Her Frog Prince

The motor turned over on the third try and Brad headed the boat toward the island. “Yeah, me too.”

“That giant squid must be very time-consuming.”

He wheeled around. “Will you quit with that?”

“I wasn’t being sarcastic. Honest. Just making conversation. I mean, what do you say when someone tells you they hunt squid for a living?” She shuddered. “It’s so…gross.”

“Squid are not gross.”

She arched a brow his way.

Brad gunned the engine. Gigi let out a yelp of protest. “Did you know the largest squid ever found weighed a thousand pounds? And the giant squid’s arms are as thick as a man’s thigh? Yet, they’ve never been seen alive and are truly one of the biggest mysteries of the sea.”

“Oh. Fascinating.”

He gave her a glance. “You’re not impressed.”

“I’m impressed someone would know so much about them.” She laid the towel on the bench beside her. “But why on earth would you want to?”

“I’m a marine biologist. It’s my job. Well, it’s not going to be, not in a few weeks. Not if—” He cut himself off. Why had he told her that? It was more than he’d told anyone in weeks.

“Oh. So what will you do then? Look for dolphins?”

He tossed her a grin. “Start looking for mermaids. I seem to have better luck catching women than squid.”

Then he tilted down his hat, shading his eyes, and concentrated on getting his “catch” back to shore before he was tempted to use her for squid bait.

Parris sat in the boat and wondered if she should take that as a compliment or not. Not, she decided. He’d just compared her to a slimy mollusk that caught things with tentacles, for God’s sake. That was like being told she had a nice figure by a man with a walrus fetish.

She tried to hold on to the sides of the boat as it skipped across the water, smashing on the waves like a Pinto bottoming out over speed bumps. She should have known better than to wear the Prada shoes for the island cruise. If she was going to lose one, she should have opted for cheaper footwear, something she didn’t mind becoming a hermit crab home. She pulled off the remaining shoe and dropped it onto the floor of the boat. She’d go barefoot. At least her pedicure still looked good.

The same could not be said for her Kenneth Cole outfit, though. Salt water and satin apparently didn’t co-exist any better than Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman.

The boat went over a bigger bump, jostling Parris. “Steady there.” Brad placed a hand against her back.

A very warm, very large hand. The hand of a man who didn’t get manicures every week or spend his days behind a desk, clicking a mouse and sending hundreds of people scurrying to do his bidding.

The ocean whipped by, the motor roared. Sea salt and water sprayed her face. The boat slammed against the water after another big wave and Parris bit back a shriek. “Aren’t you going a little fast?” she shouted.

“She may look like an overfilled balloon but she’s tough. Built to take about anything.”

“I’ve never been on one of these,” Parris said, clutching the seat with a white-knuckled grip. “I don’t really like boats. Or the ocean.”

“Then why were you on one? In the middle of the Gulf of Mexico?”

“It’s my job.” She ran a hand through her hair, now sticky with salt and the remains of her hairspray. “This week anyway.”

“And next week, what, I can catch your act at the Flamingo Club?”

She tossed him a look over her shoulder. “I don’t sing. Or dance.”

“Pity, with legs like that.” His gaze traveled past the hem of her skirt, down her calves, settling on her ankles for what seemed a very long, very interested time.

“Watch where you’re going. Not me.”

“Why?”

“So we don’t hit a…a…” She looked across the wide blue expanse of nothing, then scowled at him. “Because driving the boat is your job.”

“I’m a multifaceted man.” He grinned. “I can do two things at once.”

“Then drive the boat and think about your squids. Not me.”

“Why not?”

“Why not what?”

“Why not think about you?”

“Because I’m not available.”

“Married?”

“No.”

“Involved?”

“No.”

“In a convent?”

“No.”

“Good. Me neither.” Beneath the brim of his ball cap, his hazel eyes teased her.

She couldn’t keep the smile from her face. “I couldn’t quite imagine you in a habit.”

“Black is not my color.” He plucked at the flannel shirt he wore over his faded squid-decorated T-shirt. “I’m more of a plaid guy.”

“Yeah, I can see that.”

“Oh, I get it,” he said, nodding. “You’re not available to guys like me. Not interested in the scruffy-professor type?”

Her attention roved over the tattered ball cap shading the hazel depths of his eyes, the shaggy beard hiding what she suspected was a strong, square jaw, the cutoff worn flannel that displayed muscular arms yet ballooned around the rest of his well-built chest. If she burned all his clothes, took him to see José, her stylist, and gave a small sacrifice to Estée Lauder, she could maybe get Brad Smith looking acceptable enough for public viewing.

Like a man, not a—what did he call himself—scruffy professor. Well, he already looked like a man, just more caveman than cover model. Still, to tell him that to his face would be tactless, and even Parris wasn’t direct enough to do that. At least not until they were on solid ground.

“I’m tied up with my career right now. Dating would be a distraction.” A lie, but only a grayish one. As soon as her sister Jackie returned from her honeymoon with Steven, her “career” as head of the business would end and she could go back to her life.

If what she had could be considered a life. Lately, she’d had this empty feeling, like she needed more. What more, she couldn’t say. Her twenty-seven years of experience had somehow become a cream puff without any filling.

Or maybe she just needed to eat something better than portabellos for lunch.

“A distraction. Uh-huh,” he said, clearly not believing her. He shoved the throttle of the boat upward and the little craft lunged forward.

Her heart jerked into her throat and her stomach got lost somewhere ten feet back. “You’re going to throw us all out if you keep doing that.” Finally the dock for La Torchere came into view. “You can drop me off right here. I’m staying at the resort.”

“In the main building or one of the villas?”

She glanced at him. The shaggy beard didn’t seem to fit with the appearance of a normal resort visitor. Maybe there was more to Brad Smith than met the eye. “You’ve been there?”

The brim of his hat cast his smirk in shadow. “Oh, once or twice.” He directed the boat to one of the lower-level docks, brought it up against the fenders and tossed a rope onto the cleat, tying it in a quick, secure loop.

“Well, if you’re ever over this way, look me up.” Parris scrambled to her feet, trying to maintain her balance in the tilting boat.

“Need some help?”

“I can manage.” She stepped off the front end of the boat and put one foot up onto the dock. Before she could get her other leg up, an incoming wave shifted the craft. The boat went one way, she went another.

“Wait…oh! No!” Before she could stop it, she was doing a split worthy of an Olympic bronze medalist.

“Let me—” Brad grabbed her hand. Weaving and wheeling her free arm, Parris pushed off the boat with her other leg, trying to use Brad for leverage to hoist herself up to the dock.

“We should—”

“I wouldn’t—”

The two of them tumbled out of the boat and lost their sentences in the water by the pier.

She bobbed up first, then him. “Well, this is fun. Not.” Parris spat the hair out of her face and gave him a glower. “Where did you learn how to park?”

“Probably the same place that taught you proper cruise attire.”

She swam the few feet over to the ladder on the end of the pier and climbed up, with Brad following right behind. Gigi barked encouragement from her place in the boat, which was now drifting back toward the dock. “For your information, I was barefoot when I disembarked.”

“Who uses words like that?” He stood on the pier, dripping wet and looking even scruffier than he had five minutes ago. “‘Disembarked,’ for God’s sake. Just admit it. You fell in because you didn’t listen to me.”

Parris parked her fists on her hips. “I fell in because you didn’t tie up the boat tight enough.”

“No. You fell in because you were too stubborn to wait for me to help you.”

“You are infuriating! I deal with far less childish people than you in Hollywood.”

He arched a brow at her. “You work with celebrities?”

“Sometimes. I’m a personal consultant. I help them look, act and sound better.” A fib, not an outright lie. She had helped her friend Liza get ready for that audition. Liza had nabbed the part, so surely that counted.

Brad started to laugh. And laugh. And laugh until Parris was quite tempted to shove him off the pier and leave him for the sharks. “What’s so funny?”

“You. Helping people. What do you do? Bully them?”

“For your information, my clients are very happy with my services. I have many success stories.” Okay, that one was an outright lie. She’d barely worked in the business since her father had turned Hammond Events and Consulting over to her and Jackie. But she was sure, given the right chance, she could do a good job. Probably. “I could even make you over. Not that it wouldn’t be a challenge, but—”

Brad took a step forward until he was inches away from her. Up close, he didn’t look so bad dripping wet. His clothes clung to him, accenting every plane and muscle. She’d been wrong about his lack of manliness. If anything, he was more male than any man she’d ever known. Too bad he drove her up a wall.

He pointed at her chest. “You are the most aggravating woman I have ever met.”

Give a man some beauty tips and he turns on you. “And you have all the personality of a wolverine.”

He glowered at her. She glowered back.

Brad opened his mouth to speak again, but Parris wasn’t going to listen to another personal attack. She’d had quite enough of that, thank you very much. She thrust out her arms and shoved him as hard as she could.

Too late, the words he’d started to speak permeated the anger in her mind and she realized he’d been saying he was sorry. Before she could do anything to stop it, he stumbled back, arms wheeling, and fell into the Gulf.

Again.

Whoops. Not the best way to repay him for rescuing her.

Parris peeked over the pier and caught Brad’s reddened face and narrowed eyes. His ball cap had fallen off his head and was floating away, just out of reach.

He didn’t seem sorry anymore. In fact, he looked pretty mad. From the boat, Gigi let out several barks.

“Do you, ah, need some help getting out of there?”

“Not from you!” He started swimming for the ladder.

“Listen, I’m really sorry. I acted without thinking. If there’s any way I can ever make it up to you—”

His answering glare told her he wasn’t interested in any favors. Probably better to leave. She had a feeling he didn’t want her within ten feet of him right now.

“Well, thanks for the ride. And hey, look at the bright side,” Parris said. “If a squid happens by, you’ll be in the right place!”

Chapter Two

Brad Smith wasn’t a fisherman, but he was one of the few men Merry figured could stand toe-to-toe with Parris and win. She closed her magical cell phone, blessing the powers that allowed her to keep tabs on her matchmaking efforts from afar, and settled back in the deck chair.

Getting Parris a happy ending wasn’t an impossible task. But it wasn’t going to be an easy one, either. Still, she’d done quite well with Jackie and Steven, and Ruthie and Diego, who would be celebrating their marriage soon. Maybe this wasn’t out of her reach.

And maybe Miss Prissy Parris could learn a lesson or two about life, love and acceptance out of the whole thing. A real happy ending.

Yes, Bradford Smith and Parris Hammond. It could work. Right?

Brad stepped out of the shower and swiped the steam off the mirror. He stared at the reflection before him and realized a hard, sad truth. Parris Hammond had a point. One he’d done a good job of ignoring until she’d gone and brought it up.

There wasn’t a hell of a lot of difference between Brad the sea-roughened marine biologist and Brad the cleaned-up version. He still looked like something that had washed up at low tide with the kelp and dead crabs.

Aw, hell. The meeting with the research foundation was only ten days away. His research was good and solid, the specimens he’d collected well preserved, but the biologist…well, Brad had to admit he’d gotten a little rough around the edges lately.

He rubbed his beard. Okay, a lot. Jeez, no wonder Parris Hammond had recoiled from him like a third-grader from brussels sprouts.

Problem was, Brad wasn’t the kind of guy who cared a hell of a lot about appearances. His own or other people’s. Hell, he worked with squid all day. That alone was a clue to his regard for the company he kept. If there was an uglier animal on the planet, he’d yet to see it. But it had been enough to garner a comment from Parris, so maybe it was time he did something about himself.

He left the bathroom of the studio apartment connected to his research offices and went into the main lab. Jerry, his assistant, and the only one he could still afford to pay now that his first grant had just about run out, sat at the counter, making notations in the log.

“Jerry, tell me the truth. You think I need a little help in the, ah, appearance department?” Brad asked.

Jerry looked up from his work, cast a quick glance at Brad’s T-shirt and khakis and shrugged. “The squid don’t care what you look like and neither do I. Or are you asking me for some other reason?”

“Yeah. That research foundation thing. If I go in there, looking like this, I doubt they’ll take me seriously.”

The fish didn’t care if he showed up in a tux and tails or a duck costume when he went out to do his research. But if he went into the meeting with The National Aquatic Research Foundation looking like something Jacques Cousteau had dragged out of the depths, he had zero chance of getting that grant and continuing his funding. If there was anything a committee liked, it was a good-looking scientist they could parade in front of the media. That and someone who sounded like they were professional, on the ball—and ahead of the research curve.

“Well,” Jerry said, running a hand through his red hair. “You could use a new look.”

“What do you suggest? I chuck my wardrobe and go shopping for some black silk pants and bow ties?”

“Uh, I dunno. I’m not exactly the one to ask.” Jerry patted the front of his Real Men Belch T-shirt.

“I see your point.”

“What about your mom? Isn’t that the kind of thing moms live for? To dress up their kids like their own personal Barbie dolls?”

Brad got to his feet and poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot on the counter. After sitting there in a hot pot all day, the liquid had metamorphosed into something dark as night and almost unrecognizable as java. “Calling my mother is not a good idea.”

“That’s right. She’s not exactly the president of your squid fan club, is she?”

Asking his mother for advice would be inviting her opinion, something Brad had learned long ago wasn’t in his best interests. “Right now, my mother is all wrapped up in the charity auction at La Torchere. She’s raising funds for the aquarium she wants to build.”

“Well, that’s support for what you do, isn’t it?”

“Building cages for sea life instead of supporting the study of them in the wild? No, I wouldn’t call it support.” Brad took a long gulp of coffee, ignoring the bitter taste. “All she wants me to do is serve on the Board of Directors. She doesn’t want me actually getting my hands dirty.”

Jerry put on a bright face, clearly seeing Brad’s mother was a sore point to be dropped. “Then what you need, my friend, is a girl. Preferably one with style.” Jerry tapped his chin with a pen. “Do we know any of those? Not Lucy. She does that thing with eating her hair. Mary’s okay, but I’m not sure she can see with those glasses. And Kitty is always wearing those red socks with purple shorts. Even I know your socks shouldn’t be brighter than your shorts.” Jerry put up a finger. “Wait a minute. There’s Susan. She’s gorgeous, well acquainted with whatever it is they talk about in those fashion magazines, and—”

“My ex-fiancé.”

“I forgot that detail. Guess you don’t want to call her for help?”

“I believe she’s on her honeymoon right now. With husband number two.”

“Oh. Yeah. Timing might be bad.” Jerry sighed. “Well, that’s the end of my list of people who know how to mix and match.” He spun a formaldehyde-filled jar of preserved squid on the counter. “I don’t think these guys are going to be any help. You’re on your own, buddy.”

“I know a woman,” Brad said finally. “And she wears that designer stuff you see in the magazines.”

“Jackpot! Where’d you meet her?”

“She, ah, sort of climbed into my boat when I was out there today.”

Jerry looked at him askance. “Uh-huh. A beautiful woman just happened to climb out of the sea and into your boat. Like a mermaid. Next you’ll be telling me they’re running unicorns at the horse track.”

“She fell off Lady’s Delight. You know, the boat for the resort? I was there, so I picked her up.”

“Was she cute?”

“I wouldn’t call her cute, but rather…” He thought a minute. “Sassy.”

Jerry grinned. “Sounds interesting.”

“She was. In a way.”

“So, you gonna call her?”

Brad rubbed at his chin again. The shoe Parris had left in his boat sat on the back counter, like the proverbial glass slipper waiting to be fitted on the right foot. “Yeah. Maybe make a personal visit.”

Jerry grabbed a research journal, flipped to a blank page and took up a pencil. “Wait, let me make a note of this.” He scribbled the date at the top, then the time.

“What are you doing?”

“A minor miracle is happening in front of my eyes, I thought I’d document it for posterity.”

“Minor miracle?”

“Workaholic Brad is calling a woman for a date. Hey, you might actually have something besides squid on your mind for once.”

“I am not calling her for a date. More a—” he glanced again at the pink sandal “—consultation.”

Jerry tossed the journal and pencil to the side, then sat back down on the stool. “You spoil all my fun. How’s a guy going to live vicariously if you don’t live at all?”

Parris took a deep breath and pressed a hand to her hair, stopping outside The Banyan Room to look in the mirror and check for the twentieth time that no seaweed or trace of her ocean adventure remained. Everything was as it should be. After a quick shower and change of clothes, She looked capable. Smart. Like she could handle this.

In other words, like a fairy tale. Truth was, Parris wasn’t sure she could handle this. But she wanted to. Wanted to prove she could.

When her younger sister Jackie had left her in charge of planning and hosting this huge charity auction worth hundreds of thousands of dollars to go off to marry Steven, Parris had, at first, felt angry and put upon. Then, as the days passed, she’d begun to feel energized by the challenge. As a woman who’d never taken the opportunity to be anything more than a society princess, this was new ground.

Exciting ground. And yet, at the same time, terrifying territory because her footing was unsure. The auction was the first big event for Hammond Events and Consulting, the company their father had given them as a sort of test and as his convoluted way of bringing his two daughters together.

With Jackie living among the cow patties and horseflies in connubial bliss at Steven’s Florida ranch while Parris did all the auction work, togetherness wasn’t happening. And with all the donor problems they’d had in recent weeks, Parris wasn’t so sure the auction was happening, either. She wanted this to work out, more now than ever. In the past few weeks, she’d seen the opportunity the auction presented to make something of her life. Of herself.

Toward that goal, she had to convince the Phipps-Stovers to make a donation. She squared her shoulders, flicked a piece of lint off her suit and took in a breath.

Merry Montrose, the resort’s manager, came up to her before Parris could enter the restaurant. “How are you, Miss Hammond? I heard about your awful accident.”

Parris bit back the momentary thought that Merry had somehow been the one doing the tripping this afternoon. “I’m fine. Just surprised no one heard me fall in or turned around when I started screaming.”

“Oh, you know how those excursion boats are. So noisy. And at my age, the hearing’s not so good.”

Merry leaned closer, her blue-violet eyes zeroing in on Parris’s. When she was younger, she must have been gorgeous, Parris decided.

“I heard you were rescued.”

“There was a man in a boat who fished me out.”

“A true knight in shining armor?”

“I wouldn’t call him that.” She didn’t know what she’d call Brad Smith, but “knight” wasn’t the word that came to mind. “I don’t believe in those kinds of things anyway.”

“What kinds of things?”

Oh God. The woman was going to stand here all day and delay Parris from her meeting. But because the auction was being held at the resort, Parris couldn’t afford to offend the manager.

“Fairy tales,” Parris said curtly, trying her best to end the conversation. “All the Brothers Grimm did was warp a lot of impressionable young minds.”

“Do I detect some bitterness?”

Nosy old woman. Parris didn’t answer. She wasn’t about to get into a conversation about her personal life with the resort manager. Lately the woman had seemed to be quite the busybody, as if she had some kind of personal stake in Parris’s life. Maybe she fancied herself a matchmaker. Parris didn’t need help from her to find Mr. Right. She didn’t even have time for Mr. Right. She had a career to build, not a relationship to find.

Merry had turned and was looking through the oval glass in the doors that led into The Banyan Room. “There’s a happy ending in there.”

Parris peered through the glass, too. Inside, the Phipps-Stovers were sitting at a table for four by the fireplace, sipping champagne and eating the strawberry-topped cheesecake Parris had arranged as a special treat. Brian Phipps-Stover fed his wife a bit of cheesecake. Joyce giggled as she slipped the bite into her mouth.

God save Parris from newlyweds.

Didn’t they know what was going to happen three weeks, three months, three years—maybe even three hours—from now? The little charade of happiness would stop and everyone would show their true ugly colors, turning happily-ever-after into a-nightmare-a-day.

Parris had watched her parents’ marriage self-destruct. She’d seen her own fall apart before she’d even come within fifty feet of the altar. Happy endings were a con perpetrated by couples who pretended to live in harmony while they tucked the fights over bills and in-laws out of sight when company arrived.

“Everyone can have a happy ending,” Merry said, as if reading Parris’s mind.

“All I want is a happy auction.” Parris excused herself, then pushed on the doors and entered the up-scale restaurant. She glanced at her watch. Only three minutes late. If she hadn’t had that conversation with Merry, she would have been on time.

Parris pasted on a smile and crossed to the Phipps-Stovers, trying to stomach the endearments of “pookie” and “truffle lips” that echoed between them as they finished off the last of the cheesecake.

“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Phipps-Stover. It’s a pleasure to meet you in person,” Parris said, extending her hand. “I’m Parris Hammond, co-owner of Hammond Events and Consulting. I believe you’ve already talked with my sister Jackie.”