Her Bachelor Challenge

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Chase knew she had. First and foremost among them had been her legal separation from his father, a year after she had moved to New York City to work on Rise and Shine, America! Another year after that, there’d been the finalization of the divorce. None of which Chase understood to this day. Oh, he knew marriages didn’t last anymore. And maybe they never should have lasted for decades even in years past, when that was the norm. Most of the married couples he knew did not seem all that happy once the wedding rings were on their fingers, the shackles around their ankles.

“Plus, I work in television,” Grace continued, as she took out a stack of clothes and put them neatly in a dresser drawer. “Being hired and fired is all part of the routine business cycle.”

“It still must hurt,” Chase persisted, taking a seat on the ivory chaise in the corner.

Just as the divorce had hurt. Not that Grace and Tom had ever let their kids see them quarrel. It had been their strict policy not to let their four children be privy to anything going on in their marriage, especially anything bad. The idea, of course, had been to protect Chase and his siblings from any unpleasantness. And so all their kids had thought everything was fine when it was not, and had ended up feeling baffled and distressed when Grace and Tom—for no reason any of their children could fathom—suddenly stopped speaking to each other and began living separate lives. Chase had often wondered what the breaking point had been. Had one of them been unfaithful or done something equally unforgivable? And if so, why? Was the love between a man and a woman something that could just end without warning or reason? Frustratingly these weren’t the kinds of questions his parents fielded. All he knew for certain was, after they’d split, the anger and bitterness between Grace and Tom had been fierce and unrelenting. And that tension had gotten worse, before it had ever gotten better. These days, of course, the two were able to be cordial to each other—at least on the surface. But deep down, Chase still felt there were problems that remained unresolved to this day. Divorce or no divorce.

“I admit my pride is wounded,” Grace said in a way that reminded Chase that this was the first time his mother had been fired from a job. Previously whenever Grace had left a television show, it was to take a better position at another show.

Grace took out several pairs of shoes and carried them to the shelf in the closet. “It hurts having the failure of the show blamed on me and my cohost. But that’s just the way it is in the business.” Grace returned to her suitcase for her toiletry bag. “Whoever is out in front takes the credit or the blame, and in this case it was blame that needed to be apportioned out to appease the sponsors.”

Restless, Chase got up to help. “Something better will come along. Before you know it, you’ll be back in New York on another network,” he assured his mother as he unzipped the first of her two garment bags.

Grace smiled ruefully as she lifted out the clothes already on hangers and carried them to the closet. “I’m not sure I want to work in early-morning television again. Getting up at three-thirty every morning did not do much for my social life. I was going to bed for the night when everyone I knew was just getting off work for the day.”

“Then something that airs later in the day,” Chase persisted, pushing away the disturbing thought of his mother wanting to keep company with any men besides his father. It had been bad enough occasionally coming face-to-face with his father when he was squiring other, usually much younger, women around. Now he’d probably be seeing his mother going out on dates, too. “An afternoon talk show, maybe,” Chase suggested.

Grace made a face as she set out her hairbrushes and combs on the old-fashioned vanity. “Right now that sounds like even more of a grind. No. What I want to do right now is spend more time with you and your brothers and sister, Chase. I’ve missed that.”

Chase warmed at the idea of being able to see and talk to his mother whenever he wanted again and still live and work in the city he had grown up in and come to love like no other. “We’ve missed you, too, Mom.” More than she would ever know. It was their dirty little secret, but without Grace around, the Deveraux did not seem like much of a family. Not the way they once had been, anyway.

Grace enveloped Chase in a warm hug. “And besides, I’ve always wanted to learn how to cook.”

“I THOUGHT YOU’D BE happy for me,” Bridgett told her mother emotionally. She had just shown her the emerald ring Martin had given her after picking her up at the airport and taking her to dinner the evening before. “I thought you wanted me to be happy.” And frankly she was hurt that her mother wasn’t more enthusiastic about the serious turn her relationship with Martin was about to take.

“I do want you to be happy,” Theresa explained gently. “Which is why I want you to spend time with someone whose background is similar to yours.”

“Not to mention,” a deep male voice said from the doorway, “someone your own age.”

Theresa beamed at Chase the way she always did whenever he entered a room. “See, he agrees with me,” Theresa said as Chase kissed her cheek.

“Chase just doesn’t want to see anyone get serious,” Bridgett said, more irritated than ever to have Chase putting his two cents in about her personal life. She stopped folding napkins for her mother long enough to glare at Chase. “Chase does not believe in monogamy, never mind marriage.”

Chase plucked a carrot from the salad Theresa was making. He shrugged his broad shoulders without apology as he turned back to Bridgett. “I certainly don’t believe you should yoke yourself to some hoity-toity art dealer.”

“Hoity-toity?” Bridgett echoed in amazement, unable to believe Chase had actually used such a term.

“Haughty, arrogant, condescending.” Chase pulled up a stool and joined them at the butcher block, where they were preparing dinner.

“I know what it means,” Bridgett countered irritably, wishing Chase would just go away. She put the last of the fan-shaped napkins into a basket for her mother. “I write for a living, too, you know.”

“Martin’s old money, darling,” Theresa warned. “Very old money. And you know what they always say…”

“The rich are different,” Bridgett repeated wearily. She had heard that old saw from her mother a thousand times.

“Not all of us.” Chase helped himself to a tomato wedge. “Some of us old money fellas are down to earth. Just not ol’ Martin Morganstern of the Morganstern Gallery of Charleston. Martin is as blue-blooded and luxury-loving as they come.”

Bridgett found herself defending her soon-to-be fiancé hotly. “He’s very nice.”

Chase raised a dissenting brow as he added salt to the tomato wedge.

Theresa sighed as she continued to whip up a vinegar-and-oil dressing. “All men are nice when they’re trying to…to…”

“Get into my bed?” Bridgett guessed, saying what her mother seemed unable to articulate.

Theresa flushed with embarrassment but did not back down as she poured dressing on the salad and tossed it. “You’re the daughter of a domestic servant, Bridgett. You may want to forget that. But ten to one, in the end, Martin Morganstern and his very old and very proper family won’t.”

REALIZING IF SHE DIDN’T get a move on, she was going to be late, Bridgett said goodbye to her mother and headed out the back door. To her dismay, Chase followed her. “Your mom is right,” he said as he shadowed Bridgett out to her Mercedes. “What you have is new money. To a guy like Martin Morganstern, there’s one heck of a difference. To a guy like me, well, cash is cash.”

Bridgett unlocked her car and tossed her purse inside. “Thank you ever so much for enlightening me.” Hot air poured out of the sedan’s interior through the open door.

“I don’t care if you have any money or not,” Chase continued while Bridgett waited for her car to cool down before she got in. “I am and will always be your friend, regardless of your financial circumstances.” Chase folded his arms on the top of the door and continued to regard her with a cheeky seriousness that really got under her skin. “Can you really say the same about Martin Morganstern?”

Realizing she would be too hot with her cardigan on, Bridgett slipped it off, and tossed it on the seat beside her purse. She ignored the way Chase’s gaze slid over her bare arms and shoulders. “You’ve been listening to my mother for too long!”

Chase grabbed her wrist before she could slide in, his fingers warm on her skin. “Your mother is just trying to keep you from getting hurt,” he said seriously.

“And what’s your excuse for butting into my life?” Bridgett turned away from the stormy gray-blue of his eyes and put up a hand to stop any further diatribes. “Don’t answer. I really don’t want to know.”

Afraid she would lose it if they said anything else to each other on the subject, she started her car and drove off.

MARTIN WAS WAITING for Bridgett in the Barbados Room in the Mills House Hotel. He was wearing a sage-green suit with a tie and white shirt. His black hair was neatly brushed away from his handsome face, his gray eyes alert and interested. As always, he looked thrilled to see her approaching him. Just being with Martin made her feel calm inside, not all fired up and agitated the way she was when she was with Chase Deveraux.

As she neared, he stood and helped her with her chair. “I ordered you a glass of wine.”

Bridgett smiled gratefully, appreciating his gentlemanly manners. “Thank you.”

“What’s wrong?” Martin studied her silently. His glance fell to her right hand, before returning to her eyes. “Don’t tell me. Your mother thinks you shouldn’t have accepted the ring I gave you.”

Bridgett didn’t have the heart to tell Martin how upset her mother had been about the gift and what it might mean when he had been so excited about giving it to her. So she said only, “My mother’s very old-fashioned when it comes to a lot of things.”

Martin frowned. “You should have let me come with you when you went to see her today.”

That would have only made things worse, Bridgett thought, because there was no telling what her plain-spoken mother would have said to upset a quiet cultured man like Martin. “It’ll be fine,” Bridgett insisted, glancing at the menu.

Martin studied her. “I hope so. I really want your mother to like me. That’s rather hard to manage when she never spends any time with me.”

Bridgett swallowed. She had tried to get her mother to have an open mind about her relationship with Martin—to no avail. Her mother thought people should get married only if they were wildly in love and of similar backgrounds. She and Martin flunked that litmus test. Their backgrounds were as different as night and day, and as for their feelings for each other, well, those were more of a tranquil nature. Steady and reliable. Without the ups and downs of passion. What no one seemed to understand, Bridgett thought, was that this was what she wanted. A relationship that was as safe and dependable as municipal bonds. She didn’t want to be worried about being abandoned by the man she loved, the way her own mother had. Nor did she want to worry about getting divorced, the way Tom and Grace had. It was so much better, she thought, to enter into a lifelong relationship with someone with a cool head and a sensible attitude.

Martin continued to watch Bridgett, waiting.

“My mother is going to need a little time,” Bridgett said finally, thinking that a guaranteed low-yield investment was better than the ups and downs of a high-risk annuity any day.

“I have been patient, darling,” Martin said gently, covering her hand with his.

Bridgett swallowed and tried not to think how heavy and almost uncomfortable the emerald-and-platinum ring felt on her right hand. She looked into Martin’s eyes. “I know you have,” she said softly.

“I waited for you throughout the long months of your book tour.”

And he had never complained about her absence, Bridgett thought in her soon-to-be fiancé’s defense. Not once.

“But my patience,” Martin continued, “is almost gone.”

HOURS LATER, Bridgett’s mind was still reeling with all Martin had demanded of her as he walked her to the front door of her newly acquired “single house” in the historic district of Charleston. Like all town homes of the early 1800s, the single-pile redbrick Georgian had been turned sideways on the narrow city lot. A two-story piazza, or covered porch, had been built along the length of the building to provide outdoor living space for each floor, as well as shade on the windowed facade. On the first floor the street-front room was her office, where she worked on her books and advised clients on financial matters. The single room behind it was an eat-in kitchen. On the second floor, she had a combination master bedroom and bath at the front of the house and at the rear a cozy sitting room, where she relaxed, read, watched television and entertained. It was small but perfect, and as soon as Bridgett had purchased it, she had known she had really made it. No longer was she merely the daughter of the housekeeper of a well-heeled Charleston family. Now she was one of the elite that kept the city humming.

“You’ll call me in the morning to let me know what you’ve decided?” Martin said as he ever so tenderly increased his grip on her hand.

Bridgett nodded as she looked into his eyes. “Absolutely.”

“Sleep well, my precious.” Martin brushed his lips across her temple. He turned and headed down the sidewalk to the car at the curb. Bridgett waited, enjoying the splendor of the cool spring evening, until he’d driven away before she turned to let herself inside. And that was when she saw him, relaxing in the shadows, of her first-floor piazza.

Chapter Four

“My precious!” Chase echoed. “Who says something like that? Oh, right.” He snapped his fingers. “Someone from the previous generation.”

Bridgett told herself she was not in the least bit glad to see him as she unlocked her front door. “What are you doing here?” She tried to behave as if she wasn’t perturbed by the fact that Chase had been not just waiting for her to come home from her date, but had declined to make his presence known right away, spying on her and Martin, as well.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Chase strolled around to join her and followed her into the house. “I came to talk to you.”

Bridgett shut the door behind them. “It’s after midnight, Chase.”

“I know.” Chase made himself at home on the red damask settee.

Bridgett noted he was still in the casual clothes he’d had on earlier, with one exception. He’d taken off the shirt he’d torn in the brawl with Gabe and put on a plain blue oxford-cloth dress shirt that looked as though it might have belonged to his dad. He’d left the shirttails out and rolled the sleeves to his elbow. “You changed your shirt,” she said.

“Had to.” He sat back amiably and propped an ankle on his knee. “Dinner with the folks.”

Deciding the room was much too cozy with only one lamp burning, Bridgett walked around the room and turned on a few more lights. “How’d that go?”

Chase’s eyes turned serious as she came back to join him in the small sitting area of her home office. “It was exceptionally quiet. Gabe got called back to the hospital halfway through. Amy was her usual worried self. And Mitch seemed preoccupied—something to do with the family shipping business. I wasn’t really paying attention.”

“What about your parents?”

“They were pretty quiet, too. I had the feeling they wanted to spend some time alone, talking about Mom’s situation, I’m sure. They were just going through the motions of a family dinner to reassure us everything would still be okay, despite the very public firing.”

“Once a parent, always a parent, I suppose.”

“I guess.” Chase surveyed her midnight-blue silk chiffon sheath, with the handkerchief hem and matching chiffon shawl. He regarded her in a way that reminded her just how well he knew her. “What are you doing out so late on a weeknight, anyway? Don’t you have to work tomorrow?”

Knowing he was right—normally she would be in bed a lot earlier on a weeknight so she could be up bright and early the next morning to write or meet with the clients she was advising on financial matters—Bridgett sat down in a straight-backed chair opposite from him. “I’m taking a few weeks off before I start my next project,” she said. “And I have no client appointments scheduled for the next week, either.”

“Good. Glad to hear it.” Chase leaned forward earnestly, hands clasped between his spread knees. “Because I need your help. Professionally speaking.”

“I’m not writing anything for Modern Man,” she told him flatly.

“Sure now?” Chase flashed her a sexy grin. “We could use a woman’s perspective on money matters. You wouldn’t even have to write anything. We’d conduct it interview-style. And I’ll put it all together in an article about you and your success.”

Bridgett knew that where Chase was concerned, nothing was this simple. If he wanted to do something, it was because he knew his readers would benefit in ways specifically aligned with his way of thinking. She had to think for a minute to figure out how Chase would probably spin it. “So you can tell your readers how to get women to do what they want in a financial sense,” Bridgett guessed. While still avoiding marriage like the plague.

Chase flattened a palm against his rock-solid chest and regarded her with mock hurt. “You sound like you’ve been listening to my critics.”

“I’ve been reading your magazine,” Bridgett said.

“And…?”

“If you really want to know, I think you’re so off base in your assessment of the current battle between the sexes, it’s ridiculous.”

“Come on, Bridgett.” Chase gave her a look that begged for understanding. “Most of the stuff you’re referring to is meant solely to amuse.”