Bringing Home a Bachelor (13 page)

He sucked in a deep breath and forced himself to lay his hands flat on his desk, so that they couldn’t curl into fists.
She won’t do it. It would hurt her daughter too much. She’s bluffing.

Jocelyn drummed her fingernails against the leather of her Gucci tote. “But I could certainly check with the Standard and the Ritz and even the Delano to see if they have ballrooms available on these dates.”

The bottom line was that he didn’t want to lose the business, however much he’d like to toss her and her Italian leather tote off the roof.

Pete dredged up the last courteous smile he could muster and forced it onto his lips. “Of course you’re free to do that, Mrs. Edgeworth,” he said. “Meanwhile, why don’t I discuss this matter of a discount with Mr. Reynaldo and get back to you?”

“Why, Peter.” She summoned her bloodless smirk again. “That would be lovely.” She curled two fingers in to her palm in a sign that for him would always signify the Texas Longhorns. But she turned it sideways and held an imaginary phone to her ear. “Call me.”

18

“Y
OU
MUST
BE
JOKING
, Pedro.” Reynaldo ran his manicured fingers over the bronze bust of himself in his office, removing imaginary dust particles from its stylized locks of hair.

Pete tried not to think about how much he despised being called Pedro. “No, sir. Jocelyn Edgeworth wants a thirty percent discount on her gigs, or she’ll look into moving them to the Standard, the Ritz or the Delano.”

Reynaldo muttered something in Spanish. Pete was pretty sure it translated into something like “socialite whore.”

“I don’t like being badgered, and especially not by a woman. Has her daughter signed the contracts for the boutique bakery yet?”

“I’m meeting with Melinda on Wednesday to do that.”

“Good.” Reynaldo went to his elaborate humidor and chose yet another of his vast array of Cuban cigars. “First, preempt the mother. Call and reserve the big ballrooms at those hotels for the relevant dates, if they’re available. Use my wife’s mother’s name. And call any other suitable venues, as well.”

Pete’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “But they’ll want credit-card numbers.”

“Give them my alternate Am Ex Black Card number.” His boss gave him a crocodile smile around the cigar. “I’ll cancel it next week.”

“The charges will still—”

“I assure you that I am a very good customer. One that they will not wish to offend. And I will not know how those charges got onto my card. Clearly the number was stolen, eh?”

Pete blinked.

“A vengeful employee or girlfriend. After all, why would I make all of those reservations for the same date? It makes no sense.”

“O-kay.”

“Stall the mother until you get the contracts signed with the daughter. Then tell the mother that I won’t even authorize a five-percent discount, unless…” Reynaldo added something incredibly crude in Spanish and laughed as he sat down in his rolling leather chair, knees spread wide.

Pete stared at him. Had his boss really suggested that Jocelyn could negotiate further on her knees and under his desk?

Granted, he’d developed quite a dislike for the woman, but that was going too far. She was his girlfriend’s mother, after all. And though he despised the way she’d gone about it, he couldn’t really blame her for trying to get a better deal.

“Next,” Reynaldo said, “you mention to her that she would not want to jeopardize her daughter’s arrangement with us, eh?”

A strangled noise escaped Pete’s throat; he couldn’t hold it back. This was like dancing naked, dangling his meat over a standoff between a cobra and a rattlesnake. Would Jocelyn and Reynaldo strike each other? Or the nearest conveniently placed object?

“She will have no choice but to hold her events here at Playa Bella,” Reynaldo said complacently, snipping the tip off his cigar with a platinum cutter. “And as for the daughter, make sure that my standard escape clause is in her contracts, eh? If she gets difficult, she can blow me, too.”

Pete literally saw red at the words. His first impulse was to reach across the desk and seize his boss by the neck, pull him out of his chair and stomp on his face.

But he made himself count to three. He reminded himself that he was not his father. That there was a lot at stake, here, and more than his own job: Melinda’s future. He’d already helped break her existing lease, and she’d posted the news in her shop.

Reynaldo squinted at him through a curl of cigar smoke. “You are still here, Pedro. Why is that? Is there something further that we need to discuss?”

Pete swallowed. He opened his mouth to say it.
Melinda is my girlfriend, you rat bastard, so disrespect her again and I will knock your teeth down your throat.

But again, he reminded himself: it wasn’t only his career that was at stake here, now. It was hers. And the economy was horrendous.

Keep your mouth closed, man. Just shut the hell up.

“Ah. How could I have forgotten, Pedro?” His boss got to his feet and crossed the room once again to his humidor.

Don’t call me Pedro, you son of a bitch.

“Your revenues—assuming we keep Mrs. Edgeworth’s charity events here—have risen the required twenty percent. So, welcome to the executive team here at Playa Bella. You are the new vice president of business development.”

And Reynaldo tossed Pete a top of the line Monte Cristo.

He wanted to let it drop to the floor. He wanted to step on it. But Pete caught it. “Thank you, sir.”

“Call me Rafi,” Reynaldo said.

Pete set his jaw. “Thanks, Rafi.”

* * *

P
ETE
MADE
THE
CALLS
to other hotels, giving out “Rafi’s” alternate Black Card number with abandon. After all, Jocelyn was the one who’d started playing dirty pool, and so his conscience didn’t really bother him—much.

But when it came time to sign copies of Mel’s contract at the lawyer’s office, he balked, wishing that the ex-boxer, the piranha attorney he’d dreamed up, really existed. Pete knew damned well that Reynaldo’s invidious “escape” clause was in every legal document his lawyers produced.

“Melinda, you may want to have your own attorney look over the contract before you sign it,” he suggested over lunch the day before.

But Mel, his little pickpocket bunny, seemed to have retracted her fangs. She aimed a sunny smile at him. “Oh, Pete. Don’t be silly—you’ve read it, right?”

He nodded. What else could he do?

“Well, I trust you completely. Why should I waste hundreds of dollars on another legal opinion?”

Because I work for an immoral asshole.
Pete finally got what his friend Dev was all about. Dev’s morals were somewhat…elastic. But he did have a complete set of them, despite his jokes to the contrary. Dev played pranks.

Reynaldo, on the other hand, genuinely screwed people for fun—on impulse, and just because he could. Rafi was the very definition of immoral. He’d never met a business or marriage vow he hadn’t broken. In fact, he seemed to find such things amusing.

And the more Pete’s eyes opened to the truth, the less he wanted Melinda to have anything to do with Reynaldo and Playa Bella. But since he’d brought her in on a platter, how could he tell her that?

“I just think it makes good business sense to always have your own lawyer,” Pete said.

“Agreed. But not necessary in this case.” Mel reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “Thanks, though. I appreciate you being so up-front.”

Pete groaned inwardly.

“You’ll come with me to the attorney’s office, right? And we can go celebrate the contract afterward.”

“Sure.”

* * *

T
HE
ATTORNEY
’
S
OFFICES
were in a big white bank building on Brickell, and they sat at a long conference table, attended by a busy paralegal.

“Here you are,” she said, pushing three copies of the contract towards Melinda. “Mr. Reynaldo sends his apologies for being unable to attend the meeting. He’s already signed the papers, as you can see. Now you sign, Ms. Edgeworth, where the yellow markers are.”

It was now or never. Pete swiped the pen that the paralegal held out to Mel. “This is a black pen. Ms. Edgeworth prefers to sign original documents in blue.”

Mel stared at him. “I do?”

“Yes,” Pete said decisively. He turned to the paralegal. “Do you mind getting another?”

“Sure.” The woman left the room.

Pete darted after her and locked the door. “Mel,” he whispered. “Look at the second to last page. Find the termination clause. Strike it out and initial it. Do the same with the two other copies.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Melinda, just do it. Now.”

The doorknob jiggled as the paralegal tried to get back into the room. Pete strode to the door, opened it but blocked the entrance with his body, and slid out, closing it behind him.

“Ms. Edgeworth is on an unexpected emergency call,” she heard him say on from the corridor. “She needs a moment or two of privacy.”

“Oh. Uh. Okay,” the paralegal stammered. “But I’m required by law to witness her signatures.”

“No problem. She’ll be off the line in a minute. Thanks so much for your patience.”

Melinda flipped quickly through the documents and isolated the clause he’d indicated. It was in dense legalese, and seemed innocuous. But she struck through the paragraphs with the black pen, and then quickly initialed the margins next to them. That page, she noted with relief, did not require a signature.

She smoothed the documents and pulled her cell phone from her purse, placing it on the table. Then she got up, walked to the door and turned the knob. “Thank you,” she said warmly to the paralegal. “I appreciate the privacy. Sorry about that.”

The woman came back into the room, seemed to find nothing amiss, and Mel calmly signed the contracts with the newly provided blue pen. She put her copy into her purse, shook hands with the paralegal and thanked her again.

Pete and Melinda walked out of the plush legal offices and rode down the elevator in silence. They emerged from the building into the torpid September air.

“What was that all about?” Melinda asked.

“Saving your bacon,” Pete said.

“And why did my bacon need to be saved, exactly?” Her blue eyes were as serious as Pete had ever seen them.

He sighed. “Because you didn’t get a lawyer of your own and I felt obligated, even though my loyalty should be to my company, and not to the sheep my boss likes to fleece.”

“Stop talking about bacon and mutton and speak English, Pete. This isn’t a barnyard.”

“No, it’s a jungle,” he retorted. “Mel, you’re one hell of a negotiator, but don’t ever, ever, sign a contract again without having a trained legal professional look at it.”

“I thought I could trust you!”

“Looks like you were right.” He dragged his hands down his face. “Not that I feel very good about it.”

She put her hands on her hips. “I don’t understand you.”

“Good. That makes two of us. Now, where do you want to go to celebrate our mutual confusion and your contract?”

They went to Segofredo and ordered champagne cocktails, which Pete regretted immediately because of the sweetness. After a toast, he pushed his aside and ordered a dirty martini. He knew it was going to be a long night.

Melinda took a couple of moments to call Kylie, her aunt, from the bar and tell her the good news. Then she dialed part of another number, but stopped.

“What’s wrong? Who were you going to call?”

“My parents,” she said, looking suddenly miserable. “But I don’t even want to talk to my mother.”

That makes two of us, sweetheart.
Pete made a sympathetic noise.

“She’d only find a way to insult me, somehow, and ruin the moment. I don’t want to go there.” Mel sighed. “I hate not speaking to her, but I hate speaking to her even more. Does that make any sense?”

He nodded. “Can you call your dad’s cell phone?”

Mel rolled her champagne glass between her palms. “No. My mother would be insulted, and we’d start a whole new Cold War.”

“So tell them in a couple of days.”

She nodded. “And Mark’s busy with the legislative session up in Tallahassee, so I’ll tell him when he gets back.”

Within a few minutes, her excitement bubbled up again.

Pete loved the animation in her expression and the sparkle in her eyes. He was happy for her—this was a good deal for her—but he still felt disloyal to his company. Then again, did a man like Reynaldo deserve loyalty?

Seeming to sense his misgivings, Melinda turned serious again. She took a bracing sip of her drink and then eyed him warily. “Pete, are you saying that Reynaldo is going to try to screw me in our business dealings? What was that clause, exactly?”

He stabbed at the olives in his martini with a toothpick. “I’m not saying that. What I’m trying to tell you is that he…he normally reserves the right to screw people in his contracts. You know, in case they try to screw him first,” he added lamely.

“Uh-huh.”

“It’s only smart business practice,” he continued. Was it the words or the martini that left such a bad taste in his mouth?

“What I did in there—in the lawyer’s office—was that even legal?”

He shrugged. “Sure it was. You struck out the clause before you signed, right? So what you did was just as legal as him burying the clause in the contract to begin with.”

“But the paralegal didn’t see me do it.”

“That’s her fault, not yours. She left the room. Then she didn’t review the document again after you signed it.”

“But you set her up. I don’t like this, Pete.”

“Can we just forget it?”

Melinda shook her head. “No. But I can say thank you.” She slid off her bar stool and wedged herself between his open knees. She took his face in her hands and kissed him.

That was when Pete knew he’d done the right thing, even if it had felt incredibly wrong. Her gratitude, her trust, her love—they all meant a lot more to him than Playa Bella’s bottom line.

Love?

Really?

Did Melinda love him? Did he love her? The word was a bit extreme. Pete shied away from it. All he knew for right now was that kissing her felt really good.