by Zoe Chant
He almost never talked about himself. If she hadn’t been told by a gossipy stepsister that he’d won an extremely prestigious prize the year before, she would not have known. When she mentioned it, all Dennis said was, “That bastard Ellerton and his assholes had it coming.”
And he’d turned the conversation to charities and donations, listening when she talked about how she always tried to make her donations direct, and if she couldn’t do that, to someone she’d researched.
“Too many scammers out there,” he agreed.
He didn’t ask how much she gave, or to whom—unlike her family, who didn’t know how much of her wealth went to those in need. The few times her name had cropped up on donor lists, the worst of them acted like she’d taken something away from them. Or was wasting her money on lazy bums who just needed to go out and get work.
After a hurricane or tsunami or earthquake had flattened their city.
But Dennis? Had actually been there, hands-on, trying to help, and writing about his experience in a vivid and passionate article to spread the word so the world wouldn’t forget those in desperate need.
“What are you thinking about so seriously, Mork?”
She jumped a little, then caught sight of their faces in the mirror on the closet a few yard away. She adored the sight of her tigerish man stretched out on the bed, his tawny hair spilled on the pillow. All that was visible of her was her hip—a round mound sticking up beyond his—and her head and shoulders pillowed on him. And yes, her expression had gone bleak.
“How much fun we have together,” she said. “Don’t worry. I won’t change my mind. I can take or leave all the hoopla of film premiers, but the film itself should be fun. And I look forward to meeting Mick and Shelley. And if that goes as great as you believe it will . . .”
He cupped her face gently, turning her head so he could look into her eyes. “Mindy, that’s after the wedding.”
“What?” She lifted her head.
“Wedding’s the twentieth. Film premier the 23rd. Christmas like usual the 25th.”
“Oh,” she said, trying to hide a grimace. She realized right then that she’d had no intention of going to that wedding.
He rose on an elbow, looking straight into her eyes. “If you’ve changed your mind, just say the word,” he said gently.
She hated weddings, but even more she hated the idea of disappointing him. So pull up your big girl panties and deal. It’s a wedding, not a surface-to-air missile strike.
“No, it’s not that,” she said as carelessly as she could. “It’s just, I was remembering. I was a kid, and you know how kids are the center of their universe, because what else do they know? I thought I was bringing bad luck to all those family weddings—until I missed a few, and those ones broke up anyway.” She forced a smile. “So I’m not worried that I’m going to jinx your buddy JP’s wedding.”
His gold-flecked eyes flicked between hers, then he grunted. “Okay. But if at any time you want to take off, tell me. We can be out of there in an hour.” He nicked his scruffy chin toward his go-bag, out of which he’d lived for most of his adult life.
She ran her thumb over his chin, loving the stubble. “Mmmm.” She brushed her cheek against his.
He growled deep in his chest. “I can think of a few places to put that stubble to work before I shave,” he suggested.
“Yes,” Mindy said happily, and fell back on the bed for her turn.
A little later, they walked out arm in arm onto the deck of the Robin, fresh from the shower. The city had sprung considerably closer—clusters of buildings could be made out: the Getty lights high on the Pacific Palisades, the Wilshire Towers.
Mindy noticed that Dennis had his cell out. She’d never seen him care that much about checking his phone. He had to be eager to see his friends, she thought as he let out an “Ah! Two bars. And that’s enough for . . . holy shit!”
“What’s wrong?” she asked, instantly concerned.
“I was not ready for a billion texts and emails,” he said grimly. “Looks like we must have gotten on some kind of list.” He sighed. “Of course. Mick’s film premier. Bet you anything his publicity hacks have blabbed our names all over town, and here’s a bunch of people wanting me to give talks for free, and donations, and attend their fundraisers. I wonder if they realize my share of that damn journalism prize was ten grand, not ten million.”
Mindy laughed. “You can’t blame publicity people. That’s what they do. And I guess they think you’re a celebrity. Or?” She stopped as his mouth thinned.
“Just a not-very-veiled threat from some asshole. My guess is, also related to that damn prize.” His thumb worked as he deleted something. Then his expression changed as he read another, and he gave a non-committal grunt.
She was about to ask again, but hesitated, not wanting to be pushy. It was probably something from his friends, anyway.
And sure enough, after scrolling a bit more, he glanced up. “Mick says we can go with them in his private plane to the wedding. Okay by you?”
“Sure,” Mindy said, glad she sounded easy as she hid the familiar pulse of dread.
He thumbed an answer to Mick, then keyed the phone off and dropped it into his pocket. “What now?” he asked as Captain Niles and his crew expertly guided the Robin into Marina del Rey, where a slip awaited them. “Call a cab?”
She shook her head. “That’s already taken care of—we have a rental waiting for us on the Marina. My apartment’s been cleaned and it’s ready for us.” She had been using the same concierge service for a few years, and she knew the fridge would even be stocked.
Dennis pursed his lips, his brows rising over his tigerish eyes. “I have to admit, I’m still more used to grabbing a hammock where I can find one.”
“I’m no good in hammocks,” Mindy admitted. “Give me a comfortable bed.”
He grinned. “As long as I’m in it with you, I’ve got no complaints.”
When the Robin had been secured to the dock and the ramp extended, Mindy went in search of Niles and the crew. “You guys are officially off duty. Feel free to invite friends to enjoy the harbor,” she said. “If we decide to entertain on deck, I’ll give you plenty of notice—and I’ll bring in caterers.”
Niles thanked her, and added, “Merry Christmas.”
They all exchanged holiday wishes, and the two walked up onto the dock. Mindy grabbed Dennis’s hand tightly when the dock seemed to heave under her feet. He walked easily, obviously used to switching from water to land.
After the quiet of the ocean, the traffic and noise and lights of Los Angeles seemed to close around Mindy, as always. By the following day she’d be in L.A. mode again. That was no problem.
The problem? She kind of dreaded meeting Dennis’s friends and their wives, or soon-to-be wife. Now that they were here in L.A. the prospect wasn’t some future thing, it was happening real soon. Maybe in the next day or so.
“Hey, what’s on your mind?” Dennis asked as she inched into the Wilshire Blvd. traffic. She smiled quickly at him, as always a little surprised at how sensitive he was to her moods.
“Nothing. Counting up all my various halves and steps and sort-of-cousins I really should contact, since I am here. With luck most of them will be off somewhere skiing.” She forced a smile as they pulled to the valet parking booth.
As soon as they entered the lobby of her building, Dennis hefted his go bag, and said in a low voice, “Listen, Mork. If you want back-up with relation duty visits, I’m your man. Just give me a bit of notice, because I’ve got a couple things to see to.”
As soon as the elevator doors closed on them, she kissed him. “My sweet menace. It’s okay. I plan to limit myself to phone calls—they’re used to me being gone. The only one I really want to see is in the Middle East.”
“I’d like to meet that stepbrother of yours some day,” Dennis said as the elevators dinged open.
“You will,” she promised.
And there it was—that feeli
ng that they would be together. That being together felt so natural. And she knew he felt it, too.
But . . . there was the M-word again. Marriage.
As they walked into her apartment in which she’d lived alone for six years, she watched him look around, admiring her space—the bright paintings on the walls, the furnishings chosen for comfort, the wall-sized windows looking out at Marina del Rey and Santa Monica, with the ocean beyond.
She loved Dennis, she loved how he fit right in her space, she loved everything about him. As she tiptoed mentally around the M-word, she began to realize that her joke about jinxing others’ marriages was half true, except the marriage she was sure she would jinx would be her own.
Chapter Four
Dennis would have preferred a few days to wrap his head around the whole prenup idea, but he didn’t have a few days. He wanted to ask Mindy to marry him, he wanted it to be romantic and memorable and he wanted his friends there, too. Tomorrow Mick’s plane would take them to Sanluce, so he had to get all his shit together today.
From what he knew of lawyers, they needed time to do their thing. It was too late right now for lawyer calls, obviously. They ordered in and both worked through email and call lists until it got late. Knowing they had some very busy days ahead, they went to bed early.
He waited until Mindy was in the shower the next morning, after a lingering breakfast. At ten on the dot he made what he fully expected would be the first call of a day of annoying phone tag games and waits. But to his surprise, the melodiously discreet voice of the secretary said, “Dennis O’Keefe? Referred by Mick Volkov? When would you like to meet?”
“Today, if possible,” he said, trying not to make it sound like a question.
She said smoothly, “Mr. Winters has openings at two and four-thirty.”
“I’ll take the first one,” Dennis said.
They exchanged information, and Dennis hung up just as Mindy came out of the shower, her curly hair hanging in clinging ringlets around her face. He had to drop the phone and kiss her.
And kiss her.
And . . . when they finally got dressed, she sat down at her desk and faced her list. “Duty calls,” she said.
“Where do you want to eat tonight?” he asked, and then sidled around to his real question with what he trusted was subtlety. “I know we don’t have time for a lingering dinner, but hey, I’m curious. What’s your favorite restaurant in L.A.? Melisse? Urasawa? Spago?”
To his surprise, she shook her head. “Those are great, but they’re for a certain type of mood, or moment, or clientele. My favorite place is the Huntington Gardens. I love the high tea at the Rose Garden Tea Room, but mostly it’s the beautiful garden.”
“That’s a great place,” he said, making a mental note. Would he be able to get a table there for Christmas Eve? Would it even be open? He was going to do his damndest. “I’ll leave you to your duty.” He leaned down for another kiss. “I’ve got some stuff to do. Including getting a suit for JP’s wedding, since I gave the one I bought for Mick’s to that poor bastard back in Barbados.”
“Oh yes, that poor guy whose boat sank on the way to his daughter’s wedding.” Her face lit up. “I would love to go watch you try on suits.”
He laughed, and hugged her. “I’d disappoint you—my idea of suit buying is to get in and out as fast as possible, taking the first thing that more or less fits.”
“All right,” she said. “And I know I’m trying to put off this list.” She reached for the phone. “I’ll call the valet service. They’ll have the rental ready by the time you get downstairs. Unless you want to drive mine?”
“Rental is great. Thanks!” He hadn’t thought of that, either. It was a different sort of life, living with someone rich, he thought as he rode the elegant elevator down.
Once he was safely out of earshot, he called Mick. “We’re here,” he said when his friend answered. “JP’s wedding means suit and tie, right?”
“I can send you to my usual place.”
Dennis got the info, drove into Beverly Hills, and by a quarter to two, he had a plastic-wrapped suit hanging on the hook in the back seat, with shirt, tie, and shoes in neat boxes.
The law office was so discreet that he almost walked past the golden letters etched into black marble off a fancy hall. A short time later he was led into an office with two glass walls that looked down at the busy Beverly Hills street traffic. The plush carpet made his steps noiseless.
Bennett Winters looked like you’d expect a Bennett Winters to look. Dennis couldn’t help wonder if the guy had been born Waldo Garfinkle, and had jazzed up his name the way he’d jazzed up his looks. The silver streaks on either side of his intellectual temples, his chiseled nose and jaw, the flash of expensive dentistry all seemed too perfect to be real.
As they shook hands, Dennis glimpsed a watch that easily clocked in a hundred grand, and he wondered if that shirt he glimpsed the cuff of below the fine fabric of his suit was hand made.
“So, Mr. O’Keefe, I understand you would like to consult about a prenuptial contract.”
“That’s right. I want it so watertight it’ll float a battleship.”
“Very well. To begin, I need to explain . . .” He went on smoothly to unreel a sting of incomprehensible legalese, well peppered with Latinate clauses. Dennis waited, hearing an uptick in the per-hour at every point. But he’d saved that ten grand from the prize money for just such a need.
The lawyer paused, seemed to see that he was not following, and transitioned to English, “ . . . We can start with the assets you wish to protect.”
“I don’t have any assets,” Dennis said.
Winters’ beautifully groomed brows lifted. “No?”
Dennis said, to be clear, “I don’t own squat. Besides my laptop and shit in my travel bag, and the clothes I’m standing up in. I’ve lived on the move my entire life. It’s her stuff I want to protect. From me. I want her things sewed up tighter than Fort Knox.”
“To protect her from . . .?” Winters asked, an expensive pen poised over a legal pad.
“Her fucking family thinking I’m after her dough,” Dennis said roughly. “I want that contract to make it crystal clear I’m marrying her because I want to marry her. Not her damn money.”
Bennett Winters’ brow cleared. “Ah,” he said, and smiled a little. “Perhaps you ought to bring the lady in . . .”
“I want it as a surprise,” Dennis said, feeling a little desperate. Running from pythons in the jungle was easier than this. “I’m going to pop the question, and I want that right there, in writing, to make it really clear how I feel.”
“I believe we can accommodate you,” Winters said, smooth as an oil slick.
“And I’m paying for this myself, so if you can give me a ballpark figure, because it’s likely to wipe me out,” Dennis added frankly.
Bennett Winters did not do something as indiscreet as utter a laugh, but Dennis got the feeling that a guffaw was lurking around somewhere behind the neat buttons of that bespoke suit.
When he got out of there, he breathed an enormous sigh of relief. Dennis had gathered that Winters had boilerplates (or whatever lawyers called them) that he could put together fast, and it would be ready by the day of Mick’s premier. And he’d have enough left over to cover the suit he’d charged, and whatever else he needed for his proposal. But, he thought as he edged into the traffic, it was time to rustle up a couple of jobs, fast.
After Christmas.
When he let himself into Mindy’s apartment, he found her in the bedroom, clothing strewn every which way. “What happened?” he asked. “A localized hurricane?”
Mindy whirled around, a dress in each hand, suspended from a hanger. “Which do you think is better, this?” She held a deep burgundy dress up against herself. “But I’m not sure about wearing any shade of red to the wedding of someone I met once. Red kind of stands out. Or this?” Doing a quick presto change-o with her hands, she whipped the burgundy one away and held
a pearl gray slinky thing with a lot of glittery bits against herself. “It’s formal, maybe too formal for an outdoor wedding in the afternoon.”
“I can speak a few words of Pashtu, I know what to tip a Sherpa, and I can tell you how to survive in the Amazonian jungle, but I’m damned if I know the first thing about women’s fashions. All I know is, you’d look great in either of them,” he said. “But if you want to know what I like best . . .”
She uttered a slightly strained chuckle. “Me wearing nothing, of course. And we’re coming right back to that soon, I promise.” She flung both dresses over the back of a chair, and sighed. “I really need some raunchy, head-rocking hoo-raw, but right now I’ve got to sort through this closet. So many of my dresses are either really formal, picked for family affairs I couldn’t get out of, or my halter-tops, picked for quick stripping during my investigations—”
He said with utter sincerity, “I cannot tell you how hot that sounds. And is. And was.”
Her laugh was a little happier; with a blur she shifted, and a darling little pompom-tailed poodle gazed up at him with bright eyes, standing in a moat of her clothes.
Then Mindy switched back, totally naked, her cloud of hair fluffing around her head, laughing at him, her beautiful body with its round, generous curves right there and waiting.
Dennis crossed the room in two steps, picked her up, and threw her on the bed, then pounced. “Raunchy, said the lady?” he asked, stretching her hands over her head.
Dress-choosing was forgotten.
Chapter Five
Jan stood outside the window of JP’s private martial arts studio, murmuring “Jan LaFleur,” to herself over and over.
It had been no contest, deciding to change her name. She was an only child, her dad having dumped her and her mother when Jan was small. But habit is hard to get over, and she wanted to feel natural in her new name—and new role—by the time she was married.
Tomorrow.
A weird feeling thrilled through her, excitement and worry and apprehension. There was so much to do, so much that could still go wrong.