Call Me Irresistible (17 page)

Ted whapped her on the back. “That’s our Meg, all right.”

By the time they reached the third green, she was wilting from the heat but still happy to be outside. She forced herself to concentrate on being the perfect caddy, along with shooting Ted adoring glances every time Spence got too cozy.

“Would you stop that!” Ted said, when they were out of earshot.

“What do you care?”

“It’s unnerving, that’s all,” he complained. “Like being trapped in an alternate reality.”

“You should be used to adoring glances.”

“Not from
you.
”

It was soon evident, even to Meg, that Torie was a highly competitive athlete, but on the back nine, she suddenly began missing putts. Ted never lost his easy charm, not until he was alone with Meg when he confirmed her suspicions that Torie was doing it deliberately. “That was barely a three-foot putt,” he groused, “and Torie lips the cup. Spence could be around for weeks. Anybody who thinks I’m going to let him win every match is crazy.”

“Which is obviously why Torie missed that putt.” At least someone other than herself understood Spence’s ego. She glanced around for the most recent head cover she seemed to have misplaced. “Concentrate on the big picture, Mr. Mayor. If you’re determined to destroy the local environment with this project, you need to be more like Torie and work harder to make Spence happy.”

He ignored her jab. “Look who’s talking about making Spence happy. It wouldn’t hurt you to be nicer to him. I swear I’m going to stage a public fight with you so he knows exactly how unrequited your passion for me is.”

He put a long wedge shot on the green, tossed the club at her, and stalked off.

Thanks to Torie, Spence and Kenny pulled off a one-hole victory. Afterward, Meg headed for the ladies’ locker room, which, technically, employees weren’t supposed to use, but since it was equipped with a vast array of personal-care products sadly missing from her own collection, she used it anyway. As she splashed her heat-flushed face with cold water, Torie joined her at the sink. Unlike Meg, the heat didn’t seem to have affected Torie, who merely pulled off her visor to refasten her ponytail, then looked around to make sure the locker room was empty. “So what’s really between you and Ted?”

“What do you mean? Haven’t you heard the rumors about how I drove Lucy away so I could have him for myself?”

“I’m a lot brighter than I look. And you’re not a woman who’d fall for a guy who basically hates your guts.”

“I don’t think he hates me as much as he did. Now it’s more your run-of-the-mill loathing.”

“Interesting.” Torie shook out her long hair, then gathered it together again.

Meg grabbed a washcloth from the pile by the sink and ran it under the cold water. “You don’t seem to hate me, either. Why is that? Everybody else in town does.”

“I have my reasons.” She snapped the elastic back into place. “Which isn’t to say I wouldn’t scratch your eyes out if I really believed you were a threat to Ted.”

“I broke up his marriage, remember?”

Torie gave a noncommittal shrug.

Meg studied her, but Torie wasn’t giving anything more away. Meg rubbed the cold washcloth over the back of her neck. “Since we’re having this heart-to-heart, I’m curious how your husband would feel if he knew you were practically naked in a hotel room with Ted?”

“Oh, Dex didn’t mind the naked part—I’d just come out of the shower—but he wasn’t happy about Ted kissing me like that, even after I pointed out that I was an innocent bystander.” She disappeared into the nearest stall, still talking. “Dex got all huffy and informed Ted that he drew the line at kissing. I told Dex I wished he’d draw it someplace else because, even though I doubted that kiss was Ted’s best effort, it was still kind of fun. Then Dex said he’d show me all the fun I could handle, which, if you knew my husband, would make you laugh, but Dex was feeling crabby because, a couple of weeks ago, I’d tricked him into staying with the girls while I went with Ted to test the new GPS he made for his truck. Dex wanted to do the test run himself.”

That must have been the night Meg had seen them together. She was getting more than a little curious about Dexter O’Connor. “So your husband knew you were alone in a room at the inn with Ted?” She grabbed the sunblock. “You must have a very understanding husband.”

The toilet flushed. “What do you mean alone? Dex was in the shower. It was our room. Ted just stopped by.”

“Your room? I thought you lived in Wynette.”

Torie came out of the stall and regarded her with faint pity. “We have kids, Meg.
K-i-d-s.
Two fabulous little girls I love with all my heart, but they definitely take after me, which means Dex and I try to get away, just the two of us, every couple of months.” She washed her hands. “Sometimes we manage a long weekend in Dallas or New Orleans. Usually, though, it’s a night at the inn.”

Meg had more questions, but she needed to put away Ted’s clubs and collect her tip money.

She found him by the pro shop, talking to Kenny. He reached into his pocket as she approached. She held her breath. True, she’d lost his last two head covers, but she hadn’t cost him a single hole, and if that cheapskate . . .

“Here you go, Meg.”

The full one hundred dollars. “Wow,” she whispered. “I thought I needed to buy a bedroom dresser before I could make this kind of money.”

“Don’t get used to it,” he said. “Your days caddying for me are over.”

Just then, Spence emerged from the pro shop along with a young woman dressed for business in a sleeveless black shift, pearls, and a dark green Birkin bag. She was tall and full figured, although not even close to fat. She had strong features—a long face with well-defined, dark eyebrows, an important nose, and a full, sensuous mouth. Subtle highlights brightened the dark brown hair that curved in long, straight layers around her face. Although she looked to be in her late twenties, she carried herself with the confidence of an older woman combined with the sexy assurance of a younger one used to getting her own way.

Skipjack slipped his arm around her. “Ted, you’ve already met Sunny, but I don’t think the rest of you know my beautiful daughter.”

Sunny shook hands briskly, repeating each name and locking it in her memory, starting with Kenny, then Torie—assessing Meg—and pausing when she reached Ted. “It’s great to see you again, Ted.” She studied him as if he were a prized piece of horseflesh, which offended Meg.

“You, too, Sunny.”

Spence squeezed her arm. “Torie here invited us both to a little Fourth of July shindig. A good chance to meet more of the locals and get the lay of the land.”

Sunny smiled at Ted. “Sounds great.”

“Do you want us to pick you up, Meg?” Spence asked. “Torie invited you, too. Sunny and I’ll be happy to stop on our way.”

Meg pulled a long face. “Sorry, I have to work.”

Ted thumped her on the back. Extra hard. “I wish all the club’s employees were so dedicated.” He slipped his thumb under her shoulder blade, finding what just might be one of those lethal pressure points only assassins knew about. “Fortunately, Shelby’s party doesn’t start until late afternoon. You can come over as soon as you get off work.”

She managed a weak smile, then decided that a free meal, her curiosity about Sunny Skipjack, and the opportunity to irritate Ted outweighed spending another night alone. “All right. But I’ll drive myself.”

Sunny, in the meantime, was having a hard time tearing her eyes away from Ted. “You’re quite the public servant.”

“I do my best.”

Her teeth were large and perfect as she smiled. “I suppose the least I can do is put in my own bid.”

Ted cocked his head. “Beg pardon?”

“The auction,” she said. “I’ll definitely put in a bid.”

“You’ve got me at a disadvantage, Sunny.”

She snapped open her Birkin and extracted a bright red flyer. “I found this under the windshield of my rental car after I stopped in town.”

Ted glanced down at the flyer. It might have been Meg’s imagination, but she thought he flinched.

Kenny, Torie, and Spence moved closer to read over his shoulder. Spence shot Meg a speculative look. Kenny shook his head. “This is Shelby’s big idea. I heard her talking about it to Lady E., but I never thought it would get this far.”

Torie let out a hoot. “I’m definitely bidding. I don’t care what Dex says.”

Kenny arched a dark brow. “Lady E. sure isn’t bidding.”

“That’s what you think,” his sister retorted. She extended the flyer toward Meg. “Take a look at this. Too bad you’re poor.”

The flyer was simply printed in bold black letters:

WIN A WEEKEND WITH TED BEAUDINE

Join Wynette’s favorite bachelor
for a romantic weekend in San Francisco.

Sightseeing, fine dining,
romantic nighttime boat cruise,
and more. Much more . . .

Ladies, place your bids.
($100.00 minimum)

Married! Single! Old! Young!
Everyone welcome.
The weekend can be as friendly (or intimate) as you like.

www.weekendwithted.com

All proceeds benefit the
Wynette Public Library
rebuilding effort.

Ted snatched the flyer from her, studied it, then crumpled it in his fist. “Of all the stupid, asinine . . . !”

Meg tapped him on the shoulder and whispered, “I’d buy a dresser, if I were you.”

Torie threw back her head and laughed. “I
love
this town!”

O
n her way home from work that evening, Meg passed the town’s resale shop. She loved good vintage stores and decided to stop. Another of the red flyers hung in the window advertising the Win a Weekend with Ted Beaudine contest. She opened the heavy, old-fashioned wooden door. The sunny yellow interior smelled faintly musty, the way most resale shops did, but the merchandise was well organized, with antique tables and chests serving both as display areas and section dividers. Meg recognized the clerk as Birdie’s friend Kayla, the blonde who’d been behind the front desk at the inn the day of Meg’s humiliation.

Kayla’s sleeveless pink and gray camouflage-print dress definitely wasn’t resale. She wore it with stilettos and a set of tasseled black enamel bangles. Even though it was nearly closing time, her makeup was still flawless—eyeliner, contoured cheekbones, glossy mocha mouth, the personification of a Texas beauty queen. She didn’t pretend not to know who Meg was, and like everybody else in this stupid town, she had no regard for tact. “I hear Spencer Skipjack’s got a thing for you,” she said as she stepped away from the jewelry rack.

“I don’t have a thing for him.” A quick glance at the merchandise revealed boring preppy sportswear, pastel church suits, and grandma sweatshirts decorated with Halloween pumpkins and cartoon characters—all of it hard to reconcile with this stylish creature.

“That doesn’t mean you can’t be nice to him,” Kayla said.

“I am nice to him.”

Kayla planted a hand on her hip. “Do you have any idea how many jobs that golf resort will give people in this town? Or the new businesses that will spring up?”

Useless to mention the ecosystems it would also destroy. “Quite a few, I imagine.”

Kayla retrieved a belt that had fallen off a rack. “I know people around here haven’t exactly put out the welcome mat for you, but I’m sure everybody would appreciate it if you didn’t use that as an excuse to screw us over with Spencer Skipjack. Some things are more important than holding on to petty grudges.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Just as Meg turned to leave, a display caught her eye—a gray menswear shirt with a matching bandeau top and short shorts with a paper-bag waist. The pieces were edgy updates of 1950s summer fashion, and she walked over to examine them more closely. When she found the label, she couldn’t believe what she saw. “This is Zac Posen.”

“I know.”

She blinked at the price tag. Forty dollars? For a three-piece Zac Posen? She didn’t have forty dollars to spare at the moment, not even with Ted’s tip, but still, an incredible bargain. Hanging nearby was an avant-garde dress with a beautifully constructed green and melon corset top, at least two thousand dollars new, but now priced at one hundred. The label bore her uncle’s name, Michel Savagar. She examined the other clothes on the rack and found a silky chartreuse tank dress printed with the elongated head of a Modigliani female, a startling origami jacket with steel gray pencil pants, and a black-and-white Miu Miu miniskirt. She pulled a girly fuchsia cardigan with crocheted roses off the rack, imagining it with a T-shirt, jeans, and Chuck Taylors.

“Nice pieces, aren’t they?” Kayla said.

“Very nice.” Meg put the sweater back and fingered a Narciso Rodriguez jacket.

Kayla regarded her almost slyly. “Most women don’t have the body to wear these clothes. You have to be really tall and thin.”

Thank you, Mom!
Meg did a quick mental calculation, and ten minutes later, she walked out of the store with the Miu Miu mini and the Modigliani tank dress.