CHAPTER NINE
MELANIE
Braxton Porter was the recreation director at Desert Princess Resort and Spa. He’d been in London at an international resort conference when I was fired. I hadn’t seen him since. Braxton and I had always had a pleasantly professional relationship. Thirty years old, he was also charming, good-looking, and about a year ago, his fiancée left him for a guy who hosted a home-improvement reality television show.
Since the great wedding debacle, he’d texted me a few times, just benign How are you doing? messages, but I was doing my best to avoid any reminders of my humiliating dismissal. When I finally texted him back, he asked if I wanted to have dinner. I hesitated for few minutes, staring at the message, before taking the plunge and accepting. I’d been working a lot, and once the new restaurant opened, I might not get too many evenings off for a while.
But then as I fussed with my hair, waiting for the doorbell to ring, I was starting to regret agreeing to this date. Braxton and I had worked well together, but there’d never been a shred of romantic tension between us. Unlike the unseen currents of electric attraction that filled the air whenever my current boss and I were in the same room together.
Speaking of Dominic, he’d been in one of his moods today. There were times when I saw the tension coiling in his broad, muscled shoulders, and all I wanted to do was massage it away, but he always kept his burdens to himself. As hard as I worked, he always worked ten times harder. The inner force that drove him was both admirable and intimidating. Sometimes it seemed that Esposito’s Pizzeria was actually his lover and life partner. How could anyone compete with that?
Checking my watch, I wandered into my bedroom with both cats right on my heels and sat on the edge of the bed. I opened the plastic bag containing five Esposito’s T-shirts that Gio had given me when he stopped by today. After refolding the shirts and setting them in a neat pile, I reached into the large brown shopping bag I’d dropped on the floor earlier. On my way home I’d stopped at the mall and purchased four pairs of comfortable jeans, because my denim inventory was rather lackluster. I slowly ran my hand over the fabric. I hadn’t regularly worn jeans to work since my college job at an arts and crafts store, but hell, I wasn’t a corporate big shot any longer. It seemed like I ought to at least consider making a more practical transition to fit my new reality.
I stashed the clothes in a dresser drawer and returned to the living room.
Braxton arrived fifteen minutes late. I already had my purse on my shoulder and stepped out the door quickly.
“You look fantastic, Melanie,” he said as he gave me a friendly hug.
“Thanks,” I told him. “So do you.”
I wasn’t being insincere. Braxton wore dark-gray pants and a light-blue shirt with sleeves rolled above the elbows. I remembered that most days he would arrive at work ninety minutes early to use the state-of-the-art resort gym. It showed. Blond guys had never really been my thing, but I could still appreciate that Braxton was pretty easy on the eyes.
He led me to his black Acura and held the door as I climbed in. I wondered how long I should wait before mentioning Melanie’s Spectacular Screw Up aka The Semicelebrity Wedding from Hell. Ever since I got fired, I’d desperately avoided the social media gossip, the Internet memes, the YouTube video comments. That was a black hole I couldn’t afford to get sucked into when I was trying to move on and find a new job. Things like this always passed when the next tabloid nugget was served up.
But now, seated beside my former coworker as he drove out of my apartment complex, I suddenly, passionately wanted to know what the people I used to work with thought of me.
“I bet you want to know what the staff has been saying about you,” Braxton said as we paused at a red light.
“What? No.” I shook my head, blushing. “I wasn’t thinking that.”
Braxton gave me a sympathetic smile. “It’s okay, Mel. That’s what I’d be wondering if I were you. No one blames you, you know.”
“Hence the abrupt termination of my employment,” I said, a little bitterly.
Braxton turned onto the freeway. “Management needed a scapegoat, that’s all. But the word among the staff is that you never should have been put in that position in the first place. The basic consensus is that you were overtasked and got a shit deal. By the way, I agree with the consensus.”
I exhaled deeply, releasing a worry I hadn’t realized had been weighing on me so much. It was nice to know that my former colleagues didn’t see me as a bubble-brained failure.
Braxton took me to a new Italian restaurant in Scottsdale. He was surprised to hear that I was working for a small family-owned pizzeria and offered to make some calls if I was interested in moving on. Since I felt committed to my role at Esposito’s, I politely refused the offer.
He was decent company—smiled often, occasionally said something funny, and appeared to listen carefully whenever I spoke. Still, something was missing. Call it attraction or excitement or whatever. I had to stifle a few yawns by the time the main course was served.
When Braxton paid for our meal like a gentleman, I felt like kind of a bitch for being vaguely bored with him already. What the hell was I expecting? Maybe I’d just read one too many romance novels during my long drought. In real life not every man possessed smoldering eyes, a square jaw, and a body that induced projectile drooling.
But some of them did.
No, I wouldn’t think about Dominic tonight. I did enough of that during the daylight hours, and I deserved some time off.
As we lingered over our drinks, Braxton asked if I wanted to stop in at a new club on Shea Boulevard.
“Sounds good,” I said a little absently, because in spite of my best efforts, I still had Dominic on the brain. I looked down at the table. I picked up my water glass. Then as I raised it to my lips, I happened to check out the other side of the restaurant.
And immediately wished I hadn’t.
“Melanie?” Braxton ventured.
“Hmm?”
“Are you okay?”
“Sure. Why do you ask?”
“Because you just gulped about eight ounces of water in three seconds.”
“Oh.” I set the water glass down. Then I smiled. “It’s hot. I was thirsty.”
Braxton nodded, looking unconvinced. “I see. You want to get out of here?”
I practically jumped out of my chair. “Yes, I would like to get out of here.”
As Braxton escorted me out the doors of the swank Italian eatery, I tried to avoid glancing back one more time. I failed.
I knew that Dominic Esposito had the right to eat out anywhere he pleased. He also had the right to go out with whomever he chose, even the platinum-haired lingerie model who was sitting very closely beside him at Casa Rienti. The two of them were accompanied by another couple, and I recognized the man. It was Jason, Dominic’s friend. I remembered thinking at the time that his absurd good looks would have caught my attention if I hadn’t been so distracted by the presence of my boss.
Braxton was holding the door open for me, so I had no choice but to walk through it. It was actually kind of a relief because I’d be spared another glimpse of Dominic and his big-breasted plaything. Even so, I wondered who she was. Tara had once laughingly declared that Dominic Esposito never had time for relationships. In fact she was convinced he slept curled up on the floor beside the brick ovens at the pizzeria. Judging by how affectionate Dominic and his date appeared, it seemed Tara was wrong.
“You sure you’re okay?” Braxton asked once we were outside. He was looking at me a little oddly.
“Yup,” I said and forced a grin before we headed to his car.
Even before we entered the crowded club, I regretted coming. This had never been my scene, not even in college. Braxton continued to be Mr. Super Nice Guy and introduced me to the club’s owner, who was an old frat brother of his. Since it seemed like the two of them wanted to talk for a few minutes, I excused myself to go to the ladies’ room. I closed myself in a stall and just hung out for a few minutes, trying to sort out my thoughts, which were still in disarray over the Dominic sighting. I had no good reason to be disturbed by the sight of him out on a date. Hell, I was sort of on a date myself. If he wanted to let some chick rub her nipples all over him, then I had nothing to say about it.
I frowned, flushed the unused toilet, washed my hands, and left a tip for the attendant.
“There you are,” Braxton greeted me as I made my way back to the noisy bar. His friend was nowhere in sight. Braxton leaned close to my ear, draped his arm around my shoulder. “Let’s head upstairs. There’s a VIP lounge. It’ll be much quieter.”
I didn’t want to go upstairs. Braxton was okay, but there wasn’t going to be a romantic connection between us, and all the VIP lounges in the world couldn’t change my mind about that.
“Actually,” I said, “I’m not feeling so great. You think you could take me home?”
Braxton’s brilliant white smile wavered a little, but he nodded. “Sure. We’re out of here.”
Twenty minutes later I changed my mind about Braxton being a nice guy when he tried to inhale my tonsils in front of my apartment. I told him he didn’t have to walk me to the door, but he insisted, saying he considered it good manners. I’d turned to him, expecting a handshake or maybe a chaste hug, but he grabbed my face and shoved his rubbery tongue between my lips.
“Aah!” he howled when I bit down in reflex. He held a hand to his face and glared at me.
“What the hell?” I yelled.
Braxton pulled his hand away from his face and examined it. There was no blood, but he still wore the expression of a wounded dog. “You bit me,” he complained. “You actually fucking bit me.”
I crossed my arms and looked around, hoping we weren’t attracting any neighborly interest. “Oh, just barely,” I hissed. “I wasn’t expecting that. You didn’t exactly ease in there romantically.”
Braxton’s lips spread into a slow smile. He grabbed me by the waist a little too hard.
“Is this more romantic?” he whispered. His breath was sour, and he pushed himself against me, shoving me into the wall. When I tried to break free, he kept me pinned and started grinding his hips until I could feel every repulsive centimeter of his boner.
“Braxton!” I shouted. “Let go of me or I’m going to scream until your eardrums bleed!”
He dropped his hands and backed off. A guilty redness crept across his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I had a few shots with my buddy while you were in the ladies’ room, and I’m a little fucked up. You know me, Mel. You know I don’t usually act like this.”
I put my hand on my doorknob. “No, dude. Apparently I don’t know you at all. Just fucking leave. Now!”
Braxton nodded, turned around, and started to trudge back to the parking lot. Suddenly he stopped and turned around with a beseeching expression.
“Look, Melanie, I misread the signals. I’m really sorry.”
I was disgusted. “You’re sorry that you’re a first-class creep with grabby hands?”
He winced and hung his head. “Yeah.”
“You’re a real piece of work,” I said through clenched teeth as I silently cheered Braxton’s fiancée for having the good sense to leave him for the reality television home-improvement guy. “Goodbye, Braxton.”
I didn’t breathe freely until I was on the other side of my apartment door.
“What the fuck?” I muttered. Even though I’d sent Braxton packing pretty easily, it was never fun to fend off a near sexual assault. The overall crappiness of the night had just escalated. It was depressing to realize that a man I used to work with turned into a slimy predator after dark. What was worse, I couldn’t get Dominic out of my mind.
Dominic, who I could never have and who was almost certainly getting sucked off by an overzealous blonde somewhere under the Phoenix night sky.
“Shit!” I threw my purse across the room. It succeeded in knocking over a stack of DVDs.
My cats emerged from their hiding places, tails twitching, eagerly watching me for signs that I was heading to the pantry. The boys were used to receiving a treat whenever I came home. I didn’t know why some people complained that cats were unfriendly, standoffish creatures. I’d adopted Luke and Lando from a local cat rescue organization when I was living in an off-campus apartment my senior year in college. They’d been loyal companions and friends through some of the most painful moments of my life.
“All right, all right,” I said, kicking off my heels and heading to the kitchen. Luke and Lando gobbled up their treats gratefully and purred against my legs. I sat down on the floor, gathered their warm, furry bodies into my lap, and wondered why in the hell men couldn’t be as cool as cats.