Love Contract

Adrian winced when his office door slammed with such force it sent one of his numerous Realtor awards crashing to the floor. A good minute passed before he gingerly lowered himself into his chair. Breathe. He told himself. His ears were still ringing with the censure of Milán’s words. The last part of her insult had been in Spanish, but that didn’t matter. He was fluent in Spanish and understood every word she’d said. Even if he hadn’t, the intonation translated perfectly. Inches away, her résumé taunted him. Either he’d just made a monumental error in judgment, or his mother wasn’t taking any chances on making Miss Dixon’s claim believable.

Figure the odds of your being wrong, his conscience piped in. Not after all you’ve dealt with over the years. Still, what if he was? The familiar throbbing returned to his temples. It would have to wait. The pain in his stomach took higher priority.

“Huh,” he said, incredulously. “I just got cursed out in two different languages, and by a complete stranger. I guess it’s safe to say this day couldn’t possibly get any worse.”

Later that afternoon, his assistant knocked and immediately entered his office.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Mr. Anderson, but I’ve been trying to buzz you.”

“I don’t want to be disturbed.” Adrian’s bad mood had resurfaced after lunch. He had found out from one of his employees that a potential client had decided to sign with Tony Ludlow, one of his major competitors, to list his penthouse apartment on Lake Shore Drive. Finding out he had lost a sale always bothered him, but hearing that Ludlow had taken one of his clients from under his nose irked the crap out of him.

“You have a call holding, sir.”

“Let me guess, my mother’s on the line checking on her latest coup?”

The woman opened her mouth to reply, but Adrian interrupted.

“You’d think she’d give me some time between setups to catch my breath and regroup. When will she learn?” Agitated, he rose from his chair to pace around the room.

“Oh, let’s not forget my date this past weekend. She made calls to her therapist all through dinner. Now there was a woman in touch with her inner self. Or how about the kleptomaniac that eyed my Rolex more than me? If I’d have married her, she’d be stealing her own damned silver!”

“You know...I can see you’re busy so I’ll just leave you in peace. One of the other Realtors can take the call.” She backed out and closed the door firmly behind her.

Startled, Adrian halted his diatribe to stare after her. What had he done?

Thoughts of Milán came barreling back. He could see her horrified and then livid expression after he had kissed her. He hadn’t been prepared for the venom she had hurled at him. Another thing he didn’t see coming was his body’s reaction to their kiss.

He felt like he’d been jolted with an electric current. The feeling had run through his entire body before settling like an explosion into his groin. That woman felt altogether too amazing in his arms. Her body was enough to disrupt any man’s peace of mind, and that temper of hers only enhanced his excitement—until she had punched him.

You ruined your chances and there’s no recovering from that fiasco, he complained to himself. Adrian was thoroughly embarrassed and disgusted with himself over his actions. Not that he’d ever admit that aloud. He stifled a curse. It was time to call it a day. The sooner he ended his backward day the better.

While stacking papers into his briefcase, he spotted Milán’s folder. Staring at it, he was about to throw it away when curiosity overpowered him. He grabbed the portfolio, sat down and put his feet up on his desk. Several moments later, the reality of the situation hit home. “Estúpido,” he said to himself. After reading over Milán’s credentials and seeing samples of the homes she had staged, he was intrigued, impressed and extremely pissed off. He was stupid. She was just the caliber designer he needed at Anderson Realty and he’d blown it.

With a multitude of services under the Anderson umbrella, Adrian’s goal was for his clients to be as unstressed as possible during their realty experience. His clients ranged from average income to really-rolling-in-it kind of wealthy, but a realty company wasn’t enough; Adrian had a title company, real estate attorney, a relocation expert, a mortgage specialist and concierge dedicated to providing whatever services were needed. Adrian’s dream had almost come to fruition, but came dangerously close to going belly up when the market bottomed out.

Now more than ever, he needed to assist his clients any way he could to combat the fierce competition. His nemesis, Tony Ludlow, came to mind. Ludlow had been in business about as long as Adrian. From the moment they had met, some undercurrent of one-upmanship had sparked and ignited. Ludlow would watch Adrian to see what he would do, or gloat when his agency came out ahead. He was sure Ludlow did not have a staging expert.

A great designer would be the proverbial icing on the cake for his company. Like the one you just watched walk out your office. Actually stomped out was more accurate. He had to fix this. “¡Me tengo que disculpar!” There was no way that he was going to let her get away without taking a good look at what she could bring to the table.

Granted, having to apologize for the huge mistake he made did not sit well with him, but the idea of losing such a talented designer to someone else appealed to him even less.

Adrian ran a hand over his face. He truly hated this part. Picking up Milán’s résumé from his desk, he scanned over it. He grabbed his handset and dialed the mobile number she had listed in her contact information. The line rang twice and then connected. Her sweet, now slightly irritated voice brushed across his ear.

“Hello, Miss Dixon. This is Adrian Anderson calling.”

Click.

“Damn,” he muttered.

After a moment, he grabbed the phone and dialed another number. This time it was picked up on the fourth ring.

“Hi, Dad, is Mom around?”

Heathcliffe Anderson’s strong baritone voice came over the line. “Not yet, son. It’s Monday. She’s at her yoga class, but should be in any moment. You want me to have her call you?”

Adrian grabbed his briefcase and jacket. “Not necessary, Dad. I’m on my way over. Mom and I have something to discuss in person—and it’s long overdue.”

* * *

While Milán drove home, she attempted to cool off. When she was distraught about something, two things gave her tranquility: driving her car with the music blaring and cleaning the heck out of something. She wasn’t home yet, so driving would have to do.

What a jerk! She replayed her encounter again in her head. Her fingers flew up to her lips. How dare he kiss me! Just thinking about the encounter made her heart race, but she was confused. Norma Jean had spoken so glowingly of him. She couldn’t help getting caught up in the excitement, too. Jeanie believed that the two of them would make a great team. His mother couldn’t have been more wrong.

After she had left Adrian’s office, the reality of her situation was driven home. She needed a job, and she needed one soon. She refused to dip into her savings account more than necessary. Her parents had gifted their children with a small monetary umbrella to use for a rainy day. Granted, this was more like a torrential downpour, but there was no way she was touching that money unless it was a dire emergency. She would simply double her efforts to find employment. Now thanks to that narcissistic playboy her morning was wasted.

Just thinking about their run-in got her blood boiling all over again. Her cell phone rang. She checked the number and saw it was her mother. There was no way she could talk to her right now. She was too upset and her mother would pick up on it. Neither Milán nor her sisters could keep anything hidden from Pia Dixon. Besides, Milán wasn’t ready to recount her horrid morning with Adrian Anderson and his massive ego. Not without bursting into tears of anger and frustration. He ruined everything!

Chapter 3

“For the last time, I didn’t have an ulterior motive,” Norma Jean said with exasperation. “I suggested Milán contact you because she’s looking for a job, and you’re looking for an interior designer.” She regarded her son from over her glasses. “Seemed a perfect fit to me.”

“Yeah, like her being crazy beautiful had no bearing in sending her my way?”

Adrian’s mother sat back in her chair. She stopped her scrapbooking and observed her son carefully. A knowing smile crept onto her face. “You think she’s beautiful.”

Adrian looked indignant. “And you didn’t? Come on, Mom, you’re killing me. You knew darn well I’d think she was gorgeous, but I recall having told you somewhere between one and a million times to stay out of my love life. Why won’t you do this?” He slammed down into the nearest chair. Adrian released a loud, harsh sigh, and then gazed up at the ceiling before shaking his head.

Norma Jean resumed placing small patterned shapes across her page. “Honey, you really should calm yourself. Maybe you should take up yoga? It would teach you how to release that pent-up stress you’re carrying around.”

“Calm myself? How can I? I honestly never know who’s lurking around the corner waiting to pounce on me compliments of Norma Jean Anderson.”

“I resent that.”

With a raised eyebrow he shot back, “Tell me I’m exaggerating.” Adrian rubbed his hand over his face. When he opened his eyes again, his gaze traveled around his parents’ family room. It looked like Cupid had set up shop and never left. Every surface had something pertaining to romance: his mother’s stack of inspirational love stories, the two red his-and-her teddy bears joined at the lips on a bookcase, the rose-scented tea lights with the red heart-shaped candleholder and family photos stored in floral decorative boxes. It was a good thing she kept her walls and carpet neutral. Any other color would have clashed with her “love couture.” His mother wasn’t dressed in a frilly pink number right now, but she might as well have been. Norma Jean was a die-hard romantic in every bone of her five-foot-nine-inch frame.

Married to her childhood sweetheart, his mother thought everyone on the planet should be as lucky in love as her and his dad. To prove the point, she’d been fixing him up since middle school. How he’d escaped matrimony this long was anyone’s guess. Frankly, Adrian thought it was nothing short of a miracle.

Taking a deep breath, he jumped back into the fray. “Mom, when are you going to understand that love isn’t something you can orchestrate like one of your bingo nights at the community center? That’s not how it works. That’s not how I work.”

His mother rolled her eyes. “Okay, now you’re being dramatic. Need I remind you that since your breakup, your track record with superficial playthings—that don’t have the wits or the foresight to be wife potential—is staggering?”

“I’m glad my heartbreak amuses you,” Adrian snapped.

Norma Jean slid her glasses into her short, spiked gray hair and stood up. She pointed a well-manicured finger in her son’s direction. “Don’t you use that tone with me, or so help me I’ll put my women’s safety classes to good use and drop you on this floor.”

Adrian was instantly contrite. “My apologies.”

His mother smoothed her hands over her knit jogging suit and returned to her plush chenille chair to resume her scrapbooking. A minute or two later, she glanced up to find Adrian still brooding.

“Honey, believe me I was only thinking of your company when I sent Milán to you. I know how hard it’s been for anyone trying to make a living in the housing market these days. Besides, you’re always so stressed out about that Ludlow man getting one up on you.”

“I’m not stressed,” he refuted.

“Call it what you will,” she continued. “The point is I saw a perfect opportunity to help you so I took it. And if you’ll recall, since Justin got married last year—to the blind date that I had arranged for you by the way—”

“I was there, Mom, remember?”

“Like I was saying,” she elevated her voice and pressed on. “I may have set you up on a date or two since then, but I’ve respected your right to find your own wife. No matter how long and drawn out that process seems to be,” she added. “What I don’t understand is why you’re so against my choices—or yours for that matter. You date someone once or a few times and then poof. They vanish into thin air. Everyone’s been kicked in the teeth by love, son. The trick is to get back on that horse and gallop.”

Adrian stared at his mother. “It’s not that I’m against marriage or a serious commitment. I envision myself with a wife one day, but I refuse to enter into another long-term relationship without knowing exactly what I’m dealing with. I won’t make that mistake again. Ever.”

She shook her head. “I might as well resign myself to the fact that sooner or later I’ll have to rent some grandbabies.”

He snorted. “Now who’s being dramatic?”

As much as he hated to admit it, she was right. That matchmaking scheme his mother had set in motion had forced him to stand up his blind date, Sabrina Ridgemont, in an effort to teach his mother a lesson. Unbeknownst to Adrian at the time, his best friend, Justin Langley, had gone to break the date, in person. Through a series of events, Justin had led Sabrina to believe he was Adrian. The fiasco that ensued gave Adrian a headache just thinking about it. Fortunately, the outcome was what mattered. The truth had come out eventually, and despite a rocky start, Justin and Sabrina were now happily married. Thanks to Norma Jean and her machinations.

“Okay,” he conceded. “I apologize for jumping to conclusions about your friend. Now can we change the subject? It’s true, I would like a designer on staff to give my clients’ homes an edge, but I doubt Milán Dixon will be the one.”

“Oh?” his mother queried. “I don’t see why not. She’s perfect.”

She is most definitely perfect. Suddenly, Adrian looked uncomfortable. “Because I screwed up big time. I thought... Suffice it to say, when I saw her, I assumed you were up to business as usual and that it wasn’t a real interview. I let her know point-blank what I thought of her—and your interference.”

“Adrian,” his mother gasped. “Tell me you didn’t embarrass me.”

He recalled the scene in his office. “You don’t know the half of it,” he mumbled.

Norma Jean shifted in her chair. “Now I raised you better than that.”

He held his hands up in front of him. “Please, no sermon. I’ve already been properly chastised today—in two languages.”

“Well good.” She nodded approvingly. “You deserved it. I recall her telling me that she was bilingual. What language does she speak?”

“Is that relevant?”

His mother arched her eyebrow.

“Spanish,” he grumbled. “She speaks Spanish.”

Humph. “You learned the language to increase your client base. This would have been a perfect arrangement. If you ask me—”

“I didn’t.”

“You got off light,” she finished. “I can’t believe you botched the meeting. You need to call her and apologize.”

“I tried.”

“And?”

“And, as soon as I told her who I was, she hung up.”

“Serves you right, but you have to try again.”

“Mom, she knows my phone number now. The next time she won’t even bother to pick it up.” He eyed his mother. “Unless...you can—”

“Forget it. You messed this up, now you’re going to find a way to fix it. I’m not bailing you out.”

Adrian’s eyes bugged out. “Need I remind you that you were the one that put me in this position to begin with?”

“I merely presented you with an opportunity. Your big mouth made you blow it.”

“What’s all the ruckus?”

Both turned to see Heathcliffe coming into the room.

Norma Jean brightened at seeing her husband. “Hi, honey.”

“Long story, Dad.”

His father leaned against the closest wall. “So give me the condensed version.”

“Our son insulted Miss Dixon, put his foot in his mouth, and got blessed out in the process.”

“Thanks for the recap,” Adrian drawled.

Norma Jean flashed a smile. “No problem, sweetie. Anyway, Cliff, I merely suggested he make amends for being loud—and wrong.”

“Sounds good to me. I mean if he—”

Adrian sat up. “Am I not sitting right here?”

His parents resumed their conversation.

After a few moments, Adrian threw in the towel. Getting up, he kissed his mother before walking over and patting his father on the shoulder. “I’m leaving now. I know when to call it quits.”

“I guess that’s true. It has been a rather long, eventful day for you, hasn’t it?”

Adrian nodded. “Dad, you have no idea. Mom, I’ll be over for dinner on Thursday, okay?”

“Tell me something I didn’t know,” Norma Jean joked.

Before Adrian got to the door, his mother’s voice stopped him.

“Wait a minute.”

Adrian turned. “Yeah?

“Since you know Spanish, why didn’t you just answer her?”

For the first time today a smile lit up his face. “And ruin that exit? Not on your life.” Adrian winked.

“Scoundrel,” his mother called after him.

When Adrian left the room, Heathcliffe settled himself in the seat his son had vacated and went back to discussing things with his wife.

* * *

Realizing he’d forgotten to ask his father something, Adrian headed back into the family room. He stopped dead in his tracks when he heard his dad say, “Okay, Jeanie, fess up.”

Silently, Adrian crept out into the hallway and stood there waiting to pounce.

“Cliff, I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Heathcliffe scrutinized his wife. “You set him up again, didn’t you?”

That got Adrian’s attention. He leaned forward to hear his mother’s confession.

“I told you both, I only suggested Milán contact him for a job. No more, no less.”

“Jeanie?”

“She’s a nice young woman that I met in church through a mutual friend—”

“And that’s it?” her husband interrupted.

Adrian saw his mother shoot his dad the look. Despite being worried that he might have been duped, he was glad not to be on the receiving end of his mother’s pique.

“Like I was saying,” Norma Jean continued. “Milán mentioned she’s looking for a job as an interior designer. Naturally, I thought of my baby. What’s the harm in that?”

“Nothing, darling, as long as that’s your only reason for bringing them together.”

“Oh, please. I haven’t involved myself in Adrian’s love life in forever. I’m not about to start now,” she huffed returning to her project.

Heathcliffe got up and leaned over his wife. When they made eye contact, he flashed Norma Jean his look. She blushed when he kissed her soundly. “That’s my girl.”

That was Adrian’s cue. The last thing he needed to see was his parents making out. There had been enough disasters today without adding that bit of horror.

Stealthily, Adrian headed for the entrance. He was completely wrong about his mother. A huge grin began. For once in Lord-knows-how-long, she had respected his wishes to stay out of his love life. He was satisfied that his dogged determination had finally paid off. The good humor was short-lived when his thoughts returned to a hot-blooded Amazon beauty he had ruthlessly insulted. Great, you’ve prevailed in the war with your mother, he told himself. But how are you going to win the battle with Milán?

* * *

Later that evening, Milán raised her yellow-rubber-gloved hand to her forehead to wipe the sweat away. Returning to scrubbing her counter, she increased her efforts. “The man’s an idiot, Nyah,” she complained to her sister over the speakerphone. “I didn’t think they had men left that full of themselves. What, do they take aside boys that show the most potential when they’re young and program them to be self-absorbed idiots? I’m telling you if they do, Adrian Anderson got in line twice. You should have heard all the things he said to me. I swear he’s lucky that all I did was walk out. I felt like breaking something over his arrogant piñata head!”

“Will you calm down?” Nyah Dixon pleaded.

“No, I will not. I’m too pissed to calm down. El me besó, Nyah.”

“¿Qué?” Her sister shrieked. “¿Por qué?”

“Because he thought I was some stupid matchmaking setup. He thought his mother sent me and wanted to prove a point. I showed him my point,” Milán said hotly. “He’s lucky I didn’t land it farther south.”

“Oh my. No wonder you’re in a cleaning frenzy.”

“No lo soy,” Milan lied.

“Honey, I can hear the exertion in your voice over the phone,” Nyah replied. “Clearly, you’re scrubbing the heck out of something. Not that it surprises me. You always take out your frustrations on your house, or whoever’s house you’re in at the time. Cada vez que te disgustarse, te conviertes en un limpiador obsesivo.”

“I do not,” Milán protested. “There’s nothing obsessive about my cleaning.”

“Uh-huh... ¿Qué aspecto tiene?”

Milán halted scrubbing and straightened up. “¿Qué dice?”

“You heard me.”

“What do you mean, what does he look like? What’s that got to do it?”

“Responde la pregunta.”

Exasperated, Milán let out a loud sigh. “He was too obnoxious for me to tell. After he made me mad, I didn’t pay much attention.”

“I’m not buying that,” Nyah said, firmly. “Come on, tell me.”

Milán groaned. “Must we do this now?”

“Deje de darle vueltas al asunto y dime. ¿Buen besador? ¿Hace que el corazón palpite solo mirarlo? ¿Es alto?”

Milán groaned. “I didn’t ponder if he was a good kisser or not and no, my heart didn’t flutter. It was racing, but that’s because I was angry. And he’s tall. At least six foot two.”

“Athletic, or really muscular?”

Milán paused. “Somewhere in the middle. He’s definitely in shape.”

“What about the rest of him? What color are his eyes? Does he have a strong jaw? What about his skin? Is it a warm caramel, luscious milk chocolate or soft delectable nougat?”

Unable to help herself, Milán laughed. “Why do you always compare men’s attributes to some kind of sweets?”

“I don’t know. I just love desserts. It’s my second favorite pastime.”

“Men being the first,” her sister replied.

“Yes, now speaking of which—”

“Fine,” Milán interrupted. “Yes, he’s good-looking. Very—and he knows it which is a definite turnoff, second only to his overbearing personality. His skin was like...desert sand at sunset. His eyes were like Oloroso sherry. A warm, vibrant brown that was very expressive.” Her breath caught in her throat as she remembered their ill-advised encounter. “His body was...firm in all the right places. There’s no doubt he works out often. And...he tasted like...hazelnut coffee.”

Nyah snorted. “Hazelnut coffee? Didn’t pay attention, huh?”

Milán frowned against the phone. “It wasn’t like that. I can appreciate the physical attributes, while disliking his arrogant nature and superiority complex. Trust me there was nothing impressive about that.”

Worked up just remembering Adrian’s behavior, Milán went back to cleaning. The scrubbing continued, but this time on a quieter scale.

“¿Oye, puedes aguantar esperar? Tengo otra llamada telefónica.” Milán clicked over when she heard a beep. “Hello?”

Silence ensued. “Hello?” Milán repeated. When nobody spoke up, she clicked back to her sister. “Lo siento.”

“¿Quién era lo?”

“No sé.”

The line beeped again.

“Un momento,” she said to her sister as she clicked to the second line.“Hello? I can hear you breathing, you know,” she told her caller. “Fine,” she snapped and returned to her sister.

After another few minutes, her line beeped again.

“This is getting ridiculous,” Milán complained.

“Hablarémos después,” Nyah replied and hung up.

“Look, I don’t know who taught you phone etiquette, but—”

“Miss Dixon, wait. Don’t hang up. This is—”