Beauty Bites (23 page)

With all my heart, I wished Ric were with me. Not so he could help me as I floundered against Camille and Chicken Little.

But so that he could hold me in his arms when, in a vote of three to one, Holiday Buzz decided to take Camille as client.

Chapter Sixteen

I don’t remember leaving. My mind was blank as I emerged into July’s bright sunshine. I blinked rapidly. How odd. All that sun, when it felt so cold and rainy.

I’d tried my best, but my well-reasoned arguments had failed. The side of right had failed.

No. Truth, Synnove.
I’d
failed.

My breath hitched, watery. I’d worked for years making life fair for people less fortunate than me. In fact, I’d spent so long at it that I did it automatically. And yes, sometimes I handicapped myself in order to level the playing field.

But Camille and Charles weren’t less fortunate. Well, maybe Chicken Little was. Though I’d been warned they’d cheat, I’d held myself above all that and played fair.

Fairness didn’t stop Camille and Charles from steamrolling over me.

I fumbled my reality picture out of my purse. Stared at it. Me with scrawny limbs, hair like straw. I hadn’t known a thing then, smiling like an idiot, my teeth too big for my face. Crooked too. That was before braces.

I’d been an ugly girl—but I hadn’t felt ugly. I was beautiful now, but I didn’t feel beautiful.

I felt stupid.

Charles and Camille had hit me where I was most vulnerable. I’d never been so humiliated in my life, not when I’d found the semen in my unknown, not when I was a gawkward preteen ridiculed by the pompom squad at tryouts thanks to a stupid cartwheel. On another note, before you put on your tighty whities, always check them for holes.

If only I’d listened to Rosie, to Twyla, to Ric…

No. I’d played the game my way and I’d lost. No more self-pity. I jammed the picture back in my purse and stomped off, searching for my car. Where was that damned car? I circled the whole block before I remembered I’d left it in the underground parking.

I stomped back into the lobby and hit the garage elevator down button like it was Little’s wattled face. They’d ridiculed and rejected me, so what? The game was rigged, I’d known that from my ugly duckling childhood and learned how to live with it. In the parking structure, my heels rang on the clean concrete surface. My childhood drove me to play fair, to make the game fairer for others.

Playing fair had lost me the account.

My stride faltered. Twyla had counted on me, Meiers Corners had counted on me—
Ric
had counted on me.

I stood outside my car, wiping annoyingly wet eyes. Damn it, I hated this emotional roller coaster. No more playing fair. From now on I was playing to
win
.

I would be the Beast.

I tried to build some rage as I unlocked my car, got in, started the engine and drove away, but only squeezed out a tear. It trickled down my cheek.

I made an annoyingly poor Beast.

I drove and drove. I nearly missed the turnoff for the cabin. Instinctively I headed south. Not to go home. To find Ric and apologize for not listening to him.

To hear his deep voice soothe me, feel his arms around me.

Last minute I managed to steer off the freeway, jerking the wheel and bumping over rumble strip and grass. Horns snarled at me from behind. I snarled back.

Yeah. That was better Beasting.

I didn’t need Ric. Reality was, we’d only known each other a few days. We had no past, no future. Nothing real tied us together—except my stupid heart, which seemed to be having trouble beating as I tried to head north.

I slammed to a stop at the bottom of the exit ramp. What the hell did I want Ric for? What did he have going for him aside from being exciting and handsome and protective and smart?

Fuck.

Even if there was a Prince under
his
Beast, what made me think a few days qualified him as my Happily-Ever-After? He’d given me the best orgasm of my life then as good as said we’d never be together.

My inner beastie died. I snatched a paper napkin out of the glove box and wiped my eyes. The paper smeared with wet mascara.

I buzzed down the window to get fresh air. Ric Holiday was an ad man—and a vampire. Not quite real in either respect. A vacation romance; an exciting story I’d tell my grandchildren.

Ric was a fairy tale.

Pain hit me so hard I doubled over the steering wheel. I breathed through it. Thank you, obstetrics rotation.

I reached for my purse and pulled my crumpled picture out. Staring at it, I faced facts. I’d been badly hurt by The Incident, so badly I was thrown from my path. I’d lost my way.

No wonder I thought I’d found the answer in Ric. I would have grabbed anything, anybody.

No more fairy tales.

I fed gas and headed for the cabin. The wind slapped my face through the open window, but I needed it. Kicking a drug addiction can result in shakes to seizures, anxiety to rage. Kicking the Holiday fantasy made me a little insane.

As I crunched up the gravel drive to the cabin, the first thing I saw was the one-lane bridge, blocked by the troll, another big guy shaved bald and a third carpeted in wall-to-wall hair.

Sure, that bedpan had spilled long ago, and they weren’t intentionally blocking the bridge, just smoking and tossing their butts in the crick. But as I said, slightly crazy. My gaze narrowed dangerously, my fingers tightened on the wheel. “Get out of my way.”

Two guys scowled but stumped off the bridge.

The troll gave me the finger.

My beastie came roaring out from her cave. Yeah, the Beast was bad but he also protected Beauty and didn’t take any shit.

I narrowed my eyes and gunned it.

A hybrid doesn’t make that much noise. But the troll must have seen the
I’ve fucking had it up to my fucking eyeteeth
on my face because he jumped aside with satisfying haste, teetering on the edge of the bridge before falling into the crick.

I should have been appalled. Definitely that was not playing fair. But I’d won against a rude troll. Not fair, maybe, but
right
.

Yeah.

Twyla opened the cabin door as I cut the engine. “You’re back early.” She paused, frowning. “It’s not good news, is it?”

“No.” I slammed out of the car and stalked toward the cabin. “Inside. Merlot, stat.”

“Ooo-kay.” She walked open the screen door and held it. “After you.”

“You’re so reasonable. I forgot how annoying that is.” But as I sank into a living room chair, my tension drained. With Twyla, I was safe. With Twyla, I didn’t need my Beast.

She lifted down a bottle from the cabinets. “Good thing Elena’s pregnant, or we’d be running low.”

I frowned at her. “I just realized something. Elena’s pregnant.”

“You missed that? Hon, you’d better get your eyes checked.” She uncorked the bottle. “If you’re asking if Elena’s baby is also Bo’s, the answer is yes. If you’re asking out of general doctorly curiosity, only the males seem to be fertile, and then only with their mates.”

“That’s odd.”

“Yeah.” She brought bottle and glasses to me. “They don’t eat, either.”

“Then how do they get their energy… Hey.” I realized she’d distracted me from the horror of that meeting. Not long, but enough that I felt slightly better. “You’re sneaky.”

“Yup.” She gave me a quick sparkle of teeth as she poured.

“I like that about you, Tafel.” I took my glass and drank off half in one long swallow. “As long as you’ve brought up v-guys…you’re all so happy with yours. But Ric…he’s like trying to catch smoke.”

She snorted as she sat. “
All
v-guys are smoke and secrets. They have to be to survive in a world that fears them—and also outnumbers them a bazillion to one. Especially when the more numerous side has armies, and ordnance.” She sipped her wine, silent until I’d finished my first glass. “Better?” she said.

“A bit.”

“Go change while I pour another round. Then you can tell me what happened at the pitch session.”

“Do I have to?”

“No. But you’ll feel better.”

In my room I peeled down to Twyla’s silky ivory bra and bikini thong with the cute bow, then tossed on tank top, shorts and flip-flops. It was amazing how much lighter I felt just getting out of the business armor.

As I swung into the living room, Twyla handed me a full glass. Okay, I could do this. I sank into a chair next to hers, curled my feet under me and gave her the blow-by-blow reenactment, which took us through half the bottle.

Though her face was smooth, I saw my own disappointment mirrored there. The fate of Meiers Corners had rested on this ad campaign. I’d let us all down.

Sure enough, when I was done, she wordlessly gathered our wine glasses, rinsed them out, got down an amber bottle of Irish cream and poured the thick liquid until both glasses were almost full. Irish cream is my favorite. No secret would be safe after a glass or three of that.

“So.” She handed me a glass and sat. “Where was Ric in all this? I thought he was helping you.”

I blinked at her. And here I’d thought her long face was because she was disappointed in me. She’d hit bang on the one topic I was trying to avoid.

Pretending she hadn’t scored a direct hit, I took a nonchalant first swallow of Irish cream. Spoiled it by gasping when the alcohol hit my palate like I’d inhaled a match strike. Yeah, good stuff. I coughed, swallowed several times and ignored her smirk. When I got my voice back I said, “Ric? Oh, he had to go out of town last night, that’s all.”

“Oh?” She stared, her eyes like brown needles poking into my secrets.

I tippled more cream to gain some time. This time it slid down smoothly. The alcoholic heat unfurling in my belly and brain gave me false confidence. I began to embellish. “My meeting came up last minute. I almost didn’t find out myself. I called Ric but he couldn’t get back today, emphasis on to-daylight.”

Then something struck me, and I set down my glass with a thud. “You knew all along that Ric’s a v-guy, didn’t you? Before you even sent me, you knew.”

She sighed. “That’s why it’s so important that he take us on personally. Meiers Corners needs max exposure, but our v-guys need max privacy. Only Holiday can do both.”

“This goes beyond a cute prank. You sent me
alone
into the lair of a bloodsucker. He could have drunk me dry!”

“Don’t get your undies in a bundle.” She topped off my Irish cream. “I did my research. Holiday’s got a human household, and a reputation to protect. I knew you were safe. Believe me, if he were a killer, he’d be dead. Exsanguination raises big red flags to some pretty dangerous people.”

“Unless he used compulsion on me to make me forget. You didn’t know I was immune.”

“If he did that regularly, we’d have heard in the couple hundred years he’s been around.”

“Couple hundred…?” My eyes widened.

“Bottom line, Meiers Corners has special needs when it comes to advertising. Holiday understands those needs.” She sipped from her own glass. “Okay, Camille as client means he’s coming to our fair city. When he does, you can talk him away from her side and onto ours. I think he likes you. You can use that.”

“No, I can’t. Even though I’m beasting now, I won’t manipulate him emotionally. It’s not fair. Besides, it’s only in fairy tales that the prince risks confronting the wicked queen one-on-one.”

Fairy tales. Not fair. Fairest. Amazing I’d never noticed that before.

Yeah, liquor makes everything into Great Philosophy.

“Beasting? Fairy tales? Wicked queen?” Faint lines appeared on Twyla’s smooth brow. “What are you talking about?”

“Um…only that more is at stake than Meiers Corners getting gobbled up by generica.”

“Hon.” Twyla put down her liqueur to gather my hands in hers over the end table. “I want to see us win, but that’s not the only thing prompting me to push you at Holiday. Not anymore.”

“It isn’t?”

“When you left the hospital last week, you were so angry. So heartbreakingly sad. I never thought I’d see you smile again. Yet two hours after you met Holiday, you were bright eyed and excited. Happy in a way I hadn’t seen you since childhood. Ric Holiday is the first guy who’s had that effect on you.”

I was trying to exorcise him and she wasn’t helping. “It’s not like that.”

“What is it like, then?”

“I’m not sure this will make any sense but…” Haltingly, I told her about my fairy tale idea. “His ‘listening’ to me, his ‘respecting’ me… I want it to be real so badly I’ve convinced myself it is. But he probably doesn’t care about me any more than any guy who wants to get in my size sixes.” I squeezed her hands before releasing them. “The saddest part? I’m the one selling myself the fiction.”

She was silent, expression thoughtful. Finally she asked, “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” Mostly.

“I hope you’re right.” She smiled sadly at me. “Because it’s taken you twenty-six years to find one guy to smile over. I’d hate for you to have to wait twenty-six more to find the next.”