Real Women Don't Wear Size 2 (36 page)

Preston set his smile free. “Damn, we’re so alike, it scares me.”

“So I’ve been told. Now give me the scoop.”

“I’m home early because your mother realized that when Ethan returned from his trip, both of her boys would be in Birmingham. Therefore, she wanted to come home and do the whole family thing. Dinner is on Sunday at noon, and she’s expecting both of you there.”

“I know better than to miss it,” Jeff said, making a mental date with his mother’s pot roast for Sunday. “And who did you leave running my store?”

“Avery Miller. I reasoned that I should let him get used to the job, since I’m planning on his running the show there full-time, once you move to Florida.” He quirked a brow and waited for his son’s response.

“You didn’t even wait to see who won,” Jeff stated, somewhat disappointed that he wouldn’t officially win the bet.

“Didn’t really matter. I was going to ask you to oversee the Panache stores anyway, told Ethan about it a couple of weeks back, when he finalized the acquisition details. He doesn’t want to leave Birmingham, so this will be perfect. He’ll stay on top of the overall corporate structure, keep us focused on the future, and you’ll oversee each of our acquisitions along the way, starting with the Southeast, then moving on to our national plan. I assume that works for you.”

“Hell yeah, it works. But why did you accept the bet if you knew you were going to give me the deal anyway?”

“Ethan said he’d been trying to get you to come down and set up a new marketing plan for the Birmingham store, but he couldn’t get you away from Atlanta long enough to pull it off.”

Jeff shifted in his seat. “Nice try, Dad, but our little contest was my idea, remember?”

Chuckling, Preston Eubanks stood and moved to the window, then peered out at the neighboring buildings. “That’s what we let you think, son.”

Shocked, Jeff opened his mouth to argue his point, but halted when the office door flung open and a whirlwind of red and black—red leather minidress, black stiletto boots and jet-black hair—barreled in.

“What did you tell her?” she demanded. Her dark eyes glared at him as though he were evil personified, then they widened as she noticed Jeff’s father by the window.

“Oh, don’t let me stop you,” Preston said. “This sounds extremely interesting.”

“She thinks I’m Ethan,” Jeff said. “Again.” He turned to the woman. “You realize this constant bout of mistaken identity could easily slam a guy’s ego.”

She snarled at him like a Doberman. “You’re Jeff?”

“Yeah, and you’re Babette,” he said. “By the way, I liked you better as a redhead. It suited the personality.” Ignoring her dropped jaw, he started introductions. “Preston Eubanks, this is Babette Robinson. Babette Robinson, meet my father.”

“Pleasure,” Preston said, extending a hand.

She shook it, briefly. “I apologize for barging in,” she said, a hint of humiliation in her formerly heated tone. “But I really need to talk to your son. Your
other
son.”

Obviously bemused, Preston grinned. “This one isn’t good enough for you?”

“Dad, trust me. You don’t want to tick her off.” His hand moved to his cheek, where she’d clawed him last year when she’d mistaken him for Ethan.

“If I remember right, I told you I was sorry for that”—she paused, then added—“misunderstanding.”

“Yeah, you did,” Jeff said. “Right after you attacked me.”

Preston’s chuckle reverberated through the suddenly quiet room.

“I need to speak to your brother,” she hissed through clenched teeth.

“He’ll be back momentarily,” Jeff said, in no rush to honor her request. He was having fun sparring with the younger Robinson, and truthfully, he hadn’t seen this much spunk in a woman since, well, the last time he’d seen Red. Her black eyes sharpened, shooting daggers straight through him, and Jeff decided making Babette Robinson wait, for anything, probably wasn’t a wise move for self-preservation. “Listen,” he said, “if you want to know what he told your sister, I can tell you. He didn’t say a word.”

Preston’s bushy silver brows inched upward. Babette noticed. “I’m Clarise Robinson’s younger sister,” she explained.

“Ahh,” Preston said, nodding, “I see the resemblance.”

Once again, Babette’s jaw dropped, but she didn’t comment. She looked as though she were trying to figure out if Preston Eubanks was trying to pull her chain. Jeff glanced at his dad and knew without a doubt that he wasn’t. Obviously, Preston saw the similarities in the two sisters—the same energy, the same excited and vivacious zest for life—or that’s what Jeff assumed. Jeff sure saw the resemblance, even if Babette seemed unaware of the mesmerizing appeal of Robinson women, the sweet sexy one who worked for Eubanks Elegant Apparel
and
the spicy sexy one who stood before him ready to pounce.

Her mouth dipped down on one side, and she pivoted toward Jeff. “He didn’t tell her anything?”

“That’s right.”

“So she doesn’t know,” Babette muttered, then glanced toward Preston.

“I believe I’ll take a walk through the store,” Preston said. “See how things are going with your latest advertising endeavors.”

Jeff nodded, while she shifted from one foot to the other.

“Nice to meet you, Babette,” Preston said before leaving. “I’m sure I’ll see you again.” As soon as the door closed, she geared up for another round.

“The reason she left him in Tampa had nothing to do with me?” she clarified. “Is that what you’re saying? He didn’t tell her?” With her red-glossed lips half-open, like a model striking a pose, she waited for his answer. Her eyes were wide with unhidden interest, cheeks flushed from anger. Jeff had the sudden, crazy urge to kiss her. Good thing he also had the vivid recollection of her nails clawing his cheek.

“He didn’t tell her,” Jeff repeated. “Someone else did.”

She blinked, mouth snapped shut and eyes squinted in apparent disbelief, then she folded her arms and shifted her hips again. It was a damn sexy move, particularly with the knee-high stiletto boots she’d paired with the leather mini. Jeff had a brief impulse to ask her if she wanted to enter the store’s best ensemble contest, but then thought better of the inclination. She wasn’t here for Eubanks Apparel; she was here for answers, and he was being cruel withholding what she wanted. He cleared his throat. She might have attacked him last year, but Jeff had never been one to treat a lady wrong.

“Apparently, a couple of our employees saw you leaving Ethan’s room last year. One of them has the hots for your sister and had a problem with her getting cozy with Ethan. So he decided to tell her that the two of you . . . ”

“Oh, no,” she gasped. Her eyes widened again, but this time it wasn’t anger. She was upset. Babette turned and moved slowly to the chair. “Clarise must have thought,” she continued, sitting down and dropping her head to her hands. Her shiny black curtain of hair tilted forward to totally hide her face, but she couldn’t hide the tear that landed on her skirt.

Jeff moved to the corner of Ethan’s office that housed a watercooler and retrieved a pointed paper cup. The fixture sloshed loudly, while Babette Robinson sobbed softly. Damn, he hated to see, or hear, a woman cry. “Drink this,” he said, holding the cup beneath her hidden face.

“Thanks.” She sniffed, then looked up at him with eyes smudged terribly by watery mascara.

He withdrew a handkerchief. “You may want to use this.”

She nodded and dabbed it daintily beneath her eyes, then stared at the black mess on the cotton.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, propping his hip against the desk. “Have you talked to Clarise?”

“No. I just got back in town and wanted to find out what he’d told her first,” she said, then shrugged. “Actually, now that I think about it, I wish Ethan had been the one to tell her. I should’ve told her last year, but I really didn’t think she’d ever have to know.” She shook her head. “God help me if Granny Gert finds out.”

Jeff didn’t know what to say to that. The tough little spitfire that had clawed him last year, then barreled in ready to repeat the feat a few minutes ago, seemed to be concerned about her grandmother finding out that she was a grown woman who’d slept with a guy at Gasparilla?

“I’ve got to find Clarise and tell her the truth,” she said.

“Not without me you don’t,” Ethan said. He still looked rough around the edges from his bout with the bottle last night, but his features softened when he obviously noticed Babette’s tear-stained cheeks. “I need to talk to her too.”

She cleared her throat softly, as though dreading this conversation, and looked away from Ethan as she spoke. “She doesn’t know what really happened, does she?”

Ethan shook his head, while Jeff wondered what really had happened between the two of them.

“Why didn’t you tell her?” Babette asked.

“Believe me, I’ve tried. She won’t buzz me in her apartment, and she has your pit bull grandmother guarding the phone.”

Babette’s laughter perpetrated the tension in the room and accentuated Jeff’s infatuation with the feisty Robinson sister. “Granny Gert is going to kill me over this,” she repeated, then abruptly stopped laughing.

“Clarise won’t tell her,” Ethan said. “She’s not like that.”

Babette tilted her head and formed a slight smile. “You love her.”

“I’d rather talk to your sister about that first.”

“God, I hope she forgives me,” Babette said. “I guess you’re going with me to talk to her?”

Ethan nodded.

She stood, pushed her hand in the pocket of her skirt and caused it to dip down. Ever observant, Jeff caught a glimpse of tan flesh above its edge. She withdrew a car key . . . and caught him looking. Her eyes met his, and Jeff braced for a smart-ass remark. It didn’t come. Instead, she lifted one brow and gave him a half smile. Well, hell. Once this “situation” was over, he was definitely going to give Red a call.

“We can take my car,” Ethan said. “I’m assuming you’ll be able to get us past the guard outside her apartment, and the grandmother inside.”

Babette smiled. “I could, but Clarise isn’t there.” At Ethan’s downfallen expression, she added, “But I know where she is, and we’ll take my car. It’s probably faster.”

“I doubt that,” Ethan said.

“Don’t,” she instructed, and the feisty gleam in those black eyes returned.

When they left the office, Jeff joined in. For one thing, he liked the way Babette moved as she walked. For another, he wanted to see her fast car.

Preston Eubanks met them near the store’s entrance. “Ms. Robinson, is that your—vehicle—parked outside?” he asked, his tone unreadable.

“I was in a hurry,” she explained. “I’m leaving now.”

Preston nodded, and Jeff became even more anxious to see what
vehicle
his father referred to. He didn’t have to leave the store to find out. Babette had parked her car in the middle of the sidewalk directly in front of the entrance. Customers frowned at the multicolored CRX, but thankfully were willing to walk around it to enter. From the look of the uprooted azalea bushes, Babette hadn’t been in the mood to navigate for obstacles as she sought Ethan Eubanks.

“I was in a hurry,” she repeated.

“I’m going to refrain from commenting,” Ethan said, gawking at the tire tracks in his previously well-tended landscaping.

“Good,” Babette said. “Now get in.”

“We can take my car,” Ethan repeated, indicating the black Beemer in the side lot.

“If you want me to move mine out of the way,” Babette countered, “then you’ll let me take it.”

Jeff admired her, issuing an I-dare-you glare toward his brother—and his father.

“Take it,” Preston urged, watching from the store’s doorway and attempting to welcome curious customers who were captivated by the hunk of junk in front of Eubanks Elegant Apparel.

Jeff walked to the driver’s side and reached for the handle. “The door does open, doesn’t it? Or do you just slide in like the Dukes?”

“Try it and see,” she said.

He did. Amazingly, it opened, and a flurry of photographs hit the pavement by his feet.

“Oh no.” Babette dropped to the ground and started carefully scooping the glossy pictures from the sidewalk to her arms. Jeff stooped down to help and quickly noticed the quality of the black-and-white images on the eight-by-tens.

“These are incredible,” he said, holding one up and tilting it in the light. “Who is the designer?”

Babette glanced at the photo, a woman in a sexy halter dress descending a flight of stairs. “I don’t know.”

“What about the photographer? Who took these?” Jeff asked, reaching for the next photograph. It featured a couple dancing exuberantly on a gleaming wooden deck. A full moon reflected beneath their feet and placed them in an iridescent spotlight.

“I did,” she said.

“Outstanding,” Preston Eubanks observed, peering over Babette’s shoulder at the photos now collected in their hands.

She opened her mouth, looked at Jeff questioningly then smiled. “Thanks.”

“You realize it doesn’t matter how damn fast this thing is if you never get it going,” Ethan growled.

“Right.” Babette took the photographs from Jeff, but paused a moment when her fingers brushed his. “We need to hurry.” She placed the pictures in a folder on the backseat and climbed in. Then she cranked the car, backed up and peeled out.

“There’s a lot of fire in that woman,” Preston said from behind him. “She’s got spunk.”

“That’s one word for it,” Jeff said, watching the car speed away. “Complete opposite from her sister.”

“Funny, that’s what everyone used to say about you and Ethan,” Preston observed, nodding at a customer walking toward the store. While Jeff pondered a response, Preston continued, “You know, there’s something else that woman has too.”

“What’s that?”

“Talent.”

“Talent?” Jeff questioned.

“I’ve been thinking . . . in order for Eubanks Elegant Apparel to really make our presence known in the industry, we’ll need our own catalog. I’d want it to be superb, of course, with outstanding photographs.”

“I’ll see if she’s interested.”

“I rather thought you would,” Preston said, issuing a cough that sounded suspiciously similar to his laugh and failing to hide his smirk. “And while you’re seeing if she’s interested, find out if she wants the job too.”