Hostile Makeover (34 page)

“Oh, yes, it is,” she said. “Because I’m not interested. Not even a little bit.”

He leaned closer so that she could feel his warm breath on her cheek. She was a complete sucker for warm breath, especially his.

“Liar.” He said it so softly she had to lean closer to hear him, which allowed that warm breath to tickle the sensitive spot at the nape of her neck.

The pure male force of him held her there; the tickle of his breath welded her feet to the floor as surely as a fly caught in the sticky weavings of a spider’s web. This was how one ended up in a supply closet or the wrong room at the Four Seasons.

The screech of a microphone, followed by the sound of Judy’s amplified voice announcing the winner of the first piece of tire art, released her. The wave of applause reminded her of where she was. And with whom. Shelley took a step back. “The only thing I’m planning between us is distance,” she said.

And possibly some competition. She had three potential clients right here in this room. Atlanta was a big city, full of potential clients. “Excuse me. I need to go help Judy.”

She walked away from him feeling virtuous and, she assured herself, not the least bit regretful. She was NOT thinking about what might have been.

Like the carriage reverting to a pumpkin in
Cinderella,
Tire World turned back into a tire store at midnight. The auctioned art had been taken, the sound system removed, and the buffet tables and bars broken down and carted off. Only the Schwartzes and Wiley Haynes remained.

With Harvey and Miriam looking on, Shelley and Judy said good night to their ecstatic client.

“Ya’ll did an outstanding job, that’s for sure,” he said. “I never would have guessed you little ladies had all that in you, but it was bang-up.”

Shelley gritted her teeth at the “little ladies” and saw Judy do the same. Smiling their thanks, they walked out of the tire store side by side, bracketed between their parents just as they had so often been as children. The symbolism was not lost on Shelley. But she was thirty-three, too old to be so defined by her family; too old to be craving approval she couldn’t seem to earn.

In the now-silent parking lot their footsteps crunched loudly on the pavement. They stopped under a streetlight; her parents’ and Shelley’s cars were the only two left in the lot.

“Mr. Haynes is right,” her mother said, “the evening was a great success.” She looked pointedly at their father.

He cleared his throat and Shelley tensed anew. Materially, Harvey Schwartz was generous to a fault, but he could be a tightwad with his praise. Two weeks ago he’d found her so wanting he’d decided to sell his company. This was the closest to alone she’d been with him since then. She was very much afraid of what might—or might not—be said.

When her father didn’t speak, her mother shot him another look. Then she turned to Judy. “Why don’t I give you a ride home?” she asked. “I have a few things I’d like to talk to you about.”

Panic crossed Judy’s face and she turned a beseeching look toward Shelley. Then her mother said, “Shelley can drop Daddy at the house,” and Shelley and Harvey Schwartz’s features sprang into matching mirrors of panic.

A desperate scan of the deserted parking lot confirmed that there was no way out. It had been two weeks and Shelley had failed to produce measurable results; it seemed Miriam Schwartz was already taking over.

“All right,” Shelley blustered, “but I’ll have my cell phone on if you need me, Jude.”

“Right,” Judy said, though all four of them knew Judy would never get the chance to call for reinforcements.

In her BMW, Shelley and her father passed the first few blocks in silence. Her father stared out the window at the darkness while she attempted to brace for whatever was going to come.

As she slowed for the first red light, he cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I, um, I believe I owe you an apology.”

Floored, Shelley stared straight ahead at the light, which was a very bright red and seemed to last forever.

“Your mother has pointed out to me that my expectations of you may have been too, er, low for too long.”

The light turned green, but she couldn’t seem to lift her foot off the brake pedal.

“And,” he cleared his throat again, “then, when you were finally trying to stand on your own, I, um, judged you too quickly.”

Headlights came up behind them and Shelley was forced to find the gas pedal. Her mind was fully occupied with her father’s words. She drove in silence, trying to process them.

“Actually, you were right,” he continued. “I did impose a double standard. I didn’t give you a fair shake.”

She remained silent, letting him speak. His words flowed over her—stilted, yet soothing at the same time. They began to fill in the empty spot inside her that she’d been trying to plug with all the wrong things.

“I, um, used your involvement with Ross as an excuse to sell the company.” He continued to look at the passing scenery, but his words picked up speed, became more heartfelt. “You’ve proven yourself, Shelley. I saw the rough cut of the Furniture Forum commercials today—they’re first-rate. And tonight was a huge success, huge. You have what it takes to make it in this business. You finally got it together and I forced you to quit.”

He looked at her then. She could feel his gaze on her in the darkness. Pressing lightly on the brake, she slowed for the turn into her parents’ neighborhood and actually held her breath.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

“Oh, Daddy.” Her heart squeezed painfully. “After all my screwups it’s no wonder you couldn’t recognize a true breakthrough when I had it.”

His apology touched her and she felt love and gratitude flood through her. But it was his acknowledgment of her ability, his sincere praise, that freed her from something heavy and clanging she hadn’t even realized she’d been carrying around.

“If you want to become the Schwartz in Schwartz and Associates, the firm’s still mine to do with as I will.”

The moisture pressed against her eyelids as she pulled into her parents’ driveway. The house was dark; her mother hadn’t gotten back from dropping Judy off yet. She hoped her sister’s ride home had been as liberating.

“What about Ross Morgan?”

Her father studied her calmly. “Ross Morgan’s a survivor. And he understands what family means.”

It was a non-answer, but at the moment Shelley didn’t care. She was too busy examining the new paths now stretching out before her. Her options kept expanding, but instead of feeling anxious about the choices she faced, she felt a stirring of anticipation. Whatever path she traveled, she’d be taking her hard-won knowledge and her father’s approval with her.

Her father. She considered him now, the beak of his nose, the determined chin, the intelligent brown eyes. He’d been carrying her in one way or another since she’d played in this driveway as a child. Perhaps it was the lack of expectation he’d just apologized for, or maybe she’d just taken longer than most to grow up. The past no longer felt so important, because she was no longer afraid of the future.

“You go on ahead and sell, Daddy. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“Now, sweetheart . . .” He paused as the garage door went up in front of them and her mother drove past them and inside to park. Their mother had apparently whipped Judy into shape in half the time it was taking her father to deal with her. She hoped Judy had survived.

“No, I’m serious. You created that agency and you deserve every penny Chase Miller is willing to pay you. I could never live with myself if I thought I’d stood in the way.”

They sat together and watched the garage door go down. Lights flickered on in the house. The last was the lamp in the front window, the one that had always been left on when one of the girls was out.

She leaned across the seat to wrap her arms around her father’s neck. “I love you, Daddy. And I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. But it’s time for me to make my own name instead of trying to live up to yours.”

He pulled back and looked right into her eyes, trying to read them there in the dark. “You sure?”

“I’m sure. Now, you’d better get on inside before Mom comes out and hauls you in.”

She waited while her father walked slowly up the driveway, and waved back to her mother when she opened the front door for him. Her parents hugged in the sliver of light from that lamp in the window, their heads bent in conversation. And then the door closed behind them.

Shelley drove home with her thoughts.

chapter
31

T
he next day at 4:59
P.M.
, Judy rang the doorbell of her home. Mouth dry, palms sweaty, she waited on the welcome mat, in front of her stained-glass sidelights, for someone to open the door.

Then Craig stood in the open doorway. He took note of her lack of luggage, saw that she’d left her car in the driveway rather than the garage. He didn’t comment, but stepped back so she could enter.

Wiping her palms on her pants, she followed him through the entry and past the formal living and dining rooms. The scent of lemon and freshly polished wood teased her nostrils, and she sighed with relief at the first sight of her kitchen; Eva, or at least someone with ovaries, had put it back to rights.

“Where are the boys?” she asked, noting the bottle of red wine breathing on the counter. Arrangements of fresh flowers sat on the counter and in the center of the kitchen table.

“Out.” His look was steady. “With friends.” He locked his gaze with hers. “They could be spending the night out. That’s kind of up to you.”

Judy swallowed and slid onto a bar stool. The granite countertops gleamed and the copper flecks sparkled. Her husband seemed so sure, so forceful. So completely focused on her. It was what she’d wanted; she didn’t want to blow it.

“About Brett,” she began, wanting to get what she knew would be Craig’s biggest issue out of the way. She’d spent the day practicing how to explain the flirtation, and had imagined segueing into a cozy heart-to-heart.

Craig walked behind the counter and poured them each a glass of wine, then came around to take the stool next to hers. “Did you sleep with him?”

“No.” She met his gaze straight on, accepted a glass of wine. “I’m married.”

He digested her answer. There was a flicker of relief in his eyes. “Good. Me, too.” He leaned forward to set his wineglass down and she caught a whiff of the Boucheron cologne she’d bought him for his last birthday.

Through the kitchen window she could see their next-door neighbor getting ready to mow his lawn. She couldn’t understand how everything could look so ordinary when the future of her marriage hung in the balance. She studied Craig, pondering her next move. Her mother had given her her marching orders last night, but Judy didn’t want to march anywhere. She intended to communicate her needs and expectations, and then she was going to listen to his.

“OK.” She checked Brett O’Connor off her mental list. “Shall we move on?”

“Absolutely.” He looked deep into her eyes. “Talk to me. I’m listening.”

“Say that again.”

“I said, I’m listening.”

She blinked. She’d been prepared for argument or evasion, but not for total cooperation. She hadn’t expected the wine and flowers, either. Or the way her heart was pounding in her chest.

Please God,
she prayed silently,
don’t let either of us screw this up.

“I want to hear everything you have to say.”

Judy blinked again and tried to regroup. She’d allotted a good half an hour to getting Craig to utter those words; he’d done it in five minutes.

He was still looking into her eyes, still completely focused on her. “If you tell me what you want, Jude, I’ll do my best to deliver.”

OK
. She tried to fast-forward past all the rational arguments she’d prepared and didn’t seem to need. She took a sip of wine to give her brain time to get to the bottom line. “I want—no, I need to work. I’m good at it.”

He took a sip of his wine and nodded, but she was too nervous to count on nonverbal communication.

“This is not negotiable.”

“Not a problem,” he said.

His total capitulation was throwing her completely. She searched her mind for her other points.

“And, um, we need to talk more and spend more time with each other,” she said. “I can’t stand how we’ve been taking each other for granted.”

“Agreed.”

“And we have to make sure the boys understand that I’m not a servant here. Everyone has to help and contribute to our family.”

“Yes, that’s important, too.”

He was utterly sincere; she could hear it in his voice, see it in his eyes. He was looking at her as if she were the most interesting woman in the universe. Something deep and primal stirred inside her.

“You,” she whispered, “you have to tell me what you want, too.”

His gaze was steady. “You,” he said softly. “Just you. The house felt so empty while you were gone. You’re the center, Jude, the heart of us. You’re all I want. The rest is just . . . details.”

He leaned forward and brought his lips to hers. And then he kissed her. Completely. Thoroughly. And with such gentleness it made her want to weep.

Judy pressed as close to Craig as the bar stool would allow. She wanted him—both physically and emotionally—with a certainty that took her breath away.

His lips brushed the side of her neck and his teeth teased at her earlobe. He pulled back to look into her eyes.

She couldn’t believe how turned on she was. By Craig Blumfeld. And the life she wanted with him.

At her nod, he kicked his bar stool out of the way and moved to stand between her thighs.

“OK,” she whispered as she looped her arms up around his neck, “sex now, details later.”

His hands slipped under her buttocks and he lifted her up against him. Judy wrapped her legs around Craig’s waist and held on with her thighs as he carried her to their bed.

The next morning she snuggled up against him and breathed in the scent of husband and home. She didn’t think she’d ever get enough of either.

With a contented groan, Craig flipped onto his side to face her. Idly, he traced the curve of her hip with his hand. “Do you want to go out for breakfast and then over to Shelley’s to get your things?”