“What do you think?” Niki asked.
Grant took a minute to absorb all the changes. Yeah, it was her voice. He had to admit the outfit was sexy as hell, but all the accessories—a dozen bracelets and necklaces—and the overdone cosmetics were too much. “If you like it, it’s great.” His voice sounded weak even to him.
Amy set her hands on her hips. “It’s retro chic. She could walk down a New York runway like this.”
Lucy nodded to her friend. “I told you. We overdid.”
Niki sank into a chair. “The makeup is too heavy, and I need like a tenth the amount of jewelry, but I love the hair and clothes.”
While the women retreated to tone down Niki’s couture, Grant couldn’t stop thinking about Carrie’s makeover. She’d changed not for the job but for her boss. Just as Niki was doing now.
Not that he was jealous. But he was concerned. For her.
“Dex,” Lucy said from the hallway, “Amy and I will be ready to go in a sec. We’re packing our things up.”
As she returned to Niki’s room, Dex grinned at Grant. “Lucy knows me so well. I was about to covertly text her to remind her about the early meeting I have tomorrow.”
Five minutes later, Niki’s entourage was gone, and she met Grant in the kitchen. He handed her a soda, then set Sarge’s dirty bowl in the sink.
“What’s wrong? You seem upset.” She’d changed into another new outfit of stilettos, a tight red halter top, and flowy pants. She sat on a barstool.
He mentally replayed Dex’s comment about Lucy knowing her husband so well. Grant had been told by more than one person that he was difficult to read. So how had Niki already learned to pick up on his moods?
Joining her at the breakfast bar, he got a better look at her makeup. Her eyebrows appeared thinner and more arched than before, and her already-perfect cheekbones shimmered with bronze-colored blush.
He hesitated, considered his words carefully to avoid hurting her feelings. “My grandma likes to say, ‘There’s no need to gild a lily.’ You were fine the way you were.”
She furrowed her brow and bit her bottom lip, studying him carefully. “So you’re unhappy that Amy and my sister made me over? Why?”
“I’m only concerned that you did this for the wrong reason.” When he noticed that her eyes were glistening, he set a hand on her arm and cut to the chase. “You look gorgeous, but you were beautiful before. No job is worth turning yourself into someone you’re not because some prick of a boss asks you to.”
With a sigh, she climbed off the stool, moving away from his touch—whether by accident or by design, he didn’t know. “Tristan is not a prick. He’s just…British. You have no idea what this job means to me, Grant, what a transfer to the London office would do for my life. Sometimes you just have to do what’s necessary. Life isn’t always fair. I saw my mother do way more difficult things to earn a living when we were growing up than changing her style.”
What did Tristan being British have to do with anything? Grant scratched his head. An ass was still an ass even with the fancy accent. He’d never understand women’s logic. “All I’m saying is that you were fine exactly as you were. Perfect, in fact.”
“Aw.” She batted her eyelashes at him. It was exaggerated flirting, but he sensed real emotion behind it.
Maybe he shouldn’t have said that. He’d made a promise to Dex to watch out for her. Best way to protect Niki from any more heartache was to keep things between them platonic. “If Tristan isn’t smart enough to realize what a fantastic asset you’d be to his overseas operation, I’m sure something better will come along for you. No one should base a promotion on what you wear or what color you dye your hair.”
“But it’s London, Grant. Isn’t that worth a little bit of lost dignity?” She rolled her head back as if envisioning all of what the city had to offer on the ceiling. Then she lolled her head forward and faced him again. “So my dad was a Marine. My mom and sister got to travel with him before I was born. They were stationed in Okinawa then Honolulu. The only place I ever lived was Maryland—Maryland! And not even that close to DC, but Pax River—until we left him. Don’t get me wrong—he was awful to my mother, so I’m glad we did. But we really struggled after that. If I get that promotion, I’ll actually be paid to live in one of the biggest, most exciting cities in the world.”
Since she already lived in a large metropolis, he couldn’t fathom why she yearned for an even bigger city, barring the fancy accents, but he’d never himself felt the draw of urban life. At least she was honest about her goals. He’d been shocked when Carrie had told him how much she wanted to take the job in Miami instead of staying in their rural community in New York.
Shoving away the painful memory, he scrubbed a hand over his face. “You could just take a European vacation, couldn’t you?”
She gave him a puzzled smile. “That wouldn’t be the same. You really get to know a place when you live there, and think of how close the rest of Europe would be. Don’t you want to see the world? All the beautiful, amazing things out there?”
One of those beautiful, amazing things was staring him in the face, and all he wanted to do was to pull her into his arms and kiss her. But he couldn’t. “I’m a simple guy. I put out fires, ride my bike, play softball, and hang out with my cat and my friends. City life doesn’t impress me.”
She smiled softly at him. “We’re so different. Oil and water.”
“Swimming pools and cell phones.” He smiled back, trying to keep things light.
“Me and softball, excuse the poor grammar,” she said. “I admire your willingness to subject yourself to that sport. I think I hit myself in the face once when I was at bat.”
“Seriously?” She’d never seemed that uncoordinated. In fact, her dancing skills in the kitchen while preparing dinner had looked mighty fine to him.
“Oh yeah.”
He laughed, and for a second, he found himself wishing they were both planning to stay in Miami, instead of heading for opposite sides of the Atlantic. “You can travel any time. Why does it have to be now, with this job?”
“Okay, I’ll tell you the real reason.” Her lips compressed to a flat line, and a furrow settled between her eyebrows. “When I was little, my dad was verbally abusive to my mother—and to some degree—Lucy and me, too.”
Grant’s chest constricted at the idea of a tough Marine picking on the man’s innocent wife and young daughters.
“After we left him, Mom had to work two jobs to keep a roof over our head, which meant Lucy played mother to me. My sister took that role very seriously. In school, when other kids would pick on me, Lucy always came to my rescue.”
“Sounds like she was a great sister.”
After a long pause, she shrugged. “To be honest, though, it wasn’t easy being compared to her. Lucy was always the prettiest, the smartest, the girl every guy wanted to date. It didn’t faze her when we had to buy our school clothes at Goodwill. She’d find some old flannel pajamas and a ribbon and turn them into the cutest outfit you ever saw. I never had that gift. I wasn’t a standout like Lucy. No one even noticed me when my sister was around. I hardly had my own identity. Living here, in the same city where Lucy owns a store and is about to open a second one, sometimes I still feel like an extension of her. The biggest reason I need to leave is to get out from under her shadow.”
Ah. Finally he understood. “So the job will get you away from her and give you your own identity?”
“I really love Lucy, my whole family. But I also want the opportunity to spread my wings, be my own person.” She swiped her hand over her cheek.
Clenching his jaw, he resisted the urge to hold her, to soothe away the pain evident in her expression.
Sarge jumped onto Niki’s lap, as if the cat’s instincts were also to comfort her. Niki startled then went to pet him at exactly the same instant Grant did. Their fingers touched. The air between them crackled with electricity as their gazes locked.
He couldn’t kee
p himself from staring at those plump, scarlet lips. Pulling in a breath laced with her scent, memories of the night of passion they’d shared filled his mind and stirred his need.
They moved closer, closer. Until they were mere inches apart. Her lips parted.
Yes, he wanted to console her, but he also wanted so much more. Desire pumped through him, eclipsing all thought, all reason. He threaded his fingers through the silk of her hair and drew her to him, claiming those lush, full lips for himself.
She tasted of sweet cola and summertime. Rather than satisfy his hunger for her, the kiss merely whet his appetite.
Someone’s phone rang nearby. Hers.
She broke the kiss for a moment—long enough for Grant to come to his senses. What the hell was he doing? He was supposed to be making sure Niki didn’t get her heart broken again.
Knowing what he did now about her rough childhood, he understood why Lucy and Dex were so protective of her. Niki was determined to find her niche overseas in a big city while he wanted nothing more than a simple rural existence.
If he kissed her again, he wondered if he’d be able to stop at that. No, giving in to his desire for her would only lead to trouble.
Those cornflower eyes looked up at him, questioning him. It took everything he had to clamp down on his libido. He shook his head. “We shouldn’t…”
Niki blushed like a bride as she climbed off the barstool. “You know what? I’m whipped. All that playing dress-up is exhausting.” Avoiding his gaze, she feigned a yawn. “G’night.”
“Okay. Good night.” Putting the brakes on that kiss was the right thing to do, but it sure as hell wasn’t easy.
…
“Better?” Niki waited for Tristan to say more about her appearance the next day, only he didn’t.
He’d given her new black leather miniskirt and white lace camisole only a cursory glance, so she finally had to ask. When he didn’t respond, she followed him from the office across the main room of the nightclub, then up the stairs to the VIP area.
Perhaps his request had been a test after all.
“Hmm? What did you say, love?” He stared toward the eight luxury booths and frowned. “Please tell me the flower arrangements will be here soon.”
What flower arrangements? Had she forgotten something? Nausea threatened. “I wasn’t aware that we’d ordered any. Would you like me to take care of that?”
His eyes flashed dangerously. “Bloody hell. I know I spoke to you about that because I said the shop a few blocks north of here does lovely work. Remember?”
She had no recollection of him ever mentioning floral arrangements or any florist, and she knew she hadn’t just forgotten. “I…no, I’m sorry.”
He jabbed a finger at her. “This is extremely important. Details, Niki. We must have centerpieces. Didn’t you look at the photos online of our Manhattan club? I know I sent you the link. Dropping the ball on important matters isn’t like you. I won’t tolerate it.”
“I’ll take care of it right away. Count on me. It’ll be fine.”
“Of course it will. I have every faith in you.” Finally, one corner of his mouth lifted in a half smile. “Nice outfit.”
Her mood lifted. Hallelujah, she had his confidence. He might be irritating, but she’d only have to put up with him for a little while, until she nabbed that promotion. As far as she knew, he would remain in Miami, and he would hire a new manager for the upcoming London club, where she was aiming to be the assistant manager.
After he left the area, she headed to the posh florist down the street to order the centerpieces for the tables. She picked out large tropical arrangements with funky colors and unique blooms. “I’ll need them delivered by three today,” she told the owner.
The middle-aged man arranging a frosted glass vase full of calla lilies balked. “Today? Absolutely not. Best I can do is tomorrow morning.”
Tristan would be furious. Her breakfast threatened to make a return appearance. “Please,” she begged the man. “I’ll pick them up, but I must have them by this afternoon. Four at the latest.”
The man’s lips bunched to one side. “I can try, but no promises.”
Niki shook her head. “Tell me now if you’re not sure, and I’ll get them elsewhere.” Even though Tristan wanted the arrangements from that particular shop, she might have to find a place that did similar work. In a hurry.
The man looked even more panicked at the thought of losing Heatwave’s business. “I can manage it. I’ll call in my assistant.”
Oh thank God. She drew a relieved breath. She hated playing the “I’ll take my business elsewhere” card, but she was desperate. “Terrific.”
The next couple of hours were filled with last-minute details, a radio interview for Tristan, and compiling the final VIP guest list for the media. At four-thirty, Niki realized the floral arrangements hadn’t yet arrived.
She phoned the florist, but her call went unanswered. With her heart tattooing a wild beat against her ribs, she grabbed her purse and raced up the street to the store.
A Closed sign hung in the window. No! How could the man have done this to her after he’d promised?
I am so screwed.
Pacing the sidewalk, she tried to brainstorm her options. She’d never find another florist who could put together eight over-the-top centerpieces in no time flat.
Tristan was going to have a conniption. He’d fire her for sure. Good-bye job. Good-bye London. Good-bye regular paycheck. And knowing her luck, Grant would sell his house soon, she’d be left homeless again, and she’d be forced to move in with Dex and Lucy and feel like the mother of all third wheels. She couldn’t believe her life was imploding over a few centerpieces.
“He so did not tell me he needed flowers,” she muttered, stalking up the street in her heels. Who could see floral centerpieces in the dark at a nightclub, anyway? She had perfectly good candles in the storage room that were short enough to converse over and small enough to bat out of the way when you needed to make room for another round of drinks. Flowers would just be cumbersome for the guests.
But she knew there was no talking Tristan out of this idea, so she had to make it happen. And to be honest, the adrenaline rush of last-minute challenges like this one were part of the fun of her job.
She scanned the other businesses up and down the street until her gaze landed upon a bakery. They might have something she could use. Crossing her fingers, she hurried over.
In the corner, she spotted a display of wedding cakes and decorative centerpieces of tall, skinny vases full of calla lilies and gnarled, glitter-covered sticks that were unique and perfect.
The clerk came out from behind the counter. “Can I help you?”
“Hope so. I could really use those. I’ll pay whatever you want.” She pointed at the arrangements.
The young woman shook her head. “Those are part of our display. They’re not for sale.”
“What about for rent?” Niki asked. “I’ll give you fifty dollars if you let me borrow them until tomorrow.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. The owner’s not here, and I can’t make that decision.”
Niki steepled her fingers. “Please, I really need them.”
But her pleas weren’t enough to convince the girl. Outside the bakery, Niki used her phone to search for florists. She called the first four that popped up, and each gave her the same answer—they couldn’t do the arrangements on such short notice.
Throat tightening with dread, she strode back to the club. When her phone rang and she saw Grant’s name on the display, she thought about not answering, but she realized that his voice might be the only friendly one she heard for the next few hours, so she picked up. “Hey.”
“I wanted to wish you good luck tonight.”
“I’ll need it. In fact, I think I’ll need a miracle.” She told him about her dilemma.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “You can’t force a florist to do something they can’t. Tristan should understand that.”<
br />
She doubted he would, but somehow, Grant’s assurance made her feel a little better.
Back at Heatwave, the energy was ramping up higher and higher the closer they got to opening. She called a dozen more florists but hit a brick wall each time, and with media people phoning and emailing her non-stop, she barely had time to even take a breath.
All thoughts of the centerpieces disappeared when she learned that not one, but two of the bar staff hadn’t bothered to show up and weren’t responding to calls.
Tristan came into the office as she got off the phone with a temp agency that couldn’t provide them with anyone at the last minute.
He handed her a white tuxedo shirt and a bowtie. “You’ll have to bartend.”
“Me?” She shook her head. “I’ve never made anything more complicated than a vodka and cranberry juice.”
“You’ll be a bar back, only for tonight.”
She frowned. “So I’ll be helping out the bartenders?”
“Come on, Niki. I need you to be a team player.” Turning to leave, he stopped and faced her. “What about the floral arrangements for the VIP lounge?”
She gulped. “Um, about that…”
Disappointment was written all over Tristan’s face, from his deep frown to his pinched-tight brow. Suddenly, his tension was morphing into something worse—anger. His complexion turned red, and he folded his arms over his chest. Was he going to fire her?
Oh God. A stabbing pain started behind her temples. “I want you to know how hard I tried to have arrangements sent over, but—”
“Niki Hamilton?” a man said from the office doorway.
“That’s me.” Grateful for the temporary reprieve, she waved the guy inside.
“I have a delivery for you.” The man pointed at a cart behind him that held the most beautifully exotic centerpieces she’d ever seen.
Pink, blue, and yellow tropical flowers flanked the base of each triangular dish, and tall, silver-painted gnarled branches rose three or four feet from the centers. Best of all, the vases were lit from within. All of those colors should have looked jarring, but whoever had created the arrangements had simply made them beautiful. And a little edgy. Just what her boss had ordered.
The Best Man's Proposal (The Hamilton Sisters) Page 6