Saying Yes to the Mess

by M. Kate Quinn

  “You doing okay?” Darius asked. His shoulder met hers, and she nudged away from his warmth.

  Rylee looked up from the paperwork and blew out a breath. “Yeah, but it’s a lot. You know?”

  His dark eyes shone with understanding. “It is. Does it make you feel uncomfortable going through all this with me? Like I told you, the particulars are not for the viewing audience. When we film this part, it will be just us shuffling through paperwork we’ve already made decisions about. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  He tapped her shoulder again, and she wished he wouldn’t touch her. She liked it, and considering he was a total no go, that brief meeting of their shoulders, even through thick sweaters, was a thrill and then a lament—as if she’d bought herself a bag of her favorite candy and had managed to misplace it.

  After going over the store’s needs, they formulated a plan to divvy the stipend among the most pressing bills, some sprucing up of the interior, and new sample dresses for the upcoming season.

  “I’ve come up with a plan for an open house. How do you feel about that?”

  Rylee gave a nod. “Sure, that would be great. But what does that involve?” She had the feeling that she was rolling down a hill with no brakes.

  “First off, the trick will be to get those sample dresses ordered soon so you’ll have them ready for the open house. A fashion show of the new styles. The show will provide the models. I’m thinking next Saturday. The crew and I will come back to film the event like a grand finale. A closure for our show’s season and the beginning of your new version of Rosie’s Bridals. Nice?”

  “It sounds great, but I’m not sure I can order dresses and get them in time.” What the hell did she know about those timeframes? The sales consultants would know better than she.

  “Can we do a conference call with your sales staff?” His eyes were intense and, frankly, imposing.

  When he looked like that, she could truly imagine him at the helm of a ship, patch over an eye, a ragged-edged shirt exposing his pecks. Oh my God. She squeezed her eyes shut. How was she supposed to do business with this Errol Flynn of a man? And why had she watched all those old movies with her grandmother? Now they were seared in her brain, and Darius was fracturing her memories of the old flicks.

  Before she knew it, the sun was setting and darkness seeped into the space.

  “I can’t believe it’s almost five o’clock.” Darius rubbed his eyes. “Let’s call it a day.”

  Rylee reached past him and switched on the desk lamp. She would not, could not, sit alone in the dark with this man. Uh-uh.

  “I think we got a lot done today, Rylee. Your job is to order gowns with your sales team. Do that in the morning and promise them your firstborn if you have to, but get them delivered here before next Saturday. The funds will be deposited into your account. You can clean up the bills, and I’ll be back with my crew on Wednesday to film the aesthetic changes.”

  “My head’s spinning.”

  He cracked a smile. “It’s a lot. I know. Normally, we’d have more time to work out these details, but it took us a while to find just the right store for our last episode.”

  “Why Rosie’s Bridals?”

  “Just a feeling.” He touched her hand, igniting all the trepidation she’d managed to put aside while they poured through paperwork. “You’ll see. This’ll be great.” He looked at his watch. “I’m going to head over to the nursing home to see my father and then head back to Hoboken. But first, let’s have you sign the contract so I can deliver it to the producers in the morning. Where’s the file?”

  “Um, in my car, I think?” She couldn’t remember where she’d put that folder. All she remembered was being asked to leave the conference room and going to the ladies’ room to wash the cuff of her sweater where she’d sopped up a coffee spill. An old fear pricked her senses, and she cast him a side-glance. Here’s where her scatterbrained tendencies would make the guy sorry he’d chosen her and her shop. She knew it would happen, but just not quite this soon.

  “Okay, how about this? Let’s go get it, and maybe you can drive me to The Memory Center up on Highland Avenue?”

  “I can do that.”

  ****

  The file was not in her car. She checked under the seats, between them, and in the back. No file.

  “I could have sworn it was in here.” Rylee’s face flushed despite the chill in the cold car. “I should have warned you that I tend to lose things. If you want to back out, I’d understand. Who could blame you?”

  Was he annoyed? She couldn’t tell. His face had a way of looking stern. The eyebrows were angled in on themselves, and his mouth was twisted to the side. Yeah, he’s pissed or looking for a way out or both.

  “Sorry, Darius.”

  He met her gaze, and his face softened. He was quite attractive when his face wasn’t pinched. “We’ll work it out. The problem, though, is that I’ll have to get the contract into your hands tonight. I promised we’d have it on Jake’s desk first thing in the morning. I technically shouldn’t have gone over all your financials with you before that contract was signed. Can you meet me before eight in the morning? Unless you feel like driving to Hoboken tonight.”

  Her mind swirled. This was totally her fault. She remembered the way the lady looked when she’d managed to misplace her poodle. That dog-owner’s face had had quite the pinch too.

  “Let’s go to Hoboken.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Darius sat in the passenger seat as Rylee started the car. She pushed up the sun visor, adjusted her seat. Pulled some papers out of the cup holder and shoved them into a side pocket on the driver’s side. She pulled off her gloves and shoved them into the cup holder, thought better of it, and stuffed them into her jacket pockets.

  “Keys.” Muttering, she withdrew a glove from one of the pockets. Shoved it back in. Did the other pocket the same way. Swore under her breath. “I just had them.” She punched the button for the overhead light and looked around, between the seats, on the floor, in her purse twice. Finally, she withdrew the keychain from a zippered pouch of her purse. She uttered a chuckle. “Sorry.”

  Okay, it was going to be his job to chill her out. Filming would pick up any sign of her acting rattled or behaving like a veritable whack job, as Jake already suspected she was. He needed to dig deep for this. It was full steam ahead with the plan. Jake had texted him that Parker Paper was quote, unquote delighted about Rosie’s Bridal shop for the episode. Jake had concerns about Rylee, thanks to that stupid video that college kid posted, and Darius could not, would not, prove him right.

  She backed the car out of its parking place. She chewed her lip. A tug twisted in his gut. There was something likable about this girl. She was quirky in a good way. He stifled a laugh for fear she’d think he was mocking her. She was obviously on edge about the misplaced file folder. Unless he could think of a way to distract her from her thoughts, the ride to his place would be tense. He could almost hear that brain of hers admonishing herself.

  As they came to the light on Park and Main, he had an idea. “I have a deal for you. If you’ll come with me to The Memory Center just to check in on my father, I’ll treat for dinner at Jabberwocky’s.”

  He could see her chest rise and fall despite the bulkiness of her down jacket.

  “Ten minutes at the Center, tops. Just want to see the old guy for a minute. What do you say? It’s just up the hill.”

  “I can do that.” She chomped down on her lower lip again.

  ****

  The Memory Center was a big old mansion on the other side of Sycamore River. Rylee remembered parking with boyfriends up on the outskirts of its grounds when she was a teenager. A couple of beer parties came to mind as well. Her gaze drifted over to Darius as they tread along the well-shoveled and salted walkway to the front doors.

  “Thanks for doing this,” he said.

  She wanted to tell him she owed him. This mad scramble tonight was her fault, so yeah, he did not owe
her any thank-yous. Instead, though, to not sound like too big a loser, she just nodded. She couldn’t wait to tell Kit that the man, the pirate, whom she had sworn she’d manage to stay comfortably away from, was her copilot on this dark and freezing night. Nice one.

  On the way down the quiet corridor, he turned to her. “He’s got to leave this place soon.”

  “How come?”

  “Money’s running out.”

  She looked around at the artwork on the walls and the clean, clean everything. The lament in his voice pierced a pinprick in her heart. “So then what happens?”

  Darius pulled a frown. “He’s on a list for a state-run facility.”

  “Is it, you know, nice?”

  “It’s okay.”

  They reached his father’s room. The bed closer to the door was empty, and his father sat on the end of his bed, facing the window. He fiddled with his pajama buttons. Maybe because he was old and frail looking, but as he turned when Darius called to him, she was surprised to see that he and Darius didn’t look at all alike. This man was fair skinned, small and slight. His eyes were light, but rheumy and questioning. Not the sharp, compelling eyes of his son.

  “Hey, Pop.”

  “Hello,” the old man said.

  “What are you doing there?” Darius went to him.

  Rylee hung close to the edge of the other bed in the room and watched. She felt like an intruder in this intimate scene. She’d have a tough time forgetting the tender way Darius called his father “Pop.”

  “These buttons don’t fit the holes.” The old man gave the fabric a dismissive tug.

  “Here, let’s see.” Darius crouched in front of his father and worked on buttoning the pajama shirt.

  The old man shooed him away. “Stop, boy. I can do this.”

  Darius looked up and met Rylee’s gaze. A different kind of zoom tugged inside her, a brand-new kind. This had nothing to do with the sexiness that Darius Wirth’s looks conjured. This was worse. If that damn poodle had looked at her with those eyes, she’d have never lost him.

  “Pop, look. I brought a friend.”

  The old man twisted around and eyed her. She gave a little wave. “Hi, um, sir.”

  “Come here, girl. I can’t see you.”

  She took two, then three steps to stand in front of the seated old man. He focused his foggy eyes on her, studied her face. “You’re not Arabella.”

  Rylee looked up at Darius, and he gave her an encouraging look. “Pop, no. This is Rylee.”

  “Rylee? That’s a boy’s name, isn’t it?”

  “No.” Darius chuckled. “If you can’t see she’s a girl, then you really do need new glasses.”

  She blushed. Something about his comment made her think he had catalogued that she was indeed female. The old powerful zoom flooded her bloodstream, only serving to add more heat to her face.

  Darius’s father squinted and craned his neck. “I’m pretty sure she’s pretty.” He looked around to Darius. “She your girlfriend?”

  Darius chuckled. “Pop, she’s going to let me film the renovations of her store for my show.”

  Pop screwed his countenance. Darius lost him with that one—Rylee could tell—and it was just as well because any more talk about whether she was Darius’s girlfriend and she’d have a stroke with all the heat that flooded her face.

  He successfully buttoned up his father and coaxed the old man to lie back on his pillow. He turned on the overhead television and found the right channel for the news. “Look, Pop. The remote is right next to your hand if you want to change channels.”

  “I’m tired.”

  “I know, Pop. Look, we’re going to head out, let you rest, okay?”

  “We? Is Arabella here?”

  “No, look. Rylee’s here with me. Remember?

  The old man’s face fell. “Okay.”

  ****

  On the way to Jabberwocky’s, they were quiet. Rylee didn’t know what to say, but questions ran through her head. Who was Arabella? Had Darius been married, or had this Arabella who was not her been a former love of his?

  They ordered cheeseburgers—turned out they both liked jalapeño cheese. Darius had a beer, but because she was driving, she ordered a diet cola, which was such a ridiculous contrast to her big fat dinner.

  “So that was my father,” he said. “I wish you’d met the old guy before this disease robbed him of his personality. He was a heck of a guy. Funny too. Always teasing. Especially pretty girls.”

  Her face flushed again. “Who’s Arabella?” She immediately regretted the question but couldn’t pull it back.

  “My mother. She died several years ago.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  He gave her an acknowledging nod. “Pop asks for her all the time. He forgets she died. She was, uh, everything to him.” He looked down at his plate and snatched a french fry. “Everything.”

  “That’s so sweet,” she said without thinking not to. “I always wished I’d had parents who were rock solid like that. You must have had a great childhood.”

  “It was good.” He pinned her with his dark, shiny eyes. “Yours wasn’t?”

  “Not really.” She coughed a little laugh, not out of humor but out of rawness. She felt raw and open and vulnerable, on a high dive blindfolded. “My growing up had a lot of drama. Father out in California finding himself, mother a marathon bride.”

  “Marathon bride?”

  “Yeah. Including my father, she’s on her fourth husband. But it’s good. I like this one.”

  Darius laughed, and her mouth turned upward in response. “No, really. Sonny’s a keeper.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at the situation. You make me laugh.”

  “Yeah, I get that. I’m pretty laughable.”

  “No. That’s not what I meant. What I mean is that your candidness is, let me think, refreshing.”

  “Refreshing.”

  “Yes.”

  She mulled it. She’d been called worse by much less attractive people. “I’ll take it.”

  ****

  Rylee pulled her car into a parking space of his condominium complex on the water. The night was cold; the sky clear and bright with moonlight reflecting on leftover snow that had been plowed and piled up along the roadways and the perimeter of the lot. Darius, in his leather jacket, with the knot of woolen scarf at his neck and his black hair gleaming under the streetlamp, scared the bejesus out of her. Going into his apartment would normally be the straw that broke her resolve, but thankfully, there was a clause in that contract they were there to retrieve and sign. That clause insured that she would not zoom herself to stupidity royal. So for that, she breathed easier as they stood at his front door and he slipped his key into its lock. And just like that, she was wishing the pirate were a key and she a door lock.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The apartment was spacious and urban sleek. Leather sofa, some chrome-and-glass tables, and shiny hardwood floors. The double set of sliding glass doors to the balcony were uncovered by curtains, and the Hudson River shimmered under the moonlight. It was a spectacular place.

  “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “I’m driving.”

  “How about a coffee? Unfortunately, I don’t have caramel macchiato handy, but I do have a variety of coffee pods to pick from.”

  “Okay.” What harm in a cup of coffee?

  They sat on his couch, coffee mugs with steaming brew on the table in front of them. Darius pulled a copy of the contract out of a file he’d retrieved from some other room in the place. “Guess we’re lucky I had my copy of the contract, huh? Saves us from having to hook up early in the morning before my meeting.”

  Yeah, so damn lucky to be here in this space alone with this man she could not touch. Lucky as hell.

  While Darius perused the pages of the contract, she scanned the room. The fireplace surround was made of painted brick, the mantel a large hunk of wood that looked as if it were hacked off a tree yest
erday. The mantel was bare, but on the brickwork above it was a large oil painting of a woman. She was beautiful, and the painting looked authentic, old, valuable.

  “That’s a great painting,” she offered.

  Darius glanced up from the paperwork. His mouth curved into a smile. “There’s a story behind that painting.”

  “Oooo, I like stories.”

  “That’s Arabella. Not my mother, but a rather famous artist’s muse. Ever hear of Mabel Alvarez?”

  “No, but that doesn’t mean anything. I don’t know much about art.”

  “Well, my mother was an avid art lover. Being Hispanic, she loved the works of several Spanish artists. Alvarez was her favorite, especially when she learned that the model’s name was Arabella like her own.”

  “Wow, that’s interesting.”

  “Yes, but that’s not the whole story. When they were dating, my father was madly in love with my mother, and well, there was some Romeo and Juliet stuff that went on with their families. So my mother was hesitant to accept his marriage proposal. Turned him down once, but he asked again, but this time he presented her with the painting.”

  “Was it expensive?”

  “For him back then it might as well have been a million dollars. But what it did cost him was his fishing boat.”

  “He sold his boat for the painting?”

  “He did.”

  Rylee studied the painting, looking at it with new eyes. No matter how much is was worth in any art market, this was the most valuable painting she’d ever seen. It had cost a lot, and it had reaped quite a reward.

  “That’s just about the best story I’ve ever heard.” She held his gaze.

  His mouth was a half smile, his eyes a pair of shiny stones. Rylee’s chest constricted with the nearness of him, the scent of him, the allure of the man, pirate or no pirate. She swallowed a cinderblock.

  “You, uh, need to sign this.” He flipped to the last page of the contract. “Unless you need to go over the stipulations again.”

  “No, I don’t need to go over it again.”

  “Okay, then.”

  “Okay, then.”