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“You look chipper,” he said in a way that even he could hear made “chipper” into a less-than-positive thing.
“Feeling great,” she concurred, ignoring his testy tone. “Is that bacon I smell?”
“Yes, and I have batter for waffles, if you want one,” he offered.
“Heaven,” she said as she poured herself a cup of coffee. “Did you sleep well?”
“Like a baby,” he lied.
She gave him a doubtful look but didn’t question his claim. “I noticed that the road in front of the house has been plowed. I’m sure you’ll be relieved to have me out from underfoot and have this place back to yourself,” she said. “I’ll take off as soon as I’ve had something to eat.”
Instead of cheering him up, her announcement made him want to dawdle. Because that was so completely ridiculous, he immediately poured batter onto the steaming waffle iron and snapped the lid closed. He took the plateful of bacon he’d microwaved earlier out of the oven where he’d been keeping it warm, then slammed it down on the table with more force than necessary. Melanie gave him another questioning look but remained silent.
“Juice?” he asked. “There’s orange.” He peered into the refrigerator as if there were some uncertainty, then added, “And cranberry.”
“Orange juice would be good,” she said, watching him closely. Apparently she could no longer contain her curiosity, because she added with concern, “Richard, are you upset about something?”
“Absolutely not,” he said sharply, in a tone guaranteed to contradict his words.
Melanie retreated into wounded silence, which was what he’d been hoping for—wasn’t it? Instead, he felt like he’d kicked a friendly puppy.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “Obviously I got out of bed on the wrong side this morning.”
She shrugged. “Just proves you’re human.”
“Stop that! Stop letting me off the hook,” he snapped, annoyed with her, with himself, with the universe.
She stared at him. “Okay, what’s really going on here? Have I missed something? Did you want me to take off right away? Have I tested your patience long enough?”
Richard sighed. “No. It’s not you. It’s me. To be honest, I don’t know what I want. Blame my lousy mood on stress, not enough sleep, whatever.”
“You said you slept like a baby.”
Naturally she’d been paying close attention to his stupid lie and just had to call him on it. He should have expected that. Frowning, he admitted, “I lied.”
“Why?”
“Because you came in here all cheerful and bright eyed and I didn’t want you to think I’d lost even a second’s sleep last night.” He kept his gaze firmly fixed on the waffle iron when he made the admission.
“Are we having some sort of competition?” she asked, sounding genuinely perplexed.
“My entire life has been about competition,” he muttered, as he snagged the golden waffle, put it on a plate and placed it in front of her.
“With whom? Your brothers?”
He shook his head. “With myself. I set goals, mostly based on my father’s expectations, then I battle with myself to attain them.” He gave her a wry look. “So far I’m right on track.”
“But are you happy?” she asked quietly.
“Of course,” he said quickly, possibly too quickly.
Melanie kept her steady gaze on him and waited.
“Mostly,” he amended finally. He’d been completely happy until he’d watched that ridiculous movie and started questioning the lack of a woman in his life.
“What do you win in these competitions of yours?”
“Respect,” he said immediately.
“You mean self-respect.”
Richard shook his head. “No, just respect.”
She regarded him quizzically. “Your father’s?” she asked, her voice incredulous. “Is that it, Richard? Are you still trying to earn your father’s respect?”
As she said it, he heard how ridiculous that sounded. His father had been dead for twenty years. “That would be impossible,” he said, shaken by the sudden awareness of what he’d been doing for far too long. He’d been living his life to please a man who could no longer be satisfied—or dissatisfied—with his accomplishments. And overnight he’d been examining his entire life based on a movie premise…and on one offhand comment from a woman who barely knew him.
“Yes,” Melanie told him. “It would be. Self-respect is far more important, don’t you think?”
This was more self-analysis than Richard could cope with on an empty stomach. “Enough of this,” he said brusquely. “How’s your waffle?”
Her gaze held his, challenged him, but then she finally let it drop to the forkful of waffle she was holding. “Perfect,” she said. “You could always open a restaurant, if you get tired of running a multinational conglomerate.”
“We have restaurants,” he noted as he sat down with his own plate and poured maple syrup over the waffle.
She chuckled. “I doubt you’ve seen the inside of the kitchen in any of them.”
Richard shrugged. “They have fine chefs and great managers. They don’t need me in there. All I care about is the bottom line of that division.”
“Adding up all those numbers is what gives you pleasure?” she prodded.
“Of course. It’s what I do best. Numbers are logical.”
“And that’s important to you, isn’t it? You need everything in your life to be logical.”
He frowned at her. “You say that as if it’s a crime.”
“Not a crime,” she said lightly. “Just not much fun.”
How many times had he listened to exactly the same lecture from Destiny? It hadn’t bothered him half as much when his aunt had tried to get through to him. “I have fun,” he insisted.
“When?”
“All the time.”
“Are you talking about all those charity balls you attend?”
He nodded. “Sure.”
“Then why do you always look so miserable in the pictures they take for the papers?”
“Miserable?” he repeated, astonished. “I’m always smiling.”
Melanie shook her head. “Not with your eyes,” she told him. “That’s where the truth is, you know, in the eyes.”
Richard’s gaze automatically sought out her eyes and saw compassion and warmth and even a hint of yearning. She was right. The truth was in the eyes. He wondered if she had any idea what message was shining in hers.
All he knew for certain was that the message scared him to death, because it so closely mirrored what he was trying so damn hard to hide.
“How did your weekend go?” Destiny inquired innocently on Monday morning when she put in one of her rare appearances in Richard’s office.
He’d been expecting her today, though. He was ready for her, or at least he thought he was. “The house is still standing, if that’s what you’re asking. I came away without any broken bones.”
“And Melanie?”
“I didn’t strangle her.” He gave his aunt a hard look. “What are you up to, Destiny? I know what you told Melanie, but I’m not buying the innocent act. I want the truth.”
“I’m trying to find you a good marketing person,” his aunt claimed. “Did you even look at her proposal?”
He had. He’d studied it in the wee hours of Sunday morning when he’d been unable to sleep for thinking about the movie…and about Melanie’s presence in the guest room. She was an annoying little chatterbox, but she’d been growing on him. The entire weekend he’d been able to think of only one way to shut her up. Since she’d ruled that out, she’d wisely scampered off to bed alone and he’d stayed up nursing the last of the wine while he watched that ridiculous comedy with its feel-good happy ending. When was real life ever like that?
Suddenly aware that Destiny was regarding him with an amused expression, he tried to focus on their conversation. “She has some interesting ideas,” he conceded.
“Then hire her.”
“She’s ditzy,” he said, falling back on his original impression because recent impressions were far too complicated. “She’d drive me crazy in a week. Maybe less.” He knew that for a fact, because she’d driven him crazy in just two days. She’d upended his need for logic and made him crave all sorts of things he’d never expected to need. She’d tapped into emotions he’d spent a lifetime avoiding.
“What’s wrong with that?” Destiny asked, her eyes filled with knowing laughter.
Richard cringed. It was almost as if Destiny had been an eyewitness to the way Melanie had rattled him and thoroughly approved of it. Maybe she was merely psychic. Whatever, if she got it into her head that her scheme was working, she’d never let up.
Before he could list all the things wrong with any kind of relationship with Melanie—business or otherwise—she said, “You need someone around to drive you crazy. Everyone else in your life bows to your every whim.”
“You don’t,” he pointed out.
“Yes, but I’m your aunt. I might get on your nerves, but you cut me a lot of slack.”
“I’ll cut you a lot less now that you’ve sent Melanie into my life,” he vowed.
She laughed, clearly unintimidated. “If you don’t hire her, you’ll regret it.”
In Richard’s opinion, if he didn’t sleep with her, he’d regret that more, but he wasn’t about to share that insight with his aunt. Especially since it was probably exactly what she’d had in mind in the first place when she arranged all of this.
He really needed to get on the phone with Mack and Ben and warn his brothers that their aunt was dedicating herself to playing matchmaker these days. If she tired of her lack of success with him, they were definitely next in line. He owed them the heads-up. Then, again, it might be more fun to let her take them by surprise, the way she’d sneaked up on him.
“Why don’t you meddle in Mack’s life?” he suggested hopefully. “Or Ben’s?”
Destiny’s eyes sparkled with merriment. “What makes you think I haven’t?” she inquired blithely, then turned and sailed out of his office, leaving him speechless and not one bit closer to being off the hook.
Melanie stared glumly at the Carlton Industries folder on her desk. It had been such a wonderful opportunity for her, but the odds of Richard ever changing his mind and hiring her were so astronomical, she might as well run the folder through the shredder.
She was genuinely considering doing just that when Becky came in with two cups of latte and cranberry scones from the café down the street. She held them just out of Melanie’s reach.
“If I give you these, will you tell me everything that went on between you and Richard Carlton this weekend?” she asked.
“No,” Melanie said, snatching the coffee out of her friend’s hand. She could live without the scone if she had to. Caffeine was another story.
“Testy, aren’t you? It must not have gone very well.”
“That depends on your definition of success,” Melanie replied, taking her first sip of the heavenly latte. “He didn’t toss me out in the snow.”
“Interesting,” Becky said with a thoughtful expression. “Then you were stranded there all weekend?”
“Yes.”
“And with all that time on your hands, you couldn’t convince him to hire you?”
“I never even convinced him to read the proposal,” she admitted grimly. “I was just about to shred my copy and write the whole thing off as a loss.”
Becky stared at her in shock. “What kind of defeatist attitude is that? You never give up.”
“I do when the odds of winning are impossible.”
Becky’s gaze narrowed. “Did he seduce you?”
Melanie scowled at her. “No.”
“Did he at least try?”
Melanie thought back over the weekend and the dance they’d played. Richard had tossed out a proposition, she’d dodged it, he’d parried, then she’d taken a turn muddying the waters. “It was a bit confusing,” she said finally.
“Then he did try,” Becky concluded. “And you what?”
“I said no, of course.”
“And then?”
“What makes you think that wasn’t the end of it?”
Becky gave her a knowing look. “It was a long weekend.”
“Okay, then I threw myself at him.”
“Interesting.”
“No, stupid. I corrected the mistake almost immediately.”
“Almost?”
