Tycoon Takedown (8 page)

And I would.

Except for two things.

It’s my hotel room.

And I love it when he talks that way.

When she didn’t respond, he nuzzled her ear. “We don’t have to go if yo
u’d
rather stay here.”

Hadn’t caring what others thought of her cost her enough? She wondered what her relationship with her parents would have been if sh
e’d
celebrated Jace’s birth instead of hiding it away. Her old friends had said they supported her, but she hadn’t allowed herself to believe they could. Sh
e’d
judged herself and she saw now that her friendships had crumbled beneath the weight of her insecurities.

Who cares if his friends accept me or don’t. I have to do this. I have to stop hiding.
“I really don’t have a dress.”

“I’ll have one delivered.”

Melanie pulled back. “No. I’ll have time to find something. You don’t know my taste.”

He ran his hand down her back, settling on her bare ass. “But I know mine. Tomorrow you dress for my pleasure.”

“That is so wrong.” Melanie shivered as he lowered his head and kissed the curve of her shoulder. “And so hot.”

In all her life, sh
e’d
never felt more beautiful or wanted.

Having an end date to this may be a good thing.

I could get lost in this feeling.

That afternoon Charles leaned back in the chair at his desk and stared up at the ceiling of his office.
Four nights will never be enough.

Not with Melanie.

Just the thought of her had his cock swelling with anticipation. And h
e’d
only been away from her a couple of hours. He closed his eyes and tortured himself with how sh
e’d
looked beside him in the shower that morning. He groaned aloud as he remembered how deeply sh
e’d
taken him into her mouth and then the pleasure of releasing his load on those amazing tits of hers.

Sex should have taken the edge off his need for her, but it had done the opposite. He wanted her more now than before. Although h
e’d
managed to talk his way through a couple of conference calls so far that day, his thoughts kept returning to Melanie.

He walked over to the window and unhappily stared at the skyline.

There was a knock on the door behind him. He turned, realized his state of arousal, and returned to sit behind his desk before answering, “Enter.”

June came in with her tablet. “I contacted Irene McKinney and she’s assembling a team.”

Charles rubbed his forehead with one hand. “Who?”

“The personal stylist I told you I knew? She’s on her way over to the Best Western to meet with your friend.”

“Good.” Melanie hadn’t looked sure of herself last night when h
e’d
invited her to come out with him. He didn’t like to see her that way. He loved the cocky smile sh
e’d
had on her face after hog-tying the purse snatcher. That’s how he always wanted her to look—confident and thoroughly pleased with herself. “What do you mean
team
?”

The woman’s eyes widened apprehensively. “Her dress is being delivered within an hour, but you said sh
e’d
probably like her hair done. I asked Irene if she does packages and she said she does everything.”

Charles frowned again. “What’s everything?”

June chewed her lip. “I should have asked. I’m not used to doing anything personal for you, sir. I didn’t know if you wanted me to know. I agreed to the whole package. I can call her back and tell her no if it’s not what you want.”

“No, it’ll be fine,” Charles said dismissively. “Thank you, June.”

After his secretary left, Charles smiled wryly and shook his head.

The whole package?

I wonder what Melanie will think of that.

Chapter Eight

“
What are you, a sadist? No.” Clutching a thick terrycloth bathrobe around her, Melanie did something completely uncharacteristic of her—she retreated a step. One of the large curlers bounced against her temple as she did. “Absolutely not.”

“Let me just see it,” the petite woman in a white cosmetologist’s coat who had introduced herself as Irene said as she advanced.

Melanie clutched the robe tighter. “It’s time for you to leave.”

Shaking her head, the petite woman said, “My reputation depends on the quality of the work. Aren’t you happy with your eyebrows?”

Melanie instinctively raised a hand to one perfectly shaped arch. “Yes.”

“Then trust me.”

“I am not showing my hoochie-coochie to everyone.”

Irene looked around impatiently and clapped. “Go. Everyone take a thirty-minute lunch break. But do not come back without my grande, quad, nonfat, one-pump, no-whip mocha.” She turned to Melanie. “Do you want anything?”

Feeling like she was caught in a strange dream she couldn’t wake herself from, Melanie merely shook her head. The three women Irene had brought with her had spent the past two hours adding highlights and trimming her long hair, adding gel to her nails, and applying all sorts of lotions to Melanie for reasons sh
e’d
lost track of.

The same woman who had done her nails had also waxed her legs and eyebrows, and had suggested something called a Brazilian.

“Never heard of it,” Melanie had said.

When the woman explained what it was, Melanie had sprung from the chair and drawn the line. Yes to the dress. The hair had needed a trim and the highlights were beautiful. But Melanie was not budging on this final point.

What kind of stylist doesn’t take no for an answer?

One that Charles hired, apparently.

Irene folded her hands over her chest and said, “We’re alone now. Drop the granny panties.”

A red flush of outrage went up Melanie’s neck and face. “Excuse me?”

Running her eyes over Melanie critically, Irene said, “You’re a beautiful woman, but those are a dime a dozen in the city, honey. You want to keep a man like Charles Dery, you have to step up your game. Now drop them.”

Maybe it was the authority with which the woman spoke, but Melanie opened her bathrobe and stepped out of her underwear. It was a little like being at a doctor’s office, but a whole lot more embarrassing. “Happy?” Melanie snarled.

“Oh, Lord. Did you trim that in the dark? You do need my help.”

Melanie whipped the robe closed. “You are the rudest, most insulting woman I’ve ever met.”

“It’s called honesty and I get paid for it,” the woman said confidently. “If you’re a complete wimp, choose a partial wax, but
I’d
go for the full if I were you. Men love it.”

“They do?” Melanie asked, suddenly uncertain.

Both of Irene’s eyebrows rose. “He sent me, didn’t he?”

Not giving Melanie time to change her mind, Irene took her by the arm and led her toward a table they had set up in one corner of the room. Melanie stood beside it, her eyes wide. “So women do this all the time, right? It can’t hurt that much, then. It’s like having my eyebrows done, right?”

“Sure,” Irene said and instructed her to lie back on the table.

An hour later, alone again, Melanie stood in the bathroom of her hotel room. Draped in a floor-length, form-hugging black dress, she eyed her reflection in the full-length mirror. From the sophisticated updo to her freshly manicured toenails, the woman who stared back at her was a complete stranger. Her brown eyes stood out, expertly accentuated. The red lipstick made her lips look fuller, pouty. Any imperfection in her complexion had been artfully concealed.

She winced as she remembered how intimate some of the makeover was. The soothing lotion had taken away the sting, but Melanie still winced whenever she remembered the pain—as well as the names sh
e’d
called Irene from the first strip to the last. Irene hadn’t so much as blinked, so Melanie figured she wasn’t the only one to express her feelings about having a Brazilian vocally.

They don’t make fairy godmothers like they used to. Whatever happened to the painless wave of a wand? Or did they simply leave these details out? Did Cinderella get a Brazilian? No one ever talks about what was going on under that dress.

Melanie turned and studied the low-cut back of the dress, admitting to herself that the tiny black thong fit beneath it better than her white, flowered cotton panties would have. She felt like a gift that had been carefully wrapped with one purpose in mind: pleasing the man who had paid for the makeover.

That thought sent a shot of excitement through her stomach.
He told me that today was about dressing to please him. Is that what tonight will be about, too?

Teetering on strappy shoes with ridiculously high heels, Melanie walked out of the bathroom and over to a small pile of papers near the TV. She picked up the one with the phone number of Todd’s parents and closed it in one fist.

She should have called them that morning and already gotten her answers. Instead sh
e’d
been distracted by her unexpected makeover.
Is Charles the ultimate act of procrastination?

She reached for her cell phone and dialed Sarah’s number.

“Melanie, are you wearing makeup?”

“Yes.”

“Hold the phone back from you. I need to see what you’re wearing.”

Melanie smiled self-consciously and did as she was asked. “It’s just a black dress.”

“Just a dress? Have you looked in the mirror? You could be a model. I always knew you were pretty, but oh my God, you’re gorgeous.”

Although Sarah’s words warmed Melanie, sh
e’d
never been comfortable accepting a compliment. “Is Jace there?”

Sarah put the phone close to her face again and said confidentially. “Oh no. You’re not getting off that easily. Where are you going? Did you find Todd?”

Melanie looked guiltily down at the paper in her other hand and threw it onto the counter. “No. His parents aren’t here. They’re in Greece.” Then she looked down at her dress again. “I should have flown back when I found out. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You never take a vacation. You need this.”

“Maybe.” She took a deep breath. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

With an encouraging tone, Sarah said, “It looks like you’re going on a date.”

Melanie shrugged, still not looking at the phone. “Charles asked me to attend a charity event with him.”

Sarah made a happy whoop. “He is so into you. Wait until he sees you in that dress.”

As if sensing Melanie was holding back, Sarah quieted and asked, “What’s the matter?”

“I know you think Charles and I would be good together, but we have nothing in common. That is even more painfully clear now that I’m here with him.”

“What did he do?” Melanie asked with a sigh.

Melanie met her eyes and lied. “Nothing.”

“You don’t have to lie to me. I love both of you. My brother can be a royal, bossy pain in the ass. I know that. But beneath that, he has a good heart. And he needs someone like you to help him remember that.”

“Someone like me?”

“You didn’t judge me when I told you about Phil. And you didn’t tell me the guilt I felt was wrong. You accepted me the way I was and Charles needs that. He needs someone he can be himself around.”

Melanie shook her head. “Your brother doesn’t care what others think of him.”

Sarah smiled sadly. “There is something I didn’t tell you about the day my brother drowned. Charles was there. He was supposed to be watching Phil. Charles was twelve. I was eight. We were playing by the lake the way we always did. He wanted to ask my parents something, so he asked me to watch Phil.”

“Oh my God.”

“It was only a few minutes. Phil was playing beside me and I was daydreaming about something. It happened so fast. I would give anything to be able to go back and not have let Charles down that day. He blames himself.”

“It was clearly an accident.”

“He calls it that. And he’s never blamed me. Ever. Not even that day. He just pulled away from us.”

Melanie understood that reaction all too well. “I’m so sorry.”

“I didn’t tell you about how it affected Charles because I felt it wasn’t my story to tell, but it’s still holding him captive. He won’t let anyone close to him anymore. It’s like he’s worried he’ll let us down again. He sends my parents money, but he rarely visits them. I’ve only started talking to him again because I’ve made it my mission to. I’m sure the fact that you have Jace terrifies him. He has avoided children since Phil’s death.”

“I had no idea.” So much of what Sarah was saying made sense. It explained why Charles looked unhappy about his own declaration that they couldn’t have anything beyond that week.

Her heart broke for him.

Part of her regretted speaking to Sarah about Charles. The more she learned about him, the more she cared about him. And that wasn’t a good idea.

Regardless of the reason, Charles wasn’t looking for a long-term relationship. Nor was she. At least, not with a man who wouldn’t want to be around her son.

“I hear Jace in the background. Can I speak to him?”

“Sure,” Sarah said. After a hesitation, she added, “Don’t tell Charles what I said. He doesn’t like to talk about the past and I don’t want to lose him again.”

“I won’t say a word,” Melanie promised.

Jace spent the next fifteen minutes telling her all about how Tony had taken him to a local rodeo and introduced him to everyone. “He got me a rodeo buckle. A real one,” Jace gushed. “And we sat right in the front. It was awesome.”

In his enthusiasm, Jace didn’t ask why his mother was wearing makeup, but just before they hung up he did say, “I love you, Mama, and you sure look pretty today.”

Melanie would have cried happy tears, but she was afraid to mess up what had taken hours to achieve. Her son was fine. Her week away wasn’t hurting him at all.

After telling him she loved him and reminding him to be good, Melanie hung up. She caught her reflection in the mirror again.

Charles would be back soon. What Sarah had revealed about him had changed everything and nothing. Melanie’s instincts had been right. Charles was as trapped by the past as she was.

She just wasn’t sure either one of them had what it took to free the other.

Dressed in a tuxedo, Charles stepped out of his limo and onto the sidewalk in front of Melanie’s hotel. The street was full of paparazzi. He scanned the area. No celebrity he knew would stay in the hotel Melanie had chosen. He assumed they weren’t there for him. He was wealthy, but that didn’t normally make him photoworthy.

Photographers swarmed and took photos of him. Something had happened and he didn’t like that he was unprepared for it.

He looked down at his phone. Six calls from June. Two from Mason. H
e’d
turned his ringer off that morning while he was with Melanie and had forgotten to turn it back on. Instead of going to his office, h
e’d
gone online at home and read reports h
e’d
been putting off.
Shit.

“Are you here to pick up your cowgirl?” one reporter called out from back in the crowd.

“Where are you taking her?”

Some would have walked away, but Charles had never been one to back down. He walked up to one of the reporters and demanded, “Why is everyone so interested?”

The young man was clearly surprised to be asked a question directly. He pulled out his own phone and after typing something in, held it up to show a video clip of Charles and Melanie right after sh
e’d
chased her assailant down. Her face glowed with that triumphant smile he remembered, then the footage showed him dashing through the crowd and kissing her. Music started and the scene replayed and looped in a video montage. The young photographer said enthusiastically, “It went viral, man. ‘Cowgirl ropes a criminal and a billionaire.’ Unleashed, Unchained put music to it, and you got four million hits since yesterday. You’re trending on Twitter and YouTube. You didn’t know? That’s wild.”

Fuck.

Charles looked around at the flashing cameras, put on a diplomatic smile, and walked through them into the hotel foyer. He knew better than to take on the paparazzi unprepared. Like rats or cockroaches, they weren’t foes one confronted alone. Dealing with them required hiring professionals and, luckily, Charles knew the best.

As soon as he was inside the foyer, he was on the phone with his head of security. He wanted men on the street pronto and a decoy vehicle. No one would get close to Melanie.

Satisfied that the immediate issue would be dealt with effectively, Charles called Mason next to address the root of the problem. Not wasting time with a greeting, Charles demanded, “What the hell can I do about this?”

Mason laughed. “So you finally saw the news? Some would plan a whirlwind tour of all the national morning stations followed by some late-night talk shows. You could contact the person who posted because you’re likely due some of the profits, although that one doesn’t have nearly as many hits as the Unleashed, Unchained video. You should call them. Maybe you could do appearances on their next tour.”

Charles rubbed one throbbing temple. “I mean how do I make it go away?”

“Oh,” Mason said slowly, clearly not having considered that option. “Yeah, that’s probably not going to happen. People are eating it up. You’re officially more popular than that angry cat video. How does it feel to be a star?”

“This is not fucking funny. How do I get it taken down?”

“
I’d
say you can’t. It’s everywhere now.”

“What are my legal options?”

“I’m sure you can have your lawyers call their lawyers—but it’s out there already. It’s not going away. Want my personal advice?”

“Strangely, that’s why I called.”
A sure sign that things have gotten out of control is seeking advice from Mason.

“Put your own spin on this. Grab that bull by the horns. Name a charity, demand half the profits go toward it, and ride it out. A week from now, no one will remember anything but who you helped. Plus you look like an asshole in the video. Melanie wants to save the kid and you’re practically suggesting the death penalty. You could use the good PR.”