Harlequin Superromance February 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: His Forever Girl\Moonlight in Paris\Wife by Design (5 page)

“This is
my
company. Not yours.”

Tess reeled back as if he'd slapped her.

Graham shifted in his chair. “I'm stepping outside.”

“Yes, go.” Tess jabbed a finger at the door.

Graham ignored her and looked at him. In his eyes, Frank saw frustration and something else that looked like regret. “I'll take a walk and return in half an hour.”

“Take a walk off the pier, why don't you?” Tess said, before turning a frosty gaze to her father. No more defeated Tess. This was his pissed-off sunshine girl who had scored the winning goal in the state soccer finals. She didn't know the words
give up.

Graham didn't take the bait. He merely shook his head and walked out.

The door snicked closed and Tess put her hands over her face. “Why are you doing this, Dad? I've been working so hard to earn... I thought you wanted me in this company. I thought it was understood that I would take over when you retired.”

“There are things you don't understand, honey,” he said, softening his tone.

“So why didn't you come to me and discuss the issues you had? Instead of doing that, you went behind my back. In fact, you interviewed him on the day I took Granny B to the doctor so you could hide it. I suppose you swore Billie to silence, too?”

“Billie doesn't know everything that goes on in this company.”

“Ha.” Tess sank back into the chair. “Well, the solution to all this is simple—tell Graham you were wrong. Tell him thanks, but no thanks. I'm totally prepared to run Frank Ullo Float Builders, and you can do a step-down retirement over the next several months. This is what I've been preparing for over the past seven years—an Ullo running
our
company. I'm going to pretend like you didn't say the company belongs to you.”

“But it does.”

“Technically, but it's ours. Our family's.”

“I'm not firing Graham. He signed the contracts this morning.”

Her gaze went feral. “What I say doesn't matter?”

Frank closed his eyes.
Knowing
that telling Tess would be hard was way different from actually doing it. He hadn't told his children about his pancreatic cancer diagnosis, except for his son Joseph who'd been his consult during the whole process. Frank still wanted to talk to Maggie about how to handle telling them. Hell, he still hadn't come to terms with the thought of not making it to next Christmas.

But he wouldn't use his illness to make Tess relent. He knew he wasn't the best father in the world, but he'd never resorted to manipulation with his children. He ignored the small voice that said he'd tricked Tess to get his way in the first place. “You matter to me more than you know, but in this instance I will stand firm. You're not ready to run the company. Plain and simple.”

“But why? If you knew you were going to retire this soon, you should have brought me in and prepared me. You should have taught me what you do. None of this makes sense. You were always so proud I followed in your footsteps. I just thought...” Tess covered her face again with her hands.

For a few moments neither of them said anything.

“I'm not staying if you hire him.” Tess dropped her hands, her gaze resolute.

“So you'll quit?” Frank had never even contemplated the possibility his daughter would leave if he didn't give her the wheel. “Like a child taking her toys and going home, huh?”

“No. I'm not being unreasonable in leaving a place where I have little respect.”

“You know that's not true.”

“Doesn't feel like it, Dad.” Tess swallowed hard. “I refuse to remain where there is no future for me.”

“Tess, there's always a place for you here. This is your home, your family.”

“No. This isn't how family feels. Instead it feels like I don't matter at all. Feels like you gave me some shell of a job to keep me in New Orleans, to keep me under your control.”

Now Frank felt as if he'd been slapped. “You love what you do.”

“Yeah, I do. I love this company, but I'm not staying while you wrap it in a bow and give it to some jerk a headhunter found for you. Really, Dad? It's like a frickin' nightmare, that's what this is.” She rose. “But that's the way it's going to be. As you pointed out, this is your company and you can do what you want with it, but you might as well have disowned me.”

“Don't be unreasonable, Tess.”

“Call it what you want, but I don't work here any longer.”

“Tess,” he said her name like a prayer. Never had he wanted to hurt her. Why couldn't she see that?

Because she didn't know his reasons. She didn't know he had one foot in the grave and the other in quicksand.

“Consider this my notice. I'll finish out the day and gather my stuff.”

“Don't do this. You're in the middle of designing for Bacchus and we've got props in bay that need your direction. What about the meetings you have this week? What about our customers?”

Tess shook her head. “Dave will see the designs through, and you now have Graham to figure out the rest.”

Like a soldier, his daughter squared her shoulders and marched to the door.

“Tess, don't do this. Everything will be the same as yesterday. I promise. Graham is a good man.”

She paused, her hand on the doorknob. “You're wrong, Dad. It'll never be the same again because you don't trust me. Good luck with Graham. In my experience he's not so much a man of his word.”

She gave him a sad, sad smile. And then she walked out.

CHAPTER FIVE

T
ESS
STALKED
OUT
of her father's office feeling like she'd entered a boxing ring with a world champion. One punch and she was out. Her mind couldn't wrap around what had happened moments ago.

How had her Tuesday gone so wrong?

It had started well with new bodywash in her shower, a good coffee from Cuppa Joe's and the sun on her shoulders as she biked through the awakening French Quarter. Fog had burned off the river by the time she'd reached the warehouse, and every line on her sketches that morning had been true. It had been a banner morning that had turned to hell in the blink of an eye.

Graham Naquin.

Bastard. Usurper.

The irony of the man she'd thought her forever guy being the person taking the helm of Ullo was like someone shoving a spoonful of crap into her mouth and expecting her to say “mmm.” But this was one spoonful she wasn't going to swallow.

How dare her old man hire him?
Him.
The very person who had almost broken her heart. Okay.
Had
broken her heart. Which sounded strange since she'd known him for such a brief time, yet for a while it had felt every bit as real as what her parents had.

She'd eaten a lot of ice cream trying to get over the false start with Graham. In fact, she'd wolfed down a half gallon in twenty-four hours. That's how much cream and sugar she'd needed to soothe the hurt of rejection.

And now this. She would have to run to California to work off what was likely about to be spooned down in mourning of the thing she loved most about each day—her job.

Dear God, she was no longer employed at Ullo.

As Tess pushed through the metal door into the stairwell, her knees gave way. Sinking against the cold cement steps, she struggled for a breath.

This wasn't happening.

No way.

She was an Ullo. She'd grown up skipping through the phantom floats hulking like huge freighters bobbing at a wharf. Tess had worked summers perfecting sculpting foam, schlepping papier-mâché onto props and wiring fiber optics. She'd taken extensive art lessons, chosen a major in industrial art and ignored the tryouts for the Junior U.S. Soccer team...all so she could work for her family's business. All because she wanted to be the one child who pleased their father by caring more for Frank Ullo Float Builders than for herself. She'd sacrificed so she could do what was right, what would be best for their family business.

And it had been for nothing.

Unshed tears gathered in her throat. She wanted to cry, wanted to lie down right in the dusty stairwell and sob until she ran dry. But she wouldn't give the world the satisfaction of knowing her disappointment. Of the betrayal.

Her father didn't think she was good enough.

“Damn it,” she whispered into the air around her.

“Tess.” The door opened with a whoosh, nearly nailing her in the shoulder. Billie's head popped into the stairwell.

“Hey,” Tess managed to say, hoping like hell the tears in her eyes weren't noticeable.

“What in the name of Sam Hill is going on?” Billie asked, darting a look at the inner recess of her office. “Your father said you quit.”

“I did.”

“Why?” Billie looked like someone had run over her cat.

“Ask my father.”

“Don't you think I did? He buttoned up his lip like a preacher in a whorehouse. Said you no longer wanted to work here and to send a note to Accounting so you could collect your last check. Sister, what's going on?”

“Nothing you need to worry about, Billie. This is between my father and me.”

“It has to do with that good-looking guy Frank hired, doesn't it? I knew something was going on when your dad got all secretive, wanting me to show him how to use the fax machine and getting all those calls from Texas.”

Tess pulled herself from where she slumped. “Yeah, you're about to be working for that good-looking guy.” The words hung in her throat. She didn't want to think about Graham Naquin. She'd spent far too much time thinking about the son of a bitch already. She'd just stopped longing for him. Or mostly stopped moping around waiting for his call.

“Huh?”

“Dad's retiring. Might as well be the first to tell you.”

“Retiring? No. He hasn't even made a peep about—”

“Well, he is. Soon.”

“I had no idea.” Billie's face crinkled as she soaked in the ramifications. “So Frank basically hired this guy over you? His own daughter?”

“You're a sharp cookie.” Tess gave Billie a half smile that hurt like hell to deliver.

“Smart cookie. Not sharp,” Billie muttered, sadness etched on her face. “I can't believe this, Tess. I'm sure he has a good reason. Something's wrong. I've had this weird feeling. He's been saying strange things, and I wondered what was up. But this?”

“Not a good enough reason. I don't know what's going on, but I'm not about to watch him give Frank Ullo to some asshole.”

“He seemed okay to me. Together, polite, nice ass.”

“Yeah, well, he's an ass all right. Good luck,” Tess said, giving Billie a quick squeeze. Billie had been with her father for forty years so Tess couldn't fathom the woman not knowing about Graham Naquin, the interview and Frank's plans. That her father had kept them from his most trusted assistant boggled the mind. “I'll see you around, 'kay?”

“How? You won't be here. What am I going to do without my Tess? Who's going to make chocolate-oatmeal cookies and post pics of delicious man candy in the ladies' room? How are we going to function without you?” Billie wouldn't let go.

“Just like you did before I worked here.”

“Don't do it, honey. It's your pride standing in the way. Pride's a tricky thing.” Billie pulled back and looked at her with eyes the color of chocolate chips. She had always reminded Tess of the teapot in
Beauty and the Beast
—if it had a wry sense of humor, a dirty mouth and a way with advice. Billie always seemed to know what to do—but not this time.

This time Tess wouldn't be cajoled into accepting her father's decision. She was many things, but she wasn't a blinking jackass. Her father had gotten his point across with bloody accuracy. He had no faith in Tess, therefore Tess had her back against the wall. It was either give in and hate herself, or quit, get a new job...and gather together the remains of who she was.

“I have to do this, Billie. I'm good. I have to prove that. Not only to Dad, but to myself. I don't need Frank Ullo. Frank Ullo needs me.”

“Of course we need you. You know that. Don't go, Tess. Work through this. Change is always hard, but when you come through on the other side, you see it's for the best.”

“Hiring someone else is not for the best, Billie. Change or no change. Dad chose a stranger over me, and I got the message loud and clear.”

Billie shook her head. “Oh, honey.”

Tess jogged down the stairs, heading toward her desk which sat with several others in a sectioned-off area of the warehouse. Tess liked to be near the action—the place where the ideas on paper became full-fledged art ready to roll down the parade route carrying the krewes and the thousands of throws revelers begged for. She'd loved the nook she'd carved out, and though the warehouse often grew noisy, she enjoyed feeling like a cog in the machinery that created magic for millions of people during the four-week Mardi Gras season. She focused better in an area she could move around, a place where she could see her visions carried out.

“Hey, Tess,” Dave Wegmann said, spinning in his chair, scratching his balding head. “Reeves Benson called about the Hera bid and wants you to call him back. Thought I'd sneak down here and take a peek at what Petra did with the globe.”

“He left a message with you?” Tess asked, trying like hell to pretend today was any other day. No way would she break down in front of Dave. He'd been here for as long as she remembered, first as a sculptor, then he'd moved to painting. After two back surgeries, he'd taken design courses and started working as the art director. Tess had learned all she knew about float building at Dave's knee, and when she'd come to the company, they'd split the load of design, meeting regularly to schedule work and solidify the vision for each krewe's contracted floats.

“Your phone kept ringing and it was driving me crazy. I'm also looking for the specs on the Cleopatra sea creature. Upstart's trying to schmooze Cary Presley with some crazy hydra with motorized heads, so this float's gotta be stellar.”

Any other time and Tess would agree, but she could hardly speak, much less bolster Dave on the Cleopatra bid. She sank into the squeaky chair beside the one Dave sat in and looked at the files and sketches scattering the surface of her desk.

Where to even start?

“Tess? You okay? You look weird.”

“Yeah.”

Dave shook his head and hunkered down, his fingers moving deftly over the face of the calculator, his eyes screwed up in concentration. “Okay, I found the file. Just...wanna...see...if...this...matches.”

She probably needed to get a box to put her stuff in. She had funny pictures tacked up on the corkboard beside the huge filing cabinets that held all the past year's designs and sketches. Those designs would be systematically replaced over the course of the next few months with new designs for 2015, paying special attention to the repurposing of all the props. At Ullo they reused every part of the float, even joking about trading out toilet seats yearly. They begged, bartered and stole from last year's floats to create the awesomeness of Mardi Gras 2014 for the various krewes around New Orleans and the outlying areas. A flurry of meetings nearly a month ago before this year's parades had finished rolling had cemented projects for the upcoming season and those of 2016.

Tess picked up the bumblebee with the crazy boppy antennae Jules Roland, the head sculptor, had given her on her birthday. Tess the busy bee.

The clip of hard soles on the concrete floor interrupted her thoughts. Then she saw the wing tips.

“Tess?”

She looked up, meeting Graham's blue eyes. Damn, they were pretty eyes. Too bad he was a creep.

“What?”

He swallowed and she watched the powerful muscles in his throat convulse. She'd kissed that sweet spot at the base of his neck. He'd smelled so good—sort of citrusy and clean—and he'd tasted salty and warm. Very solid. Very sexy.

“We need to talk.”

Dave looked up, tucking his pencil behind his ear. He raised bushy eyebrows. “What's going on? Who's this guy?”

Tess glanced over at her friend and mentor. “You'll understand soon enough, Dave. But don't worry. I've got this.”

She stood. “I don't have much to say to you, Mr. Naquin, but what I do have will be better said in private.” Ice hung in her words.... Exactly what she intended. Part of her boiled over with anger, hurt and disappointment. The other part felt frigid and empty.

Graham had caused that particular arctic front when he'd never called...and then hadn't been man enough to return the call she'd made two weeks ago.

Total asshole.

She stalked toward the exit, wishing she hadn't worn jeans and sneakers. High heels tapping on the floor would have been much more dramatic. Pushing the bar that would lead to the smokers' lounge high above the rough waters of the Mississippi, Tess inhaled not smoke, but the brackish, fetid air of the river. No one sat on the porch, but she didn't want to be interrupted, so she quickly took the worn steps down to the deck several feet below, now glad she'd worn her tennis shoes.

Reaching the smaller landing holding an ancient picnic table and two chained deck chairs, she spun around. “You bastard.”

Graham stopped by the last step, shifting his gaze toward a tugboat pushing a colossal rusted barge. “I deserve that.”

“Yeah, you do.”

“I didn't call you.”

His words were a day late and a dollar short. Didn't matter anymore. She'd decided twenty minutes ago when she'd seen him sitting in her father's office as the heir apparent she was way over the infatuation that had dominated her thoughts and body for weeks after he left her loft. That ship had sailed. Bye-bye.

“You think this is about you not calling?”

“It was rude.”

“It
was
pretty rude. But what did you think I wanted? Commitment? You were a fun screw, that's it. So, no, this isn't about you not calling.”

Something in his eyes wavered and she could tell he hadn't expected such a casual dismissal. “A fun screw, huh?”

“For you, too, I imagine. If it were anything more you would have called me, right?” She lifted an eyebrow, feeling the righteousness in her anger.

“About that. See, there were some things going on....” He looked away, hiding from her, but she didn't care. She meant what she said—what she felt—Graham meant nothing to her on that level. He was a used-to-be.

But on a professional level...

“What I have to say to you has nothing to do with that night a month ago. That's over. This is the here and now, and you are the bastard who slinked into my company and stole my job.”

“Now, wait a minute.” He held up a hand. His was a nice hand—manicured nails, strong blunt fingers, wide palm. Very capable hands that had stroked her, loved her and made her believe in something that wasn't real. “I didn't slink into anything. In fact, your father never even mentioned you. I had no idea until today that he had a daughter who worked in the company.”

Knife wound. Tess clasped her chest before she could think better of betraying her emotions.

Her father hadn't even mentioned her?

“What do you want me to say? Did he mention Dave? Or how about Petra? Jules? Red Jack? Bennie B? Or Scooter O'Neil?”