Waking Sleeping Beauty (17 page)

Marcus sighed. “Can I stop you?”

Shaking her head, she gave him her answer. “I’m a romantic.”

For the first time, he didn’t see it as a curse. “You’re happy. I see it. Your face is lit up. Your eyes sparkle.” He shrugged.

“His late wife slept with your father.”

A shock wave reverberated through him. He knew the last name had rung a bell.

“You didn’t think I knew? How ironic that your father’s mistress and Isaac were married and now he and I are…interested in each other. I’ve known him for years. He was always a decent man. He never deserved what she did to him. All for a hot affair with your father.”

Marcus halted, leaning a hand against a nearby wall. He sucked in a breath. “How long?”

“Have I known? From the beginning. Oh, he tried to hide it. But a woman senses things.” She said softly, “I…thought it was a phase, a passing fancy. It was. Until the next one and the one after that. He broke my heart.”

A flash of anguish crossed her face. “Mom, I’m so sorry.”

“You saved me, dear. I clung to you and never let go. Maybe that was a mistake on my part.”

“No.” He shook his head. “Maybe you and I needed to deny it to each other. When he was away, we were in our own little world. Pretending.”

“I wanted him to be your hero. I wanted you to have someone to look up to.”

“I did. You.”

“My sweet boy.” She tsked. “Your dear old mother always has had stars in her eyes—”

“And hope in her heart,” he interrupted. “You believe the best of people. You believed in me. I wouldn’t have gotten this far without your encouragement.” In his mind, he couldn’t help but compare her to Francine’s mother. He’d been damn lucky to have his mother rooting for him on every step of the way.

“Forgive me?”

He frowned. “For what?”

“Trying out all those toads all these years.”

Chuckling softly, he nodded to where Isaac had headed toward. “So, is he your prince?”

Pink colored her cheeks. “He may just be.”

In the back of his mind, he wondered if he’d ever made anyone feel as special as Isaac had made his mother feel right now. Would anyone ever consider Marcus their prince?

***

The next morning, Marcus stepped out of his penthouse elevator and into the lobby. The guard was arguing with someone.

“No, ma’am, you can’t go up.”

“Now listen, bub, this is important,” she said, smacking her hand against a newspaper.

“Miss—”

“Peg Newbury.”

“No, you’re not. She was here the other night and you’re not her.”

“For all that is good and holy—”

“Holy, did you say?”

“Yes, holy beezus and sassafras.”

“You sound like her.” He lifted his uniform cap and scratched his head.

“That’s because I am her,” she said in a huff. “What do I have to do, show you my license, for crying out loud?”

“Peg?” Marcus asked, coming upon them. “What are you doing here?”

She stuck out her tongue at the guard. “See, I told you I was me.” Turning to Marcus, her face paled. “Boss, we got a problem. I’ll brief you on the way.”

Ever efficient, Peg had a car and driver waiting at the curb. In the back of the town car, she twisted to him, shoving the folded paper at him. He groaned. “Not another screw-up in the ad?”

“Worse. The Barracuda strikes again.”

“What?” He followed her pointed finger to the opened gossip column. Scanning the story, he stopped breathing for a second. “She didn’t?”

“’Fraid so.”

Marcus cursed long and loud. The vindictive Mrs. King had fed the press. She urged the employees of King’s Department Store to rid themselves of the scheming playboy who’d reeled in unsuspecting female employees into his bed. He was systematically going through the ranks. She discovered the truth in the nick of time to save her poor daughter. Francine.

“Francie,” he nearly choked, shaking his head. What would this do to her? It was one thing to come after him; he could take care of himself. He’d played in the big leagues for years now. But, to target her own daughter was hitting below the belt.

“We’ll be there in a jiffy. In the meantime, what’s our plan of attack?”

He welcomed her practical nature. “First, protect Francine.”

“I like the way you think, Boss. Now, how we going to do that?”

“Do anything and everything to achieve that goal.”

“Got it. Come out swinging.”

In less than ten minutes, the car halted in front of King’s. The press swarmed the sidewalk. He let out a deep breath. Exiting the car, he turned to help Peg out.

The reporters spotted him immediately, swinging from photographing the store display windows to snapping picture after picture of him. Some reporter shoved a mic in front of him while cameras rolled.

“Marcus Goode, what do you have to say about the
Daily’s
gossip column printed this morning?” the young man asked as he was jostled about.

He reached out, steadying him. “You can’t always believe what you read, can you?”

“Which part are you referring to?”

“All of it.”

Peg bustled him through the crowd. “Come on, fellas, give us some room here.”

“So, Marcus, are you saying the column is completely false, all lies?” A well-known local entertainment reporter pressed her mic at him.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he held up his hands, “when have you ever taken Mrs. King at her word? The woman’s track record is suspect, to put it kindly. I’m sure she’s feeling a little out of sorts lately and bored to tears with nothing to do all day. Poor woman can’t stand to be out of the spotlight. I’m surprised she didn’t tell you all the gory details with the way she dumped the store and ran off with all the money. Oh, by all the money, I mean the King daughters’ trust funds, too.”

There
, he thought,
let her spin on that one
.

Several more reporters lunged forward. One called out, “Are you saying she left them with nothing?”

“Not a penny,” Peg chimed in. “And you can quote me, Peg Newbury.” She spelled it at their insistence.

With grit and determination, Marcus edged through the crowd, polite, yet firmly pushing his way to the door. But what he discovered there shocked him to his core.

***

Francine drew in a long, slow breath. The moment Marcus spotted her, she lifted up her chin. Looking at the press, she steeled herself. “Excuse me.” No one paused. “Excuse me,” she called out. They must have finally heard her; they stopped badgering Marcus and glanced over their shoulders. “If anyone is interested, I’m Francine King, the oldest stepdaughter of the late Charles King.”

“Huh?” The reporter closest to her shoved his camera in her face. “This is gonna be good,” he said.

“Hey, honey, what do you have to say about your mother’s comments?” Another one rushed her, sticking the mic near her mouth.

Before she realized it, Marcus shouldered his way toward her, leading Peg. When they reached her, they turned in unison to face the crowd with her. His assistant stood between her and Marcus, hooking her elbows with them. One solid line of defense.

“You don’t have to do this,” Marcus said.

“Oh, yes I do,” she retorted, never looking his way. Addressing the curious men and women gawking at her and the flashbulbs going off in her face, she smiled tightly, saying, “Thank you all for coming. I appreciate your thoughtfulness in wanting to hear the truth.”

“Which is?” A young woman with glasses and a scowl poked her mic closer.

“Unfortunately, my mother is delusional.”

The gasps that rent the air blasted her from every side.

“I’m afraid she has become fixated on the demise of King’s Department Store for far too long. Ever since her retirement a few months ago, she has longed for the bottom to fall out. It’s just my opinion, mind you; however, I feel she cannot handle someone else making King’s the success she could never achieve.”

“Good one,” Peg whispered loudly, gripping her arm tighter and absorbing Francie’s sudden shivering.

“If my mother can’t control it, she will try to destroy it.”

She held their rapt attention now.

Waving her hand to one of the large windows, she said, “As you can clearly see, our mystery wedding has piqued a great deal of interest, along with a great deal of sales.” Secretly, she loved the display window her stepsister, Charlie, had dreamed up. Each week another piece of the wedding puzzle was revealed on a pedestal in the window while the earlier items surrounded it. Marcus had graciously donated the latest gift: a ten-day honeymoon to his most popular resort. The unveilings generated high anticipation and subsequent business for the store.

“Makes sense, but what about Marcus Goode? Is it true he’s sleeping his way through the women here?”

Francie gulped hard. Silence stretched.

“I’ll answer that one,” Marcus said.

“No, let me,” Francie insisted, briefly turning to acknowledge his presence. She couldn’t bear to meet his gaze; she surely would let her true feelings be known. Looking down, she asked the woman in front of her, “May I?” She didn’t wait for an answer, but took the mic from her hand and held it even closer. “Please.” She forced a chuckle. “Even
the
Marcus Goode isn’t that good!”

Many of them laughed.

The tense atmosphere seemed to ease. “I’m not quite sure when he’d have the time, do you? From all accounts, he’s one of the busiest men in Dallas at the moment. He runs a multi-million dollar corporation and has temporarily taken over the huge task of dragging King’s Department Store out of the past and leading it into the future.”

“Hear, hear,” Peg cheered. “And doing a bang up job of it, too!”

“Francine, you’re the wedding consultant in the ads, right?” a female reporter asked. “So, aren’t you the bride? I heard your mother’s trying to hunt down a groom for you.”

Francine’s face froze as she focused on the infamous woman who’d written the scathing gossip column. “Really?”

“Didn’t you just have dinner with a doctor?”

Her mother had definitely blabbed.
What else had she’d said about her long, drawn-out search for grooms for her daughters? Doctor, lawyer, Indian chief
—the rhyme ran through her mind.

“I was there,” Marcus intervened. “Lovely evening.”

“She invited you?!” the woman asked, clearly not knowing that part.

“Her delight can’t be measured.” Marcus’ tongue-in-cheek answer caused Francie to giggle.

Cameras flashed.

“So, Marcus, are you saying you’re in contention?”

“Contention?” Francie and Marcus asked in unison.

“To be the mystery groom at King’s mystery wedding?”

Francine’s middle dropped. She’d meant to protect him from the gossip her mother had purposely generated. But now, the tables had turned. She’d drawn unnecessary attention to him and to herself. What had she done?

Pain shot through Francine’s temples. Her head swam at all the phone calls, all the employees’ buzzing, and the white spots she still saw from all the cameras’ flashes hours ago. Clutching the stacks of phone messages in her portfolio, she’d escaped to the housewares department to check on new linens for the mystery bride and groom.

She skirted the kitchen demo area that remained dark at this hour; however, each Wednesday afternoon, it came to life with a new guest chef Marcus snagged from his circle of restaurant friends. It served as a respite for tired shoppers, a midafternoon snack, a chance to see King’s housewares in use, and to trigger gift sales. It worked beyond anyone’s imagination.

But the memory of that first cooking demo, when she was called up to assist Marcus, caused her to suck in a sharp breath. Only a few hours before she’d been in his bed. Being so close to him heightened her senses.

Even now she felt the tingles rushing through her body. Heat curled low and deep in her belly at the thought of his touch, his hot stare.

Francie picked up her pace, focusing on the linens. But once she got to the bed with the pink satins sheets and black comforter, she came to a crawl. It wasn’t just the black embroidery on each pillow case reading,
Mr. and Mrs.
, it was the fact that this was the bed she’d fallen asleep in and Marcus had kissed her awake.

Her throat went dry.

“Francie, holy cow, you’re a fast one. Don’t move a muscle,” Peg said, sliding to her side. She huffed a few times, trying to catch her breath. “I’ve been trying to chase you down for the last forty minutes.”

She reached out and grabbed Peg, who clutched her middle and bent over. “What’s the rush?” Then her heart tripped. “It’s not Marcus, is it?”

After the fiasco this morning, Francie prepared for the worst.

Peg shook her head. “Nah, he’s super. And so are you for what you did for him and the store. But Marcus and Charlie got their heads together. Released a damage control statement. Smooth things over.” She gasped. “Guess what? Marcus banned the Barracuda from the store. For life.”

“What?! My mother can’t come in the store? Ever?” A rush of relief flooded through her. She wouldn’t have to look over her shoulder any longer for fear she’d run into her at the store again.

“My word, the employees are dancing in the aisles at the news—” She cut herself off. “Oh, sorry, she is your mother.”

Francie winced. The truth hurt. “Charlie agreed?”

“No other choice. Your mama’s a big distraction. Causes an uproar.” She shrugged. “So, ibso, facto.” She brushed her hands together. “Finito.”

“King’s may still be vulnerable, though. She drew the first blood today. But I don’t think it will be the last.”

“No sirree, it won’t be. Not for you, I’m afraid.” She patted Francie on the shoulder. “Holy moly, you socked it to her. I wish I coulda been a fly on the wall when she saw it. Don’t you worry, though; everyone’s singing your praises with your counterattack.”

She hadn’t noticed. A stream of women had come into the wedding boutique throughout the day, sizing her up. Most of them turned out to be curiosity seekers with only a few real customers. With juggling them and the upcoming weddings on the books, Francie hadn’t gotten a fresh breath of air until now. She had no idea what the employees thought other than Rico squeezing her in a giant bear hug and Evelyn joining in and dancing Francie all around before they’d opened up the store.