“Hey.” Dimi caught a glimpse of her perfect self in the reflection of the mirror, and laughed. “Look, I realize you’re programmed differently than me, and that you actually think before you act, but try and tell me your every hormone didn’t stand up and do a tap dance at the sight of him, gorgeous as sin. And that sexy accent-”
“The accent is no big deal.”
“You really suck at lying, you know that?” Dimi studied her with a knowing smirk. “Your eyes go all squinty…”
“Fine,” Mel said, trying to relax her eye muscles. “He looks…fine. Okay?”
“Honey, fine would be a nice glass of Chardonnay. Fine is a pretty blue sky. That man is so far off the charts from fine you can’t even see fine.”
Mel tossed up her hands. “And we’re having this conversation why?”
“Right.” Dimi sat back down, waved her away, crystals tinkling together. “Listen, go kick his Aussie ass out of here, this place is ours.”
Mel found a way to smile. “I thought you dreamed of walking away from this place.”
“I’ll walk away because I want to, not because some bastard takes over.”
That was Dimi. Stubborn to a beautiful fault.
“Unfortunately, he’s not going anywhere. At least not until he talks to Sally.”
“But that’s not going to happen. We can’t-”
“We have to.”
They stared at each other for a long, uncomfortable beat.
“You really think you can con a con?” Dimi finally whispered.
“We have to,” Mel repeated.
Dimi leaned close. “You and I both know, he’s the son of the very best, he’s-”
“Yeah.” Mel hopped off the desk and tossed back her shoulders and the stray strands of hair from her face. “I know what he is. Now let’s find out what he isn’t.”
“Mel.”
“Wish me luck.”
“Luck. You’re going to need it.” Dimi jumped up and hugged her hard, then pulled back, hands on Mel’s face. “We’re bad. We’re tough. We own our world.”
Mel found a smile. It was their old motto, from when they’d been young, scared, and on their own. They were still on their own, but not so young.
And maybe only a little scared.
“Do whatever you have to,” Dimi said quietly. “Just get him out of here.”
Yeah.
Whatever she had to…
At the thought of what that might entail, goose bumps rose on Mel’s skin, and not necessarily the bad kind.
Chapter 3
Mel headed across the lobby, mind occupied by her singular mission: Get rid of Bo Black.
She passed by the cafe. Charlene stood behind the counter, scrubbing down the scarred tile, singing along to Metallica. “Mel!” she cried, gesturing her close, looking around them before whispering conspiratorially, “So?”
“So…what?”
“Who’s the cutie? A business meeting? New client? Old friend?” She drawled out this last word in her Southern voice, making the word ten syllables.
“Uh…yeah. Sort of.”
“Sort of which?”
“Oh, hey…” Desperate subject change. “Did Ernest get the oven going yet?”
“No, not yet.” Char bit her lip and looked at the oven, effectively sidetracked. The cafe was hers and Al’s livelihood, at least until he sold more paintings, and since their kids had left last year, the cafe was also her baby. Char would have rather put her energy into another real-live baby, but Al had talked her out of that insanity. “Ernest just left to go get a part. So, about the guy-”
“Yeah, I’ve got a call-” She began to walk. Fast.
“I need my gossip fix!” Char called after her. “You know I do!”
Mel loved Char, but telling the woman anything was the equivalent of broadcasting it to the entire world. Following the path Bo had taken, Mel entered the long hallway off the lobby.
The first office was hers. She just knew he was in there, waiting for round two. For a moment she stood outside the door, drawing in a deep, calming breath, which didn’t tame the butterflies suddenly leaping like crazy in her stomach.
So long. It’d been so long since she’d had to face any of this.
Or him.
Lifting her chin high-a habit she’d adapted to make her feel taller-she pushed open her office door.
And, yep, there he was, sprawled in her chair, boots up on her desk, hands folded behind his head as he sat there, contemplating the universe.
Her universe.
He’d asked for Sally, which made no sense. Did he really not know Sally had never come back here? Did she really have that unexpected advantage?
“G’day,” he said when she walked in, a charming smile on his lips, his eyes half-lowered, his fawn-colored hair fashionably shaggy. “Ready to talk, are you?”
She took one look at the long, lean, hard length of him and shut the door behind her. No need for everyone to hear the unavoidable argument heading her way. “Get out of my chair.”
A smile quirked about his lips. She was amusing him. “Ah, now that’s not very sweet.”
She put her hands on her hips, daring him to take a good look. “Do I look sweet to you?”
His eyes heated suggestively as he ran them over her. She was covered from head to toe, for God’s sake, but he made her feel…naked.
“Well, actually-”
“Never mind!” she said crossly. “Just get out of my office.”
“Your office?” He looked around, the leather of her chair crinkling with his weight. “That’s funny. I remember this as Sally’s office.”
Crap. “I’m using it in her absence.”
“So where is she, on vacation? Swindling or conning her latest victim out of his money?”
She couldn’t tell him Sally wasn’t around. With that deed, he might feel like taking over right here and now.
If it was legit.
She thought of Dimi, of Char and Al, Ritchie and Kellan, Danny, their mechanic…all like family to her. She couldn’t lose the reins now and let anything happen to the life they’d all built here.
Then what he said slowly sank in. “Sally never swindled or conned a soul in her life. Apparently, she left that to your father.”
Had his eyes been sleepy and sexy only a moment ago? They went cold as ice as he slowly uncoiled and rose to his full height, coming around the desk toward her, six feet plus of pure rough-and-tumble attitude. “Leave my father out of this,” he said very quietly.
She dug in her heels and refused to back up. Which put them in each other’s breathing space. He was at least a head taller than she, smelled warm and sexy, and seemed to be built entirely of perfectly toned muscle.
And yet it wasn’t any of that that stopped her, but the fierce, protective look in his eyes. This wasn’t the rangy, trouble-filled, wickedly smiling Bo who’d been caught with his hands up a woman’s skirt, but a man with passion and a deep capacity for emotion. Leave his father out of this? How was that possible? It had been Eddie Black who set in motion a chain of events they were still dealing with all these years later.
