Need You for Mine (Heroes of St. Helena) (4 page)

“Here’s how this is going to play out,” Adam said. “I’ll call Roman, tell him I was driving the truck and—”

“No way,” Seth said. “I can’t let you take the fall.”

“As opposed to you getting passed on for the job?” When the kid still looked ready to argue, Adam added, “And McGuire getting written up for giving you the keys to go on a banana run? Not to mention, whoever else knew what was going on and didn’t step in?”

Seth thought about that long and hard, until Adam could see the frown split his brow. And okay, the situation wasn’t quite as dire as Adam was making it out for the other guys, but Seth didn’t need to know that. Once word got out of exactly why Seth had hit the tampon crate, Chief Lowen would rain down on him like Hurricane Katrina.

“So we go with my plan,” Adam said when he heard a car idling out front.

“I don’t like it,” Seth finally said, “but I’ll go with it.”

Adam didn’t like it either. In fact, the second he saw the polished red truck pull into the drive, he was rethinking the plan. The plan sucked. And he needed a new one. A-SAP. One that didn’t involve him, on his day off, dealing with this BS.

Because this hurricane had just turned into a Category 5. It wasn’t Roman behind the wheel of the department vehicle, but Battalion Chief Lowen. A notorious hard-ass who’d spent too many years behind a desk to remember what it was like to be in the field. He upheld the letter of the law, rather than the person’s intent, and based all decisions on potential media coverage.

Adam was so screwed. There was no way even a guy like Lowen could positively spin a fender bender involving a new engine, a tampon crate, and a banana run. Not with the implications about wasting taxpayer dollars on engine repairs when they were already suffering from budget cuts.

To make matters worse, Lowen also had an extreme dislike for Adam.

Partly because Adam lived to walk the line, but mostly because when Adam had been an FNG he’d taken the chief’s goddaughter on the grand tour of the station—ending with a ride around town in the engine—where she’d rung his bell.

“Baudouin. Why am I not surprised?” Lowen barked, negotiating his spare tire around the steering wheel to get out of the truck and inspect the dent. Then he inspected Adam, who was about to take the blame for a collision he hadn’t caused—while wearing nothing but flip-flops, shorts, and a
PLAY HARD
tee.

“Chief,” Adam said, smiling. “How’s the family?”

“Still off-limits.”

M
ondays had always been Harper’s favorite. There was something about the start of a fresh week, the unlimited possibilities the next seven days held, and the sounds and smells associated with Main Street coming alive. Monday had a rhythm, an ebb and flow of the unexpected and the familiar that brought her comfort.

Residual effects of the unconventional childhood she’d shared with an unconventional mother.

Today was the perfect Monday. The sun was out, the sky was clear, and the zinnias and morning glories filling the wine-barrel planters that lined downtown were in full bloom, painting Main Street with all the colors of summer. Even better, Harper had channeled her inner sexy to try to help her grandmother.

Maybe
channeled
was too strong a word, but she’d definitely acquired enough intel to fake it.

Harper pulled the “Fast Track to Seduction” article she’d discovered online out of her purse and looked at the first rule. According to the twelve-step article, sexy was a state of mind. So, contrary to popular belief, there was nothing wrong with faking it.

Harper gave herself a stern nod, then put the article back. If she wanted to save her grandma’s shop, then she needed to stop thinking like Suzie Sunshine and fake herself right into the role of a bedroom bombshell. At least until she got through this meeting with Lulu Allure.

And maybe got herself some adult cookies to go with a tall glass of yummy man.

Which was why, instead of wearing one of her go-to farm dresses with floral-patterned tights and Mary Janes, Harper had come to the shop early to dress for sex-cess.

Embracing rules number five, less is always more, and seven, the profound power of red, she’d purchased a body-hugging scarlet number that was sleek, sophisticated, and posed more questions than answers. Then, since sexy was in the accessories, or so she’d heard, she’d slipped on the naughtiest pair of panties in the shop, mile-high heels, and applied just enough makeup to appear flushed.

With one last look in the mirror, she fluffed her hair and hoped it looked more like bed-rumpled waves than corkscrew curls, then strutted out of the dressing room and into the shop. Where she nearly tripped over her feet.

The Boulder Holder, where she’d spent countless hours after work giving it a fresh, new, youthful look—a transformation, really—was packed full of customers. Women of all shapes and sizes—curvy, petite, willowy, and buxom—had turned out in a show of support. The problem was, they were all retired.

There wasn’t an arthritis-free or girdle-less gal among the group. Except for one—the runway-ready thirty-something with shiny black hair and perfect allure who stood at the entryway of the shop, a red journal in hand, frantically taking notes as someone asked where the banana-hammock display had been moved.

“Grandma,” Harper whispered, dashing over to the register, her head pounding each time she watched a customer rifle through the racks like it was the yearly bloomers blowout and not the most important day for the shop. “Why are all these people here? We have the Lulu Allure meeting today.”

“That’s why I called in backup. I figured if the rep saw how packed the store was she’d change her mind. All it took was me mentioning a free banana-hammock with every purchase of twenty dollars or more before noon, and the knitting club cleared out and the girls started lining up.” Clovis took in the crowded store and smiled, big and proud.

Harper took in Clovis with her blue eye shadow, coral lips, and emerald lace bustier she was wearing as a top and groaned.

“We wanted to prove we have a youthful edge. Flirty summer romance, boudoir sexy—that was the plan, remember?” It was a good plan. One that ten minutes ago Harper had been certain would sway the rep’s opinion of the shop.

“Oh, I remember all right. That’s why I told the girls no dentures or orthopedic shoes allowed.” Which explained why Mrs. Sharp was moving her lips like she was a ventriloquist.

“These aren’t girls, they’re grandmas,” Harper pointed out. “And call me crazy, but when I think of Summer of Seduction, saggy breasts and Bengay don’t really come to mind.”

“We might be up there in age, but we are all widow’s peak women,” Clovis chided, clearly offended.

“Widow’s peak women?” Harper asked.

“Women in their seventies who are embracing their sexuality. In fact, WPWs are enjoying the best sex of their lives, and enjoying it three times more often than you and your youngster crowd. Just ask Giles.”

Harper gagged a little. “I’ll take your word for it.”

Giles Rousseau was weathered, pushing eighty, and Clovis’s gentleman friend. They had both stubbornly circled each other for two decades, then last year Giles finally made his move, taking them from foes to frisky in a single night, and now they cohabitated in a quaint cottage off Main Street and co-parented their dog, Jabba.

“Good sex or not—”

“
Great
sex, dear. There’s a difference.”

It had been so long, Harper wouldn’t know.

“The point is, how am I supposed to present our ideas to the rep when your widow’s peak women are rifling through the merchandise and picking apart the store we worked all last night finishing up?”

Clovis took in the store once again, the swarm of biddies, the picked-over displays, and leaned heavier on her cane, letting loose a deflating sigh. “Oh my, I really blew it, didn’t I?”

Clovis didn’t understand the concept of moderation. Everything she did, she did with gusto—including love. Which was why Harper pulled the older woman into her arms and whispered the same comforting phrase her grandmother had told her a hundred times as a kid: “Anything done from the heart can’t be wrong.” With a final squeeze, she pulled back. And then because she didn’t want to let down the woman who had sacrificed so much to be both a grandmother and a mother, Harper added, “Now you find a way to clear some of the customers out and I’ll go do what I do best.”

Making friends wasn’t Harper’s only superpower. She could also tell a story and captivate an audience through images. Today she was doing both.

Pretending the shop was in tip-top shape, Harper headed toward the window display—and the woman who held the fate of her grandmother’s shop in her hands. Determination pushed her shoulders back, even though nerves had her heart pounding.

“I’m Harper Owens, senior merchandising manager.” Harper stuck out her hand. “You must be from Lulu Allure.”

The woman studied her for a long moment, taking in every inch of Harper’s attire—especially the shoes. She didn’t appear overly impressed, but she also didn’t appear as if she were going to ask for tips on papier-mâché crafts for kids. Harper considered it a win.

“Chantel,” she said, offering Harper a glossy black-and-gray business card that read,
CHANTEL LARUE, VP OF SALES AND MARKETING, LULU ALLURE
.

Harper swallowed. They hadn’t sent a low-hanging sales rep—they’d sent in the big guns—which had Harper wondering just how bad these
contractual changes
were going to be.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” Harper said, but her voice got lost in the chatter and shuffle of the customers.

“I believe we had an appointment.” Chantel looked at her watch, then at the bifocals and frosted tips circling the merchandise. “Did I get the time wrong?”

“No, you’re right on time. Mondays are just busy.” Harper extended an arm toward the back of the shop. “Why don’t we head into Couture Corner so we can chat.” And so Chantel could see a room that hadn’t been picked over.

Late last night, right before Harper had finally turned in, she’d had a stroke of genius and turned the back storage space into a private showing room for their more high-end lines.

The transformation was incredible, Harper thought as they entered the room. It was exactly what the Boulder Holder needed to sway Chantel. Bright, bold, breezy, sexy, and of course highlighting the star of the day—the entire Lulu Allure summer line. A detail that Chantel certainly couldn’t miss.

Neither could she miss the tufted cream silk panels, silver and black accents, and chandelier Harper had salvaged from the garage and spray-painted to appear vintage. One of the secret tools of any good set dresser was the ability to accomplish high-end looks on a low budget. Harper could turn a fish bowl and an IKEA desk light into a realistic Tiffany sconce with only a glue gun, sea glass, and craft paints.

“This is . . . unexpected,” Chantel said, taking a seat, and Harper felt her shoulders lift. Finding sensuality in the unexpected was rule number nine. “It reminds me of this little Parisian lingerie shop I went to last spring. They would bring the customers a cappuccino and croissant while they brought in a selection of their merchandise that was hand-chosen for the customer.”

“That’s what we’re going for, only using selected local wines,” Harper said, grabbing a tray of chocolate-dipped fruit with a flight of Napa Valley wines off the shelf. She placed it on the small table separating the two plush wingback chairs she had dragged down from the attic. “We wanted to create an intimate space that would provide a luxurious and plush environment to make the women feel pampered, and to highlight our specialty lines. Also, pairing the perfect wines with elegant lingerie will encourage customers to slow down and really experience the merchandise.”

Chantel took a glass and lifted it to her lips. “I didn’t get the impression your clientele would be interested in lines like these.”

Harper swallowed down the bitter taste of judgment and smiled. “We get a lot of tourists, bridal parties, bachelorette parties, and groups of girlfriends up for a weekend of wine tasting. Our focus is to become the number one destination for bridal parties and girls’ days out in wine country, and cash in on the twenty- to thirty-something weekend wine tasters.” Harper stood and draped one of Lulu Allure’s biggest sellers over herself, as if she were one of those sexy and sophisticated twenty- to thirty-something weekend wine tasters. “Our new look and the Tempting Tastings parties are going to get us there.”

“I love what you’ve done with the shop, this room here, and the front window. And I absolutely adore the Tempting Tastings concept.” It was said as if she also absolutely adored Harper. As if Harper was reason enough for Chantel to say yes, and that she wanted to move forward with their relationship.

And that felt good.

So good, Harper actually blushed a little. “Thank you.”

“I have to be honest, though.” Chantel set the wine down without even tasting it, and Harper felt her blush instantly blanch. She clutched the bra and panty to her as tremors of a big
but
that would no doubt rock the Boulder Holder loose shook the room—and her misplaced confidence. “I’m only here in person because we’ve had such a long-standing relationship with this shop. The team back home has strong concerns with having the Boulder Holder as our exclusive dealer in this territory—”

“Clovis was the first store in the state to carry Lulu Allure. She has always been a loyal client,” Harper quickly pointed out, trying her best to remain calm, but she felt the garments in her hands droop. “In fact, between online and in-store sales, more than a third of the product we sell is Lulu Allure.”

“A third of sales in a small-town shop is quite different from a third of sales in our boutique on Wilshire Boulevard.”

“The Boulder Holder recently moved to the other end of Main Street, which caused some issues with foot traffic.” She tried to keep the desperate edge out of her voice. “But the storefronts in this area have filled up, foot traffic has increased as you can see, and come August, when the harvest is in full swing and wedding parties flood to the valley, the tourists will outnumber the residents ten to one.”

“I’m sure they will, but it’s not the foot traffic I’m the most concerned about. It’s brand protection. There’s a reason Louis Vuitton can’t be purchased at Walmart.” Chantel softened her voice in that apologetic way that gave Harper heartburn. “Look, Lulu Allure is grateful for everything Clovis has done for us over the years, but we are expanding, taking our brand in a new direction with our fall line, and your clientele is not our target.”

Harper felt her stomach tighten. “But our online customers are your exact target. Young, edgy movers and shakers of wine country and the greater Bay Area. During the tourist season we are flooded with dot-commers, Hollywood expats, and of course the Silicon Valley elite.”

Chantel took in a deep breath and met Harper’s gaze. Harper wasn’t sure what the woman was looking for, but she gave her best smile, and then, remembering that sexy is a state of mind, pictured herself how she’d felt the other night—her hair down, her lips swollen, and Adam whispering her name—and lifted that lingerie set back up.

“Another show and I didn’t get a call? I gotta say, sunshine, I’m hurt.”

Harper spun around and found Adam standing in the doorway to the room, dressed in his fitted SHFD blues, displaying his tanned skin and lethal dimples, looking like the cover of a sexy fireman calendar.

Which he actually was.

He was also sipping on a to-go coffee cup while watching Harper model the bra-and-panty set. The spark in his baby blues said he liked what he saw—and suddenly Harper saw the power of
sexy is a state of mind
in action.