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Authors: Susan Sey

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BOOK: Taste for Trouble
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Will
cracked a fresh beer. “Who else?”

“Not
what I expected,” James murmured as she reached the cool shade of the eaves,
propped the flat of her hand to her forehead and squinted into the shadows
toward the happy couple.

“I
love you, Annie,” Ford said, staring down into the dazed face of the woman he’d
just kissed senseless. “Marry me.”

Belinda
froze. “Oh,” she said. “Oh my goodness.”

Annie
jerked away, horror filling her big green eyes. “
Bel
. Oh my God, Bel. I’m
so sorry. I didn’t, we didn’t—” She broke off to cast stricken eyes up at Ford.
“I mean, we never would have—”

Ford
put an arm around Annie’s shoulders and cut in gently. “I’m sorry, Bel,” he
said, and James had to give him credit. The guy did look genuinely sorry. “I
wish to God I’d said something sooner. But I didn’t know myself until just now.”

Bel
pressed the heel of her hand to her chest, seemed to put all her concentration
on forcing some air into her lungs. The camera man shifted around her for a
tighter shot of Ford and Annie.

“I
tried, Bel,” Ford went on. “Please believe me, I tried. You’re everything I
wanted in a partner—smart, ambitious, independent, successful. But we just
never...” He looked down at Annie, his eyes soft. “We never had
this
.”

Annie
closed her eyes and made an agonized noise. Ford gave a helpless shrug. Belinda
stared at them, pale and wordless. “I’m sorry, Bel,” Ford said again. “I know
the timing is awfully inconvenient for you. I wish there were something I could
do, some way I could make this less...” He glanced at the camera’s avid eye. “Awkward.”

“Awkward,”
Bel said slowly. “Yes, it is that.”

The
curly red-head seemed to shrink inside that flower-petal dress of hers. “I
never wanted this, Bel,” she whispered. “Please believe me. I fought it so
hard. We both did. Neither of us would hurt you for the world. We love you, Bel.
But you can’t fight your heart. It’ll only make you crazy in the end. And my
heart—” She broke off, turned an adoring face up to Ford’s, squeezed his hand. “—
our
hearts belong together.”

Bel
stared at them, that strong, angular face so bloodless that James rolled up to
the edge of his chair. He wasn’t about to let her crack her head on his pavers
in the event she passed out. She looked like the suing sort.

“We
discussed this,” she said to Ford with a cool self-possession that had James
reconsidering the existence of that sweet spot. “The possibility that one or
both of us might at some point be attracted to somebody outside our marriage. But
we concluded that our partnership was worth more in the end than gratifying a
short-term attraction. So please forgive me for speaking so bluntly, but in the
interests of clarity and closure, I need to know. Are you making this decision
with your heart, Ford? Or with your libido?”

“With
my heart,” Ford said without hesitation. “I’m in love.”

“Are
you?” She didn’t sound surprised. Just tired.

“I
know this is hard for you to understand,” Ford said. “Hell, it’s hard for
me
to understand. Because until Annie, I was exactly like you. I had no idea what
it was to feel this way. I know you think—we thought—that love was nothing but
a myth. Now I understand that my life is nothing without love. You and I, we
were great friends and kindred spirits. We got along. Enjoyed each other. It
was comfortable and predictable and easy. But this?” He snugged the girl into
his side and she melted into him. “Annie and I? We just
sing
, Bel. We
flow.”

“And
that,” Will said, saluting James with his beer bottle, “is why you should have
shut up twenty minutes ago.”

The
woman—Bel—flicked her gaze toward James and his brothers. She took them in,
their lawn chairs facing the action like seats in a theater, then zeroed in on
James.

“You
did this?” she asked.

James
rose slowly, palms out. “Easy now. I didn’t do anything.”

Will
smiled at her. “Except tell your boy Ford that life ought to flow and sing.” He
wiggled his empty bottle at her. “Care for a beer?”

James
gave Will a killing look, then turned his attention back to the woman staring
icicles into his chest. “Bel, right? Your name is Bel?”

“Yes.”
She advanced on him, and he noticed the hint of a pair of delicious dimples
carved deep into the softness of her cheeks. “Pleased to meet you.”

Impressive,
he thought. The way she turned a simple pleasantry into something so chilly and
sharp. “Now, Bel, be reasonable.” James gave her his best aw-shucks-ma’am face.

“I
have been reasonable,” she said in that same deadly polite voice. “I have been
imminently reasonable. But this—” She waved a hand in the air, a tight little
circle that James understood encapsulated the whole distasteful scene she’d
just endured. “This is not reasonable. This is ridiculous and immature and
impulsive. And apparently your suggestion.”

James
glanced at his brothers as Bel advanced on him, cold purpose vibrating in the
air around her. But it was the touch of panic shimmering underneath the purpose
James found most compelling. And he’d thought Ford was unhappy. This woman was
so unhappy she didn’t even know she
was
unhappy.

No
wonder Ford couldn’t find her sweet spot.

“It
wasn’t a suggestion exactly,” he told her. “It was more like—”

“Unsolicited
advice,” Will supplied when James paused to grope for a word.

“A
philosophy,” James said with a dark look for his brother. “Sharing my personal
philosophy about life.”

“What
I don’t understand,” Bel said as if nobody had spoken, “is what you’re even
doing here.” She closed the gap between them to poke a finger into his chest. He
could feel the sharp bite of her nail through his t-shirt. “I read the papers,
Mr. Blake. I know that the DC Statesmen paid an ungodly amount of money for
your services. For your golden boot and your physical presence on the field or
the pitch or whatever you call it in soccer. You have an away game today. In a
series of away games. You’re supposed to be playing
soccer
in
California
,
not playing
golf
off your
patio
. Not talking my
groom
into
following his
bliss
. Certainly not
sabotaging my career
.
What
are you doing here
?”

James
weighed his options. No answer seemed really palatable.

“He
got his ass suspended,” Drew informed her with the unholy cheer of an adored
youngest child. “Fighting.”

“It
wasn’t really fighting,” James told Bel, then gave Drew a black stare.

“No,
that’s true,” Drew admitted. “You totally cold cocked the guy. Kind of
unsporting, now that you mention it.”

“There
was an incident,” James said to Bel. “A particularly heated match and—” He
trailed off. This wasn’t going well.

“I
don’t care.” She brushed one elegant hand through the air between them, shooing
away all his pathetic excuses. “I don’t care why you’re here. I don’t care
about matches, heated or otherwise. I don’t even care what you said to Ford. But
I have three hundred and forty three people sitting in folding chairs on Kate
Davis’ lawn at this very moment. I have duck canapés circulating and fifty
bottles of a very nice ’96 Moët chilling for the champagne toast. I have a
four-tiered cake with pink polka dots and my new monogram sitting on a cake
table beside a Waterford knife. I have
ice sculptures
.” She said this
last bit as if it were the clincher. Had to get married if there were ice
sculptures on the line.

“So I
don’t care about your fights or your philosophy. All I want you to do is
fix
this
.”

She
stabbed a finger toward Ford and Annie. Or at least toward where they’d been. Because
Ford and Annie were gone.

“Oh no,”
Bel said.

Drew
made a noise of deep satisfaction. He did love a good scene, especially one
with a happy ending. Will snorted his disgust and James turned sheepish eyes on
Bel.

“You,
uh, want that beer now?”

 

CHAPTER FIVE

 

Four
hours later, Bel stood outside the door of Kate’s Hunt House office and wished
she’d taken James Blake up on the beer. The end of her career—hell, the end of
a life-long dream—was bound to sting. A little alcoholic anesthesia might’ve
been nice.

But
no. She’d never taken refuge in alcohol before. She wouldn’t do it now. She’d
fallen, but not that far.

She
hiked up her chin and tapped softly on the doorframe.

Kate,
perched on a French provincial lady’s chair behind the Queen Anne table that
served as her desk, waved her in without looking up.

“I’ve
dealt with the last of it,” Bel said, looking at the ruler-straight part in
Kate’s ash blonde hair.

“Have
you?”

“Yes.
The caterer was gone over an hour ago. The tent’s broken down, the tables and
chairs loaded. The leftovers were boxed and sent to St. Joan’s shelter. Gifts
were returned to the appropriate givers. Your lawn is back to normal.”

Kate
glanced out the enormous window behind her. “Aside from my denuded rose garden,
yes.”

Bel
winced. “Kate, I’m so sorry. If I’d had any idea this might happen—”

“That’s
just it, isn’t it? You
should
have had an idea, Belinda.” Kate finally
looked up, and Bel’s heart sank at the grave finality in the older woman’s
face. The Mood-o-Meter had never failed her before and it wasn’t failing her
now. This wasn’t a dressing down. This wasn’t
don’t disappoint me again
.
This was The End. Waterloo. Utter disaster, prettied up in an Ann Taylor
sweater set.

“I’m
sorry, Kate,” Bel said quietly.

“As
am I.” Kate set aside her pen and rose, tall and statuesque against the arching
window. “But weddings do fall through, Belinda. Grooms elope with assistants. Flowers
suffer grievous accidents on the beltway. These things happen, so please don’t
misunderstand this. I’m not punishing you for bad luck.”

Oh
God. Bel’s stomach cramped and she clamped down on the urge to check her watch.
What, did she want to mull it over later? How many minutes it took Kate to
deliver her career a killing blow? Compare it to the number of years she’d
spent building it?

“What
I object to isn’t your luck, or lack thereof,” Kate continued, a rueful
half-smile on her patrician face. “It’s your lack of attention to the details.”

“The
details?” Bel echoed, astonished.

“Yes,
dear. The details. Oh, you have a fine sense of fashion, of taste. And I’ll be
honest, I’ve never seen or tasted a cake to equal one of yours. But the simple
fact is, your two closest companions engaged in an inappropriate love affair
over the past year right under your nose. They battled against it, but
eventually, at the worst possible moment for all of us, lost that battle. And
you didn’t see it coming.”

Kate
clasped her hands in front of her neat linen skirt. “You’re a fine baker, dear.
Gifted, even. But an error in judgment this egregious, a lack of awareness this
persistent? I’m afraid you simply don’t have the vision I require in a partner,
let alone a successor.”

Bel
absorbed the shock, the bitter sting of failure. It bowed her shoulders, sent
shameful tears rushing to her eyes. She dropped her gaze and waited miserably
for Kate to finish her off.

“You’re
fired, dear,” Kate said, and even now Bel had to admire the woman’s style. She
delivered the blow firmly enough to discourage unseemly argument yet with just
enough compassion and regret to take the edge off. Kate Davis wasn’t the queen
of etiquette for nothing.

It
steadied her somehow, this small demonstration of the values Kate represented
on TV every day. The values Bel herself had absorbed like plants absorbed
sunlight, and would have practiced with pride had she been found worthy. Tact,
graciousness, and calm conviction.

Bel
bit back her tears and steadied herself. Maybe she was a failure but she wasn’t
a coward. She forced her spine straight, lifted her head and, with clear eyes,
met Kate’s gaze.

And
found it filled with...relief? Kate was
relieved
to be rid of her? After
three years of grooming Bel as her potential successor, after countless other
mistakes she could have easily parlayed into legitimate grounds for dismissal? Why
on earth would Kate wait for a screw up of epic proportions to give her the
boot? And why would she be happy about it?

“I’ll
give you two weeks to vacate the Dower House,” Kate said gently.

Bel closed
her eyes as a rush of panicked sorrow drowned out everything else. Of all
today’s losses—and they’d been staggering—it was losing the Dower House that
finally drove her to her knees. She’d loved that tiny cottage behind the rose
garden, the third spoke of what had once been the single enormous estate surrounding
the pond. Kate’s Hunt House. James Blake’s Annex. Bel’s Dower House. Her home.

BOOK: Taste for Trouble
9.69Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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