by Jean Oram
“Yes.”
He looked up. “Yes?”
“Selfish reasons aren’t enough. It has to be noble.”
“How very romantic of you.”
“Catch me if I swoon.” There was no humor in her voice. “I need your help, Tristen, and I know you want it your way. I get that. But we’ve agreed to work together. Again. And you can’t shut me down every time I want to take another route on top of yours. We’ll do it your way, but we’re going to do some of my things, too.”
“Don’t let it sidetrack you or detract from the main strike. The hit we know is going to make a dent.” He pursed his lips in thought. “You’re going to need stories—something people can tie into.”
“You just said that won’t work.”
He gave an exasperated sigh. “I mean in real life.”
“Long-gone lovers is real life.”
“We need to stick with this century so folks can relate to it. Something that will stir people up but still hit Rubicore in the pocketbook.”
Maya was right. If something wasn’t connected to the here and now, nobody cared. Melanie suppressed the urge to cry at the futility of it all. She was wasting her time. And for what? To delay the inevitable? As Tristen had said, Rubicore would get their way. She’d be better off if she sold everything she owned to save Trixie Hollow.
CHAPTER 8
Melanie was in his space. Specifically, she was in his bedroom, but she wasn’t dressed in lingerie. At least if she was, it was covered by her 1950s sex appeal dress. He should have told her to stay in the living room while he came to retrieve his laptop.
After hearing from Dot that Melanie planned to go to a party held by Rubicore, he’d asked her to meet him at his place after work to sort out a strategy. But something was off with Melanie. When he’d left her at the museum last night she’d looked dejected, but he’d thought she was still on board. But now it was as though she’d given up, and he was finding himself more invested in the fight against Rubicore than she was.
He moved them to the outdoor patio overlooking the water, and offered her a bottle of water and a seat. He waited until she was comfortable, then settled on the other side of the small coffee table.
“First off, why do you want to go to the party?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Free food.”
“And free booze?”
She rewarded him with a small smile.
“You okay?” he asked.
She gave a half shrug.
“Well, tomorrow night, just keep quiet. It’ll be difficult, but go with the intention of listening. Watch for the unsaid things between the men. They’re going to try and play you and your sisters. Possibly divide and conquer. Distract you, woo you, perhaps try to switch your attention to something that isn’t related to them. Give you another target to fight against.”
“Right. Reconnaissance.” Melanie shifted, her legs long and tempting. The passion to fight Rubicore was gone and she seemed smaller and lost somehow.
“You need someone to go with you,” he said.
“To the party? My sisters are going with me.”
Tristen ran the heels of his palms down his quads, working out tension left over from his early morning run around the museum’s island. The way she was acting, he was afraid Rubicore would get her and her sisters to sign a noninterference agreement or something that would bind her, leaving her unable to fight when she got her spirit back. While he couldn’t go with her, as Aaron would immediately know what they were up to, maybe he could convince someone else to go along to keep them safe. But who?
“Someone who knows Rubicore’s games,” he said.
“You.”
He watched as conflicting emotions moved across her face.
“Not me. Aaron knows me.”
“You’re enemies?”
“I wouldn’t say enemies, exactly.”
“Your hesitation says there’s a story.”
Her smile was welcoming, beckoning him to talk. Nuh-uh. She would have to find a less tough nut to crack.
“Nothing but boring backstory.”
“You know what I love most about the Winged Goddess at the boat show?”
Bait. It was bait.
“I love that the owner left the boat’s subtle signs of age,” she said.
“Poor restoration and lack of proper storage, care, and maintenance,” Tristen interjected, knowing he was being a jerk. But he also knew it was likely his only defense against the attack she was lining up. She was going to give him a heart-softening story and set him up for the kill. Just like Dot did. No way to stay clammed up without being a total dick. He admired her for it, even though it sucked being on the receiving end.
“You must be a good lawyer.”
She ignored him, carrying on, her voice a soothing balm. Putting him in a trance before the attack, and heck, he didn’t even mind. “I can stare at that boat for hours, always seeing something new. Unlike most of the other boats that show up there, it still has a few dings, respecting the fact that they mark the passage of time, its history and stories. They show what it’s been through. It’s wholly unique. They haven’t covered up what most would try to hide.”
“And?”
She moved to sit beside him. Her body pressed against his shoulder, not in a take-me-now-big-boy sort of way, but rather a let-me-in way. “I like backstory, Tristen Bell, and if we are going to work as a team you need to quit hiding from me.”
“I’m not hiding.”
Dot stomped onto the patio, grabbing a diet something from the fridge. He needed to stop buying that crap, as it would give her a tumor.
“Have you cleaned your room?” he asked, grateful for the interruption.
“I just got home. I was working all day.” She plopped into the nearest chair, her legs splayed over its arms, her back contorted in a way that made his nerves scream in terror.
“Sit properly. You’re going to give yourself spinal problems.”
Her mouth moved with what he was sure were silent insults as she swung her legs to the floor.
“Studies show diet stuff isn’t good for you. Plus, a teenager doesn’t need to be worrying about dieting.”
“I’m almost an adult,” Dot said. “I could apply for emancipation.”
“Don’t start.”
“I’m going to town to get signatures.”
“I told you to leave it.”
“It’s for a petition, Dad.”
“For what?”
“I told you already.”
“Watch your tone.”
She held in an eye roll. Things had been getting better between him and Dot since she’d begun working with Melanie, but there were still times when he wanted to ship her back to Toronto.
“Is that the trash petition?” Melanie asked.
“Yeah.”
“I dropped a letter off at the municipality and sent one in to the paper, too,” Tristen said.
“I’m going to town,” Dot said.
“If you’re taking my bike, don’t forget a helmet.”
Once Dot was out of earshot, Melanie said, “You shouldn’t harp on her about diet stuff. She’s probably really sensitive about her body right now. Seventeen is still an impressionable age.”
“She seems pretty tough to me.”
“The way you talk about what she puts in her body will have a lasting impact.”
Melanie’s cheeks were flushed. Were they were dipping into her backstory instead of his? If so, very nice.
“Did your dad say things when you were a teen?”
“No.” She tipped her head down.
“Then why do you feel I have such an impact? She needs to eat better.”
“Show her how. Talk about it. Don’t order her.”
Tristen clenched his hands, trying to quell his anger. He appreciated Melanie caring, but this was his life, his daughter, his job to raise her.
Melanie said in a rush, “I know she’s with you only for a month, but you’re im
portant to her. Her experiences now—including those with her body and food—are shaping the woman she’ll become. If you’re not careful, you could have a serious impact on her self-image.” Melanie began gracefully ticking things off on her long fingers. “On her self-esteem, confidence, self-worth. She needs to know you love her however she looks. That you support her and that you’re there for her.”
He cleared his throat, unsure what to say. This was getting kind of touchy-feely.
“Show her she has the power to take on the world.”
There was that passion he’d been looking for. Irresistible.
He leaned over and kissed Melanie.
When she didn’t pull back, he deepened the kiss. Her lips were perfect against his, soft cushions, her mouth wet and warm. He cradled her head, making love to her mouth in a way that took him back to his teenage, lust-fueled years. A woman hadn’t turned him on like this in forever. Not even Cindy.
And to think that only moments ago he’d been peeved at Melanie.
She pulled back, her cheeks flushed.
He held her forehead to his. “That was really sexy, what you said.”
Her whole body flushed with the compliment.
“You’re blushing worse than a lobster.”
She straightened the hem of her dress, pulling out of his grip, unable to meet his eye. “It’s not often that men kiss me to shut me up.” Her gaze met his and he was struck by the power behind it. If he wasn’t careful, he’d be a goner. But right now, that seemed like a tantalizing promise rather than a threat.
He reached for her, his thumb resting in front of her ear as he drew her head close again. Her earring tickled his palm. He waited a beat, and her chin tipped up. She wanted another kiss. He could oblige her. No harm, no foul.
“Ew!” Dot’s voice was laced with disgust.
Melanie leaped back and Tristen sighed, resting a hand on her bare knee, a knee he didn’t want escaping just yet.
“What do you need, Dot?”
“I didn’t need to see that.” The disgust was still there.
“What do you need?” he repeated, more insistently.
“I have to go to the far end of town to see if Samantha will help, and there’s no air in the back tire.”
“I said no girlfriends unless I was present.”
“No, you didn’t. You said I couldn’t go to their house unless you said it was okay. I’m just picking her up.”
“The pump is in the shed.”
Dot disappeared, but the mood on the couch was broken. Tristen leaned back, his arm draped over the back of the sofa so if Melanie relaxed, she’d be in his embrace.
She stood. “I told Daphne I’d take care of Tigger—my niece—tonight. Did you have any more advice for the party?”
“Yeah, don’t go.” He hooked her index finger with his.
“My sisters and I—”
“I meant right now.”
Her perfect mouth popped open, then shut. She looked away, her brow furrowed, her finger dropping his. “Don’t play games, Tristen.”
“No game. Stay.”
“I’m leaving.” She was backing away, spooked. “Tomorrow night, I’ll keep my mouth shut and ears open.” Her hands were shaking, but she hesitated, seemingly at war with herself.
He forced himself to stay seated, to not chase after her. “It was just a kiss.”
She bent over, so close he thought she was going to pick up where they had left off. He smiled, waiting for her to land.
“It is never. Just. A. Kiss,” she whispered.
* * *
Tristen had thought about Melanie all night long and woken with a raging erection that was difficult to ignore. What was he supposed to do with her? He couldn’t send her out to the wolves on her own for this dang party. But if he went, it would ruin the entire element of surprise, which was the only way they’d win against a company like Rubicore.
Around four in the morning he’d come up with a plan. Not a perfect plan, as it meant putting his pride and dignity on the shelf, as well as asking his daughter for a major favor that had likely made her throw up in her mouth when she’d finally stopped laughing at him.
He knocked on the door to Melanie’s rather small house, feeling hopeful.
She opened the door, her bathrobe tucked tightly around her curves. Her hair was in an updo and she smelled like nail polish. She was going to the party. Good. And she was smiling in surprise, but was it because there was someone odd at her door, or because she recognized him, even though he was dressed in women’s clothing?
Speaking to her might be a problem, he realized, as she waited for him to do so. He held a hand to his throat and used a light, raspy voice. “I’m so sorry, I’m losing my voice. Do you happen to know where number 85 is?”
Melanie paused, thinking, then leaned out the door, one eye on Tristen. She pointed vaguely up the street.
He laid a hand lightly on her elbow and thanked her.
She jolted, head tilted back like a horse about to rear. “Tristen?” The pulse at her neck was throbbing madly.
“Hello.”
Melanie sniffed the air. “Is that Katy Perry’s new perfume?”
He gave a dejected sigh. “Yeah.”
She stared at him, her fingers resting against her neck, her other arm wrapped tight around her middle.
“You didn’t recognize me, right? I mean, at first?”
“No. You look very…” Melanie’s eyes trailed down his tight red dress, to the second-hand heels, then up to the short blond wig he’d borrowed from Dot. He felt like a drag queen with foundation and powder layered on so thick over his close-shaven cheeks, but Dot had assured him that nobody would recognize him and that he didn’t look half bad. “Um…different,” Melanie said. “Pretty good, actually.” Her eyes drifted over him again.
He was going to have to be crazy vigilant about keeping his knees together, not adjusting himself, keeping things tucked in place, and generally acting as though he was the real thing, but it looked as if he might have found a way to make sure Melanie stayed safe at the party.
“We’re good then. I’ll go with you.”
Her shoulders shook and she put a hand to her mouth as though trying to hold in a bubble of laughter. Finally, it bubbled up and burst forth. The seal broken, laughter flowed like lava until she was bent over, gasping for breath.
“Nice.” Tristen turned away, hands on his hips. He flicked out the skirt of his dress, not used to the way it tickled his newly shaved legs. Apparently that move fueled the fire, as she only laughed harder. He whirled, fed up. He hadn’t denuded his arms and legs of hair for nothing. He only had a few hours until his five o’clock shadow would be begin to peek through the makeup—there wasn’t time for this. “You can’t go to this thing alone, Melanie. You need a man to go with you and keep you safe. You need me.”
She sobered up as though someone had thrown her in an icy lake.
“You are not going alone.”
“The more I stare at you, the more you look like a really big man squeezed into a form-fitting dress that might pop off you at any moment like an overstretched rubber band.”
“You didn’t recognize me.” He wasn’t sure if it was the conversation or the dress, but he was definitely feeling like the girl in this situation.
“No, you can’t come.” Her voice was firm as she subtly backed into the house.
He placed a hand on the door so she wouldn’t be able to shut it on him. “I am going with you, Melanie Summer, and that is that.”
A woman appeared behind Melanie and flinched so abruptly she almost fell over. “A drag queen? Wow, you don’t see those very often.”
“Maya, not now,” Melanie said, her voice filled with impatience.
“No, really. And wow, that tight dress is both scary and sexy.” Maya analyzed him, scratching her head. “The square neckline makes your shoulders way too broad, though. You’d look drool-icious in a suit.” Her eyes ran down him and he could have s
worn she licked her lips.
“Tristen Bell,” he said tightly, extending a hand to her.
Melanie’s sister gave him a wicked grin. “I knew you looked familiar! Wait until Connor hears about this.”
“Please don’t,” Tristen said with a grimace, as the woman took a picture of him with her phone before he could stop her.
“He wants to come to the party,” Melanie said. “He doesn’t seem to think I can handle myself.” Her arms were crossed, her mouth set.
“Good plan.” Maya didn’t glance up from her phone, as she was surely sending the photo to Connor. Tristen took the device, deleting the photo and text before she could send it off into the universe.
“Wow. You have massive hands,” she said as he handed back the phone. “Keep those tucked away or everyone will know you’re a man.” She turned to Melanie. “I need to help Daphne finish getting ready. You’re next, Mellie Melon. Don’t take too long.”
As the sister vanished into the house, a small child came bounding out. She launched herself at Tristen, squeezing him around his stomach so tight he thought he might involuntarily lose his lunch. Which was pretty impressive, seeing as that should be well digested and along its merry way by now.
The girl released him and bounded up a step, then looked him in the face before giving a shriek of terror.
Melanie swept the child into her arms and whispered something into her unruly curls. The girl’s terror-mortis eased.
“I thought you were Lady Gaga.” The girl eyed him again. “I wrote her a letter asking if she’d come visit for my mom’s birthday. It’s in a couple of weeks.”
“I’m not Lady Gaga.”
“I know.”
He cleared his throat. “My name is Tristen Bell.”
“My auntie doesn’t like you. You won’t help her.”
“Tigger…” Melanie said in a warning tone, her cheeks pink. “This is my niece, Tigger. No secret is safe with her.”
“Will you help her?” The girl’s eyes were so big and round Tristen felt his heart ping.
“I am trying, but your auntie is making it very difficult.”