Harlequin Superromance February 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: His Forever Girl\Moonlight in Paris\Wife by Design (11 page)

The little girl kept her eyes shut and refused to let go of her mother's leg. In fact, she re-strengthened her grip and held on for dear life. “It was really big and mean-looking. It had hair on its legs like a tarantula. I'm not going back in there.”

“Emily, let go. I'm going to fall,” Monique said, pushing against the little girl's shoulder.

“It's probably just a wood spider,” Tess said, rather unhelpfully.

Emily's eyes opened and they were the exact bright blue of her father's. Damn.

“Who are you?” she asked.

Tess managed a smile, wishing the child didn't look so much like her father. “I'm Tess. I'm new here.”

Loosening her hold, Emily tilted her head like an inquisitive puppy. “I like your watch.”

“Thanks,” Tess said, looking down at the Cookie Monster watch Gigi had bought her as a joke. Turns out, it was the watch she chose most often over the Rolex her father had given her last Christmas. “I'm a big fan of cookies.”

“Me, too.” The little girl smiled, finally unwinding from her mother's leg, seemingly forgetting about the child-eating spider in the next room.

Monique ignored them both, choosing to tap on her phone.

Graham's daughter wore her light brown hair in a ponytail with streaming green ribbons. Her cotton dress was wrinkled and she looked as if she'd been eating cheese puffs because her lips were ringed in orange. Her cheeks were adorably chubby as was her middle. She looked nothing like her sophisticated mother, and for a moment, Tess felt absolutely sorry for the poor baby, as if she could see Monique disliked this about her own daughter. Wasn't fair of Tess to allow this immediate thought to pop up, but there it was all the same.

“Mom, can I have some Girl Scout cookies? I can share with Tess.”

Meanwhile Monique had turned to Louie. “Make those adjustments and I'll take a look before the mâché goes on.”

“Mom?” Emily intoned in that whiny voice invoked by almost every child on the planet.

“Whatever you want, Emily. Just don't ruin your lunch. Your father will be angry.” Monique moved toward another painting bay, the click of her heels accompanying her dismissal of her child.

Emily's expression dissolved into bitter disappointment. Tess felt her own heart flinch in response.

“Know what? I'm about to take a break and go to Magglio's for a slushie. You want to come with me?” Tess asked, having no such intention but feeling like she needed to do something more than stand there watching Emily hunger for a crumb of her mother's affection.

Emily's blue eyes lit. “Yes, please.” Then she yelled across the wide aisle, “Mom, can I go?”

Monique tossed her inky hair over her shoulder and looked at Tess. “You're already taking a break?”

“Actually I've been working on sketches for Eddie all morning and I need something more than coffee. Saturdays were made for strawberry slushes, don't you think?”

“Yay.” Emily clapped.

“Sure,” Monique said before turning back to another painter to inquire about a shade of brown that didn't match on one part of a prop.

Tess motioned Emily toward the exit. The little girl skipped ahead, pushing the exit bar, struggling against the heavy steel door. Tess shoved it open, allowing sunshine to tumble inside the dusty building.

Outside, the world was in weekend mode...or maybe it merely felt that way. Tess usually didn't come in to work on the weekend, but Monique had demanded she drop by and show her the preliminary sketches for Edward Mendez's krewe. The woman salivated over the chance to earn some of the krewes' business. So Tess had tugged on old jeans and a too tight T-shirt because she hadn't had time to do laundry and hustled down to Upstart to show Monique her sketches.

Needless to say, Tess had spent the last two hours making the adjustments Monique wanted. Tess had liked them the way they were and her father never would have nickel-and-dimed her lines or colors, but she now accepted she wasn't in charge.

Monique was...and her controlling nature was very evident.

Something she'd run into when it came to the sketches for Oedipus. Tess had worked personally with krewe captain Miles Barrow for years, but Monique and Cecily had already completed designs for the floats. Tess all but insisted she be given the chance to design something for the krewe's silver anniversary, a kernel of an idea she'd been playing around with for months. Tess hoped a superior design might dazzle Monique enough to give her the account. Monique relented, telling Tess she could work on the Oedipus design on her own time, but she would decide which designs were subbed to Miles based on cost, ease and design.

“I like Coca-Cola slushes,” Emily said, jarring Tess from her contemplation. The child looked up at Tess as they waited to cross the intersection. “You like strawberry best?”

“I'm a strawberry-mixed-with-Coca-Cola girl. I like peach, too.”

“Yuck,” Emily wrinkled her nose, sticking out her hand so Tess could lead her across the street.

“Well, I like it.” Tess laughed, looking down at Graham's daughter. Emily wasn't a beautiful child, but Tess had a sneaking suspicion she'd grow into quite a looker. She had long legs, thick wavy hair and a sparkle of good humor in her eyes...and Graham had gifted her with the most beautiful eyes.

Minutes later after snitching a brownie made by Alva Magglio herself—a treat since Alva had contracted rheumatoid arthritis and shifted the baking over to her daughter-in-law who didn't have the touch—Tess and Emily made their way back to Upstart's den. Sitting outside in his shiny silver car was the man Tess had tried like the devil to forget...and failed, of course.

“Daddy!” Emily screamed, trying to run across the street without looking.

Tess grabbed her, yanking her back and causing Emily to drop her slushie. “Emily, you can't cross without looking.”

“My slushie,” the little girl groaned looking down at the mess on the edge of the street.

“I'll get you another, but it's more important you don't end up as roadkill.”

“What's roadkill?”

Graham jogged over, scooped up the busted cup and narrowed his eyes at Emily. “Young lady, you are not to cross the street without an adult. You nearly got hit by that truck.”

Lip edging out, Emily dropped her head. “Sorry.”

Graham tossed the crushed cup in the garbage can outside Magglio's. He wore a pair of khaki shorts, a plain T-shirt and running shoes. Tess had never seen anything sexier on a man. Well, except his suit. Graham had looked hot in his buttoned up suit and power tie. And, well, he was smokin' without clothes. So maybe he looked sexy-level eight on a ten-point scale, but it was enough to do funny things to Tess's resolve to hate him.

Okay, not hate him. Maybe just an eight on her dislike scale. Or a seven.

“Hey,” he said to Tess, his smile wary. “Why are you with Em?”

“Well, we
were
having a slushie.” Tess held up her own cup.

“Mine got smushed. Can I have another?” Emily asked.

Graham reached down, scooping Emily up into a hug. “Gotta have my sugar first.” Dropping a kiss on Emily's nose, he jerked his head back toward the corner store.

“Yay,” Emily said, dropping her own kiss on Graham's nose.

Tess's heart expanded at the pure beauty of a daddy and his girl. And then when she thought about her own father, it split open. Tess had always been daddy's girl. What was she now that they had no words for each other? It had been almost three weeks since she'd quit Ullo, and a layer of ice had built between them. Still, she could see no way to go back to where she'd been.

“You know, I think I'll have one, too.” Graham set Emily down.

“Well, I should get back,” Tess said.

“No,” Emily said, tugging on Tess's shirttail. “Stay with us. Daddy's nice. I promise. And we're going to the park today. I can swing myself.”

“Really?” Tess offered her hand up for a high five.

Slapping her hand against Tess's, Emily spun toward the door of the store, pressing her nose against the glass. Alva must have waved her in because she pushed through, nodding her head and laughing.

Tess and Graham were left alone on the corner.

“Gotta say I was surprised to hear you went to work for Monique. Came out of left field,” Graham said, toeing a cigarette butt.

“Why? I needed a job and I know this business.”

Graham's gaze rose to hers. “I get it.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah,” he said, not offering anything more on the subject.

“Are things going well?”

Tess didn't answer. Merely looked at him with a “what the hell do you think?” look.

“Yeah.” Graham's eyes dropped slightly as he studied her lips, then they dropped even lower to where her breasts strained at her too tight T-shirt advertising Big Mouth Sam's Blues bar. The suggestive slogan “Open Wide” didn't help, either.

Her mind tripped toward the way she'd run her fingers under his T-shirt, the way she'd licked that little place at the base of his throat, the way he'd tasted, the way he'd felt moving inside her.

Sweet Bessie, Tess. Stop reliving those moments. You can't allow yourself to go there. You can't allow your resolve to fade.

“I gotta go,” she said, spinning away, wanting to stretch the tight T-shirt away from her chest, not merely so he'd stop dropping his gaze to her breasts but because she needed to breathe.

“Wait,” he said, his hand closing around her bicep. His touch was warm.
He
was warm and she wanted to wrap herself in him in spite of hurt that clung to her much like that T-shirt. “Don't go on account of me.”

“I have to go on account of you. Don't you get it? I can't—” She snapped her mouth closed and tried to pin down the reason she couldn't stay right where she was. Because he'd been a jerk? Because her father had chosen him over her? Because she didn't want to like him, didn't want to let go of her hurt? She wanted to nurse it, obsess over it like Gollum and his precious ring, because it felt like that was her right.

He dropped his hand. “How about we strike a truce?”

Tess started shaking her head.

“For Emily's sake?”

“I just met your daughter this morning. Presumptive to think I'd do anything for her sake.”

“Then for me. For you. For being grown-up people in a bad situation.”

She wanted to step away and tell him to go to hell. She wanted to lean against him and close her eyes. But she did neither. Instead Tess stood there and looked confused.

Maybe because she was confused.

She wanted to hate him...but she didn't.

“Fine,” she said, stretching out a hand. “We'll agree to be polite to one another. That's all I got.”

Graham looked at her hand. “Just polite? Seems cold.”

“Really?” Tess said, dropping her hand. “What do you expect? We work for rival companies and our ‘relationship' lasted for all of twelve hours.”

“Thirteen,” he said, reaching forward and picking up the hand she'd dropped.

Oh, she knew exactly how long they'd spent together that night nearly two months ago—thirteen hours, eight minutes. Something about his knowing, too, plinked a few heartstrings.

Graham studied her hand clasped between his. “I'm sorry, Tess. I don't know how much more I can say it to you. I guess I can't. I'll see you around.” He released her hand and turned toward the store where Emily stood inside waving, a huge, loving smile on her face.

Tess waved back to the child and headed back to Upstart, her step heavy as her heart. She wanted the heaviness to leave. She wanted to be happy again.

But life wasn't always happy, was it? Life held as many tears and as much loneliness as it did hugs and belonging. Tess had just skidded into that other 50 percent for maybe the first time in her life...and it pretty much sucked.

Monique met her at the front door, carrying a pink duffel bag. “Where's Emily?”

“With her father. Her drink spilled and he went to get her another.”

“Uh, he's been spoiling her.”

“That's what daddies do,” Tess said, sliding past the woman and reentering the warehouse.

“Tess?” Monique called, turning toward her. “I hope you're happy here. I'm glad you're here at Upstart.”

Unexpected words delivered by a tough-as-nails woman. Tess still couldn't read Monique—they'd only spent two weeks together. Still, the words did what they were intended to do. “It's been hard for me, but I'm determined to carve my niche here.”

“Good. We want you happy. Happy Tess means happy Upstart.”

Tess wouldn't go as far to say “happy” but she nodded anyway. “I'm going to run by Edward Mendez's offices and drop off the corrected sketches, and hopefully I'll have my vision for Oedipus ready by Monday.”

“Good. And don't forget we have drinks with the Rivera brothers on Monday afternoon. The Prometheus account isn't as big as the others, but they've been with me for several years. I want them to meet you.”

Right. Dog-and-pony show. The Ullo name hard at work again. Well, at least Monique hadn't lied to her about her reasons for hiring her...or done anything behind her back like Tess's father had. If Tess hadn't been an Ullo and hadn't the connections she had with the krewes, she wouldn't be working for Monique right now.

Sometimes honesty sucked. Maybe she'd rather have smoke blown up her skirt and be told how great she was at designing floats. Or maybe she'd have to earn that designation.

Carving a niche wasn't as easy as Tess had hoped.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

F
RANK
U
LLO
LOOKED
down the table at his family. It had been three weeks since Easter Sunday. Two and a half weeks since he started the experimental drugs that had ravaged his body. He'd lost nearly ten pounds and looked like something the dog had barfed up.

“Dad, you don't look good at all,” Frankie Jr. said, not bothering to stop shoveling Maggie's lasagna into his mouth. His wife, Laurie, wasn't much of a cook, so every Sunday Frankie approached lunch like a man who'd spent twenty years in a third-world prison.

“Hush, now,” Maggie said, sliding her eyes to Frank and giving him a small nod.

Frank looked down at where Tess sat studying the food on her plate. They hadn't spoken since she'd left that Easter day, and frankly, he was so angry at her for quitting Ullo and working for Upstart, he didn't want to talk to her...especially since he felt so damn weak and helpless. His daughter should be ashamed to even sit at the table, eating the food Frank Ullo bought.

Graham had said a lot of things about making peace with Tess, but Frank wasn't ready to do that just yet. Tess had purposely poked a stick at him...and the damn thing was sharp. He wasn't saying anything to her. He didn't care what anyone else thought.

Maggie kept staring at him. She wanted him to tell them all about why he looked like death. Something other than the “I'm a bit under the weather” he'd been using with everyone he saw over the past week.

“Your father has something he wants to tell all of you,” Maggie said, setting down her fork and giving him a final “get on with it” look.

“Let everyone finish their food, woman.”

“Don't you ‘woman' me, Frank Clyde Ullo,” Maggie said, anger shooting from her eyes.

“Meh,” Frank said, shoving his food to the side. His stomach rebelled and he rose. “Pardon me.”

His family looked up at him, concern etched on their faces.

“What's going on with Pop?” Michael asked his mother.

Maggie shook her head as Frank left the table. He needed to make it to the lavatory so he could puke his guts out. No big deal, right? He hadn't been able to hold down anything but applesauce for the past few days. He hated applesauce now.

Minutes later, he emerged from the restroom, shaky on his feet, but determined to return to the table. He'd already spent much of his time in bed, and he wasn't giving up his Sunday lunch with his boys and Tess...even if she and he weren't talking.

“Pop?” Michael said, rising and coming to his aid. Taking his elbow, his youngest son steered him to his place at the head of the table. “You okay? Can I get you anything?”

Frank patted his son's arm as he sank into the chair. Such a good boy. Always had been. Ran a bit wild in school, but always so caring, nursing felled baby birds, teaching children how to play hopscotch and sitting for hours in the yard contemplating God's world. “I'm good.”

Joseph raised his eyebrows, as if to encourage Frank to let the cat out of the bag. But this cat would scratch and create havoc in his family.

Maggie had tears in her eyes. His boys sat, eyebrows gathered in concern. And his Tess still stared at her plate, taciturn, an unfeeling statue.

“What your momma wants me to say is that I got cancer and I'm dying,” Frank blurted, slapping a hand on the table. “There, Maggie, I told them.”

A collective sucking in of breaths met his ears.

“Oh, my God,” Laurie cried, clasping a hand over her mouth and turning to her husband. Frankie Jr. sat still as dawn, his mouth open, his brown eyes growing angry. His oldest never liked surprises.

Joseph exhaled with a groan. “Dad...”

“What? Your mother wants you all to know. So there. Now you do.”

“Frank,” Maggie yelled, tossing her napkin on the table, her face crumpling even as her eyes blazed outrage. “What on God's green earth is wrong with you?”

“It's the truth. You been nipping at my heels like a dog wanting me to tell them,” Frank said, trying for a nonchalant shrug even as he was wound as tight as a Swiss clock inside. It was out there for all to know—he was dying.

“Not like that,” Maggie cried before heading at a fast clip toward the kitchen. Laurie and Beth came to the same unspoken conclusion, rose and followed.

Frankie Jr. leaned back in his chair. “Christ, Dad.”

“Hey,” Michael admonished, holding up a hand, his black cassock and white collar stark against his shocked face. His youngest son cast a worried look at Tess who still sat frozen in place. Her eyes were wide and because she'd refused to even glance his way, Frank hadn't a clue what she thought or felt. “Let's all take a deep breath and a moment to think before we speak.”

The scrape of Tess's chair against the floor was the only response to Michael's plea. His daughter flew toward the living room, not bothering to utter a word.

“Well, that's getting to be a regular thing,” Frank said, his heart sinking at the sight of Tess running. He'd thought her being forced to talk to him a silver lining in his delivering such terrible news. The slam of the front door told him there was no silver lining. There were just stormy, pain-filled clouds hovering over all of them. Maybe Tess more than anyone else. The hurt between them prevented even an umbrella to shield her from the onslaught of the rain that would fall.

And it would fall. Joseph, the oncologist and Maggie could talk all they wanted of his beating this, but Frank knew his chances were slim to none. He'd ignored the symptoms for too long. He'd started feeling weird before Christmas and because Mardi Gras was breathing down his neck, he'd ignored it, telling himself he was just older, more stressed with the business he'd lost that year. But it wasn't age or stress. And his casual dismissal had repercussions.

“I can't believe this is how you told us.” Frankie Jr. shoved his empty plate toward the crystal saltshakers Frank's mother had given Frank when he'd gotten married to Maggie. She'd said they'd been made in the old country as if that was the most special of things. The shakers worked and that's all that had mattered to Frank, but now he wondered if he'd missed too much in life, wondered if he'd been too dismissive of what mattered most. Took dying to appreciate living. “Very shitty, old man.”

“What? There's a better way? You can't put lipstick on a pig. Ain't no good way,” Frank said, his stomach cramping and his vision a bit spotty. He really wanted to lie down, but couldn't leave things this way.

“Joseph, you want to explain this? Then someone should go check on Tess.” Frankie Jr. assumed the role of firstborn, his gaze not quite so angry as resolute. Frankie Jr. always met problems head-on. That particular trait made him a fine trial attorney and a fine older brother to his siblings.

Joseph launched into a complicated description of his stage of cancer (not good) and the experimental drugs (not guaranteed) as Frank listened in objectively. Easier to do so than to think about what was happening within his body...though feeling the effects of the cancer and drugs wasn't an option. Couldn't wish those away. Joseph finished explaining the diagnosis, the symptoms of the chemo and the likely outcome (neither good nor guaranteed) as Maggie came back and sat down, reaching for his hand. Tears still in her eyes, she nodded at him. Frank's heart swelled at the love in her eyes. God had blessed him his entire life. How could he complain when he'd been given so much?

“This is why you asked us to not bring the kids. This is why Granny B isn't here,” Frankie Jr. said, his expression no longer shocked. Just sad.

“We thought it would be better for you to tell your children yourself. Obviously your father has no tact when it comes to relaying delicate information,” Maggie said. “Your father will tell Granny Bella this evening. We're taking her leftovers and a napoleon from La Madeleine's. She's been bugging us for one, says they're better than Gambinos or the ones I make from scratch. Maybe that will help somehow.”

Michael rolled his eyes and gave a harsh laugh. “That's
so
going to make telling her easier.”

“Where's Tess?” Maggie asked, staring at the empty seat.

“She bolted,” Michael said, rising from the table, craning his neck toward the living room. “I'll go see about her.”

“No, give her a little time. Things have been hard on her lately.” Frank knew his daughter. She needed time to process. Time to figure out how to react. Tess was much more complex than most thought. On the surface she'd always been quick to smile and quick to action, but beneath her positive exterior beat a discerning woman...a woman who needed time.

Michael hesitated. “What about her, Dad? I sort of humored you in hiring that Graham guy. He seems okay. Capable. But now we're talking about...”

His youngest left off, shifting his gaze to his brothers who occupied the right side of the table.

“We're not sure what the results will be,” Joseph intoned.

“No, he's right,” Frank said, waving a hand, fighting against the sheer exhaustion knocking at his door. He'd need to leave the table soon, but first he had to finish what he'd started. “Graham is part of this. I needed someone to run Ullo.”

Michael lifted his eyebrows. “But not Tess.”

“Not alone,” Frank said, shaking his head. “I never meant for her to see it the way she did. I merely looked for someone to come in and do what I do so she could keep doing what she did. I wanted to find her a partner. Didn't want to stress her with the undue burden of running Ullo alone. Graham was to be the new me.”

“Why didn't you tell her that from the beginning?” Frankie Jr. asked in a very lawyerly way.

“I don't need to be cross-examined. I just puked my guts up,” Frank said, rising on shaking legs. “Tess needs to see things for herself. She's young and thinks she can handle everything tossed her way. She's arrogant and spoiled. I did her a disservice and I'm paying for it.”

“Tess isn't wrong here, Dad,” Michael insisted.

Frank held up a finger. “But she's not right, either. Leave her alone for a bit and let her find her way. She needs that right now. She needs to feel a bit of the bite life gives.”

After a moment, Michael nodded, his dark eyes meeting Frank's. In that gaze, Frank saw his boy understood. Michael had a way of seeing into the future and getting the big picture.

“Okay, we'll give Tess space. But you have to think about things with her,” Frankie Jr. said, rising to take Frank's elbow and assist him from the room. “And you gotta fight, Dad. We're all here with you through this.”

Frank patted his son's hand and then reached out and clasped Joseph's shoulder. “I got a son to pray for me, a son to heal me and a son to get my affairs in order in case the first two don't work. I'm set.”

Passing by Michael, Frank reached out and roped the boy into him, kissing him on the head.

“What's Tess for?”

“Reminding me who I was and who I am.”

With that, he slowly crawled toward the open door, hooking toward the stairs.

* * *

T
HE
SOUND
OF
HER
SOLES
slapping the pavement was little comfort, but the rhythm gave Tess something to cling to.

Her father was dying.

Slap, slap, slap.

He'd known this when he hired Graham.

Slap, slap, slap.

He'd refused to apologize to her, knowing he was sick.

Slap...slap...slap.

Tess stopped and bent over, her lungs burning, her eyes aching from unshed tears. Sucking in breaths, she held on to her knees and tried to pretend like everything that had happened in her life within the past few months was a nightmare.

That's it.

Pinch yourself and wake up, princess. This isn't real.

“Ma'am?” The words came from behind her.

Tess shut her eyes.

“You okay?” A young female voice.

Tess stood up, placed her hands on her hips and tried to still her ragged breathing. She knew tears leaked from the corner of her eyes...or was it sweat? She looked over her shoulder to find a girl of about thirteen or fourteen studying her with concern. “I'm okay. Thanks.”

“You sure? I mean...” The teen glanced down at what Tess wore.

Right. She had on jeans and a pair of ballet flats. Not exactly running gear. “Yeah.”

Not like she'd planned for a run through Old Metairie. Kinda happened when a gal found out the father who she supposedly hated was dying. Guilt and grief had crashed down on her. All she could think to do was run. Out the door. Down the street. All the way to...Bonnabel Avenue?

“Thanks,” she called out to the girl with a wave. Unusual for a teenager to check on someone like that.

Tess pushed the sweat-dampened hair from her face and sucked in the humid air as she turned back the way she had come. Around her the quaint, expensive neighborhood hummed with children laughing, the sound of a lawn mower and the swoosh of cars down Metairie Road, which was strung with businesses, some open, others not. She'd run a decent way for a chick in ballet flats.

The phone in her front pocket vibrated and she pulled it out.

Michael.

She wasn't ready to talk to her brother about her father. Too close to home and the sadness would sheet off of Michael—the man felt everything so deeply. Tess didn't want to feel anything at the moment. She wanted to hide. To avoid. To pretend. For at least fifteen minutes. Maybe an hour. Or maybe she could hide from the entire afternoon.

Pressing the button to bring up her contacts, she hit Gigi's number. Several rings and a voicemail later, she hung up. A ding sounded. Text message from Gigi.

Found a date to the wedding. I'm trying him on right now. Catch up with you tomorrow. This might take a while ;)