Star Promise (18 page)

My mind was still working its way through a game plan when the phone on my desk rang. “Mrs Kara on line two, Adam,” announced Tennille.

Her ears must’ve been burning – probably an occupational hazard for witches.

I covered the speaker with my hand. “I have to take this, Ma,” I said regretfully.

“Of course, darling.” She draped the suit bag across the length of the couch. “I’ll come back later.”

I would’ve tried dissuading her if I hadn’t been so eager to get her out of my office. As soon as she slipped out of the room, I punched the button on the phone and answered the call.

“I’ve put serious thought into this,” announced Olivia without any greeting. “Bridget can start under one condition.”

Her attitude was appalling, and I refused to overlook it. “You cashed my cheque. There are no conditions.”

“I want your assurance that you’ll make no mention of our earlier discussion.”

She’d chosen her words carefully, making sure she made no reference to the dirty little secret she’d kept hidden for twenty-four years. There was no way of knowing what her motives were, and I didn’t care to find out.

“Olivia, if you knew anything about Charli, you’d know that she deserves only the best from this world.” My tone was calm, but it was impossible to hide my contempt. “I’m certain you’re not it. Having you in her life would be of no benefit.”

She didn’t pause to ponder the cruelty of my words. Her reply was quick and cutting. “I suggest you keep your mouth shut then.”

All my doubts about her were proved in a flash. As hard as it was to fathom, the woman who’d blessed me with the love of my life was a total and utter bitch.

“Bridget won’t be attending your classes, Olivia,” I said curtly. “Keep the tuition money.”

“It was never refundable,” she retorted.

I heard the click as she hung up on me. And at that point, the only thing I felt was utter relief.

Keen to get out before my mother came back, I called Ryan and asked him to meet me at the club. His phone rang out several times before he finally picked up. “Don’t ever call me again,” he barked. Clearly I’d interrupted a session in public relations.

I gathered up the plans on my desk. “I don’t even want to know what you’re doing right now.”

“I’ll bet it’s a damn sight more fun than what you’re doing,” he snapped.

That was a given. Dealing with hateful ballerinas, sorting out building permits and trying to weasel my way out of wearing man-tights didn’t even compare to a morning in bed.

Convincing Ryan to meet me wasn’t as difficult as I’d expected. I left the office straight away, and we arrived at the club at exactly the same time.

I was glad we walked in together. It took two of us to deal with two octogenarians attempting to change a light bulb. Earl was hanging off the top of an eight-foot ladder. Tiger was supervising.

“You crazy old bastard,” berated Ryan, looking up at Earl. “You’re going to kill yourself.”

I thought he was overreacting. My daughter was a big fan of climbing too, and her feats were usually much more terrifying. Bridget would’ve leapt from the top of the ladder. Mercifully, Earl took the slow route down. Once he was safely on the ground, I swapped places with him and changed the bulb myself.

“Job well done, Earl,” crowed Tiger, smacking his friend on the back.

“Yes,” he agreed, stumbling forward. “Time for a drink, eh?”

I stepped off the ladder and checked the time on my watch. “It’s ten in the morning.”

“That’s right kid,” replied Tiger. “We’re late.”

I liked being at the club without the constant scrutiny of Tiger. He wasn’t coping well with the idea of us being part owners. It made me worry how he’d deal with Ryan’s grandiose plans for overhauling it.

The only renovation that took place that morning was the changing of the light bulb. Everything else was on hold until we could sort out planning permission, which wasn’t going to happen if we couldn’t submit the correct blueprints.

Double-checking the measurements was my plan, but my brother is a dick. If I’d known that a task as simple as measuring up a room required an explanation, I would’ve asked Bridget to help me do it.

“So what happens if they differ from the plans?” he asked, clueless.

“We’ll have to get new ones drafted.” I handed him the end of the tape measure and ordered him to stay put.

“More delays,” he muttered.

“We’ve got to do it right, Ryan.”

He might’ve agreed, but my phone rang before he had a chance. I had to answer it – I was on my father’s time, not mine. The measuring got put on hold while I undertook a complicated conversation with a client, doing my best to pretend that the contract in question was on a desk in front of me.

The next call came just a minute later. As soon as I saw Dad’s number on the screen I hit the end button. It happened three times before Ryan questioned it.

“It’s Dad,” I explained. “He’s hunting me down. He has no idea where I am.”

Ryan had always considered my decision to take a job at our father’s firm to be idiotic. He also knew that as far as told-you-so moments go, that one was off limits.

I read the measurement on the tape as he pulled it taut, then wrote it down. “How does Charli feel about you working for him?” asked Ryan.

“She knows he’s a hard taskmaster,” I replied. “She understands.”

That was only half true. She knew better than anyone that he was hard to please, but she wasn’t the least bit understanding when it came to my decision to keep working for him.

“She knows you’re unhappy there, Adam.”

I told him to drop the tape and began reeling it in. “Has she said something?”

Deep down, I already knew the answer. Ryan and Charli had a strange rapport built on sarcastic digs and snarky insults, but it worked. Charli often confided in him, and although he’d never admit it, she was sometimes his sounding board too.

His answer was vague but telling. “Once or twice.” We met in the middle of the room. “You should look for something else,” he added.

“It wouldn’t matter what firm I worked at, Ryan. I hate the job. I hate everything about it,” I muttered. “I might as well stay where I am.” It was easy to admit my professional discontentment to Ryan. Perhaps it was because he understood what I was up against.

His suggestion that I quit and take on the project manager role at the club fell on deaf ears, despite the fact that it was his best sell. “You could quit your job, work the hours you want to, see more of Bridget and Charli –”

I cut him off. “Don’t bring my girls into this.”

“Just think about it, okay?”

“I don’t want to commit to anything new.” The excuse that followed was more wishful thinking than anything. I blamed it on the fact that Charli’s contract at the gallery was up for renewal, and I wasn’t sure if we’d be staying in New York.

The truth was, Charli had only mentioned going home in passing. My desire to escape my city was growing undeniably stronger, but if she made the call to stick it out for another year, I’d support her.

Falling head first over Charlotte happened hard, fast and without any permission. It was too much to deal with at twenty-two, and I hadn’t played fair because of it. Giving her the time she needed to build her career in New York went a little way toward making it up to her, and even on my worst day it felt good.

I was now the man who could tell his wife that he’d go anywhere with her, do anything for her, and mean every single word of it.

Most of the wicked deeds I carried out were planned, but occasionally I’d do something shady without realising it. Calling Adam at work with the promise of amazing news, and then making him stew all day before finding out what it was wasn’t kind.

It hadn’t occurred to me that he’d jump to baby-related conclusions, which made for an awkward conversation when he got home, mainly because my exciting news wasn’t actually that exciting.

“Nothing to do with a baby,” I said sheepishly. “I solved your man-tights problem.”

He jingled his keys in his hand. “That’s it?”

“Yeah. I thought you’d be pleased.”

After a long moment of more jingling, Adam dropped his keys on the counter. “If by solved, you mean called Mom and told her we’re not going, I’m very pleased.”

I hadn’t even come close to talking him around. “I won’t force you,” I said bleakly. “I’ll call and cancel. We’ll just make a donation or something.”

He grabbed my arm and hauled me in close. “No, don’t,” he said quietly. “I know you’re looking forward to it. You don’t need to cancel.”

I yanked the end of his tie, pulling him down to my level. “I offered to cancel your place, Boy Wonder, not mine,” I teased. “I’m not giving up the opportunity to wear that dress.”

I felt his laugh on my lips. “I’ll go, Charli,” he yielded, “depending on how you solved the man-tights problem.”

I leaned back, wiggling my eyebrows at him. “Do you want to see?”

“What else would I want to see at ten o’clock on a Thursday night?”

The distance from the kitchen to the living room is ridiculously short, and if you’re in a rush, you can get there in less than ten steps.

I grabbed the shopping bag off the couch and waved it at him. “You know what your dad always says to me?”

The corner of his mouth lifted and he puffed out his chest. “Stop talking nonsense, Charlotte.” His French accent was faultless. “Stay home, raise my granddaughter and be a good wife to my son.”

“Yes.” I could barely speak for laughing. “He says all those things, but he also says that over-thinking ruins your mind.”

He frowned, but his smile remained strong. “He does?”

“Yeah. The costume your mum bought is dead on for the period, absolutely perfect, but I think she over-thought it.”

Adam screwed up his face, probably picturing the tight-fitting velvet waistcoat and white breeches in his mind. “It’s ridiculous and I’m not wearing it.”

“I know. That’s why I did a bit of research.”

“And what did you come up with?”

I took a pair of beige linen trousers out of the bag. “If you jump forward to 1820, Cossack trousers were all the rage,” I explained. “They’re long and manly,” I added in a rumbly voice that made him laugh.

I held them out to him. “Ivy made them for you.”

His verdict wasn’t exactly heart-warming, “I’m still going to look like a dick, Charlotte.”

I dropped the trousers, took the few steps necessary to reach him and slung my arms around his neck. “But you’ll be the only dick in long pants, monsieur.”

Adam kissed me. “I’ll wear them for you,” he said. “Then we’ll burn them.”

I hid the pants at the top of my closet, fearful he’d burn them before the ball. I dragged them out on Saturday night and refused to leave the bedroom until he was dressed.

I quickly decided that Adam Luc Décarie would’ve made a fabulous French nobleman back in the day – one who was constantly surly and antisocial.

“I feel stupid.”

I turned him around. The tails of his coat ended at the back his knees. I had no idea what sort of insecurities men dealt with while wearing fitted pants, but from a woman’s perspective the tails hid all.

“You look lovely, Daddy,” came a little voice from the doorway.

His shoulders drooped. “Lovely” is not a good word when describing a man in period costume. “Thanks, baby,” he muttered.

I turned to Bridget. “Daddy looks rugged and handsome, don’t you think?”

She took a flying leap onto our bed. Her reply came mid-bounce. “Very drugged and handsome.”

At least his discomfort wasn’t physical. The sexy, lacy black corset was the unsexiest thing I’d ever worn in my life. Even the process of putting it on was a little off-putting. Both of us were clueless, but thanks to a five minute YouTube tutorial on his phone, Adam worked it out.

“Can you still breathe?” he sounded worried. “I might’ve done it wrong.”

I stumbled back as he tugged on the laces. “I don’t need to breathe,” I wheezed. “I just need to look pretty.”

Making sure the little girl trampolining on the bed didn’t hear, he whispered in my ear, “You look prettier without it. I hope it’s easier to get off.”

My giggle was quiet, but Bridget didn’t miss a trick. “Don’t laugh at Dad’s dumb baby pants,” she scolded.

Adam threw his arms up. “That’s it,” he announced. “I’m not going.”

Leaving the house looking like an eighteenth century moron was not one of my finer moments, but I did it. On the plus side, the woman on my arm was the belle of the ball.

Charli looked tiny but huge all at the same time. The skirt on her dress had about a hundred layers to it, and I checked three times to make sure Bridget hadn’t smuggled her way in underneath it. I knew it wasn’t a likely scenario. She was holed up at Ryan’s watching her mermaid movie, which would’ve been my dream night out at that point.

The ball was at the Parker Royale Hotel. The family of my former best friend owned it, and the foyer we stood in was the exact spot that our friendship had ended with a few punches to his face five years earlier.

I hadn’t thought about Parker in a long time. The last I heard, he was practising in a big firm somewhere on the west coast. I hoped he was doing well. I wasn’t interested in knowing him again, but the urge to punch his lights out was long gone.

“I remember this place,” Charli said from the corner of her mouth.

“Fondly?” I teased.

She flashed her most wicked grin. “Not particularly.”

I couldn’t help glancing around as we made our way across the foyer, and the highly inappropriate smirk on my face was impossible to kill. There were at least twenty miserable looking men wearing emasculating knee-high breeches. As far as beige linen trousers went, mine were rocking.

“You’re beautiful, Charlotte,” I murmured. “And ten times smarter than any woman in this room who forced her man to wear tights.”

She hooked her arm through mine. “You’re mighty cocky, considering you’re the odd man out,” she teased. “If we were really back in the eighteenth century, they’d be mercilessly mocking you right now.”