Millionaires' Destinies. Sherryl Woods
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the shredder.
She was genuinely considering doing just that when Becky came in with two cups of latte and cranberry scones from the café down the street. She held them just out of Melanie’s reach.
“If I give you these, will you tell me everything that went on between you and Richard Carlton this weekend?” she asked.
“No,” Melanie said, snatching the coffee out of her friend’s hand. She could live without the scone if she had to. Caffeine was another story.
“Testy, aren’t you? It must not have gone very well.”
“That depends on your definition of success,” Melanie replied, taking her first sip of the heavenly latte. “He didn’t toss me out in the snow.”
“Interesting,” Becky said with a thoughtful expression. “Then you were stranded there all weekend?”
“Yes.”
“And with all that time on your hands, you couldn’t convince him to hire you?”
“I never even convinced him to read the proposal,” she admitted grimly. “I was just about to shred my copy and write the whole thing off as a loss.”
Becky stared at her in shock. “What kind of defeatist attitude is that? You never give up.”
“I do when the odds of winning are impossible.”
Becky’s gaze narrowed. “Did he seduce you?”
Melanie scowled at her. “No.”
“Did he at least try?”
Melanie thought back over the weekend and the dance they’d played. Richard had tossed out a proposition, she’d dodged it, he’d parried, then she’d taken a turn muddying the waters. “It was a bit confusing,” she said finally.
“Then he did try,” Becky concluded. “And you what?”
“I said no, of course.”
“And then?”
“What makes you think that wasn’t the end of it?”
Becky gave her a knowing look. “It was a long weekend.”
“Okay, then I threw myself at him.”
“Interesting.”
“No, stupid. I corrected the mistake almost immediately.”
“Almost?”
“Soon enough,” Melanie said. “I didn’t sleep with him. In fact, I only kissed him once. No big deal.”
“Oh, right. The sexiest, richest man in all of Alexandria, maybe in the entire Washington metropolitan region, kisses you, and it’s no big deal.”
Melanie sighed. “Okay, the kiss was a big deal, but that’s as far as it went and it won’t be happening again. He couldn’t get me out of there fast enough yesterday morning.”
“Probably because he was tempted,” Becky concluded. “Men do that, you know. They act all weird and crazy when they’re losing control.”
Melanie heard something in Becky’s voice, a faint catch, that hinted she was no longer talking about the weekend Melanie had just shared with a prospective client. “Something happen with you and Jason?” Jason was the love of Becky’s life, or so she’d persuaded herself. He was the fourth one this year, but even Melanie was almost convinced he was a keeper.
Becky’s eyes immediately clouded up. “We broke up. More precisely, he broke up with me.”
That was new. Usually Becky was the one running for cover. Melanie tried to muster the appropriate amount of sympathy, which was getting harder and harder to do. It was somewhat easier with Jason, because she’d genuinely liked him. She’d even thought Becky had gotten it right for once. “Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry. I know you thought he was the one.”
“He is the one,” Becky said fiercely. “He’s just being stubborn and scared and stupid.”
“It’s really hard to argue with stubborn, scared and stupid,” Melanie pointed out. “You should know. You’ve done it often enough yourself.”
“But if it’s what you want, you have to fight for it, right?”
“I suppose.”
Becky gave her a challenging look. “Okay, then. I will if you will.”
“Meaning?” Melanie asked cautiously.
“I’ll keep fighting for what I have—what I want—with Jason, if you’ll keep fighting for Richard.”
“This isn’t about Richard and me. What’s going on with us isn’t personal,” Melanie replied irritably. “It’s about the Carlton Industries contract.”
Becky gave her a sympathetic look. “Oh, sweetie, it might have started that way, but it’s taken on a whole new twist. I can see it in your eyes, hear it in your voice. The sooner you wake up and accept that, the better off you’ll be.”
“It’s about the contract,” Melanie insisted stubbornly.
“Fine. Whatever gets you to pick up the phone and call the man,” Becky said.
“I will not call him. The ball’s in his court.”
“Not if you packed up all the balls and brought them with you when you left his house,” Becky said, then sighed heavily. “Okay, never mind. I recognize that tone. I’ll stop pushing. Just promise me you won’t shred the file.”
Melanie stared at the file she’d been fingering throughout the conversation as if it were some sort of talisman that linked her to Richard. “Fine. I won’t destroy the file.” She stared hard at Becky. “And you won’t call Jason.”
“But—”
“No, buts,” Melanie said firmly. “Let the man grovel for once. You know he will.”
“Eventually,” Becky agreed confidently. Her cheerful mood returned. “Before I land him, the man is going to have groveling down to a fine art.”
“Now there’s a goal.” Melanie regarded Becky wistfully. “I wonder if Richard knows the first thing about groveling?” She thought of how goal oriented he claimed to be and sighed. “Doubtful,” she concluded.
“Maybe he’s trainable,” Becky suggested.
Destiny had had a certain amount of luck teaching him manners, but she’d started at a relatively early age. Melanie had a hunch she was catching Richard far too late to change his ingrained habits.
Too bad, too, because more than once over the weekend, she thought he’d displayed amazing possibilities …and not one of them had anything at all to do with his candidacy for City Council.
She was still pondering that when the phone rang. Becky picked it up.
“Hart Consulting,” she said cheerfully, then listened, her expression going from surprised to dismayed so quickly that Melanie’s heart was thudding when Becky finally handed over the receiver.
Becky punched the hold button before Melanie could speak. “Prepare yourself. It’s that columnist from the morning paper. He’s asking about you and Richard.”
“About the consulting?” Melanie asked hopefully.
Becky shook her head. “About the weekend you spent together. He seems to have details.”
Oh, hell. This was a publicist’s worst nightmare, even when she wasn’t personally involved. Worse, it was too late to duck the call. Melanie sucked in a deep breath and prepared for some fancy tap dancing. She had to find out how much the reporter knew, or thought he knew.
“This is Melanie Hart,” she said briskly.
“Pete