Mandy Makes Her Mark (4 page)

CHAPTER FOUR

When Mandy clinked her glass of Dr. Pepper uncertainly against Tad's, she noticed that his smile was unlike any other she'd ever seen on him. It was rather…crooked, actually, and didn't accentuate his strong jaw the way his usual blinding grin did.

It was, as a matter of fact, surprisingly imperfect. A faint flutter somewhere in the vicinity of Mandy's heart accompanied the revelation, so that when she whispered “To loyalty,” it came out a little wobbly.

They drank together, with the solemnity of people sealing a deal, their eyes locked. Mandy was trying to figure out if this new vulnerability she'd glimpsed in Tad was a result of heartbreak or something else. She had no idea what was going on behind his deep blue eyes. One thing that was hard not to notice, however, was that the moment seemed to be going on an awfully long time, each of them sipping and staring, the sounds of conversation fading into the background around them.

“Listen, Amanda,” Tad finally said, setting his glass gently down on the bar and leaning in closer.

A clattering of breaking glass and a high-pitched shriek interrupted the moment. They both turned to look. Standing in the entry from the bar to the restaurant, clutching each other and staring at a serving tray full of spilled drinks and shattered glasses on the floor, were none other than Sylvie and Jayde.

“See?” Sylvie sputtered, pointing at the mess. “'zactly what I'm sayin'. Right?”

“Right!” Jayde pouted as the pair lurched around the mess. They were clearly drunk, and headed straight for the bar.

“Mandy!” Jayde said, brightening, when she spotted them. A waiter had followed them into the room and was busily cleaning up the mess.

“I'll go help,” Tad muttered grimly, slipping off his barstool and taking the long way, avoiding the drunk girls, before kneeling next to the mess and starting to help pick up shards. Mandy would have been impressed by the display of courtesy had she not suspected that he was merely trying to avoid having to deal with one of Jayde's dramatic outbursts.

Mandy grabbed both girls by the arms and dragged them to a booth, shoving them in either side. Since Sylvie was the greater flight risk, she squeezed in next to her, trapping her.

“You're
drunk
,” she hissed. “On the eve of a
shoot
.”

“It's just
bridesmaid
gowns,” Sylvie said frostily. She had made her feelings known during the planning meeting—that any dress that came in a dozen jewel tones and was constructed from synthetic materials was hardly worth her time. Mandy had pointed out that it paid the bills, which had been enough to shut her up at the time, but apparently not enough to keep her in line once they arrived.

“It's Lark Bridal, the second largest grossing bridal wear manufacturer in North America,” Mandy spat. “And you had damn well better—”

She paused to push the candle out of the way of Jayde, who was leaning precariously forward, her long hair in danger of being set on fire. “Jayde, what about you? You
know
better!”

“Jonas broke up with me!” Jayde wailed. “Last night, when I told him I had to work this weekend! He's opening for the Smithereens and he said if I wasn't at the show, we were finished!”

Tears spilled over her cheeks, more evidence that alcohol was clouding her judgment. Eyes puffed and red from crying were absolutely disastrous.

“Jayde!” Mandy snapped her fingers in front of the girl, who made an effort to sit up and stopped crying with a few snuffling breaths. “Please, get yourself under control. I'm happy to talk to you about Jonas, but first we've got to get you through the shoot tomorrow. What are your priorities right now?”

“Rest. Hydrate. Protect.” To her credit, Jayde got the company mantra out without any more hiccupping. It might be simplistic, but Mandy had found that the models hung onto the three-pronged mantra like the tenets of their own very small religion, one that worshipped the body rather than a deity.

“So let's think,” Mandy said, speaking slowly and clearly to make sure the girls were focusing on her words. “You could
rest
in your own rooms. Maybe you should go there right now. You could
hydrate
by having a couple of nice refreshing glasses of cold water” – thereby diluting their blood alcohol level, which would in turn improve the condition of their circulatory systems – “and you could be very, very careful not to bump into furniture.” Mandy didn't relish the thought of trying to explain fresh bruises or cuts to Lark's team in the morning.

“Okay, Mandy,” Jayde said sweetly, yawning.

“I'm not kidding around here, Sylvie,” Mandy growled, but for once the girl appeared to be ready to comply without arguing. Mandy got up and allowed Sylvie to slide out of the booth, and the two girls tottered to their feet and put their arms around each other's shoulders. “And what time will I see you at the shoot?”

“Seven o'clock,” Jayde mumbled.

“Seven,” Sylvie echoed.

Tad had come over to their table, the mess now cleaned up and the floor good as new. As the models lurched out of the room, weaving and stumbling but at least headed in the right direction, he slung a companionable arm around Mandy's shoulders.

The
buddy
arm. Which was exactly as it should be.

Mandy could have sworn they had been on the verge of a “moment” back at the bar, before Sylvie and Jayde's arrival, but maybe she'd imagined it. Of course she had. He was her sister's ex, and therefore off limits forever. After a quick squeeze, Tad released her and chuckled.

“You handled that well.”

“Why do I feel as though you're not being sincere?”

“No, it's just—well, maybe you should have sent a chaperone.”

“Tad, I picked out the location of their bungalows myself. They're located right next to the delivery drive. There's no way those two will be able to get lost, or sleep in for that matter. Amelia assures me that the staff are at work quite early.”

“By seven a.m.?”

“They don't have to be camera ready,” Mandy said. “Which you of all people ought to know. I'll go over there myself at 6:30 and drag them into the shower if I have to, and then I'll turn them over to the team.”

Tad nodded, and jammed his hands into his pants pockets, not meeting her eyes. “So.”

“So,” Mandy replied after a moment.

“Thanks. I guess. For the, you know. Talk.”

“It was nothing,” Mandy said, trying to cover up her disappointment—no, this strange feeling must be relief. It truly had apparently been nothing. At least to him.

“I'll walk you back. To your bungalow.”

“You don't have to,” Mandy said. “This isn't exactly Queens. I'll be fine.”

“I said I'd walk you.”

There was an edge to Tad's voice, and Mandy revised her diagnosis of his emotional condition for the third or fourth time that night. Maybe he was truly okay with the breakup, maybe they hadn't been on the verge of some weird attraction, but there was definitely something off about the guy.

And, after all, he was going to be a part of the shoot too. He might not be doing more than standing in the background in a tuxedo, but he still had to be present and at least halfway alert.

“Well, in that case, thank you.”

They exited through the outdoor patio, winding their way past late-evening diners talking and laughing softly in the candlelight. Watching pairs of lovers sharing intimacies and kisses, Mandy felt wistful. Her carefully cultivated cynicism over her sister's romantic life wasn't usually hard to sustain, but there was something about this place…the balmy evening air, the billions of stars overhead, the palm trees swaying gently in the moonlight, who knew…that made her want to believe in the possibility of true love. Even just a little.

Once they were on the path, they were alone. No other couples strolled past the rose garden and cabana, the tennis courts and the beach. Mandy watched the moon hover above the horizon, a huge yellow orb sending its gentle glow out on the water. Tomorrow, her models would be down on the beach, posing for ads that would send thousands of brides into daydreams of destination weddings, and fantasies of sparkling celebrations to be launched with their attendants dressed in Lark bridesmaid gowns.

But tonight the beach was empty. There were neat rows of chaises, their cushions stowed for the night, the cabanas neatly closed up. The tiki bar was shuttered; the parasols rolled and stacked.

“Let's walk on the beach,” Mandy said impulsively.

“Now? After you just ordered the rest of us to bed?” Tad's tone was only slightly less somber than usual, and Mandy couldn't tell if he was teasing.

“I haven't had a vacation in over a year,” Mandy said defensively. “I haven't gone barefoot in the sand since—since before I came to L.A. The last time I was even in Santa Monica it was to get my car fixed.”

“Fine,” Tad said slowly. “It's kind of a strange time for you to decide to focus on quality of life issues. But yes, I'll walk on the beach with you.”

They took their shoes off where the paved walkway ended, leaving them in a neat row. Then Tad held out his hand. Mandy stared at it, confused.

“So you don't trip,” he said patiently.

But when she slipped her hand into his, it was tempting to imagine that the way he closed his fingers around hers meant more than just steadying support as she descended the wooden steps to the beach. She didn't like him, despite her sister's accusation—couldn't stand him, in fact. Still, when she reached the bottom and her toes sunk deliciously into the cool sand, he didn't let go.

“This is wonderful,” she sighed, fighting off a stab of guilt because she was holding hands with her sister's ex. Maybe he wasn't so bad. Maybe he had a vein of kindness under that hard shell. She closed her eyes and dug her feet deeper into the sand.

“They have this stuff in California, too,” Tad said. “It's all over the beaches there. Maybe you could check it out some time.”

“Maybe,” Mandy mumbled, but just thinking about returning to the office, where she was going to have to replace Luna's bookings and redouble her recruiting efforts, made her feel exhausted.

She pushed the thought from her mind and focused on the feeling of holding hands with Tad Eckholm, something she might never experience again. Maybe it would be all right to forget, just for a moment, that he'd been Luna's boyfriend. His mere presence did things to her. Delicious, naughty things, and didn't she deserve that? Even if it was just for tonight?

She made up her mind to quit overthinking things, and tugged on Tad's hand, leading him across the sand toward the water. He lagged, not even trying to keep up, and so she dropped his hand and started running. “Race you to the water!” she yelled, once she had a healthy head start.

There was no way she would beat Tad in any kind of fair race, but she was still surprised when she heard him laughing right behind her, steps from the tide's edge. He was fast, and he moved like a trained athlete—he'd done a television ad for athletic shoes in which he had sprinted through manufactured rain—so when he slammed into her, lifting her off her feet just before she reached the water, she knew it was on purpose.

“I win,” he said solemnly, spinning her in a slow lazy arc. His arms were wrapped around her waist, which was five and a half inches larger than her sister's (Mandy ought to know; she was the one who had the composite cards printed). But if Tad noticed that Mandy weighed nearly thirty pounds more than Luna, he didn't seem to mind.

“You didn't win,” Mandy protested, a little frantically. If he didn't put her down immediately, there was no way she was going to be able to remember he was off-limits. “If you hadn't tackled me, I would have touched the water first. That's the
rule
.”

“I'm not putting you down until you concede,” Tad said. Now he just sounded bored again. Mandy kicked at him experimentally. The problem was that she could feel the hard ridges of muscle in his arms against her skin. And she could feel his breath against her breasts—which were almost smashed up against his face.

Mandy wondered when Tad had last been that close to real, natural, and generously proportioned breasts. The kind that jiggled and swayed; the kind that most certainly didn't set off sample sizes to their best advantage.

He adjusted his arms and she fell against him, her bosom muffling his face and her hair grazing his shoulders. “
What about Luna
?” a shrill little voice in her head demanded.

“What about her?”

Oops. Mandy had spoken out loud, and her voice sounded indignant, even to her own ears. Why should Luna have everything? Why should she have anything at all when she didn't care about it, didn't take care of it, didn't keep it happy and certainly didn't bring out the best in it?

And by ‘it'…she meant
him
, as in Tad, as in the man who seemed content to burrow gently against her bosom even as he continued to hold her aloft, making a deeply satisfied humming sound in his throat. Out on the water, the moon settled into the horizon's edge. Stars twinkled. Faint music wafted over from the manor.

Tad let her slip slowly down to her feet, her body sliding against his the whole way down. But he didn't let her go. When her toes dug into the sand again, he held her around her waist, and her arms stayed around his neck. Her fingertips brushed against his perfect sun bleached hair.

“Amanda,” Tad said calmly. He could have been ordering a Dr. Pepper. Or signing for a FedEx. Except he wasn't. He was holding her in his arms and he was staring into her eyes without blinking.

Then he kissed her.

CHAPTER FIVE

It wouldn't have been exactly accurate to say that Mandy was surprised. She'd been thinking about kissing Tad ever since he tackled her. Hell, she'd been thinking about it all night. She'd been focusing on it so hard that it was easy to believe she'd made it happen out of sheer will.