The question threw him. The best? How the hell should he know? Adam looked from sister to sister. Something told him for all Bryce's bravado, Andi was the killer—figuratively speaking. Tall, slender, drop-dead gorgeous. And according to Calder, utterly ruthless where her business was concerned. Quite a combination.
Adam didn't need another Benedict sister to fall from the sky to tell him where he stood. He had to win their approval. Calder's opinion held some sway. But Andi and Bryce would make up their own minds.
"I won't hurt her." Simple and sincere seemed like a good place to start. "I respect her. Admire her. She's…"
"Calder." Andi's blue eyes softened. "She's Calder."
"Yes." He couldn't have expressed his feelings better.
With a nod, Andi patted Adam's arm.
"Sometimes one word says everything."
"Are we finished with him?" Bryce sounded disappointed as Andi tugged her across the foyer. "And what the heck? She's Calder. He's Adam. I don't understand."
"I hope you will. Someday soon."
Bemused, Adam waited until Bryce and Andi were out of the room before he checked his watch. One minute. Calder had sixty seconds before he—
"Thirty seconds to spare."
"Son of a bitch!" Adam rounded on Calder.
"Did I startle you?" Calder didn't seem the least bit contrite.
"Quiet as freaking cats, every last one of you." Adam helped her on with her coat.
"Bryce and Andi?" Adam gave a sharp nod. "Did they keep you entertained while you waited?"
With a chuckle, Adam opened the front door.
"Good a description as any."
~~~~
ADRIANA STONE WAS a surprise. Despite Adam's description of a strong, loving, supportive, resilient woman. A single mother who held her family together through thick and thin.
A cross between Betty Crocker and Wonder Woman.
Naturally, Adam saw Adriana through the distorted lens of an adoring son. After everything she'd gone through, he had every right to put his mother on an unrealistic pedestal.
Calder didn't expect to find quite the superwoman he describe.
In her mind, she thought she would find a delicate woman, with a quiet, slightly reserved demeanor. Certain she would like Adriana—after all, she was Adam's mother. She hadn't expected to adore her.
The woman was vibrant. The definition of alive. She kept busy with her job and friends. Volunteered at her church. Worked out three times a week. Hardly a saint, she had a wicked sense of humor. Her stories had Calder laughing all through dinner.
Calder quickly understood why Adam was such an amazing man. With Adriana as a role model, how could he miss?
After a wonderful meal, they moved to the living room. Sitting near the cups of after-dinner coffee and plates of strawberry shortcake, was a gold-embossed photo album. Adriana held a second open on her lap.
"From the moment Adam could crawl, he was into everything. Where he found the paint, I'll never know."
Calder smiled at the picture of a little boy with Adam's bright-blue eyes. A defiant expression on his face, he stood in a bathtub, red from head to toe.
Meeting her inquiring gaze, Adam shrugged.
"Beats me. I was three years old. My personal memories run from none to none. For all I know, Mom dumped a bucket of paint over my head for the sake of an adorable picture. And the chance to embarrass me almost three decades later."
Adriana's laugh rang out. Her son's teasing censure didn't deter her. She transferred the beautifully bound photo album from her lap to Calder's.
"Keep looking," she said. "I have two more in my bedroom."
"Mom. Calder didn't come here to pour over endless pictures."
"Don't listen to him. Bring on as much as you have."
Calder turned the page. From his perch on the sofa's arm, Adam winced. Tall and gangly, hair past his shoulders, and proudly decked out in a powder-blue tuxedo, teenage Adam posed for the camera, his arm slung around his date and a cocky expression on his face. The little brunette wore a low-cut, thigh-high, neon-pink dress. The white corsage pinned to her chest was huge. Around the size of the average prize-winning watermelon.
"Prom night?"
"The blissful ignorance of youth. Luckily, my sense of fashion has evolved for the better."
"No more blue polyester?" she teased.
"No more polyester, period."
"Your date was a cutie."
For a closer look, Adam slid onto Adriana's vacated seat.
"Valene Brewster. Constantly chewed cinnamon Trident. She'd remove the gum just long enough for a kiss. The second my lips left hers, she popped the wad back in."
"Waste not, want not."
"You're having way too much fun at my expense."
Calder couldn't argue. Grinning, she turned.
"Just wait for some payback, baby. I'm sure your mother has a treasure trove of your humiliating childhood pictures."
"Good luck." Calder dismissed the idea with a careless wave of her hand. "Billie would gladly show you all the pictures you like. With her front and center."
"What about you and your sisters?"
"When we were little, once a year she had our nanny dress us up like dolls. We'd sit on the floor, gaze up at Billie as if dazzled by her beauty. The pictures are somewhere. Maybe Billie's sitting room. The ritual ended as soon as Andi hit puberty. Photographic evidence of another Benedict with breasts? Intolerable."
Calder could laugh now. At the time, they were in a panic. What if Billie sent them away to school to hide the evidence of their—and her—increasing age from the world?
"Unbelievable."
"I know. How much competition could a twelve-year-old girl be?"
If Billie had even once thought ahead, she would have stopped at one girl. Instead, she had four. A fact her mother lamented every time she looked in the mirror. A fact for which Calder gave thanks every day of her life.
"You don't have any front teeth. How old were you here?"
Calder pointed to the picture. When she turned her head, she came face to face with Adam. Eyes filled with sadness, he pulled her close.
"Hey." Confused, she gave his back a consoling pat. "What's wrong?"
Bewilderment—plus a good dose of anger—clouded his eyes.
"You really need me to say?"
"Yes. Please."
"I don't think the way your mother treated you and your sisters is acceptable. Do you?"
Acceptable? No. Calder's normal? Yes. She should have kept the puberty story to herself. Adam was so easy to talk to, the words slipped out before she realized how they must sound to a man whose experience landed on the opposite end of the maternal spectrum from hers.
How could Calder explain Billie the Butterfly to a man who was raised by a twenty-first century June Cleaver?
"Billie is flighty. Selfish. Beyond frustrating. Occasionally infuriating. Yet, for all her faults, I will always love her. You want to know why?"
"You have to?"
Calder smiled, shaking her head.
"She gave me three amazing gifts. Andi. Bryce. And Destry. They are my family. They make me strong. They made me who I am."
Adam kissed her forehead.
"Something tells me each would say the same about you."
Such a good man. Could a heart sigh with happiness? Convinced the answer was yes, Calder gazed into Adam's eyes.
"We Benedict sisters know when we're on to a good thing."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
~~~~
"STUNNING." CALDER MADE a slow, three-sixty-degree turn. "Absolutely stunning."
After two days of intensive decorating, the Spring Romance Gala was set to be their most spectacular—hopefully successful—charity event ever.
"The fresh-cut flower arrangements arrive in the morning." Annabel checked her list. "When the doors open tomorrow night, romance will be in bloom."
> "Flowers? Bloom?" Calder groaned. "Bad pun. Awful."
"During the last forty-eight hours, I've maybe closed my eyes for six of them. The way my brain feels, any pun is a victory."
Calder was in the same boat. The week before their annual gala meant long hours and little sleep—who could rest with a perpetual, increasingly nervous stomach?
They were prepared for any contingency. Yet, they could never avoid the inevitable minor mishap. A tradition, so to speak, Calder would have gladly foregone.
"The way you eviscerated the delivery guy? I almost felt sorry for him."
"Who the hell smokes in a public building? Then drops the lit cigarette into a box of tissue paper to hide the evidence? If one of the decorators hadn't seen the smoke?" Calder shuddered. "I don't want to think."
A few lousy decorations didn't matter. People did. The possibility of injuries? Even death? Calder saw red. She reamed the guy out—in front of twenty-plus witnesses.
"He looked about six inches tall when he slunk out of here."
"Mm." Calder didn't feel an ounce of remorse. "Jerk was lucky to leave with his balls intact."
"I agree." Annabel sniffed the air. "The smell of smoke is gone. Thank goodness."
"Quick thinking on your part to have the smoldering box removed as quickly as possible. And amazing ventilation."
"State of the art. According to the hotel manager, the owner spared no expense. Top to bottom."
Located in the heart of midtown Manhattan, The Stanton Plaza Hotel opened a year ago to great acclaim. Before the first customer checked in, the waitlist for a reservation was a mile long. The event spaces— a massive ballroom, two smaller banquet halls, plus a myriad of meeting rooms, offices, etc.—were booked years in advance.
Rumors swirled about a media mogul who paid a million dollars to some lucky soul for his or her reservation. Just so his little darling could have her wedding reception in the already famous White Orchid Ballroom.
True or false, the story was entertaining. And the publicity generated beyond priceless. All around, a win/win for the hotel.
Erica's Angel's didn't have a million dollars to spare for what Calder considered to be an out of the realm of possibilities venue. When the time came to book the location for the gala, she didn't even try. Why waste her time? She settled, quite happily, on a different, perfectly acceptable hotel.
Calder wasn't a big fan of gift horses—didn't turn out well for the Trojans. Naturally, when—a short three months ago—the White Orchid Ballroom miraculously became available, she hesitated.
So many questions. How? A last-minute cancellation. Why? For some time, the hotel's owner followed Erica's Angels. He admired what they'd accomplished and their methods. He wanted to give them a hand up. All she needed to do was say yes.
The pluses outweighed the minuses—by a mile.
With a three-month cushion, they had time to change the invitations and advertising copy. The other hotel would charge a sizable termination fee, but the new venue was much larger. Between extra ticket sales and The Stanton Plaza cache, they would recoup the money in no time.
Then came the kicker. An offer Calder couldn't refuse. The Plaza event organizer gave them a discount. Huge. Mindboggling. A gift from heaven. Seemed luck, providence, and a civic-minded hotel owner were on their side.
Whatever the reason, Calder jumped. Eyes wide open. From day one until now, she was grateful.
"Still can't get in touch with the owner?"
Annabel shook her head.
"You mean New York's answer to Batman? I've yet to talk to anyone who will admit they know his identity. Confession? I checked the phone directory for a Bruce Wayne."
"You didn't." Calder had her best laugh in days.
"Figured what the heck? Unfortunately, I came up empty on the billionaire Caped Crusader front."
"What did you expect? Batman doesn't advertise his location—or identity."
Annabel slapped her forehead.
"You're right. What was I thinking? We should—"
"Wait." Calder stopped Annabel before the lunacy could go any further. "Do you hear us? The moment we start to debate how we can track down a fictional character, we have officially passed the point of giddy. Home. Go. Now."
"But—"
"I'll write the owner a long, effusive thank you note next week after I come up for air. As for the gala? We've done everything we can for tonight. We can't put the finishing touches on our minor masterpiece until the flowers arrive." Calder opened the ballroom door. "Get some sleep, or you're fired."
"What about you?"
"As soon as I grab my purse from the office the hotel so nicely provided—another thank you to the elusive owner—I'll be on my way."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
Annabel knew her too well. Calder often put in long hours after everyone else had cleared out for the day. Not tonight. She planned to get to bed early. After a little sexy phone time.
Busy with the training of his newly hired assistant—and his usual go-go schedule—Adam's week had been just as crazy as Calder's. They managed one night together. Otherwise, they settled for texts and calls. Adam's face on a screen was better than nothing, but she missed the real thing.
The closest they'd come to an actual date would be tonight. Eight o'clock sharp. He was in Albany on business. She would be in a hot, steamy tub of water. A glass of wine in one hand, her phone in the other.
The hall outside the ballroom bustled with activity, everyone in a hurry to get from point A to point B. The assigned office—the temporary headquarters of Erica's Angels—was near the ballroom. However, the trip turned out to be a game of dodge the tourist. Luckily, Calder had good reflexes. She arrived at her destination no worse for wear.
The mid-June weather was warm but mild. Calder only brought a jacket to work out of habit. Be prepared for any contingency and the world can't bite you in the ass. Another Benedict sisters' motto which held them in good stead through years of unpredictable parents and revolving step-fathers.
Purse—check. Jacket—check. Her car keys were with the hotel valet. Another plus for the Stanton Plaza—underground parking.
Out of habit, Calder glanced at her phone in case she had a message from one of her sisters. Or Adam. Anyone else would have to wait.
Scroll. Scroll. Nothing. Nothing. Calder stopped when an unexpected name popped up. Aurora? Of all the freaking gall. The only way the woman could text her was if she stole the number from Adam's phone.
Calder's common sense warred with an unbidden wave of morbid curiosity. Can't be good. And yet… With a sigh of resignation, she tapped the screen.
You can't keep what was never yours—bitch. You lose. Adam's back where he belongs.
The accompanying picture showed Aurora. Her lips—and body—plastered to Adam.
Aurora's motives were as obvious as flashing neon. She wanted Calder to take the scene at face value. Oh, no! Adam cheated on her! Let the sobbing, breast-beating, and finger pointing accusations begin.
Neither a fool, nor unfamiliar with the tactics of a desperate woman—Billie was never so obvious, but she had her moments—Calder didn't buy what Aurora tried so hard to sell.
A blatant setup, the photo was merely a moment in time. What mattered was what happened after the click of the camera. From his grim expression? The way he gripped Aurora's waist? If Adam hadn't pushed her away almost immediately, Calder wouldn't be surprised—she'd be shocked.
Almost funny. Mostly sad. Aurora's pathetic last-ditch effort didn't deserve any more of her time. Her thumb hovered over the delete button as she gave the picture one last glance.
What the…? Calder's gaze narrowed. In the background, she couldn't be certain. No. She had to be wrong. Please, please, please be wrong.
She swiped the screen to enlarge the image. And her heart sank like a rock.
~~~~
"LEAVE A MESSAGE. Or not."
Fucking voicemail.
With a growl, Adam dialed again. Same result. Same message. Couldn't mistake Calder's voice. Why the hell didn't she pick up?
"Did our signals get crossed?" he said into the phone. "Nine o'clock. On the dot. Whatever the holdup, let me know you're okay. I miss you."
Adam was up-state. . Calder in New York City. Too far away for him to hop in his car and drive to her place. So, he waited. And paced. A half hour passed. Then, an hour. After ninety minutes and four more unanswered calls later, he passed concerned to full-on worried.
The woman was punctual to a fault. If something held her up at work, she let him know. Always.
For a week, their schedules had been out of sync. A long-distance date seemed the perfect solution. A modern, twenty-first-century couple, a little technology-based romance would have to do until he could hold Calder in his arms again.
"Where are you?"
The hell with waiting. Adam hit speed dial.
"Dear boy. What a nice surprise. How are you?"
Adam let out a sigh. If something were wrong with Calder, Mrs. Finch wouldn't be so chipper.
"Good, Mrs. F. How are you?"
"Undecided about which dress to wear tomorrow night. I want to do our girl proud."
"You could show up in a paper sack. To Calder, you'd look like a million bucks."
"What a sweet, and utterly ridiculous thing to say," Mrs. Finch laughed. "Now, tell me. What can I do for you?"
"Is Calder there?"
"As far as I know. She arrived around seven thirty. Went straight to her room."
Calder was safe. Adam felt better. Yet, he couldn't shake the feeling something was off.
"Did she say anything? Seem upset, or unwell? I tried calling."
"She didn't pick up?"
"No."
Mrs. Finch made a puzzled humming sound.
"Why don't I go check? I'm sure nothing's wrong, but a little peace of mind never hurt. I'll call you back."
"Wait! Would you keep the line open, Mrs. F.? If you don't mind."
"I understand. Believe me. Calder's tired. She always wears herself thin before the gala. The day after, she'll sleep twelve hours straight and be right as rain."
One Way or Another: A Friends to Lovers Contemporary Romance (The Sisters Quartet Book 1) Page 23