Book Boyfriends Cafe Summer Lovin' Anthology 2015

by Melinda Curtis

  “Honey, you’ve always said you just want to design and make beautiful clothes,” he said.

  “Fletcher and his family seemed so nice,” Mom chimed in. “If he can make life easier for you, why not? You can always leave and design for another company if you want.”

  I sighed. “I’m scared.”

  “It’s okay to feel scared, honey.” Mom, the pop psychologist.

  “Just don’t let your fear freeze you,” my father added. “Consider this carefully. We’ll be here if you want to talk again.”

  “How do you think this will affect Natalie?”

  Mom answered, “If he can lift some of the burden off your shoulders, you’ll have more time for Nat.”

  “She’s been uptight lately, because I’m so stressed, I guess.” My belly churned.

  “It seems to me that this joint venture thing could help you on all levels, honey. It wouldn’t hurt you to have a man around, you know.”

  “Oh, Dad!” My voice rose in exasperation. “That’s just not a concern right now. I can’t think about a relationship with everything else that’s going on.”

  “It doesn’t hurt to look around,” he father said. “Jenna, didn’t you say this fella’s pretty good-looking?”

  “Oh, Dad, stop it.” I giggled, a little hysterically, and my parents joined in. Bless them for making me laugh. “But the whole idea was to be independent. Now some guy is going to be taking care of me.”

  “Sweetheart, be realistic. We live in an interdependent world,” Dad said.

  “And you knew one day that you’d sell your company or license your name. It’s just happening faster than you thought,” Mom said.

  “Would you feel better if Fletcher Wolf were a woman?” he asked.

  “Maybe,” I answered. “But that’s sexist, isn’t it?”

  “Yep,” Dad said.

  “’Fraid so, honey,” Mom murmured.

  “I don’t want to, but I guess I’m gonna bite the bullet and do it,” I said. “I guess.”

  “It’ll be okay, honey.” Dad sounded confident and comforting. “Just send the contract to Banner and Crayton in Syracuse and have them take a look at it. Make sure you know what you’re getting into before you do it.”

  “I love you. Thanks for being here for me.”

  “Love you, honey,” my parents chorused.

  I took a deep breath and went back to the conference room. Fletcher smiled at me as I entered. “Ready for lunch?” he asked.

  “Yep,” I said.

  “Okay. Cara, why don’t you ride with me, and we can talk some more. Mike, we’ll meet you and Ann at, umm, that sandwich shop near the park.” Fletch grabbed my elbow and swept me out before Ann could say a word.

  ~*~

  Fletcher’s driver opened the limo door and held it, waiting. Fletch climbed in. Seated, he looked at me, his eyes glimmering from the dark interior of the limo. Wolf in his lair. I hesitated, and he beckoned me with an outstretched hand.

  What was it about this man that made me so confused? The way he held my hand made me feel both secure and threatened at the same time. His plans for my business would result in bailout and takeover. The wildness in his eyes promised erotic bliss coupled with masculine possession.

  Did I want to belong to Fletcher?

  I settled on one side of the bench seat, a safe two feet away from him. He smiled at me, and my heart jumped into my throat, blocking my breath.

  The driver closed the door, shutting me in, alone with Fletch.

  “Sam, take us to that place we ate at yesterday,” Fletcher said, as the driver seated himself behind the wheel.

  “Yes, sir.” The limo glided into the traffic.

  Depressing a button, Fletch raised the smoked glass panel between driver and passengers, still smiling at me. And why wouldn’t he smile?

  He’d set me up, totally. I’d been played by a master. Perhaps a takeover of my company was what he’d planned all along.

  “You do realize what this is about, don’t you?” he asked.

  “Yeah.” I dropped my head into my hands. He was going to take everything away from me. Everything I’d wanted my whole life. I’d worked my ass off, and now Fletcher Wolf was a hair’s breadth from taking it all.

  I swallowed, feeling ill, then managed to raise my head. “I don’t know if I can agree to the proposal.”

  “Why not? It’s a perfect solution for both of us.”

  I closed my eyes. Hot tears lurked behind my lids and jammed my throat. Damn. I would not, could not, shame herself by crying in front of this man. Thank heaven I’d taken an extra tranquilizer. I’d have melted into a full-blown panic attack if I hadn’t.

  “Talk to me. Tell me.”

  I opened my eyes, willing the tears back to their ducts. “I don’t know if I can explain.”

  “Try. If we’ll be working together. Even if you reject this proposal, I have the right to know.”

  I fiddled with the heavy seam running down the side of my denim skirt. “When I was a kid, other girls dressed their Barbies in store-bought outfits, but I made mine.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yeah. I would rip out seams, add accessories, paint the fabric, even sew totally new costumes. I made Hippie Barbie, Disco Barbie, and even Punk-ass Barbie.”

  He shouted with laughter. “That’s great. I wish I’d seen that. What did she look like?”

  “Punk-ass Barbie had a neon-green Mohawk and a camo mini. Hot-pants Biker Barbie had a black vinyl jacket and boots. Corporate Clone Barbie… Well, you can imagine.”

  He grinned. “Do you still have them?”

  “Nope. I put the Barbies in an art display at my elementary school for parents’ night. The owner of a local gallery saw them and gave me a show. He sold every one.” I paused, recapturing my pride and self-possession. “I was eight.”

  He sat back. “All right, I’m impressed. What drives you, Cara?”

  “I don’t know.” I hesitated. “I just know I have to succeed my way, alone.”

  “No one does it alone.”

  I leaned into the seat. “Baloney. You’re alone. It’s lonely at the top, but you like it there, don’t you? We can’t work together. We’ll fight constantly.”

  “Listen, it’ll work. I’m committed to you, Cara Fletcher.”

  What the hell was he saying? Though scared of what I might see, I dragged my gaze to his.

  His eyes blazed, golden and bright with determination. “I’m committed to your talent and your company. We’ll make it work. We’ll be…we’ll be…just like Adam and Eve.” He gave me a sly wink.

  With so much at stake, I wasn’t going to flirt. “They got thrown out of Eden.”

  “Romeo and Juliet.”

  “They died, Fletch.”

  He threw his arms out wide. One of them hit the window. “There’s just no pleasing you, is there? So we’ll be like Lucy and Ricky!”

  I was overcome by giggles. “You better hope not! Remember what Lucy did in the candy factory?”

  He laughed with me, a good sign. “Don’t worry. Cara Fletcher Couture will hum along like a well-oiled machine with me at the helm.”

  I calmed down. “You have a lot to learn about the couture business.”

  “I have the best teacher in the world.” He caught my hand and kissed my fingers.

  Shivers ran down my spine. What the hell was that about? I pushed him away. “Cut it out. Don’t try to fool around with me while you’re stealing my company.”

  “You don’t get it, do you?”

  “What I get is that you’re trying to get my company through me.”

  Fletch laughed. “You have it bass-ackwards, honey. I’m trying to get to you through your company.”

  “Huh?”

  “Think about it. You and me. Working together, with each other, for each other.”

  I clutched my hands together in my lap and closed my eyes. Confusion mushed my thoughts. Who was he kidding? “Please. This is too much. I just can�
�t think about that right now.”

  “Fine. Think about this.” He came in close and fast and kissed me.

  Oh God, I loved his mouth. This man was the best kisser in the world. My heart danced with hope and my body thrummed with pure lust. My fate was signed, sealed and delivered. I’d have my hands full with Fletcher Wolf in my life. Complex and demanding, he’d challenge me on every level: intellectual, sexual, and, God help me, emotional. His need to run the show no doubt matched mine.

  Both Fletcher and I needed to be on top. Who would win?

  Pushing aside my questions, I slid one hand into his hair and grabbed his lapel with the other to pull him closer. He stroked my breast, and everything in me sparkled. I purred with pleasure, and he answered with a growl from deep in his throat. He played with my nipple, which peaked in response.

  The limo stopped. He slid away from me, leaving me breathless and bereft.

  Sam opened the door.

  “Think about it, babe. What use do I have for a clothing company?” Fletcher stepped out of the limo, extending a hand to help me out.

  I took it, still befuddled by the unexpected make-out session. “That’s what I’ve been asking myself. I just can’t figure you out.”

  “I’m a man. Males are really very simple. You’ll like this place,” he added as he escorted me into the café. “The sandwiches here are great. I promise not to order beef.”

  Chapter 11

  Do you know what you’ve done?” Maggie slapped a copy of the joint venture agreement onto her desk. “Do you think he’ll be satisfied with just C.F.O. and fifty percent? Wolf will rip this company right out of your hands!”

  “Don’t be paranoid.” I left my drafting table to pour coffee into a battered ceramic mug, one of Nat’s best creations. She’d whimsically added pink elephant’s ears and a trunk to the gray pottery. “This deal’s solved a lot of problems for us. He’ll take care of the money I owe. Even better, no more lawsuit.”

  “He’ll poke his nose everywhere. It’ll spoil everything!”

  “Why? This company is about designing clothes. How could he mess that up? You’ve read the contract. He has no say, none, regarding any design. So what could be the problem?”

  “He’s a corporate raider, and you’re nothing but his cash cow.”

  I raised my eyebrows, trying not to feel bothered or bovine. “If he can make life easier for all of us while we make clothing, more power to him.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way, but it’s done. Because of the debt load, I really didn’t have much choice. Besides, I have a show to put on, remember? I’m tired of side issues stealing my attention. I have to focus on Nat and clothing. Wolf will help me do just that.”

  She looked at me with narrowed eyes. “That was supposed to be my job.”

  “What?”

  “Taking care of the details so you could focus.” She paused, as though waiting for encouragement.

  Well, none would be forthcoming. I wouldn’t sugarcoat the truth to her. Fact was, she’d fallen down on the job. Her failure had weakened the company to the extent that I’d been forced into the joint venture with Wolf. The company had been my baby. Mine, not Maggie’s. I hated the situation, but the deal was done and I had to live with it.

  Her lips tightened into a thin line. “I’ll clean out my desk right away.”

  “I really don’t think that’s necessary. You’re still my personal assistant. He’s C.F.O., which means he’ll oversee finances. That’s all.”

  “So what am I supposed to be doing?”

  “Look, Fletcher knows nothing, zip, zero, about the fashion business. He can’t do what you do. Who’s gonna arrange marketing, deal with personnel, help me put on the runway shows? You, that’s who.” I eyed Maggie, hoping that her ego wouldn’t become a problem. “So now that the joint venture agreement’s been signed, life will settle down around here, okay?”

  While Maggie freaked, I worried. What changes would the Fletcher Wolf Era bring?

  I avoided contact with Fletch after the day of the settlement conference, preferring to conduct negotiations away from his disturbing presence. The memory of his kisses still burned. As far as I was concerned, he was one-hundred percent off-limits, even if he could make my body sing with joy.

  Because he’d be working with me, ignoring him would be tough, even impossible. I dreaded Monday morning, which would be Day One of the Fletcher Wolf Era.

  When Natalie and I left our brownstone to hail a cab, I saw a familiar black limousine parked in the street. I realized with a jolt that Fletcher brought surprises even at the early hour of eight o’clock.

  Sam leaned nonchalantly against the back fender. “Good morning, Ms. Fletcher, Miss Fletcher.” He sprang to open the door for us.

  “Who are you?” Natalie asked.

  The sandy-haired young man extended a hand to her. “I’m Sam, your driver. May I take your bags?”

  Looking bemused, Natalie handed him her backpack and her gym bag, which he put into the trunk of the limo. If I hadn’t been so outraged at Fletcher’s high-handedness I’d have laughed at the dumbfounded expression on her face. Because of Kenney’s antics, she’d grown a tough shell around her emotions faster than a hen produced an egg at laying time. She didn’t expose herself to strangers, but Sam had cracked her open merely by shaking her hand and ushering her into a limo. Taking my gear, he closed the door behind us.

  “Good morning, Cara, Natalie.” Emanating from behind the Wall Street Journal, Fletcher’s mellow southern bass filled the limo’s interior. He folded his newspaper, putting it on the seat beside him. “Juice?”

  The car sped off while he opened a small refrigerator in the front area of the limo and gave Natalie a juice box.

  She took it and said, “Where are we going?”

  “Computer camp, of course.” He lifted the newspaper back into place, concealing his expression.

  “How do you know where it is?” I asked.

  The paper lowered. He raised his brows. He tapped on the partition dividing passengers from driver. It opened. “Sam, what’s your schedule today?”

  “Eight-fifteen a.m. Drop Miss Natalie at computer camp at the Midtown Teen Center. Eight-thirty, Ms. Fletcher’s workshop. Twelve noon, take you and Ms. Fletcher to lunch. Three-thirty, pick up Miss Natalie, get her a snack, then take her to an afternoon activity, her choice. Five p.m., pick up you and Ms. Fletcher.”

  “Thank you, Sam.” Fletcher smiled at us.

  “This really isn’t necessary,” I said.

  “Oh, but it is. Your habit of using taxis is extremely wasteful.”

  “With all due respect, how I get to work is not your business.”

  His brow raised again. “Does Cara Fletcher Couture pay for your transportation?”

  I pursed my lips.

  “Gotcha, honey.” The Wall Street Journal elevated once more, rustling as he turned a page.

  The limo stopped for Natalie to get out. I noticed through the open door that Sam watched her until she’d entered the building.

  Alone with Fletcher in the cozy confines of the limo, my nerves tightened. He tended to get touchy-feely at the oddest times. But how bad could that be?

  When he’d kissed me in the limo after the settlement conference, I’d melted right then and there. Next he’d gotten out of the car and continued talking all through lunch about the deal in such a cool, rational way that I’d been convinced that he wasn’t half as attracted as I.

  Although he’d implied that the only reason he wanted the company was to get into my Victoria’s and find out my Secrets, I didn’t believe that for a second. Okay, I’m cute, but not the kind of wildly sexy and beautiful that drove men to extremes. And Fletcher Wolf, who no doubt had girls and money galore, wouldn’t go to so much trouble over me. Take away the magic hair, changeable eyes, and nice clothes, and what was I? A skinny, pale woman with no chest or hips to speak of, with a troubled child in tow and a demanding
career. Five million dollars was a lot to pay for a quickie, and he’d never implied that he looked for a permanent relationship. What did the man really want?

  I’d never have a romance with a co-worker. That was just plain stupid. What if the affair went awry? I had Trent Whiting—oops, Trent Nevada—to remind me of how stupid that could be.

  A botched relationship with my C.F.O...the consequences were too dreadful to contemplate. Despite the price I could pay, I was tempted. Oh, yeah, was I ever. The memory of Fletcher’s touch lingered. One smile from this man and my brain spun off into crazy dreams and risqué fantasies.

  My pulse leaped at his sudden movement. He rapped at Sam’s partition again. “Stop at the next store you see, please.”

  “What now?” I asked. “This stop isn’t on the schedule.”

  He raised his brows at my sarcasm. “I prefer fresh cream in my coffee.”

  “Oh, there’s Coffee Mate or something at the atelier. Don’t worry about that.”

  His brows twitched for the fourth time that morning, and it wasn’t even eight-thirty. Would he set a record?

  After the limo stopped in front of a mom-and pop, he left for about two minutes, returning with a small carton in hand. What was this business about fresh cream, anyway?

  Nope, I couldn’t fool with Fletcher, the man with the thirty page prenuptial contract as well as a gazillion personality quirks. Besides, Nat didn’t like him, and Nat came first.

  More surprises awaited me when we arrived at the workshop. Fletcher carried his briefcase and a laptop while Sam unloaded a top-of-the-line coffee maker, a grinder, a jug of distilled water, and a large bag of beans. I hadn’t any idea that Fletcher was so persnickety about his coffee, but here was the living proof.

  After I climbed the steel stairs to the loft, I was met by another unexpected sight. A huge old desk occupied most of the available space in the area. Wooden and battered, it sported an unsightly stain on one corner. Even more damaging to my state of mind, it sat less than three feet from my drafting table.

  “Wh-when did this get here?” I sputtered.

  “Over the weekend. Can’t work without my desk. Sam, put the coffee pot over there.” Fletcher nodded his head toward the long table under the loft’s windows. He turned. “Good morning, Maggie.”