“WHICH ONE DO you like?”
Stephanie straightened and stood back to get a better look at all three designs.
“Well,” Betty replied with a finger tapping her lips and a pair of glasses riding halfway down her nose, “I prefer the pastels, of course. More in keeping with the whole theme around Stork Affairs.”
“These logos are fantastic, Stephanie,” Cheryl said in amazement. “I can’t thank you enough.”
“Well, hell’s bells, shugah,” she drawled satirically. “Little ol’ me didn’t do the designs. I just asked a question and boom! This is the answer.”
The three women laughed in unison. She was delighted that Betty and her BFF, Cheryl Prescott, sought her input for the parties and events business Cheryl had started. They were working from fantastic plans, and she liked adding her professional expertise as a pageant coordinator. Children’s parties, family reunions, graduation events, baby showers, and everything in between was big business these days.
“My daughter is a midwife, and she’s beyond excited about offering her unique services through Stork Affairs.”
Betty, who knew more than a little bit about running a successful business, offered her ten cents.
“First off, changing the company name from ‘creations’ to ‘affairs’ means the reach is broader. People see a word like creations next to the name stork, and all they see is babies.”
“So true,” Stephanie muttered.
“Next, the key to covering all your bases is to offer an exclusive option for higher end clients who don’t want to hear the word no. The catalog of options and a price list are enough for most people, but you need to be ready for anything.”
Cheryl’s hometown Texas twang when she asked a question was infectious and made Stephanie consider challenging her to a Southern Lady’s Drawl-Off.
“Tell me again who made these beautiful watercolors.”
“That would be Ms. Charlize Baron-Wilde,” Betty answered. “You didn’t meet her when she was here, Cheryl, but she’s the girlfriend of the guy in charge of the Major’s secret project. Caleb. Caleb Merrill is his name. I guess she’s some kind of artist, and she’s got that hippy vibe thing the gals like so much.”
“Tori wants to marry her,” Stephanie chimed in with glee. “Says she’s got more creativity in her eyelashes than my daughter thinks she has in her whole body. They were plotting some sort of themed wall mural for the new family center as a surprise for Meghan.”
“Well, she-it,” Cheryl drawled. “You tell the little lady for me that her paintings are simply amazing. I can’t wait to have business cards made!”
They continued chatting about plans and making lists of things to do when a bang sounded from downstairs. Everyone paused and looked up. Footsteps, stomping footsteps, thundered up the stairs. In unison, all three heads swung to the entrance, and sure enough, a few seconds later, the door to Betty’s inner sanctum flew open.
And who was framed in the doorway looking more like an angry apparition than a person? Why, it was her daughter, Tori St. John.
Oh, my.
Barely acknowledging her own mother’s presence or that of Betty’s friend, Tori zeroed in on the Justice business manager and began talking in rapid-fire sentences.
“Betty. Help me out, would you? Does Justice have any clients or contractors by the name of Carol?”
Stephanie and Cheryl looked from Tori to Betty, who seemed a bit shocked by Victoria’s terse tone.
“Carol? Um, well, dear. I don’t think so. I mean, at least none comes to mind. Is there a problem?”
Tori’s answering snort was derogatory at best. “Will you check the computer please?”
Even Stephanie heard the command in the statement. She wasn’t asking. She was telling. The dull pulse of worry—the kind only one’s children can evoke—came to life in her stomach.
“Sure, dear. Come on over to my desk.”
Betty waved a hand for Tori to step behind the big wood surface then turned to give her and Cheryl a ‘What the hell?’ face.
As Betty sat and started tapping away at the keyboard, Cheryl got her attention. Nudging and gesturing with her head for Stephanie to check things out, Cheryl gathered her notes and a couple of stray papers, shoved everything into a satchel, waved her fingers at Betty, gave Stephanie a brief hug, and then got the hell out of there.
Going to Tori’s side, she placed an arm around her shoulders. Support? Worry? Both.
“No, honey. Not a single Carol—first, last, or business name—anywhere in my database.”
Stephanie sensed this was not the news Tori wanted to hear.
“Oh.”
One simple word. So much unsettling emotion. Stephanie wasn’t sure what to do or say.
“Please be sure,” her daughter mumbled. “Check again.”
Betty nodded and started a new search. This one took longer but had the same results. Tori’s reaction appeared calm on the surface, but hell, she was the girl’s mama, and Stephanie had a pretty good idea what was happening on the inside. Her little Victoria burst into the world as a tiny whirling dervish, and nothing had changed in the decades since.
Hoping a distraction would ease the tension she felt radiating off her daughter’s body, she changed the subject, innocently asking, “Where’s my grandbaby? I wanted to take him to the stable later.”
“Draegyn has him. They’re building Angie a chest of drawers.”
Stephanie laughed, and Betty chortled. “They? Daniel’s helping, is he?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Tori muttered hastily. She was distracted, and Stephanie could hear her brain working. “It’s a guy’s thing. Or so I’m told. They talk. Man stuff. Draegyn made him a set of wood tools that Daniel happily pounds wherever he can.”
She noted what her daughter was wearing. “You headed to the studio for a workout?”
Betty fidgeted in her swivel chair and locked eyes with Stephanie. She also had a grown daughter and probably recognized worry when she saw it. Her expression seemed to say Uh-oh. What can I do?
Stephanie gave up the suggestion of a shrug. Lord. She had no idea.
Tori looked down. Then she wiggled her foot and twitched at the sight of the well-worn Skechers sneakers as if seeing them for the first time.
All right. Now, she was getting worried. Victoria had the mind of a steel trap. Her daughter and Alex existed on an intellectual level that Stephanie and the other mere mortals in the world could hardly imagine. It wasn’t at all like her to operate on autopilot or to look so totally flustered. Over a pair of sneakers.
Mumbling more to herself than as an answer to Stephanie’s question, Tori’s response came out as a demure whisper. Her kid was many things, but demure wasn’t one of them.
“Meeting Lacey for a pole session.”
Had a starting gun fired ‘cause that was how it felt when, five seconds later, Tori snapped to attention, offered Betty a practiced smile, and out of the blue leaned in and gave Stephanie a kiss on the cheek.
“Gotta go,” she chirped as if none of the last few minutes had happened. It was like watching a whole other person. One without a care in the world.
Aw, come on. Enough was enough. Time to stop pretending everything was fine when, clearly, it wasn’t. But before she could act, Tori zoomed out the door, her feet thundering down the stairs at a faster than fast clip.
“Jesus,” Betty muttered. “What the hell is going on?”
“Damn if I know,” she drawled. “Be back.”
And then she took off after Victoria.
“Shugah, darlin’,” she heard her mom call. “Wait up, honey.”
Tori came to a fast halt and turned around in time to see her mother barreling after her.
Um, shit. Her eyes rolled behind her sunglasses, and she let out a sigh.
“All right, young lady. What the hell is going on?”
“Mom, everything’s fine,” she said as her chin lifted defiantly.
What was she thinking?
No! Seriously. What the hell was she thinking? Stephanie Bennett wasn’t about to take anyone’s crap. Not even Tori’s.
“Oh, don’t even,” the former beauty queen bit out.
When her mom crossed her arms and glared despite the dark glasses hiding Tori’s eyes, she had the good sense to back down.
“You can pretend you’re fooling everyone else all you want. But not me. Everything is not fine, honey.”
Tori snorted at the frank assessment and swung her head away.
“Tell me what’s really going on.”
She thought about it a minute, squinting and turning her face toward the desert view. Her breaking point was looming way larger than Tori was comfortable with. She’d been down the broken, wounded road to hell once before and vowed never again.
On a snap decision, she took off her glasses and nodded while she looked at her unhappy mother.
“I’m afraid my husband is cheating on me.”
Her mother almost exploded at the shocking accusation. Tori quickly held her hands up and continued.
“And yes, I know on some level the worry is insane. But that’s what’s happening. I know in my heart of hearts, Mom,” she almost sobbed as she clutched a hand over her heart, “that Draegyn would never betray me. But I’d be an idiot not to admit a fear that I keep trying to dismiss which just won’t go away.”
“Carol?”
All she could do was nod jerkily, slide her sunglasses back on, and soldier on.
“Look, Mom,” she stammered. Clearing her throat, she tried on a shaky smile meant to convey an assurance that she was okay. “Just let me handle this, okay?”
“I want to talk to Drae.”
“Mom! Shit. I’m serious. Stay out of it. It’s between my husband and me. You wanted to know—well, now you do.”
Tori threw up her hands. Exasperated how once again her mood shifted like dust in the wind, she just wanted to run until any of this made sense.
“I gotta go.”
She ignored her mother’s shocked and irritated gasp at what a bitch Tori was being and simply turned and marched away.
“Thanks, Betty. I’m on it.”
Calder ended the call and slid the phone into his pocket.
Damn. Here he was stuck in a meeting with Parker while shit was going down at the Villa.
“We gotta wrap this up, man,” he informed him brusquely.
“Everything okay?”
He looked at Parker and shrugged. “Fuck if I know.”
“We’re done here if you want to roll. Everything’s in order. When Alex gets in, he’s stopping here first to take care of his and Red’s end of things.”
“Thank god,” Calder drawled. “Don’t know about you, but I’m over all this crap. How does my nephew do it? I’m not kidding.” He chuckled when Parker laughed aloud.
“Have no fucking clue how he’s managed not to murder everyone before now. I like to think I’m a responsible guy, but fuck, man. Alex takes responsible, adds a whole new spin, breaks off a piece, chews it to a pulp, and then sticks the whole mess in his hair. I’d snap. Or take up the bottle.”
They both laughed. Parker expressed the inappropriate comment they shared but which Calder chose not to voice.
“Of course, with a sexy redhead hanging adoringly on his moldy ass, I’m thinking the nonstop sex takes a lot of the edge off.”
Truth.
He snickered. They all had a sexy piece of ass waiting at home. My, my how times had changed.
“Speaking of which … my niece drive you batshit yet? She has a special way of making everyone crazy, that one.”
“Dude.” Parker chuckled. “You have no fucking idea. Whatever you think she’s capable of? Magnify that by a hundred. If only you knew.”
“What?” Calder teased. “Having a fiancée who’s a decade younger than you and has an eye for playrooms too much for an old fart like you?”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake! Really? What the hell, man,” Parker bristled. “Isn’t anything private with your family?”
“Private?” Calder thought the concept hilariously funny. “Get real. You’ve met the Dane-Marquez clan, right?”
Parker groaned and hung his head in his hands. He leaned heavily on his desk, cracked two fingers apart, and eyed him. “What do you know? Just tell me. Are you all having a good laugh behind my back?”
“Hell yeah,” Calder barked with real amusement and scooted forward to offer a high five. “Laughing and taking bets.”
With that, he rose and waggled his brows at the disconcerted lawyer. “Want my advice, Counselor?”
“If you offer playroom tips, I’m going to throw a throat punch.”
“We all have crosses to bear, man,” Calder drawled. “Better get used to it right quick. Her family knowing about every burp and fart is part of the deal.”
“What’s your advice?”
“I will never admit these words came out of my mouth, but if I were you, she’d be sporting a baby bump sooner than later.”
“Alex will kill me if that happens.”
Calder laughed. “Well, be smart and get a ring on that finger in a hurry if you wanna …”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Parker cut in. “Do NOT put that on me. Asked the girl to marry me. If memory serves, she said yes. But did it without the appropriate bling. Now, whenever I bring it up,” he complained, “she brushes me off. Ring shopping is not presently on the agenda.”
“She’s yanking your chain.”
“Ya think?” Parker crowed incredulously. “It’s like she wants Big Daddy to lay me out. It’s bad enough that he scowls at me over the whole sleeping with his baby sister thing, but I’m serious, Calder. It’s been months. He’s gonna have my balls in a jar by the front door if she gets pregnant and we’re not married.”
No truer words were ever spoken. They hung out there in silence for a moment before cracking up with laughter.
“I’ll have Father Ed say a prayer for your family jewels.”
Some time after, he was driving down the highway on his way to Stephanie and still laughing about Parker’s predicament.
Angelina Marquez was a card-carrying, troublemaking spitfire. And the only man on the entire planet with any hope whatsoever of taming the Marquez family’s Desert Angel was Parker Sullivan.
Good luck with that!