Harlequin Superromance February 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: His Forever Girl\Moonlight in Paris\Wife by Design (22 page)

“But you purposefully deceived me.” For once Tess was glad she was bigger than Monique. She crossed her arms and became her father—cold, businesslike and pissed a person could treat an employee so shabbily.

“I merely decided at the last minute I liked the original proposal.” Monique rolled her hand, very nonchalant even though in her gaze Tess could see a prickling of uncertainty. “So how did you know?”

She hadn't. And she had no idea why Miles insisted she take the lead beyond what she suspected—the man trusted her because he'd worked with her before.

Not saying a word, Tess stared at her boss, trying to make her uncomfortable with the way she'd behaved.

Monique shrugged, seemingly unaffected. “But know what? It's fine. Not a bad idea to give him choices. I just wished you'd have consulted me before proceeding with Miles. He's signed the contract stipulating we use your designs and that you oversee the production. You're his contact person and now wholly responsible for Oedipus. I'm half pissed at you and half proud of you for going after what you wanted.”

Tess opened her mouth but this time nothing came out. Yeah. Speechless.

“I'll send all the information over to you. Miles wants a few adjustments on your Gulf of Mexico float, but beyond that, he trusts your vision. Congratulations.” And with that, Monique left. Cecily stood openmouthed as Monique passed.

Tess sat down before her trembling knees buckled. She couldn't grasp what had just happened.

Cecily's drawn-on eyebrows rose toward her thinning hairline. “You don't get where your bread is buttered, do you?”

“Stuff it.”

Cecily scoffed. “You didn't get your way so you ran off and played poor little rich girl with Miles.”

“I had nothing to do with this.”

“Bullshit,” the woman said, her mouth curling into a half snarl that would have made Elvis jealous. “You're cut from the same cloth as your old man—you do whatever it takes.”

“Don't even speak his name. Besides, I don't need the approval of a woman who stoops so low to accomplish her goals. You're pathetic. Now, don't let the door hit you in the ass when you leave,” Tess said, making a shooing motion toward the older woman.

“She won't keep you on, you know. Don't think you didn't piss her off. She'll use you and then toss the accounts your name nets us to me.” With that said, Her Creepiness slunk out, closing the door behind her.

Tess released the breath she'd been holding for the last few seconds and tried to center herself. Anger galloped like a stallion through her body, pounding through her blood, leaving her trembling from the sudden adrenaline rush.

How dare Monique?

Tess spun toward her computer, moving her mouse, automatically clicking on her email out of habit, while her mind raced and the anger continued its steadfast course through her body.

A little ding announced a new email as the window popped open and there it was—all the information forwarded by Monique regarding the Oedipus account.

Un-freaking-believable.

Her bitch of a boss hadn't even submitted Tess's designs. And they were so much better. Why had she done that?

But deep down inside Tess knew. Monique had a sort of egotistical insecurity that prevented her from seeing the truth in front of her. She'd felt threatened and less important, so she'd made sure she would get the credit. Tess was fairly certain Monique needed some intensive therapy to deal with her Napoleon complex.

Monique won't keep you on, you know.

At that moment, she understood everything about Monique's intent. She didn't want a team at Upstart—it was a dictatorship. Tess was an instrument to be used...but not valued.

Here's our Tess. You know she's an Ullo, right? Works for us now because she realized her father's company was a sinking ship. Utmost quality is what we offer—even an Ullo can attest to that. Her mark is on everything we do.

Yeah, right.

More like
Here's Tess Ullo. She does nothing but smile like a moron, and we lie to her and tell her what she wants to hear because it behooves us.

Clicking the mouse, Tess reviewed what Miles wanted, feeling only a smidge of pride at the clause stating Tess Ullo must be attached to the project as director or the contract was subject to a renegotiation of terms or a forfeit of agreement between the two parties. At least
Miles
valued her.

But how had he known?

Tess liked to sign her name to her renderings much as any artist. Perhaps Miles had glanced down at the signature and not recognized it as Tess's? She was certain she hadn't mentioned specifics at the mixer.

So how had Miles figured it out? Maybe...

Couldn't be.

Other than Monique, Graham was the only other person to see her execution for the floats, and he would have to be dog-assed stupid to mention her designs to Miles. Losing the Oedipus account would piss her father off. Sick or not, her old man wouldn't suffer the loss of Oedipus. In fact, he'd likely fire Graham for losing so much business his first month as CEO...even if he did like the man.

And with Graham out of the way...

Oh, God, Tess. What the hell are you thinking? Do you want control of Ullo Float Builders so badly, you'd wish ill-will on the man you lo—

She mentally clamped down on that thought.

No.

Deny that word. Contradict those feelings. The fact was she didn't want control of Ullo enough to stoop to Monique's tactics. If anything came of this experience, it was that Tess knew better who she was. Tess was tough, stood up for her beliefs and recognized she did indeed have weaknesses. She could sweet-talk a city inspector, she could coach a gaggle of seven-year-old future soccer stars and she could cry on someone's shoulder, allowing herself to be vulnerable.

She could also learn she was wrong.

Wasn't easy for her to admit it, but she'd been off base in thinking she'd be capable of running Ullo at present. Perhaps she could have slipped right into her father's Hush Puppies and never missed a beat, but then again, maybe those shoes wouldn't have fit. Perhaps they never would.

Maybe she'd never be part of Ullo again so all this self-discovery wouldn't matter for shit. But now she knew being at Ullo meant being part of a team—a team that affirmed her and allowed her to shine. Her family company wasn't perfect, but with failure came a chance to learn.

She'd been wrong about so much.

Rising, she grabbed her purse and looped it over her shoulder before turning back to the computer and quickly transferring the Oedipus file to her personal email account, carbon-copying it to Gigi. She'd text her friend and see if she could give her a crash course on reading through contracts. Tess didn't have much experience, always leaving legal matters to her father. He'd break it down, review it with their attorney and then report back, giving her the nuts and bolts about what each krewe expected for their floats. Another weakness Tess had discovered—she didn't know diddly poop about contract negotiations.

She flipped the light switch, prepared to tell anyone who tried to stop her to go to hell.

“Hey, Tess,” the small voice came from the makeshift break area sitting outside the painting bay.

Tess turned to Emily with a forced smile. “Hey, Em.”

The little girl sat at a table, eating powdered donuts, swinging her untied sneakers back and forth beneath the table. “I'm doing my homework. Just finished spelling and now I got a worksheet on subtraction. Yuck.”

“Yeah, subtraction stinks,” Tess said with a shrug, “but yay for finishing your spelling. Oh, and don't forget you have to work on a Ladybug chant. We have practice tomorrow.”

Emily's eyes lit up. “I already got one. Dad helped me make it up. Wanna hear it?”

“Sure,” Tess conceded, moving closer to Emily while eyeing the unhealthy half-filled bag of donuts.

Emily leaped from the chair and spread her arms out wide. “Fly, fly ladybug, give it all your might. Fly, fly ladybug, show 'em how we fight. Red and black dynamite, we run, kick and score. Lake End Ladybugs, hear the crowd roar!”

During the chant, the child had waved her arms, kicked her feet and performed a little wiggle with her rump. Like a giant fan, Emily's antics cooled the ire raging inside Tess.

As she watched, trying not to giggle, something quite wonderful struck her. Here was Monique's daughter—a piece of the woman who'd so callously used Tess for her own gain. And here was Graham's daughter—a piece of a man who'd waited so patiently for Tess to find her way. Two parts of a whole.

Emily, with her lopsided bow, mouth ringed in powdered sugar and shirt too tight across her middle. She was part of those two, imperfect and wonderful all at the same time. Innocent of the machinations employed by those in her life, Emily hungered for attention and acceptance.

Just a little girl who loved her daddy and wanted to please him. Not so unlike Tess herself.

Finishing her final spin, Emily struck a pose and blinked up expectantly at Tess.

Sudden tears pricked Tess's eyes.

“Oh, man. It was terrible,” Emily said, her small head tilting down.

“Are you kidding me?” Tess said, bending down and sweeping Emily into a huge hug. “It was the best cheer I've heard in forever. It was perfect.”

“Really?” Emily leaned back and studied Tess's face as if she were a police detective. “You're not just saying that? Mom said it was pretty good, but Dad thought it rocked. He helped me with the motions, too, but he looked really weird doing them.”

Tess laughed. “I can only imagine.”

“Tess, do you like my daddy?” Emily asked, suddenly earnest. Suddenly looking older than her seven years.

“Sure I do. He's been a pretty good assistant coach. I never have to yell at him for not having our water bottles filled,” Tess joked, not sure how much Emily understood about the relationship between a man and woman.

“No. I mean like love stuff. I think Daddy likes you. You know, he wants to kiss you.” Emily averted her gaze, suddenly finding the ancient coffeepot fascinating.

Tess straightened. “What makes you think that?”

Emily shrugged. “A few of my fish died.”

Uh, what? Tess looked at Emily with a blank expression. She had no clue. No innate mothering skill to enable her to peer into the wackiness of a child's brain. Fish and kissing. How in the hell did that relate?

The girl made a face. “When Daddy moved here, he said he wanted to be a family. He can't marry my mom. She's already married to Josh. But I'd really like a baby brother, you know.”

“Uh, I'm not following the fish thing,” Tess said.

“Well, I said maybe we could get a kitten to help us be more of a family, but Daddy said no. He said we have to start with fish. So we got us some, but the yellow one and two of the blue ones with the pretty tails died.”

“Oh,” Tess said. “Uh, I'm sorry.”

“So maybe you could just marry my dad? Maybe have a baby or something? There's a swimming pool at his new place.” Emily smiled encouragingly, her blue eyes half full of pleading, half full of “this is a great idea.”

“People don't just get married.”

“They do on TV. I watched that bachelor show once. Those girls were just happy with a hot tub. And they kissed a bunch,” Emily said, nodding her head this time like she'd figured out the entire formula for falling in love.

Yeah. A hole with water inside.

Tess thought about arguing with the child, but then thought better of it. “Okay, I'll keep that in mind. You keep practicing your chant, get that math homework and lay off the donuts—you're in training.”

“For what?”

“Being a Ladybug,” Tess said, giving Emily a wave.

“Oh, yeah,” she said, hurrying back over to her chair and folding the bag closed. “I gotta be able to run fast.”

And Tess walked briskly out—proud of herself for not running.

* * *

T
HE
GODDAMN
SWEAT
rolled down Frank's back as he sat like an old bullfrog on the patio out back. Maggie had gone to Peggy Garland's house to take a pound cake for the visitation. Her choir friend's mother had passed. Frank wondered if Peggy would return the favor when he passed. What was it with frickin' pound cakes anyway? In his opinion most tasted like crap. Give him a good piece of coconut cake. Maybe he'd send Peggy a note and tell her he wanted to be honored with something more than pound cake...but that might be too morbid.

Middle of May and already it was sultry. A breeze made a half-assed attempt at stirring the leaves, but it wasn't enough to stop him from sweating.

And then he felt the first mosquito.

Christ. Nothing like feeling good enough for some fresh air and then having to battle Louisiana.

He'd finally finished the last round of chemo, had a PET scan next week to see if anything had worked. The doctor had talked about some kind of surgery if there hadn't been any progress, but Frank had told him to go fly a kite. No more pain, no more puking and no more last-ditch efforts.

He craved peace.

The only thing stopping him from surrendering— No, wait, he wasn't giving up on himself or the medicine yet. But he could relax into his fate better if he and Tess could talk. Her gaze last Sunday had told him her heart had changed, but the words had not been spoken.

He and Tess had things to say.

“Dad?”

Frank snapped out of his reverie to find the very devil he'd been thinking about standing in front of him as if his thoughts had summoned her. Tess didn't look like anyone who could bedevil with her benign honey hair and sweet face, but this one had never been an angel. Just his Tess—perfect in his eyes.

He squinted against the sun slanting in through the oak's canopy. “You okay?”