Everything But Perfect (3 page)

Chapter Three

One hour wasted circling the
airport, a minor mishap with another airline, and a half hour sitting in
customs, Cheyanne just wanted to go home. This thought she checked at the door just
as soon as it entered her head.

With baited breath, a round of
emotions formed in the pit of her stomach. Why had her father sent such a
strange letter, barely stating any facts, other than she was to return, no
questions asked. Why would he hint that if she defied him, she would be
personally responsible for the dig site shutting down?

Her father was not the type of
man to beat around the bush. When Joe Ribbons wanted a victim for a reason, he
usually told that victim outright. There was never any misunderstanding. He was
the boss, and everyone beneath him was to bow to his demands. Of course, a
billion dollar company like Ribbons Corporation was pushing his success in
everyone’s face.

Her father also headed the
Geology department at State University, unfortunately, where her archeological
career stemmed. Her older brother, Jessup, ran the Ribbons empire, making up the
Ribbons Corporation. Jessup was the one who dealt in the stocks, mortgage
buyouts, and engineering aspect of the company. Her mother’s money was the
backing footing the bills. Joe’s name was only on the neon signs.

Her sister, Mary Kate was a
registered nurse. Martha and Sara, the twins, were each happily married to
wealthy lawyers, each with two kids.

Cheyanne was the black sheep of
the family. Her enjoyment came from spending her life with dirt under her fingernails.
She never spoke about what was really on her mind, concerning family, and
perhaps she should have. Although, what good would it have done her? No one
ever listened to what she had to say, concerning other Ribbons.

She would now be stepping foot in
hostile territory, a place she never meant to go back to until dead.

Shaking off the melancholy, she
looked for an available cab while waiting under the airport canopy. She craned
her neck over the crowds, and unfortunately found a familiar face. A face she
wanted to avoid—at all costs.

Mitch, only his profile turned to
her, was using his cellphone as a weapon of mass destruction, people avoiding
him like the plague. There was no mistaking his anger at whomever he was
talking with.

“I don’t care. I wanted it
completed yesterday. No, scratch that. It should have been done last week.” He
was now yelling and folks were looking at him strangely, giving him ample space.

“And why isn’t that damn car
here?” He seemed on a rampage—the best kind to avoid.

Cheyanne gathered in a deep
breath, praying he would not notice her. If he dared turn his head, he would
see her, and in her present state of mind, she might haul off and hit him.

A taxi pulled to the curb and she
practically dove inside.

“Take me to…”

Suddenly, there was another
person trying to steal her cab. He shut the door and started giving out
directions.

“East Eighty-third.”

“What the hell do you think you
are doing? This is my cab!”

He smiled then corrected this
assumption. “No, it’s for those who live in New York. I don’t think it has your
name on it.”

“It may not have my name on it, asshole,
but I was here first. Get out!”

He completely ignored her and
sent his remaining demands to the man in the front seat, who was staring at
them in the rearview mirror, amused.

“Look here…” she started, glaring
at his face. The rest he subdued by a hint of hostility in his eyes.

Still, she resigned to having the
last word. “You can’t have this cab, Mr. Lavede.”

“I can have whatever I like,
sweetheart.”

“Not this cab!”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. Get your own.”

“If this one isn’t mine, then why
is the driver taking me to my destination?”

She hadn’t even felt the cab
moving, until he mentioned this.

“I really don’t have time for
this. I’m late for an appointment. My ride is missing, for reasons unknown. And
you, my dear, have pushed my last straw, pissing me off more than once,” he
continued.

“
I’m
pissing
you
off?” she inquired vehemently.

“I will pay for your ride, sweetheart,
if you just shut up and leave me in peace.”

“I—I…” She was too flabbergasted
to continue. And yes, her freezing hauteur did little to combat the rapidly
beating heart in her chest.

She clenched her fists into a
ball and fell silent. Taking a quelling breath, and letting it out slowly, she did
eventually dare to say, “Do you always get your way?”

When he did not answer, she
added, “Fine, pay for my ride. It’ll cost you more than you bargained for.”

Finally, his eyes reached hers.
“Lady, since meeting you, I’ve dealt with a lot more than I bargained for. Say
what you will, but get it out of your system because I am sharing this ride,
and I do believe by the wheels of the vehicle still turning, this fact has been
proven in spades.”

“Well, I never…”

“That might be your problem.
Perhaps you should. Most women who do aren’t as sour as a bowl of lemons.”

The cab driver found their
exchange amusing, pulling to the curb with a huge smile on his face.

Mitch opened the door, stepped
out, and handed the man a hundred dollar bill. He then walked into the fanciest
restaurant in all of New York.

That was it? No goodbye? No
‘have
a nice life’
? Nothing. Just hand a man one hundred dollars and disappear?

Cheyanne smiled for the first
time since leaving Africa. She shared a plane, a cab, and heated words, but the
powerful Mitch. Lavede still had no clue of her identity. If or when he found
this out, he would then know the woman who made his mocha eyes turn black, his blood
pressure likely rise, and his ability to be of a civil tongue, was none other
than an heiress to an empire.

She leaned back in her seat and
started to laugh. A set of wary eyes scanned her in the rearview mirror as
though she had finally lost her mind.

Mitch snubbed her and infuriated
her, but he could not touch the soul of one of the richest women in America.

Chapter Four

Rosa ran out the door to greet Cheyanne,
who had already climbed the marble front steps with duffel in hand.

“Little Rose…you are home!” she
screamed.

It felt good to get this warm welcome,
knowing ahead she would not receive the same from her parents. She was even a
little apprehensive to what lie ahead.

“Come in. I have your room
ready…Oh, it is so good to see you. So, so good.”

Cheyanne smiled down at the
petite woman. A tinge or regret eased into her heart. She would not have left
Rosa if her father hadn’t forced her to make a choice.

She stepped into the foyer, and
bombarded by the familiar smells of home let out a sigh. Things had changed and
yet nothing inside the Ribbons estate seemed altered.

“You look as if you are starving
to death,” Rosa said. She then pinched Cheyanne’s thin arm. “Did they not feed
you over there?”

“I ate. Mainly bugs and leaves,”
she teased. “I was waiting for your delicious cooking to fatten me up.”

She had been too busy to eat,
getting famous.

Rosa bear-hugged her again,
making certain she would not disappear. “It is so good that you are home.”

A single tear spilled from Cheyanne’s
eyes, quickly wiped away with the back of her hand. “Are my parents home?”

“No. They are both out, still,”
she said, looking away.

Cheyanne did not want to press
Rosa, at least not yet, but something was amiss, and Rosa would be the last
person she would ever grill for information.

Still, Rosa was trying to avoid
saying too much. It showed in her round, dark eyes, and in her avoiding
conversation by rushing Cheyanne through the house.

“When did they say they would be
back?”

“Soon. They’ll be back soon.
Come. Let me show you to your room. You can change, and then I will fix you
something to eat. I want to hear all about Africa. Your letters…they don’t tell
much, and I have missed you greatly.” Rosa reached into the pocket of her smock
and pulled out a hankie, wiping her eyes.

Once inside a room, Cheyanne
dumped the contents of her duffel onto the bed. Thinking she would get her old
room, she was a bit taken aback the whole of the upstairs was remodeled into
three massive suites. She was literally shoved into a closet. Glancing at the
cream carpeting and warm, cinnamon bedspread under her filthy pile of clothing,
she turned and spotted a vase of roses on the stand near the bed. She almost
forgot about the roses.

She opened the balcony doors and
the scent wafted into the room. Her mother had the largest private rose garden
in all of New York. She reached for a bloom in the vase, bringing it to her
nose.

The memories rushed back in
droves, as if she had been here only yesterday. She was once again reminded of
the reason she left, and why it hurt so much to return. She’d been forced to
drop every part of her existence because of a demanding father, and he could
not give her the courtesy to be here. She barely heard the rest of Rosa’s
words, incredibly mad at her sire.

****

“Goodness child! You were
certainly hungry.”

Spinach salad, breast of chicken
with toasted almonds and a rich cream sauce, garlic biscuits, and a variety of
fresh fruits practically inhaled, Cheyanne said, “I haven’t tasted anything
this good in four years.” She licked another morsel of the delicious meal from
her fingers, giving Rosa a soft smile.

“Then we should have you fattened
up in no time,” Rosa said, smiling back.

Suddenly, the old woman’s face
clouded, as if what was on her mind was causing her great distress. To avoid an
unnecessary discussion or unease, until ready to accept things as they are, Cheyanne
changed the subject. A long and trying trip, she needed time to adjust to being
home again.

Shrugging off a depressive state,
hoping this cat and mouse game with her father would someday end, she went
upstairs to take a long, hot shower. She climbed under the sheets for a quick
nap, exhausted.

She never meant to sleep away her
day. That the bedside clock read eight p.m. appalled her. Rosa had mentioned
dinner would be served at six p.m., influential dinners guests to arrive by
five. Good Lord, they’d be finished eating by now, lingering with coffee or
spirits in the parlor.

She jumped out of bed, dressed in
what showed the least amount of wear, and applied a thin layer of makeup. She
didn’t care what her hair looked like, tugging a hurried comb through it. They
would just have to take her as she was.

One last glance in the hall
mirror and she was ready to face the music—sort of
.

She was not about to go another
minute without being told of the exact reason for her return, guests in the
house or not. Nevertheless, her nerves were in shambles as she reached the
dining hall. Perhaps crashing a party hadn’t been the brightest idea she’d ever
come up with. She could leave, hide a year or more, and burrow into some
hellhole town in the good ole `USA, off the grid. Lots of folks disappeared. Then
again, she would miss her life’s work and digging in dirt saved her soul.

Feeling at a loss, she backed
away from the door. Nothing good ever came from confronting your enemy within
his territory. Too much adrenaline pushed a fool into foolish moves.

She stopped dead in her tracks
the instant she heard voices. She then heard her name.

Her father had opened the door
behind her and people were filing out the room, one after the other. She did not
stand a snowball’s chance in Hell to get away from this unscathed.

Another door to her left open,
and in walked Jessup with his arm entwined around a woman Cheyanne did not
recognize.

“Well, as I live and breathe…” her
brother said. “The old coot finally got you to give up the dirt, has he?”

This grated Cheyanne raw. She
hadn’t seen her family in four years, and she was being called out on it in
front of strangers over her chosen profession?

That bit, hard.

The woman with her brother was not
at all pleased Jessup was wasting time talking to her, either. She was
smoothing imaginary wrinkles from her beautiful dress, tapping her foot when Jessup
did not seem to recognize her discomfort.

Cheyanne could not have missed it
even if she tried. Jealous green eyes were boring holes into her.

“Pops never said you were on your
way home,” Jessup announced, loudly.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” she
replied, checking the rest of her thoughts at the back door. It would do her little
good to start an argument.

“I’m amazed you came home at all…especially
now.”

“Oh, and why’s that?”

She never got the answer. The
same shadowed look Rosa had earlier had crept into her brother’s eyes.

“Cheyanne, I’d like you to meet
Regina, my fiancé,” he said instead.

Fiancé?
No one told her about Jessup
getting married. Then again, the letters she’d received in Benghazi were rare,
and not much was mentioned of family, mostly of New York’s elite.

She tried her damnedest not to
show too much reaction to this news, holding out her hand. “So glad to finally
meet you. I’ve heard so much about you,” she lied.

Yes, she would find her ticket
punched for a trip to Hell for all these lies, but no one was calling her out
on them now.

She smiled sweetly at the woman,
who was more fascinated with the clothes on her back than the introduction or
polite handshake. Distaste and perhaps disgust was quite evident behind her
green gaze.

Ten seconds later, friends of her
father’s she hadn’t seen in years waltzed through the open door, barely giving
her the time of day.

Cheyanne felt the gut punch—hard.
Her father had given her no quarter, merely walked past her and mumbled, “Glad
you could make it.”

It was almost painful to breathe.
An emotional failure about to happen, before it did, she knew she had better
get out of here while still able. Her brother was getting married, no one cared
to tell her, and she had flown across the world for a vague summons to the tune
of
“Glad you could make it.”
Was she being pranked?

“If you are planning on joining the
family, go put on something a little better,” Joe demanded. His long finger
pointed at her attire. “You know better than to come down to dinner in that.”

Cheyanne looked down at what she
had literally tossed onto her body. Wasn’t khakis and a T-shirt good enough for
these people?

He threatened to shut down her
life’s work, and if she did not bend to his every whim, he threatened Angel,
and all she gets was she should put on better attire? She was about to turn and
leave when out walked another person. She faltered, a familiar honey-coated
voice stalling her footsteps. Turning to face him, all breath was stolen from
her lungs.

It couldn’t be?

She felt the heat in her loins
creep up to her face. Dammit! She could not stop the drool from forming at the
sight of him. Dressed in a tuxedo was the man of her nightmares—at least he was
over the last few days.

“I do seem to be following you,
Ms. Ribbons,” he said, expressing no concern for her discomfort. He then raised
his brow, adding, “I just need to make a quick phone call.” He walked right
past her and into the library, where a phone sat.

What? He did not have a cell
phone on him?

Cheyanne stood in the foyer,
confused. Mitch was an invited guest in the Ribbon’s mansion? How was this
possible?

A minute or two later, he came
back and found her in the same spot as before. She shook her head to clear it
of the fog. About to go into the room where everyone else was, he effectively
shut this off by a steely grip to her arm.

“I wouldn’t do that if I was you.”

Her eyes whipped to the
stronghold on her arm. “Thankfully, you’re not me. Let go of me!”

“I will, after I give you a
little friendly advice.”

“Who the hell do you think you
are?” Trying to tug her arm free of his grip became a feat in itself. On the other
hand, if he would just answer this one question, she’d have a piece to this
ongoing puzzle.

“I’m here on business, Ms.
Ribbons. You already know who I am,” he said quickly, as if he had no time for
idle conversation beneath his pay scale. He then shocked her with, “Why are you
here?”

“What is that supposed to mean?
Don’t you know who I am?”

“I do…now,” he replied glumly,
“and I am just as thrilled about it as I was before.”

She again tried to tug her arm
free. Mitch was not about to let her go.

“You rotten sonofa…” She did not
get far with this.

“Go ahead. Say it. It’s in your
mutinous eyes to do me harm.”

She hoped what was in her eyes
was the desire to punch this man in the face, the fist on her other hand
balling near her leg.

“I’ll let you in on a little
secret, sweetheart,” his words so caressingly soft near her ear.

If it wasn’t for the fact his
tone did not match his steely grip to her arm, that his eyes did not match
anything considered friendly, she might have listened to this ‘little secret’.
As it was, it sounded more of a threat and she had no desire to hear a single
word from anyone if threatened.

“I know exactly why you are here,
and you would be wise not to make me your enemy.” He then dropped her arm like
a hot potato.

“Oh really?”

A missed heartbeat found her
pinned up against his chest, her sensitive breasts crushed against a veritable
wall of thick muscle and determination.

He muttered under his breath, “No
wife of mine will ever get away with putting thought to hitting me. Undo your
fist, sweetheart.”

Determined that her ears had
deceived her, her questioning stare gave her thoughts away.

“You didn’t know did you?” he
ground out in disgust.

“Know what?” Two words that
barely made it past her lips.

“Lavede Enterprises and Ribbons Corporation
are merging…and you, my dear, get the pleasure of merging with me, in every
sense of the word.” An arrogant crack at the corner of his mouth was hinting at
a smile, but one was not quite forming.

“What?” she yelped. Her throat
then felt nothing but pain.

As luck would have it, the
wretched dining room door opened, and her mother walked out.

“Cheyanne!” she exclaimed. “No
one told me you were here.”

No one?

Louise then turned to Joe. “You
never mentioned you found her.”

Cheyanne was in a mindless swirl,
bombarded from all sides. What in the world had Mitch said to her?
Wife?
What in the world did her mother mean…
found her?
What in the hell was
going on here?