We Have a Problem
Belle—Thursday, May 26, 3:33 PM
Three weeks away from Dallas Fashion Week and we were ahead of the curve. The samples were gorgeous. Beau worked with a set designer and came up with the most awesome stage concept for the live runway show. The models were ready. The style-sheet shoot went off without a hitch. We managed to make a rooftop in Downtown Dallas look like a tropical resort and an urban club all in the same day.
I looked at the latest updates to the marketing plan, and I was pleased. Yazlyn’s plans for the women’s line were looking sound. Across the room, Beau stood towering a full foot taller than my finance director, Suzanne, who was in town from New York. She said she couldn’t believe his grasp of forecasting and cost projections. Neither could I. Had you asked me what Beau knew about finance, I would have said, “His AMEX black card balance.” Showed how much I really knew about the man. Seemed as though I kept underestimating him, and I had no idea what to think about that.
We had fooled absolutely no one with our “platonic in the workforce” attempt. The very day we walked in trying to act like nothing was different, my male receptionist called out, “Dude, you finally hit that? Thank God, maybe now we can get a coffee break around this place.”
The whole office broke into applause and laughter. I just shrugged it off in the end. No one’s attitude toward me changed because I was lying next to Beau at night. And yes, perhaps I was wound a little less tight now that I was “relaxing” after hours.
Overall, though—no complaints.
Before I could even bask in this contentment, my cell phone beeped insistently. I flipped it over to read the screen.
We have a problem, call ASAP!
The text was from Yazlyn. I punched in her number and put her on speakerphone.
“What’s up?”
“Pull up your e-mail and check out the link I sent.”
I opened the e-mail app on iPad and clicked through. The glossy Web site heralding Arizona Wind Designs opened up. The header read: Sneak Peek at New Spring Line. That page led to four designs that looked like very poor and cheap imitations of the BellaRich Man line.
“Irritating,” I said and caught Beau’s eye across the room. I waved him over. “But more importantly, troublesome. These aren’t well done, but they are close enough to let me know she’s seen either a sketch or a technical spec. Less than ten people, excluding the three of us and Katrina, have access to those. So where is she getting them from?”
Beau looked over my shoulder and raised a brow. “Not just copied but watered down. She’s not using the same quality materials or paying attention to the details. It’s the detail that sets ours apart.”
I grinned. He was right. And I loved how proprietary he was over the work.
He glowered. “This does mean that you have a leak somewhere. We need to find it and plug it before she copies the entire campaign.”
“We?” I teased him.
He shrugged. “Somebody.”
“No you’re right; we need to get ahead of this sooner rather than later.”
Yazlyn piped up from the phone, “How do you want to handle it?”
“We could hire somebody to look into it. Maybe a corporate security specialist?” I suggested.
“Or . . .” Beau said with a sly expression.
“Or?” I could tell he had something already up his French-cuffed sleeve.
“We could set a trap,” he announced dramatically.
Yazlyn squealed, “I like it! What do you have in mind?”
Beau had a twinkle in his eye. “Very cloak and dagger. Let’s walk into the conference room to talk about it.”
We strolled toward the wall of windows at the rear of the floor where the conference room was located. Shutting the door behind us, we dialed Yazlyn back.
“Here’s what I’m thinking,” Beau said. “We generate eight new designs that we have no intention of producing and give one each to different people in the company, saying that these will replace a piece for the spring line. We tell each of them it’s confidential and we’re keeping it as a surprise.”
I nodded. “And then we see which one ends up in Arizona’s hands.”
Yazlyn concurred. “That’s perfect. And a little bit diabolical.”
“Well, that’s Beau for you.”
He grinned. “You think I’m perfect, chérie?”
“Leave it to him to concentrate on the part he likes.” Classic Beau.
Yazlyn laughed. “Oh there you two go with the banter bickering. Before you go full-scale flirty chatter, can we talk about banking?”
“What about banking?” I asked.
“Suzanne is going to bring it up with you later. We’re not happy with the way our accounts and lines of credit are being handled right now. It’s time for a more sophisticated banking scheme. If we continue to grow at this rate, we need a bank that backs us and gives us incentives to stay. Do you know anyone?”
I couldn’t think of anyone.
Beau spoke up. “I know a guy. His name is Gregory Samson. He’s a wealth investment manager that both my brother and sister-in-law have worked with. He also handles a few of my personal accounts—Katrina’s too.”
The name was familiar. “Why do I know that name?”
Beau slid a slow look my way. “Not sure; it may have come up before.”
“Where did you meet him?”
“He’s engaged to a friend of Jewellen’s.”
Suddenly it clicked. “Wait a minute, Renee’s ex-fiancé? Dude you cuckolded at the dance? He manages some of your money?”
He shot me a look. “Do you want to discuss this right now?”
Yazlyn piped in. “Um—I’ll let you two get into that. I’ll get back to work while y’all decide whether you are going to draw daggers or make googly eyes at one another. Let me know what you want me to do to assist with the master plan. I fully expect you will have come up with a codename and a spreadsheet breaking down the plan by day’s end.”
“Hey, we’re not that bad!” I protested.
“Yes. You both are. Two more perfectly suited personalities, I’ve never met. Later.” With that, she hung up.
We stood there looking at each other.
“Perfectly suited?” Beau asked with a cock of his left brow.
“I don’t know about that. We spend a lot of time bickering.”
“I prefer to think of them as exploratory conversations.”
The man had a way of putting a positive spin on things. “Nicely put.”
“You know me.”
“I’m not sure I do, but I’m working on it,” I answered honestly.
Both of his brows rose. “Whoa! Extrêmement intéressant.”
“Extremely interesting?”
“Mais oui. You don’t think you know me?”
“I know you, but I don’t know you,” I clarified.
“How sad is that I actually understand what you mean by that. So what do you need? The life story? The ex-fiancée? The childhood years? The world traveler days?”
I blinked. Did I know that he’d been engaged? “Wow. Now that you dangled those carrots out there, I kinda want to at least hear the high-level summary on a little bit of everything.”
“And you’ll reciprocate?”
“I’ve told you a lot.”
“But I haven’t heard about your ex-fiancé. Any of your exes really.”
“I wasn’t sure you wanted to.”
“Vraiment? Why?”
“You don’t seem the sort of man to hear about the ones who have come before.”
“Actually, I don’t mind. I always assume I’m setting a new standard. What came before has nothing to do with me. I’m here now.”
It was so quintessentially Beau that I flung my head back and laughed. “Of course you do. My bad.”
“I don’t like to sit around making lists and comparing numbers, but if there was someone who mattered to you, who changed the way you look at relationships now? Yes, I’d l
ike to hear about that.”
“Fair enough. We should do that sometime.” Not a conversation I was looking forward to.
“Let’s make it a date.”
I looked beyond him to see a woman walking into the offices. “Speaking of dates, here comes someone you’re familiar with.”
He looked over his shoulder. “Merde! What is she doing here?”
“I suspect she’s meeting with Andrew about putting BellaRich together with Royal Mahogany for some sort of advertising campaign.” I crossed my arms and leaned against the table.
“You’re not meeting with her?” Beau shot me a look. We watched as she strolled on five-inch heels in a skintight safari dress to the reception desk.
“I opted to delegate. Something about her rubs me the wrong way. Unless you’d like me to spend time with her?” I didn’t think that would go so well.
Beau answered prudently. “Whatever works for you, ma douce.”
Renee turned, spotted both of us across the room, and gave us a completely insincere five-finger wave. We gave her twin smiles that broadcast absolutely nothing. I paid close attention as her eyes scanned Beau from top to bottom, and I knew she was remembering the last time she saw him. I didn’t like it at all. I worked extra hard to suppress the urge to step closer to him and somehow broadcast the fact that he was currently warming my bed.
Possessive much, Belle? I scolded myself quietly. Even if Beau and I hadn’t defined our relationship, he had all but moved in with me. We were exclusive and I didn’t want anyone thinking they could poach. I found myself wanting to stamp MINE on his forehead, just so she’d quit thinking she had a chance at a repeat performance any time soon.
And then, unbidden, came the curiosity. What was it like between her and him? Was it as explosive and intense as it was with us? Beau was a man who knew how to make love. It was a gift that he’d perfected over countless practice sessions. But he also had the ability to figure out exactly what a woman wanted or needed from him and give it to her.
My eyes narrowed in something akin to jealousy as I wondered exactly what he had given to her and how. Irrationally, I wanted to erase that experience with one of our own. And I wanted that right now. This minute. Mine.
“Mirabella?” Beau had stepped closer and spoke low into my ear.
“Hmm?” I flicked my eyes upward.
“Please recall that you specifically told me not to bend you over this table and have my way with you.”
“I recall.” My breathing quickened.
“Mais oui, the way you’re looking at me right now and the way that pulse is fluttering at the base of your lovely neck is saying something altogether different.”
“You’re Mr. Restraint, remember?” I murmured.
His voice was a little hoarse. “I have my limits.”
“These walls are glass,” I said inanely.
“Too bad. I know you like it like that,” he teased.
I closed my eyes and pulled it together. You simply could not bait Beau with things like this. He was sexually fearless. He would, given the slightest provocation, follow through on that conference table fantasy and not give one single damn who was watching. I might have a little kink in me but my freak flag didn’t wave so high that I was willing to be taken in front of my staff and his ex-whatever-she-was. I took a deep breath and a step back.
“So. Renee’s ex-fiancé is your banker?”
“He’s a good guy.” He shot me a knowing look at my abrupt change of subject.
“Clearly. He forgave you but not her.”
Beau gave an easy shrug. “I wasn’t wearing his ring.”
It made a twisted kind of sense. “True. Is it mean of me to want to schedule a meeting with him for the next time Renee comes in?”
“Un peu. Just a little bit.” But he smiled as he said it.
At that moment, the conference door swung open and Renee stuck her head in. “Hey, you two, am I interrupting anything?”
“Just a meeting about finances. What’s up, Renee?” I asked with stilted politeness.
“I just wanted a private word with Beau, if you have a second?” she asked with a gleam in her eye that I didn’t care for at all.
I made to leave the room and Beau pulled me back before clasping my hand. “Belle stays. What can I do for you, Renee?”
“That’s what I wanted to talk about,” she said in a seductive tone.
“Apologies, ’tite fille, I’m only available for professional and platonic liaisons, if you’d like to discuss one of those?” he said politely. He was so smooth with it you had to take a second to realize he had just turned her down.
Her brows arched high and her glance skittered between the two of us. “Oh it’s like that now, huh?”
Neither of us answered for a moment. Beau reiterated, “It is indeed like that. What do you need?”
“Oh, I was hoping for something that it doesn’t look like I’m going to get. Not any time soon anyway. I’ll check back.” She smiled slowly. “Belle, you are a lucky woman.”
“Hmm,” I answered noncommittally.
“Isn’t he just wonderful in bed?” Renee cooed and took a step forward.
So tacky. The woman had zero couth. I contemplated tripping her just for the pleasure of watching her fall and decided I was being childish. “He’s wonderful everywhere, sugar. Beauregard is extremely talented in so many areas.”
Renee blinked twice as if it had never occurred to her that Beau was useful when clothed. I wanted to smack her for that alone. I met his gaze and noticed that he was part irritated, part embarrassed, part amused, and part resigned. Suddenly, I had some insight into what it was like to be Beau. And it wasn’t the cakewalk I had previously assumed. I squeezed his hand. “Did you need something else, Renee?”
She studied us for a moment or two more before reaching some sort of conclusion. “I guess not. See you around, Beau.”
“Au revoir, Renee.”
She turned and tipped out of the room with one last backward assessing glance.
“Beau?” I probed in a thoughtful voice.
He brought our joined hands up to his mouth and kissed my knuckles. “Belle?”
“How often does that happen to you?”
“What, ma douce?”
“Women assuming you’re an empty-headed easy lay.”
I saw something shift in his eyes before he shrugged. “I’ve never played hard to get well.”
“But you’ve never been stupid. Why do you let people think you’re . . .”
“Cotton candy?” he asked and met my gaze.
Ouch. I had called him that. “I’m sorry, darlin’. Right after I said it, I felt bad. But you’re not, you know. You’re so much more than that. Why won’t you let people see it?”
“Sometimes it’s easier to just let people think what they want, chérie. And for many years it was easier to live down to others’ expectations than to live up to my own.”
“But not now.”
“No, not now. The job, this work, you—you’ve reinvigorated me. I’ve found a passion for more than passion.”
“And you’re happy?” I wondered.
“Oui ma petite, I’m happy. Are you?”
I had to admit it. “You know, before Yazlyn called and Renee sashayed in, I was just thinking that I’m pretty pleased at the moment.”
“Let’s see what we can do to keep it that way.”
“Yes, let’s.”
22
I Don’t Run to Drama
Beau—Sunday, May 29, 1:11 PM
“Word on the yard is that I’m whipped,” I told Belle as we strolled through the Nasher Sculpture Garden. We had gone to church earlier and then inside the Dallas Museum of Art checking out an exhibit of African masks. The day was sunny and pleasantly warm with a light breeze that kept it from being too humid outside. We stepped onto the back decks to look at the outdoor exhibits.
“Who said that?” She laughed lightly as we stopped to watch water cascading
down a wall.
“Carter, Roman, my father of all people.” My own father.
“Pops?” She snorted in surprise.
“He was quite amused with himself. He says I’m different with you, that you bring out my better qualities.”
“Have I really? I haven’t been able to break you of your unnatural obsession with Lil Wayne’s music.”
“You have no room to talk with T.I. in constant rotation on your playlist, beautiful.”
She rolled her eyes. “Whatever, Poonhound. You still rip my panties off at inopportune moments.”
“You love it. I’ve heard zero complaints.”
“Moving on . . . So do I?”
“Do you what?” Once we started talking about panties I forgot the rest of the conversation.
“Do I bring out the best in you?”
I turned to face her. “Truthfully?”
“Of course,” she said earnestly.
“I was at a serious crossroads the night I met you. I had a shoe thrown at me by a woman whose name I still can’t remember; I had been fired from my job and kicked out of my brother’s house. I was, for all intents and purposes, homeless and jobless with nary a plan forward in sight. I’d like to think that I would’ve straightened out my act on my own. But meeting you and getting the opportunity to work with you and generally not wanting to let you down has helped me tighten up my game.”
“You don’t want to let me down?” She gave me an incredulous look.
I took her hand in mine and started walking again. “No chérie, I don’t. I don’t want to let you down.”
“Is that what happened with your ex-fiancée?”
“Alexa?” I knew we’d have to get around to this walk down memory lane at some point. Apparently, that point was right now.
“Was that her name?” Curiosity sparked in Belle’s eyes.
Heaving a sigh, I told the tale. “Her name was and is Alexa Little. We met on a shoot in Rome. She’s British, beautiful, and a bit of a diva. I don’t know if I let her down as much as I didn’t care as much as I should have.”
“Why did you ask her to marry you?”
“I thought it was time. We’d been seeing each other for a while, we got along well, and that’s what I thought I was supposed to do,” I honestly admitted.
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