Kissing Her Enemy

by Coleen Kwan

  “We’re not forcing you to marry, but we are concerned. Very concerned.” Heloise paused, an uncomfortable expression passing over her face. “The truth is your father doesn’t want you repeating the same mistakes he made.”

  “What mistakes?”

  Heloise pressed her lips together. “You do know about your father’s previous marriage before he and I tied the knot.”

  Logan paused, unease growing in the pit of his stomach. “Yeah.” He’d been told the bare facts once, but the topic was never discussed in the family. “What about it?”

  Sighing, Heloise clicked her pearl necklace through her fingers. “He met an artist, and after a whirlwind courtship, they got married. They were completely incompatible. The marriage was a disaster from the start. She didn’t share the same values as Blaine, didn’t understand the importance of his position. Didn’t want to understand. She refused to compromise and went out of her way to embarrass him in front of his family and friends. It was incredibly painful to watch. I was so angry with her for making him miserable.” She shook her head, her jaw tight.

  “Your father was so distracted by their crumbling relationship that he lost a lucrative business deal. The company missed out on millions, and the inevitable divorce was bitter. The whole experience left Blaine deeply scarred. He doesn’t want you repeating the same mistakes. That’s why he won’t allow you complete control of the company until he’s satisfied that you’re settled down with the right person from the right background.”

  Logan shook his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing. This is a joke. You do know you can’t force me to marry a girl of your choosing, right? It isn’t the Middle Ages anymore.”

  “I realize that, Logan,” his mother tartly responded. “But I’m just telling you how your father and I feel about your”—she waved a hand—“determined bachelorhood. No one is forcing you to marry against your will. Then again, you can’t force your father to give up control of the company against his will, either. I’m just spelling out the conditions. If you want that ultimate responsibility, then show us you’re ready for it.”

  He bit back another expletive, his mind roiling with what he’d just been told. Because of his father’s rash first marriage, he was now given this ridiculous ultimatum. It was complete bullcrap. For a second he was tempted to tell his mom about the true financial status of the family company just to jolt her into reality. If she knew, would she really go along with his dad’s determination to hobble him at his job? But he wouldn’t go that far. If his father could barely acknowledge it, then revealing the truth to his mom would only make things worse.

  A moment later, his father stepped out from the French doors onto the veranda.

  “Ah, you’re here,” Blaine said to Logan. “What’s wrong? You look like you swallowed a fly.”

  For a moment Logan wanted to snarl out in argument against his dad’s crazy edict, but a warning look from his mom made him pause. His dad’s first marriage was obviously a traumatic event that had left a lasting impression on him. This wasn’t the time to drag up his father’s old wounds. Better to wait until he’d simmered down and gotten over the shock first.

  “Just don’t like the taste of sangria, that’s all,” Logan said, pushing his hands into the pockets of his trousers.

  And I really don’t like being manipulated. Christ, what were his parents thinking? He sure as hell wasn’t going to be pushed into marrying a girl handpicked for him by his parents. A vision of Amber danced across his mind. He ruthlessly banished it. No, he would prove himself worthy of leading the company by his business success, not the women he dated. Sooner or later his dad would realize he was more than capable and would drop this insane “married to a suitable woman” condition. At least, he hoped so.

  “I wouldn’t say no to sangria myself,” Blaine responded, gazing at the jug.

  “Blaine,” his wife said sharply. “You know what the doctor said about alcohol.” She pushed a glass of tomato juice garnished with a celery stick toward him. “I made you a Virgin Mary.”

  Pulling a face, Blaine reluctantly accepted the drink. “Goddamn doctors,” he muttered before taking a sip. “So what’s happening with the mega center?” he asked Logan. “Tell me everything.”

  With an effort, Logan focused his thoughts back on work. “It’s going well, Dad. I had a meeting with the architects today, and the plans are almost complete. We’ll be able to turn the first sod in a few months time.”

  Blaine grunted. “Don’t sign anything before I have a look at it.”

  “That could hold up the schedule, and I aim to open by summer next year.”

  “No use opening if you’ve signed a dud deal.” His father thrust out his jaw. “I’m just looking out for our interests.”

  Don’t you trust me? Do you think I’m incapable? What do you think I was doing all those years in Dallas? I wasn’t just fooling around like Mom seems to think; I was actually working hard, achieving success. And success is what Wright Inc badly needs right now. I know what I’m doing. Just because you made a mistake when you were young doesn’t mean I will.

  Logan clamped his lips to stop the acrimonious words from spilling out. It had taken a lot of arguing to convince his dad of the merits of this hardware and garden mega center, and now that he was on board, it was vital the project succeed. Even more important now that he knew his father wouldn’t relinquish control unless he was “suitably” married. The idea still made him seethe, but arguing and conflict weren’t good for Blaine’s health, and Logan would do anything rather than jeopardize his father’s well-being.

  “Let’s go in to dinner,” Heloise said, taking charge. “You two can talk shop while we eat.”

  When they were seated around the dining table and the housekeeper had served them wild-caught Alaskan salmon, Blaine continued the conversation.

  “What about that strip of stores on Colfax Road? Are they going to cause any problems?”

  “No,” Logan replied smoothly. “They’ve received offers to purchase, and they’re generous, considering the condition of the stores and the real estate market right now. I don’t anticipate any problem.”

  Not even with Amber? A devilish voice inside him asked. Is she going to let you have your way? Heat swelled in his veins as he pictured Amber letting him have his way, and he winced as his teeth caught the side of his tongue. Served him right for daydreaming.

  “Most of those businesses can move somewhere else, I imagine,” Blaine said, chewing on his fish. “But what about old Tom Bennett? Our mega center will put him out of business wherever he moves. He can’t be too happy.”

  “He’s not young anymore. I’m sure he’ll be happy to sell up and retire,” Heloise said.

  Both his parents looked at him, waiting for an answer. He didn’t want to spell out every little hiccup, but if he tried to cover up, it might eventually backfire.

  “Tom Bennett sold the business two years ago to a young woman, Amber Miller.”

  His father blinked. “A woman? Running a hardware store?”

  “Yeah, Dad, it happens.”

  “Hmm. So is she going to be a problem?”

  “No, I don’t anticipate any problem.”

  His father set down his knife and fork and laced his fingers together. “Your plans are going in front of the planning committee soon. This woman could cause trouble. She could stir up the locals. You know there’re always some rabble-rousers opposed to progress. You better watch your back, son.”

  His mother was tapping her manicured fingernail on the tablecloth. “Amber Miller, Amber Miller,” she mused. “Do we know her?”

  “I doubt you know her,” Logan replied, “but I went to high school with her.”

  They had been in the same English class. At first he’d dismissed her as an antisocial Goth, but then as time went by he found himself looking up when she sauntered into class, all black-and-white makeup and spiky attitude. Then he found excuses to sit near her so that he could inha
le her cinnamon scent and admire the silky smoothness of her throat. When she’d told him off for staring at her, it had only heightened the desire to run his thumb along the generous curve of her lower lip. Even now, just thinking about her, gave him a rush of blood. He had never met someone so ornery and so sexually exciting at the same time.

  Heloise raised her razor-thin eyebrows. “I don’t remember you ever mentioning her.”

  Logan shrugged. “She wasn’t part of my group.”

  “Is she smart?” his father asked.

  “Yes, very.”

  Now it was his father’s turn to lift his thick iron-gray eyebrows. “Smarter than you?”

  Amber had excelled in English, despite or maybe because of always arguing with the teacher about interpretations, and that had propelled him to do well, too. They had jockeyed for top grades, and he knew it annoyed her. It hadn’t been his plan to get under her skin, but he’d aspired to getting into Harvard, and, he had to admit, she’d helped him. Without her competitiveness spurring him on, he wouldn’t have achieved such high grades.

  Before he could think of a reply, his mother snapped her fingers in triumph.

  “Oh, Amber Miller! Now I know why the name sounds familiar. I remember your friends making jokes about her. Something about her mother being a pole dancer and her father picking up roadkill. Some people have such unfortunate parents.” She fixed her gaze on Logan. “Surely that’s not the same Amber Miller you’re talking about?”

  Heat rose under his collar, shapeless anger prickling across his skin. “Yes, that is the same Amber Miller.”

  “Oh.” She didn’t say anything further, but he could tell what she was thinking, what his father was thinking.

  “It was just a rumor, her mother being a pole dancer. But even if it was true, it had nothing to do with Amber.”

  His mother’s tight lips told him otherwise. “Well…” She picked up her crystal wine glass and twirled it. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  His anger burned, but he knew it wasn’t directed at his mother or his father. It wasn’t even aimed at his school friends who had made those careless jokes about Amber’s pole-dancing mother and carcass-cleaning father. No, his anger was directed at himself because he hadn’t told his friends to shut the hell up. He hadn’t pointed out how small and mean they were for repeating nasty rumors. Instead, he had kept quiet, and that was about as small and mean as you could get.

  …

  “Knock knock.” Amber tapped on the aluminum siding of the trailer before entering through the sliding doors, brushing aside the sparkly bead curtain.

  “Hi, Peanut!” her mother trilled.

  After the hot day, the interior of the trailer was broiling, but Cristal Miller didn’t seem bothered by the heat. Perched at the built-in table, she wore white shorts and a Marilyn Monroe T-shirt knotted at the waist, her bare feet stretched out. She was peering into an oval mirror, a lipstick brush in one hand, the table littered with makeup, tissues, and magazines.

  “Just a minute.” Cristal leaned forward, gaping like a fish, as she carefully applied several layers of watermelon-pink lipstick.

  As she worked, Amber leaned against a counter and inspected her mother, noting the spidery blue veins just beneath the skin of her arms, the faint slackness of her décolletage, the three inches of gold hair that curled, soft as a baby’s, against her skull. Then she glanced around the trailer and saw it was as untidy and chaotic as ever. Dirty plates in the sink, crumbs on the floor, fresh flowers and dying ones crammed into slimy vases, a forest of candles bleeding wax, clothes and shoes scattered everywhere.

  Amber had grown up in this trailer. She’d hated the thin walls, the lack of privacy, the sense of impermanence, and wished they could live in a real house, a home that was anchored and solid. But her mom loved it here and refused to even contemplate moving.

  Amber glanced at the lava lamp sitting in a corner and grimaced. She hated that piece of junk. Her deadbeat dad had given it to Cristal a few years back, and her mom refused to part with it, even though Waylon had merely picked it up from the side of the road during one of his cleanups. To Amber, that cheap bit of rubbish symbolized everything she despised about her father, and yet her mom still clung to the trashy keepsake.

  Cristal set down the lipstick and beamed at Amber. “Well? What do you think?”

  Amber blinked and almost recoiled in horror. “Mom, what happened? Did you get stung by a bee?” Her mom’s lips were weirdly swollen and misshapen, and the bright lipstick only made them look worse.

  “Stung by a bee?” Cristal made an irritated snort. “No, Peanut. It’s lip augmentation.”

  “Lip augmentation— Mom, are you crazy? God knows what they’ve injected into you!”

  “It’s just some kind of harmless filler.”

  “You don’t even know. Where did you have it done? Did you tell them you’d just finished chemo three months ago?” Even as she spoke, she could hear the nagging note in her voice, and it made her wince, but she couldn’t help it.

  Cristal huffed and began to rummage through the makeup scattered on the table. “Why can’t you just be glad for me? For once I feel like I’m normal again, and then you have to rain on my parade.” She grabbed a mascara wand and began applying it to her lashes, contorting her face as she did so.

  “How much did this lip augmentation cost?” When her mother remained silent, Amber’s frustration rose. “I thought you needed that cash to pay some bills. I didn’t think you’d blow it on making yourself look like a damn puffer fish.”

  “Well, maybe that’s your trouble, Amber. You think it’s frivolous, but to me it’s not. Feeling good about myself is just as important—no, it’s more important than paying bills.” She stabbed at her eyes with the mascara wand, scowling into the mirror. “I mean, what’s the point in beating boob cancer if I come out of it feeling like a freak, huh? Answer me that. What is the fricking point?”

  Her mother’s hands were shaking, and something hot and painful swelled in Amber’s chest. She wanted to put her arms around her mother and squeeze her breathless and tell her she wasn’t a freak. She was the same beautiful butterfly she’d always been. But Amber had done that, many times, in the hospital, after the surgery, during the chemo, through long teary nights, and Cristal didn’t believe her, wasn’t comforted. Her whole life had always revolved around her careless, vivacious beauty, and she couldn’t comprehend an existence without it.

  “I want you to get better, Mom,” Amber mumbled. “I want you to stay better.”

  She felt like a five-year-old crying for her mama, but the truth was she’d learned before she turned five that crying never achieved anything, that Cristal wasn’t that kind of mama. She wasn’t the kind of mother who fussed about her daughter’s temperature or made her put on a sweater when the weather turned or nagged her to do her homework. No, she was the kind of mother who went out every Saturday night, leaving Amber with a bag of Doritos for dinner and telling her not to open the door to strangers. The kind of mother who blew all her wages on a pair of thigh-high boots, who wondered why her daughter bothered finishing high school, who taught her how to put on eyeliner and walk in heels, but not to cook or clean or save for a rainy day.

  And she was the only mother Amber had ever wanted.

  Cristal blinked and put down her mascara wand. “Aw, honey… I am better! Here, I wanna show you something.” She opened a box next to her and held up a pair of diamante-studded shoes with four-inch heels. “Aren’t they gorgeous? I got them today. And don’t worry; they were thirty percent off. I think I might wear them and go over to see TJ.”

  TJ, Cristal’s younger brother, ran a dive bar that was constantly teetering on the edge of bankruptcy. Amber was fond of her uncle, but he wasn’t exactly a steadying influence on Cristal.

  “Why don’t I make us some dinner instead, and we can hang out and watch TV?” Amber said. “I can run to the store and get whatever we need,” she added, knowing the likely sta
te of her mom’s cupboards.

  Cristal pulled a face. “Okay, you can make us dinner, but I’m not staying in and watching TV. I’m not a stuffy old senior yet, thank you very much.”

  Amber nodded. She would go to the store and buy the fresh food her mother should have. And then she would come back here, clean the place, cook dinner, and wash up. And before she left she would write another check. Her mom was always vague about her finances, but Amber didn’t need any nasty surprises. Her bank balance would take a beating this month, though. The thought made her stomach knot. Her hardware store wasn’t just her living and her dream of independence; it was also her mother’s financial cushion. If she was forced to sell, what would she do? Set up shop in another town fifty miles from here and scrimp through another two years before showing a profit? No, she couldn’t do that, and she couldn’t see herself running any other kind of store, either. Besides, there was no way she could leave her mom. Not ever.

  She had to keep her business afloat. She couldn’t let Logan Wright win. She couldn’t let her mom down. She wouldn’t.

  Chapter Three

  The mayor’s secretary eyed Amber over frameless glasses perched on her nose. “Take a seat. The mayor will be with you in a minute.”

  Amber perched on the hard couch in the waiting area and smoothed out a tiny wrinkle in her skirt. This was a very different meeting from the one she’d had with Logan a few days ago. For one thing, she had called and made an appointment to see Walter Horowitz. And for another, she had dressed more carefully and conservatively than usual. The formal gray jacket with matching skirt and silk blouse had sat untouched in her closet for years, but she figured she needed all the help she could get today. If she wanted to persuade Mayor Horowitz of the folly of Logan Wright’s mega home improvement center, then she needed to look professional.

  She fingered her hair that she’d left loose around her shoulders, trying to ignore the snarl of nerves in her stomach.

  The door to the left of the secretary opened, and a stout man with a full head of bristly gray hair bustled toward Amber, holding out his hand.