Operation Prince Charming

by Phyllis Bourne

  “Turn on the news, Miss Boyd. Now!”

  Erica scurried around the bedroom to find the remote control and turned on the television.

  Images of Hunter and Pete filled the screen. Erica plopped down on the bed in stunned silence when she saw they were leading a handcuffed and disheveled Taj to a police car.

  Taj’s mug shot filled the screen and then came photos of Taj and her together at the Library Ball.

  She turned up the television.

  “A little over an hour ago, a man police have dubbed the ‘Dapper Bandit’ was arrested while burglarizing a Nashville home. Taj St. John has confessed to over forty burglaries across the city.”

  “Miss Boyd, are you still there?” Carrie asked.

  Erica continued to stare openmouthed as more photos of her and Taj filled the screen.

  “Here’s the ‘Dapper Bandit’ looking quite cozy with girlfriend Erica Boyd,” the reporter said. “And this next photo of the two of them was taken just last night.”

  The anchorman chimed in. “News Channel Thirteen tried to reach Miss Boyd, but she was unavailable for comment.”

  Erica turned off the television and tossed the phone across the room. She curled up on her bed, not caring if she wrinkled her linen suit.

  After all, she no longer had anywhere to wear it.

  Taj St. John had surrendered his tailored suit for an orange jumpsuit when Hunter and Pete left the jail. He’d been charged with over forty counts of burglary with more charges to follow.

  “Bishop and Morrison are saving seats for us over at Big Johnny’s. You’re coming over, right?” Pete asked.

  Hunter shook his head. “No, you go ahead. There’s something I have to do first.”

  Twenty minutes later, he was on the elevator with Dan riding up to the penthouse level of Erica’s building.

  “It’s a good thing I didn’t bet on that basketball game last night. I would have lost big time on that one,” Dan said.

  “You’re right. Nobody expected that team to win,” Hunter said absently. “Have you seen Erica at all today?”

  Dan shook his head. “No, but I finally had to call the cops to get those reporters out of here after a few of them tried to sneak past me.”

  “Thanks for looking out for her,” Hunter said.

  The elevator chime sounded as the doors opened on the top floor. “Just doing my job,” Dan said.

  Hunter stepped off the elevator and walked to Erica’s door. He’d thought he’d feel some lingering anger and resentment over what had happened the last time he’d come to her door, but he didn’t feel either.

  All he felt was pity mixed with concern for an old friend.

  Hunter knocked on the door. When he didn’t get an answer, he tried again louder.

  “Erica, it’s me,” he said.

  He heard some shuffling noises on the other side of the door. Somebody was there. He knocked again.

  “Go away,” Erica said.

  “I’m not going anywhere until I see for myself that you’re okay.”

  Finally, he heard the lock turn and the door opened. Erica was barefoot and dressed in a wrinkled peach suit. Dried tears made tracks down her face, and her smudged makeup made her eyes looked as though they’d been blackened.

  She ran her hand over her tangled mass of hair.

  “So now you’ve seen me. Are you happy now or do you need to gloat?” She walked over to the sofa and plopped down. “Go ahead.”

  Hunter sighed. He walked through the door and closed it behind him. “Of course, I’m not happy to see you like this,” he said. “And I’m not here to gloat. You know me better than that.”

  “Then why did you come?”

  He crossed the room and stood in front of her. It hadn’t occurred to him to gloat. From the looks of her, she’d felt bad enough. She didn’t need him piling it on.

  “Because we used to be friends,” he said. “And I thought you could use one right now.”

  She sniffed and swiped at tears. “You’re my only friend,” she said. “The only people who’ve tried to contact me today are reporters and people scrambling to uninvite me to their parties.”

  Hunter walked over to her powder room and retrieved a box of tissues. He handed it to her and sat on the couch beside her.

  “It’s not the end of the world. St. John will be in the news for another day or two, and then those reporters will forget about you in their rush to move on to a new story.”

  She blew her nose. “Maybe the reporters will forget, but I’ll never get into the country club or the Ladies’ Lunch League.”

  Hunter sighed. “Would that really be so bad?”

  “But I’ve worked so hard. I should have known Taj was too good to be true.”

  Hunter shrugged and shook his head.

  “I know you never approved of what I was doing, but it seemed like I was finally…” she continued.

  “The big reason I didn’t like it is that all it did was make you miserable,” Hunter said. “You’re smart, beautiful, and have more money than you can spend. I guess I didn’t understand, and I still don’t, why you let a bunch of strangers determine your self-worth.”

  Erica blew her nose again, and then stared up at him. “You still think I’m beautiful?” she asked.

  He glanced up at her hair, which resembled Medusa’s headful of snakes. “Yeah, you look just fine.”

  “Hunter, I’m so sorry about that scene you walked in on with Taj. I swear I never cheated on you before that.” Erica hesitated a moment. “Can you ever forgive me?”

  “I already have,” he said, honestly.

  No, he hadn’t been unfaithful, but he hadn’t been fair to Erica either. He’d battled his growing feelings for Ali long before he’d found Erica with Taj. Forgiving her was the least he could do.

  Erica put her hand on top of his. “Do you think we could ever go back?”

  Hunter shook his head. “No, I don’t.”

  Erica patted his hand, before pulling hers back. She left the room for moment, and when she returned she held out the ruby bracelet.

  “Taj gave me this, and I doubt he bought it,” she said. “Please make sure it gets back to its rightful owner.”

  Having done what he’d come for, Hunter stood and headed for the door. Erica was down, but she’d definitely rebound.

  He drove past the sports bar with every intention of stopping, but he’d celebrate the “Dapper Bandit’s” arrest with the guys another time.

  Right now, the only person he wanted to see was Ali.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Ali tried to ignore the emotional tug of war between her head and her heart as she zipped her suitcase closed.

  After all, she’d been hoping for an opportunity like this for months. She’d be a fool to turn it down.

  Images of her aunt trying to figure out that laptop came to mind, and Ali found herself smiling as she remembered her aunt vowing not to touch it.

  She was grateful when her cell phone rang. She hoped the caller would get her out of her own head. She glanced down at the small screen and saw Hunter’s name.

  “I stopped by the school looking for you, but no one was there.” A delicious shiver shimmied down her back at the sound of his deep voice. “Are you at home?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Good,” he interrupted. “We just wrapped up a big case, and all I want to do is see you.”

  If it were possible for a woman to simply melt, she’d be a pool of pudding. She wanted to see him too, badly.

  Then her gaze fell on her suitcase.

  “Hunter, I can’t see you tonight,” she said.

  She heard him exhale sharply. “This isn’t about you still thinking I’m hung up on Erica, is it?”

  “No, it’s not that. I’m about to drive to the airport,” she said. “My agent called, and the television station in Florida has reinstated their offer. I’m meeting with them tomorrow.”

  “Oh,” he said, sounding deflated. �
�I’m not too far from your place. Can I give you a lift to the airport?”

  “Thanks, I’d appreciate it.”

  Ali pulled her suitcase off the bed, rolled it into the living room, and placed her tote beside it. She’d packed light, but it wasn’t as though she was headed to a strange place or a hotel. She was going home.

  Although she was expecting him, Ali jumped when she heard Hunter knock. She opened the door and he immediately pulled her into a hug.

  She rested her head on his wall of a chest, reveling in the feel of his strong arms around her. Hunter dropped a kiss on top of her head.

  “Congratulations,” he said.

  “Thank you,” she said, reluctantly letting him go. “And congratulations to you too, on your case.”

  He glanced over at her suitcase. “Is that all?”

  She nodded.

  “Wow, I thought you’d have a lot more than that,” he said.

  Ali shrugged. “I don’t know how long I’m staying, but I have a closet full of clothes at my condo.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re really just going home, huh?” His voice sounded as though he was trying to infuse it with a cheerfulness he didn’t feel.

  “Hunter, I…” she started, but wasn’t quite sure how to finish.

  He picked up her suitcase. “We’d better get going. You don’t want to miss your flight.”

  She and Hunter filled the short ride from her apartment to the airport with small talk. Hunter talked about his case and his visit with Erica.

  “I’m glad you went to see her,” Ali said, feeling genuinely sorry for Erica. “I don’t have to work hard to imagine how quickly her society friends turned their backs on her.”

  “She seemed a bit better when I left,” Hunter said.

  Ali noted how matter-of-fact he sounded. Maybe he really was over Erica after all.

  Hunter parked the car in the hourly lot and walked with her to the terminal. Ali fisted her hand and kept it at her side to keep from reaching out and holding his.

  Deep down, she longed to tell him how she felt about him, but what would be the point? She was leaving, after all.

  “Don’t you have to check in?” he asked when he saw the kiosk for her airline.

  “I printed my boarding pass already. Since I only have a carry-on bag, I can go right to security.”

  She saw his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallowed. Ask me to stay, she thought.

  Ali looked at the security checkpoint line and back at Hunter. “I guess I’d better go ahead through,” she said.

  She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him lightly on the lips.

  Ask me to stay.

  The thought echoed in her mind as she turned around and walked toward security.

  “Ali,” he called out, and her heart slammed against her chest.

  Yes! Ali turned around, fully prepared to leap into his arms.

  “I just wanted you to know how proud I am of you,” he said.

  “Oh,” she said, trying to hide her disappointment. “Thank you, that means a lot.”

  Hunter watched Ali until she walked down the long corridor and out of sight. It took every ounce of willpower he could summon not to go after her.

  It had taken even more to let her go in the first place. When she’d kissed him it had been all he could do not to toss her over his shoulder and take her back to his town house, to his bed, where she belonged.

  Slowly, he turned around and headed back to the parking garage. As badly as he’d wanted to stop her, he couldn’t.

  Her ex-husband had ruined this opportunity for her once. How could he ask her not to take it and live with himself?

  Instead, he’d told her how proud he was of her. It was true. He’d only wished…

  Hunter shrugged off the thought. It didn’t matter what he wished now. He slid into the driver’s seat of his car and inhaled the lingering scent of Ali’s citrusy perfume.

  He felt a tug deep down in the region of his heart and realized he’d let the woman he loved get away.

  Ali awoke with a start as her plane made a bumpy landing at Palm Beach International Airport. She stared out the small window at the night sky as the plane rolled to the terminal.

  She was home.

  Ali waited for the wave of emotion she would have expected to accompany the thought, but it had yet to make an appearance. She didn’t feel it when she saw the palm trees swaying in the balmy breeze on the airport property or the gecko that darted across her path on her way to the rental car parking lot.

  She might be back in south Florida, but she’d left her heart in Nashville, she realized. The feelings she’d forced back when she’d told Hunter good-bye threatened to surface.

  “You’ve got to put him out of your mind. This job is what you’ve been waiting on,” she whispered as she drove south on I-95 toward her Boca Raton condo. She’d be more excited in the morning when she met with Leo and the producers from Channel Four, Ali reasoned.

  It was nearly eleven when she reached the front door of her place. She disarmed her security system with her key fob remote before unlocking the door.

  Ali flipped on the light, dropped her suitcase in the foyer, and walked around. Except for a layer of dust, the three-bedroom condo was exactly the way she’d left it four months ago.

  She opened the sliding glass door to let in some fresh air and took another look at the once-familiar surroundings. The rooms were done in a style her decorator had described as classic luxe.

  Now it just seemed crowded and overdone. She took in the Persian rugs, her collection of crystal figurines, and the oversized lithographs hanging on the walls.

  Though her tiny apartment in Nashville was less than half the size, it seemed so much more spacious.

  Ali thought about Hunter and how he’d expected her apartment to be infused with pink like her wardrobe. What would he think of this place? she wondered.

  Then she began to wonder what he was doing now. Was he stretched out on that big bed of his thinking about her?

  Maybe she would just call…

  She instantly vetoed the idea. Parting at the airport had been hard enough.

  Besides, the only thing she should be concerned about now was getting a good night’s sleep so she’d be at her best tomorrow.

  The next morning Ali awoke hours before the sun bathed her condo in light. After tossing and turning half the night, she’d finally gone into her home office and begun preparing for this morning’s meeting. She’d located her detailed notes, which were chock-full of segment and story ideas for the show.

  As the time for her to meet everyone over at the station drew near, Ali pulled a soft pink shift dress from her closet with a matching short-sleeve jacket.

  Fortunately, she’d left enough coffee beans in the freezer to grind and brew a decent half pot of coffee before jumping in the rental car and driving over to the station.

  Leo was pacing in front of the station door when she arrived. “Ali, what happened? I thought you were going to call me last night when you got in, and when I couldn’t get in touch with you this morning, I was worried you were still in Nashville,” he said.

  It had been too late to call when she’d arrived, and she’d been too busy to talk on the phone this morning. “As you can see, I made it just fine,” she said.

  “You look great. It’s good to see you again,” Leo said. “This is what we’ve been waiting for. You must be thrilled.”

  Thrilled? Not really, Ali thought. And her lack of emotion bothered her. Leo was right; she had been waiting for something like this to happen.

  Still, reviewing her old notes this morning had ratcheted up her enthusiasm. Once they started talking about the show, she was sure, she’d feel more excited.

  Once everyone was seated in the conference room with coffee and a platter of donuts, the producers began to review the format of the show.

  Ali was disappointed to learn both the producer and the director Ali had talked to last time had moved on
to other stations. Now their replacements were going over their vision for the midday show.

  “We’re going to continue to call it The Town’s Talking and it will fill the half-hour slot between local news and the beginning of network programming,” Jeff, the new producer, said.

  He appeared to be in his twenties and fresh out of college. His attention was divided between their conversation and the BlackBerry and iPhone in front of him. “The show will continue to have a talk show, news magazine feel. You’ll interview local celebrities and news makers, do stories on events and activities, and host segments on diets, fashion, cooking, and decorating. Our audience is mostly stay-at-home women and seniors, so we want to do topics that appeal to them.”

  Leo grinned at Ali. “Sounds like this show is just perfect for Ali,” he said. Though Ali doubted he’d even been listening. If she knew Leo, his ears wouldn’t perk up until they started talking money.

  “We think so,” the director agreed. She was so young, it made Ali feel practically elderly. Her red hair was scraped back in a high ponytail, and she wore glittery lip gloss that looked as if she’d gotten it with her last Barbie doll. “Ali’s background in etiquette will give the show the softer, gentile feel we’re aiming for, especially after that horrible business with our last host.”

  Ali cleared her throat. “I had some ideas for show segments on personal finance—”

  “Oh, definitely,” Jeff interrupted. “I already have a guest lined up to talk about boosting your grocery store savings with coupon clipping and another one to talk about the best cell phone deals.”

  Ali nodded. “Those are good ideas, but I was thinking along the lines of recession-proofing your portfolio, avoiding excessive bank fees, and which insurances you really need.”

  Jeff shot the director a look. “Ali, those are all worthy topics, but they’re a little heavy for the afternoon.”

  “We’d like to increase the recipe segments to two a show,” the director chirped. “Who doesn’t love recipes?”

  “I also have some ideas on simple fixes you can do in your home that would save you tons of money. I can demonstrate those myself,” Ali said.

  The director looked at her. “How are you with tablescapes, you know, decorating your dining room table with a theme?”