His Kind of Trouble

by Terri L. Austin

  “You’ve been watching too many romantic movies,” he accused. He turned around and continued walking. Pining. What a word. Yes, he craved Monica. Longed to feel her touch again. Catch a glimpse of her lovely face. He needed her. Desperately.

  Oh God, he’d been pining.

  When he stopped again, Jules ran into his back. “Ow. Why can’t you just admit the truth? You’re in love with Monica Campbell.”

  Just hearing her name caused his chest to swell, his pulse to race. Could it be? What else would explain this ennui, this feeling of utter, dismal hopelessness?

  Bloody fucking hell. Yes. That’s what this horrible, gut-churning feeling he carried around day and night was about—love. He’d never felt this way before, tied up in knots and unable to think about anything except her. He’d been too foolish to recognize it.

  The poets and songwriters had their heads firmly up their asses. There was nothing glorious or transformative about this feeling. It was anguish, pure and simple. “I’m in love.”

  “I know.” Jules walked around him and parked in his path. “You get this dopey expression every time I mention her, and the rest of the time, you’re quite stroppy.”

  Of course he was stroppy. He hadn’t been with Monica in almost two weeks. And it wasn’t just the sex, it was the companionship and hearing details about her day. Holding her in his arms at night. “I’m in love. God, this is wretched.”

  “It doesn’t have to be.”

  “It does, actually. She wants nothing to do with me.” He moved around her and walked into the formally appointed office. He threw the folder on the mahogany desk. When he pivoted, Jules stood right in front of him, gazing up at him with eyes coated in purple eye shadow. “Leave me alone, brat. I can’t take it today.”

  “Why did she break it off with you? Were you mean to her?”

  “No, I wasn’t mean.” He’d begged her to stay. Memories of their last conversation haunted him. Cal had insisted he couldn’t promise forever. He rubbed his forehead. Forever with Monica Campbell. That sounded like nirvana, but it was impossible.

  She had a job—she couldn’t just pack up and leave whenever she wanted. She hates that job. Even so, he couldn’t expect her to traipse after him. And Cal had been a complete fool to think a long-distance relationship between them could work. How could he hie off to Caracas and leave her behind? The very idea was ridiculous.

  Pocketing his hands, he gazed down at Jules. “I don’t have anything to offer her. I don’t have a regular job or a proper home or anything resembling stability.”

  “So get all those things. What else have you got going on? A very busy surfing schedule?”

  “If Monica cared about me, she’d have called. She’s the one who broke it off.”

  Jules laughed so hard she snorted. “You’re such a twat. She’s waiting for you to make the grand gesture.”

  Cal kicked out at a chair leg as he stalked to the bookcases. First editions, lined up neatly. “She said not to contact her. Not to send gifts. She clearly doesn’t care about me.”

  “Oh, Brother. You and your lame gifts.”

  Now that was just insulting. He jerked his hands from his pockets and shook a finger at her. “I put a lot of thought into every gift I sent you, Juliette. Besides, I travel, and Monica doesn’t want a long-distance situation. She was very clear about it.”

  “Take her with you.”

  Cal paced to the door, thrusting his hands in his hair. Monica wanted to travel more than anything. Still, that job represented commitment to her family, to her mother’s memory. She wouldn’t walk away from it, not even for Paris.

  “You’re scared,” she said.

  Terrified, more like. Afraid Monica would throw his offer right back in his face. But even if she never agreed to take him back, Jules was right—he had to try. “A grand gesture, eh?” What kind of grand gesture would impress Monica Campbell?

  George’s health was relatively stable—he had the best nurses and doctors at his disposal. Jules’s court date had been rescheduled. Cal had time to fly to Vegas, but how was he supposed to win her over? Monica wasn’t impressed with money or status. What could he possibly give her that she didn’t already have?

  Chapter 23

  Monica looked out over the party. Enormous tents lit by hidden spotlights and swathed in fabric dotted the garden like mushrooms. Every tree branch and bush had been wrapped in lights. Classical music played softly in the background. Portable heaters were scattered throughout, in case it got chilly.

  People seemed to be enjoying themselves as they wandered around the garden, noting the trellises and fountains, the grotto and the waterfall swimming pool. Low chatter filled the air. The evening was warm, inviting…magical. The only thing missing was Cal.

  But Monica had come to a decision yesterday. As soon as the party was over, she would head to L.A. She’d already booked her flight. She had an overnight bag packed and waiting in the guest room. Someone had to make the first move, right?

  Maybe having it all wasn’t a realistic expectation, not with someone like Cal. But Monica loved him enough that she’d take whatever time she could get with him.

  “We did it,” Allie whispered in her ear.

  Monica turned to find her sister standing next to her, holding two glasses of champagne. Trevor stood behind Allie, tall and foreboding as his cool gaze took in the sight.

  “Good God, what happened to my garden?”

  Allie slapped the back of her hand against his chest. “We’ll put it back the way we found it.” She wore an off-the-shoulder light blue dress with lots of sparkles. When she handed Monica one of the glasses, Allie’s eyes widened. “You broke down and got a new dress? You look beautiful.”

  Monica glanced down at her cleavage. “Is it too much?” She’d gone shopping last night, dragging Evan along for a second opinion. The fire-engine-red dress immediately made her think of Cal. Amazingly, it fit her without any alterations. Tight and strapless, it flared out at her knees, mermaid style. The price tag nearly made her pass out, but she had to have it. Besides, Monica couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn anything this formfitting. At least that’s how she justified the expense.

  Allie pursed her lips as her eyes scanned Monica. “I’d say it’s just enough. But you’re not going to be able to hide in a corner tonight.”

  “Yeah, I’m tired of hiding. It’s boring.” She sipped the champagne and took in a deep breath. The sweet smell of roses wafted on the air and mixed with the rich smell of meat coming from one of the tents. “I’m not sure how we pulled this off, but it’s better than the ballroom.”

  “It is lovely,” Trevor said. “Although having my privacy invaded by all these people is tiresome. You’re going to have to make it up to me in some creative way, Allison.”

  Allie reached up and kissed his jaw. “I can do creative,” she almost purred.

  “Oh God, you two. Gross.” Monica looked away.

  “We’re a good team, Monnie,” Allie said. “Sure you want to quit?”

  “I’m sure.” Monica had never been more sure of anything. She’d put together a job description for her replacement, and at night, when she couldn’t sleep, Monica had revised her own résumé. She hoped she’d find something that suited her, where she could deal with real people instead of numbers.

  Now Monica needed to get her personal life on track. What if she showed up in L.A. and Cal didn’t want to see her? Her stomach lurched. If he didn’t care for her, at least she’d know. She wouldn’t spend the rest of her life wondering about what-ifs. From now on, Monica planned on following her heart.

  Her dad, Brian, and his wife, Karen, stepped out of the house and onto the terrace. As they made their way over, their eyes flickered around the garden. They’d just flown in from Texas the night before and hadn’t seen all the work that had gone into the transformation.

  “Hey, Dad.” Monica hugged him, then kissed Karen’s cheek. “I’m glad you guys made it.”

&n
bsp; “We wouldn’t have missed it,” Karen said. Dressed in a conservative silver gown, Monica’s stepmother looked lovely. Over the years, she’d grown on Monica, and Brian loved her to distraction. That had been hard on Monica at first, but she’d come to terms with it.

  “Girls.” Brian cleared his throat. “This is so nice. Your mom would have loved this.”

  “She would have told us not to make such a fuss, but I think she’d have been pleased,” Allie said. “In about ten minutes, I’m going to give my speech, and then I’ll bring you up on stage to say a few words, Mon.”

  Monica nodded. “Sure.”

  Brynn walked toward them and cast a glance over her shoulder. She wore a long ivory dress. More Renaissance Faire than charity fund-raiser, but she looked pretty. “Hey, Trev, do you know that guy? The really tall one?”

  He flicked a glance over her head. “Never seen him before.”

  Allie craned her neck to look past Brynn’s shoulder. “The beefy guy staring at your ass?”

  Brynn’s cheeks turned red. “Yeah.”

  “I’ve never seen him before either,” Allie said.

  Monica tried to be a little more subtle, but the man’s gaze was unwavering. “Nope, but he’s cute. You should stop long enough to let him catch you.”

  Brynn shook her head. “He’s not my type.”

  Trevor buttoned his suit jacket. “I’ll go speak to him at once and tell him to keep his eyes in his fucking head.”

  Brynn grabbed his arm. “No, don’t. I’m going to lose myself in the crowd.” She glanced at Monica. “Looks great. Good job.” Then she slipped away and melted into the shadows.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Monica spotted Evan. How could she miss him in that bright blue jacket? She crossed the garden and stood next to him. He’d nabbed a handful of canapés and couldn’t shove them in his mouth fast enough.

  When she reached him, he leaned down and brushed a kiss on her cheek. “You look good in that dress. Very fuckable.”

  Monica raised one brow. “That’s the look I was going for. At the gala in my mother’s honor.”

  “Sorry, I call ’em like I see ’em.” He snared a champagne flute from a passing waiter. “I think your dad’s wedding was the last time I was here.”

  “Yeah, I wanted to thank you for the garden idea. You’re a genius.”

  “You’re just now figuring that out? I’ve been telling you that for years.”

  Monica briefly rested her head on his shoulder. “I also wanted to thank you for telling me the truth about my sad life. I kind of love you. Like a brother, so don’t get all creepy.”

  “Is one of us dying?” he asked. “Because otherwise, this shit’s getting uncomfortable.”

  She glanced up at him. “Always with the jokes. I’m going to L.A. tonight. I’m going to put my heart on the line, Ev. I’m so scared, I can’t even think straight.”

  He gazed down at her, his expression serious for a change. “That sounds potentially disastrous or very exciting.”

  “I know.”

  He squeezed her shoulder. “Good luck. Call me tomorrow. Let me know how it goes. And Monnie, if you need me to come to L.A., I’ll be on the next plane.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  “You know I’m always here. Like Batman and Robin, kid.”

  Monica nodded at the girl near the bar who licked her hand, knocked back a shot, and sucked on a lime wedge. Nowhere in nature did skin appear that shade of orange. “I assume that’s your date.”

  “Of course. Speaking of which, that was her fourth tequila shot. I need to stop a train wreck. Break a leg with the speech.”

  Monica gave him a hug before returning to her family.

  “Okay,” Allie said, blowing out a breath. “Speech time. Wish me luck.” She handed her glass off to Trevor.

  He kissed her temple. “You’ll be marvelous, darling. You always are.”

  Allie wended through groupings of people, stopping to chat on her way to the podium. When she stepped up on the dais, the music stopped, and she tapped on the microphone. “Thank you for coming tonight.”

  As everyone clapped, Monica made her way forward. She wasn’t a big fan of speaking in public. But all she had to do was give a simple thank-you to the staff and the board, and it would be over. Her gaze bounced off Marcus Stanford and his busty wife. Perhaps Mrs. Stanford should be less concerned about junk food and more concerned about injecting toxins into her blank face. Ouch. That was bitchy. Monica put it down to nerves.

  Allie rambled on a bit too long, then she announced Monica. Holding up the hem of her dress, Monica climbed the steps, hoping she wouldn’t fall.

  Allie smiled and handed her the mic. As Monica stared at the crowd—Vegas’s richest and a few infamous—she blanked. Her mind stopped working. She stood, statue-like, for at least a full minute, maybe more.

  When Monica said nothing, murmurs broke out over the crowd. This had never happened to her. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Monica stared out at a sea of faces and remained silent.

  Evan raised his brows. Trevor lowered his. Marcus Stanford smirked.

  Out of desperation, Monica said the first thing that popped into her head. “Patricia Campbell isn’t a statistic.”

  The murmurs stopped and everyone became silent, waiting.

  Monica cleared her throat. “We talk about survivors and victims of the disease. Well, my mom wasn’t a victim.” She took a deep breath, unsure of what to say next. So she decided to go with the truth for a change. “She was a fighter. Cancer didn’t define who she was. My mom laughed too loud and liked hair metal bands. She had this wicked, biting sense of humor. And she fought to live, from the day she was diagnosed until the day she died.

  “She believed in me, when I didn’t believe in myself. My mom was my best friend, and I still miss her. I want to thank you all for being here tonight, and for honoring her memory with your donations. Thank you so much.”

  Monica was about to lose it. She shoved the mic back in Allie’s hand, who looked as surprised as Monica felt. But she also felt free. Free of the guilt she’d carried around for so long. Her mom loved her. She wouldn’t have held Monica’s stupid decisions against her. Why had it taken her so long to realize it? Patricia Campbell wasn’t a saint, but she’d been an amazing woman.

  Monica hustled to the steps, intent on getting the hell out of there. She wanted Cal’s arms more than ever. She took strength from him; she felt cherished when he held her tight. Monica only hoped like hell it wasn’t too late to win him back.

  * * *

  She was brilliant, his Monica. Cal was proud of her. His brave girl spoke about her mother in public, and looked lovely doing it.

  That dark scarlet dress was made for her. The silk hugged her curves and outlined those stunning breasts. In the back, it clung to her ass, accentuated it. No more Miss Prim. The dress was as bold a statement as that speech had been. Monica wasn’t hiding anymore.

  She kept her head lowered, her steps quick as she sped to the back of the garden. Cal followed her. When she almost reached the pond, he grabbed her hand, pulling her to a stop.

  With a gasp, she twirled around and gazed up at him with wide eyes. “Oh my God. Cal, what are you doing here? I thought you were in California.”

  He smiled. “They have these amazing contraptions called planes. I know how we left things, but I had to be here. This was your big night. You were fucking awesome up there.” Cal couldn’t remember being this anxious. This hopeful. He wanted to touch her, but refrained. She might have changed her mind about him. She may not want forever. She may have washed her hands of him completely. God, he hoped not.

  “Thanks.” Monica tucked her hair behind one ear. “I can’t believe you came. And you’re wearing a tux.”

  “Only for you. So, am I a good surprise or a bad one?”

  “Good.”

  Thank God. “That was an incredible speech. Was it hard, talking about your mum?”


  “Very. I didn’t plan it.” She placed a hand in the center of his chest. “Cal—” She glanced around, nodded to a few gawkers. “Let’s go somewhere private.” She took his hand and led him to the back wall.

  He had to tell her how he felt, right now, before he lost his nerve. “Listen, I know I’ve been an idiot, but I’m in love with you. Have been all along, but I was too blind to see it. Now, I know you may not feel the same way, and you’re perfectly justified. But I only just realized I love you, so in my defense, I think you should give me another chance.”

  As she turned to face him, Monica’s lips quivered slightly. “You’re in love with me?”

  “I am. I missed you, darling. So terribly.”

  “I missed you too. Like crazy.”

  He placed his hands on her waist. “Truly?”

  “Truly. I love you too.”

  Now Cal smiled as well. “Say it again.”

  “I love you, Calum George Hughes.”

  He stepped closer, wrapping his arms around her. “You look so beautiful, I’m almost afraid to touch you.”

  “Trust me, I won’t break.”

  He swept her into his arms, kissing her tenderly. God, he’d missed her. Her sweet smell, her honey-blond hair—which was swept to one side tonight, making her look like a glamorous movie star from a bygone era. Cal had never seen a sight more beautiful than Monica Campbell.

  She pushed at his shoulders until he lifted his head, but he didn’t loosen his hold. “I texted Jules every day and got updates on your dad.”

  “Did you? That little monster never said a word.” He shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about either one of them right now.” She felt good in his arms, and he planned on never letting her go again. “You wore red.”

  “It made me think of you. I was going to fly to L.A. tonight.”

  His fingers stopped moving across her hips. “Were you? To see me?”

  “Yeah. I quit my job, and I wanted to tell you in person.”

  “How do you feel about it? That job meant everything to you.”

  She played with the studs on his shirt. “No, you mean everything.”