I mean, everyone was used to Rosie herself, right? That was one of your arguments to me when I was trying to convince you to reopen. Who’s to say that this show couldn’t help make things even better for business?”

  “Kit, I can’t. It’s too much. With all the naysayers around me, I’m overwhelmed as it is. I can’t even imagine what it would be like to have him all up in my face.”

  Kit wagged an accusatory finger. “Is this about him? Not the show. The man?”

  Rylee flashed her a look. “Um, hello. I’m still reeling from Freddie being a turd.”

  “Let’s put it this way, friend. Don’t let whatever hesitations you have with this specimen of manhood make you kick a gift horse right smack dab in the face.”

  “I can’t believe I’m the one saying this, but have some faith. You’ll see.” Rylee pinned on a smile she did not feel. “Who needs Darius Wirth?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  While Jake eyeballed him over the rim of his coffee cup, Darius reiterated Saturday night’s serendipitous meeting with the young woman named Rylee McDermott.

  “The girl with the coffee.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement, and it was tinged with Jake’s particular brand of disdain.

  “Her name is Rylee McDermott.”

  “So you’ve said.” Jake scratched his head. “I’ve seen her on YouTube.”

  “And don’t bring up that video somebody sent to you. She wasn’t acting crazy that night. She was, I don’t know, embarrassed or something.”

  “Well, her business is ideal. A bridal shop.” Jake tilted his head. “Parker Paper will love it.”