Chapter 13

Early the next morning, Beau flashed Chantal his sexiest smile and charmed his way into Coach Frasier’s office. He wanted to catch Coach before he left for a round of golf in Pinehurst.

Coach looked up from his paperwork as Beau knocked and pushed the door open at the same time.

“Q, what can I do for you? I don’t have much time.”

He and Beau had not really spoken since the night they’d fought over Marabelle at Corbett’s. Beau figured Coach was still nursing some animosity toward him. He hoped to change that with this meeting.

“Morning, Coach. This will only take a minute. I need to speak to you about something important.”

Nick nodded and indicated for Beau to take a seat. “What’s on your mind?”

Beau dropped down in the chair and leaned forward on his elbows.

“It’s about Marabelle.” At the mention of her name, Beau felt like he’d waved a red flag. Coach’s eyes narrowed, and the angry tic in his right jaw sprang to life. Beau almost laughed with relief. Almost. His suspicions were confirmed. “Over dinner last night, she asked me—”

“Excuse me?” Coach interrupted in a tight voice. “You two had dinner? Again?”

“Yeah, I stopped by to pick up the leftover coolers from the party, and it led to dinner.”

“And?”

“And what?” Beau cocked his head to one side.

“And what else did it lead to?” Coach gripped his pen as if he wanted to snap it.

Beau leaned back and stretched out his legs. Coach showed the classic signs of a man obsessed with a woman. “Nothing. But there’s something you need to know.”

Coach pinned him with his don’t-screw-with-me stare. “I’m all ears.”

Game over. Beau sang like a canary. Ten minutes later, he left Coach Frasier’s office with all his body parts still intact, and felt marginally better than when he had arrived. Beau believed in playing cleanly and laying all his cards out on the table. Coach deserved the truth, even if it got Marabelle in trouble. She’d thank him in the end. He’d bet his multimillion-dollar endorsements on it.

* * *

Marabelle strolled into a Starbucks after school. She spied the blond ding-a-ling at a table in the corner, sipping an iced coffee with a mountain of whipped cream. Yup. Starr had surprised her earlier by calling and requesting they meet to talk. It took Marabelle a minute to recall who she was. She had no idea what they needed to talk about, but Marabelle figured it had something to do with Beau. Starr hadn’t been happy at Corbett’s the other night when Marabelle showed up wearing tight jeans and Beau on her arm. Marabelle didn’t want rumors flying around about her and Beau; she could barely handle the ones about her and Nick. And she didn’t want her friendship to cramp Beau’s style. So she figured she had some explaining to do.

With her skinny latte in hand, Marabelle sat in the chair across from Starr, who wore some bust-enhancing white top with crisscross gold braiding. Marabelle wore tennis sweats along with cupcake batter in her hair, compliments of her students. Starr openly gave her the once-over without disguising her distaste.

“What’s on your mind?” Marabelle asked, cutting to the chase.

“Nothing really.”

Big surprise there.

Starr sipped her whipped concoction. “But my friend has a few questions.”

“What friend?” Marabelle spotted the answer heading their way from over her cup of coffee.

Ginger Jones.

Marabelle fought to tamp down her insecurities as a confident Ginger glided toward them, wearing expensive navy sailor trousers and a silk coral blouse. Ginger gripped her Louis Vuitton handbag’s strap with one hand and her coffee in the other. Marabelle pushed her pathetic JanSport knapsack, along with her insecurities, under the table. Who cared? It didn’t matter what she wore or what handbag she carried. She had what Ginger really wanted…Nick. Okay, technically, she didn’t have him. But hey, Ginger didn’t know that, and Marabelle planned to keep it that way.

“Let the games begin,” Marabelle murmured into her cup of coffee.

Ginger came to a halt next to the table, fluttering her impeccable French-manicured fingers, for Starr to move over. With her bouncing boobs, Starr settled into the next chair and didn’t appear pleased. Ginger took the seat directly in front of Marabelle.

“It’s Mary, right?”

“Marabelle actually. Except Nick calls me Tinker Bell, an endearing pet name, don’t you think?” Marabelle sent her a simpering smile.

Ginger’s cornflower-blue eyes hardened to ice chips. “Aren’t you wondering why you’re here?”

“Not particularly. I can pretty much guess what this is all about. You wanna go another round?” Marabelle said with her game face firmly in place.

Ginger bristled. Starr’s whipped coffee sat forgotten as her gaze darted back and forth.

“You should rein in your violent nature. It’s not becoming to a woman. I’m not here to fight you.” Ginger appeared calm as she brought her espresso to her lips. “I’m here on Nick’s behalf.”

“Really? Funny, Nick never told me anything about it. And he tells me everything,” Marabelle lied. She hadn’t spoken to Nick since yesterday, when he called and surprised her by asking her on a date. But she would’ve bet her last dime he hadn’t called this meeting.

A flicker of doubt flashed across Ginger’s face. “Listen, Miss Big Mouth, your so-called engagement is not fooling anyone. A man like Nick needs more in a woman than what you have to offer,” she said, flicking her mane of hair behind her shoulder.

“As everyone keeps reminding me, and yet…he’s still with me.” Marabelle smirked.

Ginger laughed. “Not for long. Look in a mirror. There’s no comparison,” Ginger said, not bothering to conceal her contempt. “Whatever you’re holding over his head isn’t going to work. He will throw you away like…like a smelly pair of sneakers!”

“Look, men don’t use me. I use them,” Marabelle the badass said, jabbing her right thumb toward her chest.

Ginger’s mouth curved into a humorless smile. “You’re a real man-killer, huh? I’m warning you…he’s going to break your heart.”

“Spoken by someone who knows?”

Ginger flinched, and Starr stared at Marabelle with her mouth hanging open. Marabelle swallowed her sigh, suddenly tired of the whole ugly business.

“Listen, I’m sorry. My eyes are wide open. I’m not as dumb as I look, despite the cupcake batter in my hair. I appreciate the warning, but I’m just going to see where all this leads.” Marabelle rose from her seat and tossed her empty cup in the receptacle.

“But one more thing. As long as I’m his fiancée, I will fight to keep what is mine.” She looked Ginger directly in the eye to emphasize her point. “And right now, he’s mine.”

Ginger jerked back as if she’d been poked with a cattle prod, while Starr leaned forward, mesmerized by the exchange.

Squaring her shoulders, Ginger said, “You’re living in a fairy tale if you think Nick is Prince Charming. He will never rescue you from your pathetic life. If you don’t believe me, try Googling some of his past girlfriends. You might be surprised by what you see.”

Marabelle couldn’t say she hadn’t been tempted to pry a few times via Internet, but it wasn’t like she lived under a rock. She remembered his name linked with a couple of scandalous situations, but once she and Nick became…well, frenemies, she hadn’t felt right snooping. It felt like breaking a trust or something. But she didn’t like what Ginger implied, and she certainly didn’t want her spreading rumors.

Marabelle sucked in a breath and chose the high road. “You’ve got one thing right…he isn’t Prince Charming. You ladies have a nice night.”

* * *

“Whoa, start from the beginning.”

Later that night at her house, Marabelle was filling Paula in on the whole saga over pizza and beer. Marabelle recapped the night at Corbett’s, the scene of her first altercation with Ginger, and how Nick removed her bodily from the bar.

Paula nodded. “Ginger is Coach Frasier’s girlfriend? But he defended you at the bar and pushed her aside?”

Marabelle jumped up from the sofa and retrieved the shipping box that had been outside the front door when she returned home.

“Not exactly. He held me back so I wouldn’t whale on her bony ass.”

“Let me get this straight.” Paula ticked points off on her fingers. “Coach Dreamboat removes you from the bar, takes you to his fabulous house, where you do some serious making out, shows up again at your wild party, uh, more making out, and tomorrow night he’s taking you out on your first official date. Right?”

“Yep, you’ve covered the highlights.”

“And there’s been no wild gorilla sex?”

Marabelle glanced up from opening the box and blushed. Not for lack of wanting. “Um…we’re kinda taking it slow.” She had glossed over the parts where Nick practically had her naked and begging.

Marabelle rolled her eyes at Paula’s chicken sounds. “I’m with Ginger on this one…he ain’t gonna hang around long.”

“I thought you were on my side.”

“Marabelle, all you have to do is look at the guy. How have you resisted him this long?” Paula rose from her seat and moved next to Marabelle and the shipping box.

Marabelle shrugged, not meeting Paula’s gaze. “You know how I am about sex.”

“No. I really don’t,” Paula said.

Marabelle crossed her arms, giving herself a hug at Paula’s earnest expression. “With Clay…I was horrible. If I don’t give in to Nick, maybe I’ll get to keep him a little longer. Before he discovers what a dud I am. Does that make sense?” Warped logic, but she couldn’t seem to get past it.

Paula shoved her glasses back up on her nose. “Yeah. I guess. In Marabelle’s World. What you need is the right person. Someone who’s had gobs and gobs of experience. Someone who practically invented it. Someone like Nick.” She pointed a finger at Marabelle. “You know I speak the truth.”

Boy, did she ever. And yet, she knew deep inside her bones that being with Nick would mean something…probably everything, and how she’d recover from that she had no clue.

“What’s in the box?” Paula asked, twirling her long, silky ponytail around her finger.

Marabelle drifted back to the box as if seeing it for the first time. “Clothes my dad sent from Paris for this weekend.” Under mounds of tissue paper that smelled faintly of expensive French perfume, she pulled out a beautiful, bronze metallic jersey dress with a crisscrossed gathered bodice and a pair of Manolo Blahnik gold sandals with four-inch heels.

“Wow. That dress is beautiful.”

“I know. You should see what my mother sent.” Marabelle made a face. “Dad clothes are party appropriate. Mother clothes are Junior League president appropriate.”

“What’s this weekend?” Paula asked, popping open another beer she’d pulled from the refrigerator.

“Big Edna has summoned me to Atlanta.” Marabelle held up her beer in mock salute. “Cheers.”

An hour later in Marabelle’s bedroom, Paula said, “I agree with Beau on this one… You’re making a big mistake not taking Coach Yumballs to Atlanta.” Marabelle was changing into some of her new clothes. Paula had kicked off her shoes and was sitting crisscross-applesauce in the middle of the double bed.

Marabelle slipped into one of her mother’s gray knit skirts, and pulled on an old jean jacket over a turquoise silk blouse, trying not to appear so dowdy.

“Does this go with this?” she asked, turning in front of the full-length mirror, straining to see all the way around.

“Does no go with way? You cannot wear that jean jacket with that…that old lady skirt. You look ridiculous. Just don’t wear that skirt at all.”

“You’re right. I hate these clothes my mother sent. What should I do? She’s expecting me to wear them.” Marabelle peeled them off her body.

“You’re avoiding my question.”

“What question?” Marabelle said, her voice muffled as she pulled the blouse over her head.

“Why are you going to Atlanta without Nick?”

“Because.” She tossed the blouse aside to land on top of the offending knit skirt. “My family is bad enough for me to deal with. Particularly at one of my mother’s soul-sucking, mind-stealing benefits. And…and I just don’t want to put Nick through that.” She wiggled into a hot-pink Chanel bouclé skirt with a tulip hem.

“Aha! You do care about Nick. Don’t you? You like him…a lot.”

Exactly why she couldn’t involve him. Nick was a triple threat—dangerous to her life, her heart, and her future. Marabelle kept her eyes on her hands as she buttoned up a black silk blouse and slipped on a pair of black patent Prada sling-backs. “Of course I like him. What’s not to like? He’s hunky, irresistible, and loaded. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t. But I’m not in his league,” she said, wrapping several strands of white and gold pearls around her neck.

Paula exploded, “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!”

Marabelle jabbed her index finger at Paula. “One look at us together, and it’s as clear as the nose on your face that we come from different worlds.”

Paula hopped off the bed and slowly turned Marabelle toward the mirror. “Take a look at you now. I’d say those two worlds just merged.”

For a quiet moment, they studied Marabelle’s reflection in the mirror. “You look fabulous. This is a keeper,” Paula insisted.

“Does it make my butt look big?” Marabelle twisted.

“What butt? This looks great on you. You look sexy yet sophisticated. Atlanta will never be the same. Too bad Nick’s not going to see it.”