Just the Thing

by Marie Harte

  She frowned. “I thought Theo had left for boot camp already.” Theo Donnigan was a cute kid, twenty-one years old and full of excitement about his recent enlistment in the Marine Corps. Theo went through jobs the way Elliot went through boyfriends, so the Marines seemed like a final destination after a slew of quickie career choices.

  “It got postponed. He leaves right after Christmas.”

  “Elliot, I—”

  “Your ‘sad little life’ needs to change.” Elliot used air quotes around his favorite and often-used expression. Sadie had visions of dunking his fat head Saturday night. Please God, let there be apples, a barrel, and a lot of beer. “It’s embarrassing. You’re thirty-three years old.”

  “Thirty-two.”

  “You dress like Aunt Caroline.”

  Her aunt was an awesome woman but dressed as if refusing to let the eighties die.

  “I’m telling her you said that.”

  “Go ahead. She knows. My point is, you should be dating, enjoying life, laughing more. You mope around when not snarling at men…and you only meet them because they come into the shop. You do nothing but hang out at the gym all the time.”

  “First of all, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to be fit. I don’t just hang around the gym, you moron. I work out. Secondly, I scowl at all our customers. I hate people. Oh, and you forgot about me scaring small children and kicking puppies in my spare time,” she added with a healthy dose of sarcasm.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised.” He shook his head. “Men suck. We all know that. We cheat, we lie, and you can’t trust us. But sometimes you get lucky. Look at Rose.” Their younger sister constantly smiled now that she and her husband were expecting. Then again, Rose had smiled all the time before that. “Joe is a hell of a guy, and he’ll make an even better father.” Elliot smirked at her. “Think about it. We’re going to help raise their kid. Do you want to be known as the lonely, kooky aunt? Or the sexy, handsome uncle?” At her look, he amended, “I mean, sexy, gorgeous aunt?”

  “You want your niece or nephew calling you sexy? Because, ew.” She tried to wind down the conversation, unmuting the television and stretching her arms. “Gee, it sure is getting late. Shouldn’t you be heading out with Mr. GQ?”

  Elliot opened his mouth to say something, then paused, his attention riveted to the television, which now showed an interview with the crying blond. “Now that’s just sad. Motorcycle Madnezz was one of my favorites.”

  Sadie watched as a reporter chatted up busty Sahara. B-Man stood next to her, looking like the walking wounded.

  “You like watching them build custom bikes? I didn’t know you were into mechanic stuff.”

  “I’m not. The MM guys are hot.” He wiggled his brows.

  “How can you tell under all that bruising?”

  “Oh, B-Man’s not bad. And some of the mechanics have a tough kind of biker charm. But Gear is so sexy. He’s gruff and has no time for the cameras, and he’s intense. B-Man is the show’s charm. Sahara, the glam.” He sighed. “You should dress like that. She’s gorgeous.”

  “Are those even real?” Sadie asked, snarky as she stared at the woman’s large chest.

  “Who cares? She wears them well. She’s Gear’s fiancée. Or maybe ex, now that everyone’s breaking up. Damn it. I am so sorry I’m going to miss tonight’s episode.” He checked his watch and frowned.

  “See? Even TV personalities don’t last. Dating sucks. Men are assholes. And I’m done with all of you.” Seeing how happy her sister was, Sadie had given dating another shot a few weeks ago. Another chance to find her Mr. Right. But her first and last date with the jerk, he’d conveniently left his wallet at home during their dinner out, tried to cop a feel that went nowhere fast, then left her to use a public restroom…and never returned. Good riddance, but still.

  “You might be done with us, but we’re not done with you.” Elliot leaned down and pinched her cheek, which he knew irritated the crap out of her. “I’m not kidding about going to the party, Sadie. Our business needs it, and I’m done with your attitude.” He paused, giving her the green-eyed glare of death. And yes, he’d named it. “You will go with me, you will be charming, and you will help us grow our customer base. If you want to be miserable, at least be rich and miserable.” He sniffed. “Or I’m telling Dad.”

  Hell. She did not want to deal with her father. Big Tony wanted his children happy. Straight, gay, single, or married, it didn’t matter to him how she lived her personal life. But screwing around with financial responsibilities, with business? That would not go over well. And she knew Elliot would spin things his way.

  “Fine. I’ll go. But I won’t like it.” Sadie tried one last excuse and in a whiny voice said, “The smart thing would be to have Rose go. She’s not that pregnant. Only six months, and she’s barely showing. She’s gorgeous, charming, fun.”

  “Everything you’re not.” Elliot ignored the finger she shot him. “But she’s a master at organizing, and we need her running the staff.”

  “Staff? Try two teenagers, an almost Marine, and our sister. That’s what you call staff? Man, talk about delusions of grandeur.”

  She could almost hear his teeth grinding and basked in the brief moment of victory.

  “My point, dear sister, is that you need to suck it up. Hell, have fun for once. Maybe you’ll find a guy you like.”

  Sadie grimaced. “You really have a way with words.” But he had a point. Maybe she should find a guy. Something physical might clear her mind and cheer her up. Hmm. Did she really want to take a turn on a hookup app? No, better to find someone anonymous at a party, get her goody on, and leave.

  “What’s that look?” Elliot frowned. “I don’t trust that smile.”

  “No problem. I’m just thinking I’ll take your advice.”

  “What? Why?”

  “I’m going to find myself a man at your party. Hell, maybe I can sell my born-again virginity to a billionaire investor who’s into baked goods and tall girls. He can take me to his dungeon and whip me while I seduce him into letting us name a cookie after him.”

  Elliot rolled his eyes. “Sure thing, Fifty Shades of Insanity. So long as you’re there Saturday and you’re charming. Or just not angry. Okay?”

  “Deal.”

  Elliot leaned close—to kiss her cheek good-bye, no doubt. For all that he annoyed her, he’d also do anything for her, and she loved the brat. She angled her cheek toward him.

  Then the rat bastard stole the remote and turned up the volume. “Oh my God. Look at what Gear did to B-Man’s face! That’s gonna leave a mark.” He shoved her back by her forehead while he held the remote up over his head.

  “Don’t you have someone to bone?” she said nastily, trying to shove away his arm.

  “Oh, I can be a few minutes late. Pierre won’t mind.” He shot her an amused glance. “But Sadie, if you plan on Shading your way to a billionaire, you really do need to do something about that hair.”

  * * *

  “Yo, suckfest. What about that one?”

  Harrison “Gear” Blackstone silently counted to ten before answering his younger brother. He noted his sister standing by a dress dummy, trying to pretend she wasn’t listening in on the conversation. Just an ordinary day at Fair of Dreams—costume shop to the stars, or so Iris liked to brag after having once dressed the local weatherman for a party.

  “I am not going as a gladiator,” Gear enunciated to his brother. “I don’t want everyone staring at my bare arm and asking about the Sahara tattoo I’m missing.” No, I’ll leave all the ass-kissing to Brian, that lying, cheating, fuckhead of a backstabbing—

  “I still don’t understand why Sahara wanted you to get a fake tattoo of her on your bicep,” his sister said. “Your other arm is full of them, but your bare arm looked stupid with her face on it. You know I’m right.”

  “Of course I k
now.”

  “The minute you showed it on camera, you were sunk. I mean, now you have to get a real one to show it was real all the time, or you’re just a poseur.” Iris blinked. “Er, well, you’re not a poseur. I mean, you don’t… Because she, um… You…” She coughed. “Brian… Ah…” Her voice trailed off as Gear stared at her.

  A moment of awkward silence filled the dressing room. Then Thor said, “So no to Spartac-ass?” He guffawed, holding up the costume with one short-as-fuck skirt. “Gear, you of all people could pull this off. The ass part, I mean.”

  “I’m sorry, Thorvald. Are you seriously trying to make fun of me?”

  His brother glowered. “It’s Thor, knuckle-dragger.”

  “You wish.” Gear laughed, cheered when Thor hung the outfit back on the rack, then moved to another one, muttering under his breath. So easy to get one over on his brother. Thor might not be as mighty in presence as a Norse god, but the guy had a brain like a computer. If anyone could figure out a way for Gear to escape the mess that had become of his life, Thor could. “Oh, come on. I’m kidding. It’s not like you haven’t heard that since birth.”

  “True,” Iris had to add. “He’s just upset because the new girl in the shop laughed when she heard his name.” To Thor, she said, “You should be over that by now.”

  “I am.” Thor gave them a smug look. “Please. I might not be Chris Hemsworth, but I’m rich, handsome, successful, smart, driven—”

  “Verbose,” Iris interrupted. “Arrogant.”

  Gear cut in, “And crazy if you think I’m wearing anything you’ve been holding up.” He sighed. “Do I have to go to this party?”

  “Yeah. You do,” Iris said, no nonsense. “It’s in your contract that you go, but not that you have to be seen all night. You show up wearing that”—she pointed to a costume for the Joker, Batman’s archvillain—“show your face, growl, and act like the complete jerk you are on Motorcycle Madnezz.”

  “I’m not a jerk.”

  “Uh-huh, keep telling yourself that,” Thor said drily.

  “After some time on camera, duck away, change into something with a mask, stay for the rest of your mandated time, then check out with the producer before you leave. And bingo, you’ve followed the terms of your contract.”

  The last terms. Thank God the contract had been up for renewal. Delaying the agreement had pushed back filming, but it also had allowed him to take a hard look at what his life had become. The dream of running one of the best custom shops on the West Coast had come true, but at a cost.

  Just thinking about the shit Sahara and Brian had put him through—letting him take the blame while they gloried in looking like sunshine and fucking roses—made him want to hurt someone. Two someones. He’d been raised not to hit women, or he’d have decked Sahara. That he hadn’t been hurt by her so much as pissed told him they’d been over for a while. But the betrayal he felt at Brian’s deception… That still stung. The fucker.

  “Stop it. You’re scaring away my good vibes,” Thor complained.

  “Good vibes?”

  Iris cleared her throat. “What our brother is trying to say is that he’s been envisioning a future for you filled with good things. A happy life, a fine woman to love, three children, one of whom you will name Thor Junior, and a return to the fold.”

  Thor nodded, smiling. “Like you read my mind.”

  Iris snorted. “More like I sat through Mom’s latest lectures on positive thinking and the way of the hippie.”

  Gear chuckled. “Glad I missed that one.”

  Iris gave him a mean smile. “Oh, you’ll be getting it when they see you for brunch on Sunday. It’ll happen. I’m envisioning it for you.” She snickered. “Ah yes, I see you coming back, adding to the show. Making your wicked bikes a part of the act. Gear the Magnificent rides again…”

  “Not no, but hell no.” Gear had run fast and far from the family business years ago. His gift with all things mechanical had transformed into a love for the motorcycle—only the finest mode of transportation known to man. His mistake had been in sharing that art with his family, letting them use his funky motorized bikes in the jousting part of their medieval show.

  Since then, his father had been on his ass to come back home and leave his glamorous TV life behind. His mother kept trying to zen Gear into believing life would be good to him if only he believed.

  “Click your heels together, and wish upon a star,” he muttered, remembering her nuttier advice. He loved Orchid Blackstone, but by God, the woman had dropped some crazy drugs in her day. Probably why she tolerated his father though. Otis was one scary motherfucker, a badass biker to the bone with the clichéd heart of gold. It would have been cheesy if it wasn’t so obvious anytime his dad glanced at his mom, his big heart in his eyes.

  For years Gear had itched to leave all their positive energy BS behind. Then when he did, he landed in a black hole steadily sucking away his identity, creativity, and happiness. Hell, maybe Orchid and Otis were on to something after all.

  “I know that look.” Thor shook his head. “No, you are not joining back up with the Blackstone circus.”

  “Steampunk fair,” Iris corrected, sounding irked. Gear knew she had a pet peeve about anyone talking down on the family business.

  Thor ignored her. “Gear, you will avoid the temptation to join up with Satan’s jesters. You and Otis nearly came to blows the last time you tried to help out.”

  “True,” Gear had to admit.

  “You will get out of this mess. We’ll find a way, Bro, don’t worry. And you’ll be even better for it. The parental unit will only drive you insane.” Thor shot a sly glance at their sister. “Look at what they’ve done to Iris.”

  “I would flip you off, but that’s negative.” She threw a tiny pillow at his head instead. “Now embrace the love I just sent you, and piss off.”

  Thor laughed. “You haven’t had a good insult for me in, like, five years. Try again, or—” An alarm on his phone interrupted him, and he turned it off. “Damn. Gotta get to class. Talk to you guys later.” Thor darted away with a light punch to Iris’s arm and a high five for Gear. As usual, Professor Blackstone would be late to lecture.

  Gear grunted. At least some things hadn’t changed. His brother still tried to boss everyone around with his super brain while being unable to understand how time worked. His sister continued to design amazing costumes for the show while picking on their younger brother, and their parents remained loving, crazy, and humming with positivity while they recovered from Renaissance Daze and prepared for next season.

  “So this party,” Gear said with a sigh. He sat on a stool and watched Iris trace chalk over the fabric on the dummy. “I really don’t want to go.”

  “I know, sweetie.” She paused. “They keep replaying that punch on TV. It’s like it happened yesterday.” It had happened two months ago. “Man, you knocked Brian into tomorrow. Nice. He’s such an asshole. Didn’t I tell you he was no good? But did you listen to me?”

  He groaned. “Please. Not again.”

  “Biggest mistake you ever made was letting that bitch convince you to let her partner up with you guys. You know the only reason they didn’t go it alone as soon as she signed on is because you’re the talent.”

  “And they’re the charm,” he growled, having heard that since they’d started Madnezz three years ago. “I know.”

  “Nope. They’re not charming. She has giant fake boobs and bottle-blond hair, and he has a straight, white smile under that fake tan. That’s all they have going for them.”

  He grunted. “Thanks.”

  “So you’re going to go to the party, and you’re going to ignore the rumors about you cheating on her first, that Brian was just defending her honor, and that you’ve been trying to break up the business to steal clients for a solo show. Instead, you’re going to hold your head—”


  “What?”

  “You really need to watch Entertainment Tonight more often.” She sighed, filled him in on what that conniving ex-fiancée of his had been up to, and heard him out as he swore, punched through the wall, then punched it again.

  After he’d knocked a second hole through the drywall and bloodied his knuckles, he sat back on the stool, breathing hard.

  “Sorry to have been the one to tell you, but it could have been worse.”

  “How?”

  “Well, you could have married her, then found out she and Brian would get custody of your love child as well as access to half of everything you own. Now you don’t have to split the kid too. Just start over without them.”

  “Start over? With what? There’s nothing left.” God, he wanted to destroy something before he broke down at the hopelessness of it all. His entire life spent working toward a goal, only to have it crumble because he’d put his faith in the wrong people.

  Fuck.

  Iris put a hand on his shoulder. “You listen to me, Harry.” Only she could get away with calling him that. “You’ve always been up-front about who you are and what you want. The people who are your friends know this. So you see who’s still around after your house of cards tumbles. And then you pick up, start over, and kick those fuckwads in the ass with the best new chop shop on the West Coast.”

  He felt himself smiling. “It’s not a chop shop, Iris. Those are illegal.”

  “Whatever. Get it done. And if you still hate me calling you Harry, wait until I start calling you Harrison. Or, you know, your other name. That which should never be said.”

  He shuddered. “Fine. I swear. I’ll man up and deal. But I won’t like it.”

  “Don’t. Get mad, get even, but don’t get played for a fool again.”

  He nodded. “Yeah. That.” And that’s why Gear would go to the damn party. Because the studio would throw Brian and Sahara at him, using his loss to drum up ratings for the new show without him, making him a scapegoat for the crap he hadn’t done so they could salvage viewers. He’d go tonight, but on his own terms. Sahara he’d ignore. Brian… With any luck, he would refrain from blackening Brian’s face all over again.