Bringing Home a Bachelor (18 page)

25

P
ETE
WAS
BONE
-
WEARY
as he met with his boss on Wednesday. They stood in Pete’s office, a small miracle, since usually Rafi made his employees come to him.

Pete went through the motions, listening with half an ear and responding with half a brain. Since the debacle at the Edgeworths’ home; since losing Melinda, he couldn’t make himself care about anything at all.

He’d gone from pleasing everyone to pleasing no one. He’d gone from aboveboard to downright manipulative and Machiavellian. He’d gone from pacifist to brawler. The bottom line? He no longer knew who he was anymore. He was only conscious of being a sad sack of shit who’d hurt the woman he loved, and in the process, destroyed his life.

Reynaldo’s petty concerns held no interest for him. He only wanted to get his desk and phone back from his boss, so that he could try calling Melinda yet once more.

Not that she would answer.

He’d apologized on her voice mail until he was hoarse. Begged her to at least give him a chance to explain. He’d even enlisted the leprechaun’s aid, to no avail. She wouldn’t see reason, much less Pete.

He was done. Someone needed to stick a fork into him.

“Pedro! I asked you a question,” Reynaldo snapped.

Pete blinked at him. “Sorry. What was that?”

“How many events has Gareth Alston booked here for Governor Vargas?” Reynaldo asked.

“Four. Two fundraising dinners, a ball and a luncheon.”

Reynaldo’s eyebrows shot up and his mouth opened, releasing his unlit cigar into his lap. “You have done well, my friend. Clearly you made Gary quite happy.” He winked and dug the cancer stick out of his crotch, then waved it. “You swing both ways, my friend?”

Pete bit down hard on an unwise retort.

“No, Rafi, I do not. You know better. But I did introduce Alston to his new squeeze, Scottie, a couple of weeks back. Evidently they’ve been tearing up the town—and the Bal Harbour shops—together.

Reynaldo snorted. “
Maricones,
” he said, in dismissive tones.

Pete gritted his teeth.

“Now. The bakery,” said his boss. “I do not like the colors. I do not like the, how you say? The logo. And no café seating outside of the shop—Playa Bella is not a Parisian sidewalk.”

Great. Wonderful. And how was he to deliver that message to Melinda?

“Pedro, what happened to your face? Were you in a fight?”

“Me?” Pete asked. “No, no. I got hit with a baseball over the weekend.”

“This baseball, it got you in the ribs as well as the jaw? Because you are moving like an old man.”

“Arthritis,” Pete said.

“Indeed? In one so young. A shame.”

Pete didn’t give him an inch. His personal life was none of his boss’s business.

“So,” Reynaldo said, “you will inform Ms. Edgeworth that she will change the paint colors in the storefront, and that we will work with her on modifications to the logo. Also—”

Pete cleared his throat. “According to her contract, Melinda has the right to make design decisions for the boutique space.”

Reynaldo waved that famously dismissive right hand of his. “Playa Bella is my hotel. Her business must work within the existing space.”

“I think she and the architect tried very hard to honor that, Rafi.”

“I don’t like the colors,” his boss repeated. “They will be changed.”

“Well, I’ll speak to Melinda about it, but—”

“No buts. And the logo—it must be more formal, more stylized. This is too casual.”

“Sir, I believe she’s already ordered all the bags, boxes, stationery and labels with this logo on them.”

Reynaldo guillotined the end of his cigar with his platinum cutter. “This is my problem why?”

“Again, according to her contract, she has the right—”

“This is my hotel,” Reynaldo repeated. “She must work with me, according to my preferences.” He walked to Pete’s desk and riffled through some files, without excusing his nosiness or invasion of privacy. “Ah. And here is the pilot script for the television show. I will approve it, with some small changes, but there is a larger issue.”

“Oh?”

“I have spoken with the prospective producers, and they agree that she is quite pretty, but she’s
gorda.
She must lose some weight. Tell her.”

Pete opened and then closed his mouth. “You want me to tell her that she has to lose weight?”

“
Si
, Pedro. Are you deaf?”

Pete eyed him with long-suppressed loathing. He’d had it. Mr. Nice Guy? He was leaving the building.

“My name is Pete, Rafi. Please don’t call me Pedro.” He said it calmly, however, keeping the edge out of his voice.

His boss looked up from the file, one eyebrow raised. “
Perdón,
Pete. You have never objected before.”

“Yeah. Well. I’m objecting now. Another thing, Rafi—I’ll speak with Melinda about the colors and the logo, but you should know that she has the legal right to keep what she’s chosen.”

“And you know what to do if she proves stubborn. Cancel her contract.”

“That would be cutting off your nose to spite your face, sir. You’d have to release the space. Build it out all over again. The storefront will sit empty for months, especially in this economy.”

“It’s your job, Pete, to make sure that I don’t have to deal with that. Get her to make the changes.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“And get the girl on a diet.”

“About that.” Pete fought to hang on to his long-dormant temper. “I think Melinda Edgeworth is a beautiful woman. I don’t think she needs to lose weight.”

Reynaldo’s small black eyes gleamed with malice. “Did I ask you what you think, Pete? No, I did not. I asked you to pass along a message to her, one that comes straight from the producers.”

“And I’m telling you that I won’t do that, Rafi. It will hurt her unnecessarily and I refuse.”

His boss’s face turned a mottled red, almost purple. “I’m giving you a direct order!”

Pete saw his career flash before his eyes. He thought about the horrible economy and how long it might take him to find another decent job. He thought about the possibility that when that job offer came, he might have to move out of Miami to take it.

Then he thought about Melinda, whom he’d already devastated. He pictured her face as he delivered the message from yet another source that she needed to lose weight in order to please someone. And he made his decision.

“That’s a direct order that I must respectfully decline to accept.”

“You are making a very big mistake, my friend.”

“So be it.”

“Then you’re fired, Pedro.
Comprendes
? Fired. Get out.”

Pete nodded. “I’ll pack my things. And for the last friggin’ time, don’t call me Pedro.”

Reynaldo picked up the phone on his desk, hit zero, and barked into the receiver. “Security! I need you to escort a man from the premises.”

Pete opened a couple of desk drawers and removed some personal items. He took the photos of his mother and his college friends off the windowsill. He dropped everything into his computer bag and left the laptop itself on the credenza.

“Not necessary, Rafi. I’ll leave under my own steam. But just to let you know? I wouldn’t tangle with Ms. Edgeworth and her contract. You may find that she didn’t agree with certain clauses in it, and struck them out.”

* * *

M
ELINDA
SAT
,
POLEAXED
, outside Pete’s office as he put an end to his career at Playa Bella—for her. That hadn’t been Mr. Customer Service in there. Not Mr. Professional Suck-Up. Not Mr. Nice Guy.

That had been a man standing up for the woman he loved, just as he’d stood up for her against her family at Sunday dinner.

She couldn’t even speak as he walked purposefully out of the room without looking back, his computer bag slung over one shoulder. He never saw her, and she didn’t know how to call him back or what to say.

But she realized in that moment that he was the One. The man she’d been waiting for all her life had been teasing and tormenting her since junior high. He’d called her names and buried her in the sand and trapped her in a tree house. And somehow, that terrible kid had grown into a good man, and he’d developed true gallantry.

As Mel watched her white knight make his exit, she could hear the dragon he’d slain for her still floundering around his office. She smiled to herself as she heard him pick up the phone and bark at his attorney to review her contract.

She stood up as two uniformed security guards surged toward the door. The dragon needed to hear what she had to say.

Mel walked into Pete’s former office, her head held high. “Mr. Reynaldo, I’d like to say something to you.”

He gave her a black look. “Not now.”

“Yes,” she said. “Now. You need to know that I will not change the paint colors or the logo I’ve chosen for the bakery here in Playa Bella. You should also know that I am perfectly satisfied with my looks and my weight, and my opinion is the only one that matters. I will not go on a diet for the cable TV program. I won’t go on a diet for anything, or anyone, except myself—if and when I decide to do so. Are we clear, Mr. Reynaldo?”

The security guards hovered at the door. Mel was quite sure she’d be leaving between them, each man gripping one of her upper arms and propelling her down the hallway. She waited for Reynaldo to order her off the premises.

But he simply pulled the cigar from his mouth, growled something under his breath and gave her a blank stare. “
Perdón
, Ms. Edgeworth, but I do not know what you’re talking about. I do not know what you think you heard, but it wasn’t about you.”

Melinda should have known. Without an employee to bully and to hide behind, the man was all talk.

“Why should you lose weight?” Reynaldo asked her, giving her an oily smile and gesturing with his cigar. “You are a lovely young lady with impeccable taste, and we are very fortunate to have you working with us here at Playa Bella.” He took her elbow and escorted her into the hallway, ignoring the security guards. “Walk with me, eh, and let us discuss a few details of your upcoming baking program…”

26

P
ETE
HADN
’
T
LEFT
the premises. Melinda knew that because his car was still in the parking lot after she finished her nauseating little chat with Reynaldo. Thank God she wouldn’t have to interact with him every day—she’d have her own space and run it as she saw fit. She had a feeling that thanks to Pete, Reynaldo’s lawyer was going to tell him to back off.

If Pete wasn’t in his office and he wasn’t in the parking lot, then that left two other possibilities. He was either in the bar or walking on the beach.

Mel headed through the marble-floored lobby with its colossal floral arrangement, past the grand piano and the fountain in the center of the rotunda, and into the dark wood-paneled bar with its leather stools and mounted trophy fish, where there was no sign of Pete.

She pushed through the double doors that gave access to Playa Bella’s private beach, and there he was, walking along the shore barefoot with his pants rolled up to his knees.

He’d rolled up the sleeves of his blue business shirt as well, and it flapped, untucked, in the ocean breeze.

The warm, humid, salt-tinged air washed over her face and she took a moment to appreciate it, along with the sky so blue it almost looked artificial. Not a cloud was in sight, only a few gulls floating on the air currents and basking in the generous rays of the afternoon sun.

Melinda slipped off her sandals and left them by the hotel doors. As she walked across the sand, her long, flowing skirt flew crazily in the wind, plastered against her legs one moment and lifting above her knees the next.

There was something elemental about walking in sand; something that reminded her, as her toes slid in and out of it and her heels sank unexpectedly, that life was earthy and uneven, that she had to adapt and shift with it.

Pete stood with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his gaze fixated on the horizon, and didn’t notice her approach until she reached out and touched his arm.

“Mel!” he exclaimed, startled. “What are you doing out here?”

She looked up into those steady, kind gray eyes of his. “Looking for you.”

“Why?”

She dug a toe into the sand and smiled. “To ask you to dance.”

His breath hitched. Clearly he remembered the night of Mark’s wedding; the words he’d said to her on this very beach. He went completely still as his eyes searched her face. Then his own split into a grin. He took a step closer to her and settled his hands on her shoulders. “You forgive me?”

She shrugged.

“Mel, I never meant to say yes to that deal with your mother. I’m so sorry—you have to believe me—it wasn’t like that on my part. I figured she could think whatever she wanted, but I’d know the truth.”

“I do believe you.”

“And for what it’s worth, she didn’t do it to hurt you. She did it, however bizarre this sounds, to protect you from being hurt.”

“I know that, now. She’s bent in some weird places, but she didn’t mean any harm.” She reached up to touch his bruised, abraded jaw. “I’m sorry that Mark did this.”

“Ha,” Pete said. “He looks a lot worse.”

The old “Have you seen the other guy?” line. Men. “I’m sure he does,” Mel said diplomatically.

“I do owe you a huge apology, for even seeming to go along with your mother. I owe you one for not telling her to take her functions somewhere else. But the bottom line is that it was business, and my job was to get more of it.”

“I owe you an apology for assuming the worst,” Mel said slowly.

They stood for a couple of moments, looking out at the water while the waves lapped at the shoreline. Then Melinda became aware that Pete was studying her. And judging by the bulge at his fly, he liked what he saw.

She glanced quickly away from his fly, but not quickly enough; he noticed that she’d noticed.

Pete gave her a wry grin. “What you do to me,” he murmured. “Only you.”

“If we had somewhere to go, I’d offer to help you with that.”

“I wish I had a room key,” he said. “But all I’ve got is a pink slip.”

“I know. I was right outside your office. I heard everything.” Tears sprang to her eyes. “Thank you.”

“Melinda.” He rubbed the back of his neck with evident embarrassment. “That’s totally unnecessary. I hope you know that.”

“But I need to say it. That’s twice now that you’ve been my hero.”

“I’m no hero.”

“To me you are. Pete, I’m so sorry about your job.”

“I’m not,” he said firmly. “Reynaldo was out of line, he’s sleazy and I’m tired of being his yes-man.”

She peered up at him, a little shy. “So…want to be mine, instead?”

Pete laughed. “Is that an offer of employment or an indecent proposal?”

“Definitely,” said Mel, “an indecent proposal.”

“All right, then. I accept.”

He slid his hands up into her hair and cupped her face as he bent to kiss her. She opened to him and welcomed him, pressing all of herself against him without reservation.

“I love you, Melinda. I love your face, I love your body, I love your heart and your spirit. I even love the way you tore me a new asshole on Sunday night.”

She let out an awkward laugh. “Oh, Pete. I love you, too.”

He took her hand and they continued to walk along the shore, feet seeking a path through the shifting sand while the breeze picked up and the sun slipped lower in the sky.

She could feel Pete’s love for her in the way he squeezed her fingers, the way he brushed flyaway tendrils of her hair out of her eyes, the way he kissed her, ever so gently, with the barest touch of his lips to hers.

He really did love her.

And for once, she couldn’t hate her mother for being right.