Call it Love

by Kress, Alyssa

  "Fiancée, huh?" The man's squint became more pronounced. "How nice that Mr. Bradshaw is gettin' married. What with the place falling down around us. That's sweet. I'm sure he deserves every happiness." The man then pointed toward the far end of the atrium. "Your fiancé's office is down there. Name's on the door." Blowing out a long breath, he turned and stomped in the opposite direction.

  Definitely not a happy camper. Cookie bit her lower lip. There was even more pressure on Chess to succeed here than she'd imagined. Henry Dublin, Head Technician, clearly knew the company wasn't doing well but had no idea Chess's marriage—to her—was designed to allay that situation.

  Of course, the marriage might not save the company. The perfume launch could fail to net a profit. Or, God forbid, the formula for the new perfume could be stolen, too, despite the new security measures Chess had told her about. Perhaps it was just as well the technician expect the worst.

  Letting out her own long breath, Cookie turned. She gazed in the direction she'd been pointed, unsure why she felt nervous. Chess had certainly surprised Cookie at any number of her jobs over the years, checking them out for her father. Why shouldn't she, for once, be the one checking Chess out at his job?

  Right. It was simply turnabout and fair play. It wasn't that she was developing a personal interest in the man.

  But when she found the glass door labeled "Director of Design" with Chess's name underneath, she could not help a peculiar pang of pride.

  After straightening the skirt of her suit, she knocked on the glass. Slatted blinds obscured a view of the room beyond, so she couldn't see any movement or indication that her knock had been heard above the hiss of the machines in the factory behind her.

  With a shrug, Cookie tried the knob. The door was unlocked. Cautiously, she pushed it open.

  Although she'd effectively let the noise of the factory into his office, Chess did not appear to notice. He sat at a low laboratory-type counter, a number of little glass bottles spread before him. As Cookie watched, he dipped a white strip of paper into one of them, drew it out, and waved it under his nose. Then, leaning back in his chair, he shook the strip of paper in the air and brought it back to his face.

  The dark lashes lowered over his cheeks as he breathed in deeply. Every line of his face and body concentrated in the act of inhalation. In that moment Cookie knew she was watching an artist at work.

  She felt a sudden, sharp access of identification. In some ways they weren't so different, herself and this man she'd agreed to marry.

  Finally, Chess seemed to realize he was no longer alone in his office. He opened his eyes and turned his head.

  "The door," Cookie said, gesturing toward that object with one hand. "It was unlocked. I don't think you heard my knock."

  To her relief, he smiled. Actually, the smile wasn't so unexpected. She was afraid there was something about herself that was amusing him these days. He often smiled at her and not just when other people were around.

  "Where on earth did you get that suit?" he asked.

  Cookie looked down at her outfit, which was vintage 1940. The styles from that era seemed created for her figure. This one fit like a glove. "It was a real find," she told Chess. "Five dollars at a garage sale. In perfect condition."

  "So it seems." He stood from his laboratory bench, throwing the white strip of paper on the counter. As he came forward, he was still smiling. "I didn't know you were coming." He put a hand on her shoulder, bent forward, and did something very strange.

  He kissed her.

  It was just a chaste kiss on the cheek, but they both stopped and froze.

  He forgot, Cookie thought. Chess had taken to making the odd gesture of affection for appearances' sake, just in case anybody noticed. This time, out of habit perhaps, he'd done so even though there was nobody in his office but the two of them. No witnesses.

  Taking in a breath, Chess let go of her and stepped back.

  Cookie didn't dare look at him. She didn't want anybody to see the sharp, stolen pleasure of that little kiss. When Chess touched her, there was pleasure instead of fear. It was a surprise each time. Each time, she felt as though she were pilfering someone else's treasure.

  "I thought we were going to meet at the lawyers' at two." Chess's tone clearly stated he'd like to forget the little slip-up.

  Cookie had been trained to act through the missed line or the messed cue. Besides, this wasn't her treasure, didn't belong to her. She smiled brightly. "I know. I thought I'd first drop by here instead." She averted her gaze and let it travel around the room. "You see, I've never been here. And since all of my assets are about to be tied up in the place, I was a little curious..." Her voice trailed off into an awkward silence.

  She stole a look back at Chess.

  He appeared nonplussed. "You want me to show you around?"

  "Only if you have time," she waffled. She'd known the man over half her life, but it was only during the last three weeks that she'd made an attempt to get to know him. She was finding the project an uphill battle.

  Right now, however, he appeared willing to oblige her. "Oh, I can make the time." But as he looked around the room, he frowned again, clearly wondering where to start. The room was a hodgepodge. About the size of his living room at home, it contained a mixture of laboratory equipment: mortars and pestles, beakers, and glass bottles. In one corner was an ancient scarred wood desk. The place was plain, even shabby. Not what she'd have expected of Chess.

  But then, she'd been learning that Chess was often quite different from what she'd expected.

  Oh, she would expect him to show up every night like clockwork to pick her up from the theater. Yes, he'd do that and without having to be asked. But she wouldn't have expected him to stand in the dressing room after the rest of the cast streamed in, clearly bewildered by the barrage of good-natured ribbing. Cookie wondered if anyone had dared joke with him in his life. He appeared to drink it all in like a very thirsty man.

  Then, no matter how late they got home, Chess would be up early the next morning, leaving a pot of coffee warming for Cookie on the counter and scribbled instructions on the counter regarding anything special in the house for breakfast.

  Sweet. That's what it was. Surprising, astonishing, but true. Chess was sweet.

  And tender. All anyone had to do was watch him with his roses in the backyard to learn this additional amazing fact about him. She watched every morning. From her bedroom window, she could see him among his prizes, digging or watering or trimming. He touched them with exquisite care. She didn't think dew would drop from the petals his hands were so gentle.

  Even when she wasn't watching him, Cookie often thought about Chess's gentle hands.

  Now she gestured in the direction of his lab bench. "Why don't you start with what you were doing just now?"

  He gave her an oddly shy smile. "That's where I do my composing."

  "Music?"

  Chess smile became almost boyish. "Fragrance people tend to talk in terms of music: high and low notes, themes and symphonies." He motioned for her to sit where she'd found him, behind a set of shelves filled with little glass bottles. "Those bottles hold different pure scents. After I make a combination, I test the results on these blotting papers." He picked up the white paper strip she'd seen him sniff.

  "Oh, yes!" Now Cookie made the connection. She'd been finding those strips of paper around the house. There were also normally a few sticking out of Chess's top jacket pocket when he came to pick her up from the theater.

  "Here." Chess picked up a blue bottle that stood at one side. He twisted open the cap and tilted the bottle to wet his finger. "This is a prototype of the new scent we're bringing out, the one you're betting all your money on. Why don't you try it out?"

  Cookie rolled the chair back as Chess held out his perfumed finger. "Oh, no," she said, waving her hands. "I can't."

  Chess's face went blank. "What?"

  Cookie closed her eyes. She supposed this moment had been inevitable. "I
can't wear perfume. I— Well, I seem to be allergic."

  He stared at her for a moment, and then a broad grin spread over his face. "You're allergic?"

  "My throat gets scratchy and my eyes turn red and watery. Really, I'm sorry, Chess. But it's true."

  He started to laugh. "You're allergic!"

  Just then the glass door to Chess's office burst open. "Chess, what in the world—?" Kate exclaimed. Her eyes went to her son in shock. "You're laughing!"

  "Cookie can't wear perfume!" Chess announced. "She's allergic!"

  "You're laughing," Kate repeated. She truly seemed amazed by the fact.

  Meanwhile, the woman behind Kate could have passed for her daughter. She was blond, delicately made, and dressed to a crisp professionalism. She did not look amazed nor did she smile.

  Finally, Kate swallowed her astonishment. Her brow furrowed. "I am sorry to interrupt, but Diana here has just told me some disturbing news."

  Sobering, Chess set down the prototype perfume bottle and sighed. "I suppose she told you how I plan to allocate the advertising budget."

  "Chess, we can't simply cease advertising our classic line," Kate remonstrated. "At least a minimum amount of advertising is necessary to remind our customers that the old perfumes still exist."

  The woman with Kate, Diana apparently, arched a well-shaped eyebrow at Chess.

  Looking at her, Cookie experienced a familiar sense of inadequacy. This Diana was the sort a man could take seriously. She was sure in her femininity but also certain that that femininity was never going to get in her way. No one would be measuring her intellect in inverse proportion to her bust size.

  Chess got to his feet. "While I agree it's not a good idea to abandon advertising for the classics, Diana and I discussed it. Given the overall amount we'll have at our disposal, we need to throw every dime we've got at the launch."

  Kate's mouth tightened. "With the loan you're getting from the bank—putting the whole company up for collateral—you ought to be able to spare a few hundred thousand on advertising the classic line."

  Chess's mouth went into a tight line to match his mother's. "The return on our investment will be greater on the advertising for Temptation."

  Cookie knew Chess was delicately evading the truth: any money spent advertising the classics was wasted. It became money spent advertising the discount rip-offs.

  Kate glanced toward Cookie. "It's not too late to stop this."

  "Kate," Cookie began, conciliating. "I—"

  "As a matter of fact, we're going to sign the loan papers today," Chess put in, cutting her off. "They'll go into effect as soon as the vows are said."

  Kate's lips went white. "Maybe I've been wrong about— But as far as the launch is concerned, you're both headed for disaster." With an angry whirl, she stalked toward the door. The glass shuddered in its frame as she slammed it behind her.

  Cookie turned from the drama to witness Chess and Diana exchanging a glance. It was a glance that spoke of a hundred private understandings.

  "She's been impossible all morning," Diana informed Chess. "It seems there was an announcement of your upcoming nuptials in the newspaper."

  Chess snorted. "That must have been Ruth's idea. Her Dad's fronted nearly a million on this already, and she's terrified the wedding won't come off if she doesn't put some pressure on." Remembering Cookie, Chess turned her way with a slight frown. "I don't think you two have met. Rebecca, this is Diana Lorimar. Diana simply is my marketing department. Only been here six months, but I already don't know what I'd do without her. Diana, Rebecca Thibideaux." Chess paused with a peculiar smile. "And I don't know what I'd do without her, either."

  "Indeed." Diana's tone was arch as she held out her hand. "So, you're David's daughter."

  She knew. Ice went through Cookie as this realization hit. An office flirtation with the woman Cookie could have understood. Chess was a man, after all, and one of the more predatory of the species. She didn't expect much of him in the taste or abstinence department. But he'd told the woman about the deal, about David's will and that their marriage was solely for the benefit of the company. He hadn't told the head technician that Cookie was a mere paper bride, but he'd told this woman.

  That was betrayal.

  "David's daughter," Chess confirmed. "Our savior."

  Cookie felt his arm come around her waist and stiffened against the contact. No doubt about it. Chess had told Diana everything.

  "I had some numbers I wanted to go over with you." Diana spoke to Chess as though Cookie were not even there. "You want to come up to my office to look at them?"

  "Maybe later this afternoon. Right now, Rebecca and I have an appointment regarding the bank loan."

  "Oh." Diana smiled. "That's right. I guess none of my numbers will have much meaning if you don't get the loan to pay for the advertising campaign." She laughed.

  The laugh was like a spear through Cookie. Diana thought Cookie was funny.

  Cookie's eyes narrowed as she watched Diana's hand come to rest on Chess's arm, the one that was not around his fiancée's waist.

  "I'll see you later," Diana promised.

  Over my dead body. Chess would have to wait until the divorce if he wanted to fool around with the office help.

  "Sure, sure." Releasing his hold on Cookie, Chess stepped back, away from both women. "Cookie, let me put a few things away, and then we can go. Best not to keep lawyers waiting who charge by the hour."

  Cookie smiled sweetly at Diana. "So nice to meet you."

  Diana's eyes tightened a fraction of an inch as she smiled back. "Likewise."

  ~~~

  Cookie was being awfully quiet, Chess thought, as he maneuvered the car up Van Ness and toward the office of Scallini, Lampert, and Robbins. It wasn't a quietness of sound, but a whole-being kind of quiet. Normally she radiated: heat, light, energy. But now it was as though someone had turned off the switch.

  "You're not nervous about pulling this off, are you?" he asked. After he'd picked her up from the theater last night, Cookie had insisted on 'blocking out' the act they intended to put on for David's lawyers. In private amusement, Chess had let her lecture him on how to supply all the little physical details that would convince the lawyers that theirs was to be a real marriage.

  Chess didn't need a lesson on how to appear sexually intrigued by Cookie Thibideaux. The depth of his quite genuine interest was becoming impossible to ignore. Chess's sleeping male appetite had come awake again—and for the most inconvenient person possible: David Thibideaux's daughter.

  Maybe it was the marriage thing, Chess mused. That changed the chemistry. Married, he didn't feel like he was adding his best friend's daughter to his list of casual sex playmates. But marriage didn't change the danger. Millions of dollars and the fate of Scents Allure were on the line. Throwing a sexual element into the mix would be an act of sheer recklessness. He and Cookie had to end up married, and they had to do it sensibly, like the business partners they were.

  Cookie rubbed a thumb against her opposite index finger. "I don't understand why we couldn't have used a law firm other than my father's to set up the bank loan."

  Chess lifted a shoulder. "Efficiency and lack of time. Besides, putting the arrangements for the loan in the hands of David's lawyers makes it look like we don't have anything to hide about the deal."

  Cookie's thumb rubbed harder. "I suppose you're right. You're the expert, after all."

  "Pardon?"

  "On intrigue. You're the expert."

  Chess shot her a startled look. "Right." He hadn't expected trouble, particularly not at this crucial point. Things had been going so well—better even than he'd expected. Despite her stand about keeping her apartment, little by little Cookie had ended up moving into his house.

  Chess had felt a distinct pleasure when she'd brought in her plants. He was sure then that she meant to stay.

  But now he couldn't figure out what was wrong.

  His nervousness increased as he walked Coo
kie through the well-appointed reception area and down the hall to the office of Carl Robbins, the junior partner. The carpet was thick and the pale cream walls held original abstracts in oils and watercolors. Expensive. Naturally. David wouldn't employ any but the best.

  And the best, Carl Robbins, would be shrewd, not easy to fool. It didn't help that suddenly Cookie didn't seem to have her heart in the role.

  Chess stopped her outside the closed walnut door of the lawyer's office. They'd better get their act together before they went inside. "Cookie, wait." His hand clasped her shoulder.

  Cookie whirled on him. "Don't touch me!"

  Carl Robbins opened his door just in time to witness Chess's shocked face as Cookie stepped back from his hand.

  "Uh oh," Robbins murmured.

  Cookie didn't skip a beat. "Mr. Robbins? How do you do? Rebecca Thibideaux." She stuck out her hand, received a bemused shake from the gray-haired lawyer, and stalked past him into the office, clearly pissed off at her fiancé.

  "Chester Bradshaw," Chess muttered, privately steaming. How dare she do this to him!

  Robbins, a scholarly-looking man with wire-frame spectacles, genially shook Chess's hand. He was the same lawyer who'd explained David's will a few days after his funeral. "I've heard a lot about both of you over the years. Please, come in."

  Cookie, of course, had already entered the room. Without invitation, she flopped into one of the two leather chairs facing the large walnut desk at one side of the room. She crossed her arms over her chest and pursed her lips toward the empty space across the desk.

  "Please, have a seat," Robbins murmured in Chess's direction. His eyes, however, were on Cookie and the stocking-clad knee she'd exposed by crossing one leg over the other.

  Chess felt the same uncomfortable twist of jealousy he now experienced every time another man looked at his bride. Cookie, he'd observed, never seemed to notice the male attention. She didn't appear to notice now, either, too busy ruining everything for which he'd worked.