Everything But Perfect, page 3
Suddenly, there was another person trying to steal her cab. He shut the door and started giving out directions.
“East Eighty-third.”
“What the hell do you think you are doing? This is my cab!”
He smiled then corrected this assumption. “No, it’s for those who live in New York. I don’t think it has your name on it.”
“It may not have my name on it, asshole, but I was here first. Get out!”
He completely ignored her and sent his remaining demands to the man in the front seat, who was staring at them in the rearview mirror, amused.
“Look here…” she started, glaring at his face. The rest he subdued by a hint of hostility in his eyes.
Still, she resigned to having the last word. “You can’t have this cab, Mr. Lavede.”
“I can have whatever I like, sweetheart.”
“Not this cab!”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. Get your own.”
“If this one isn’t mine, then why is the driver taking me to my destination?”
She hadn’t even felt the cab moving, until he mentioned this.
“I really don’t have time for this. I’m late for an appointment. My ride is missing, for reasons unknown. And you, my dear, have pushed my last straw, pissing me off more than once,” he continued.
“I’m pissing you off?” she inquired vehemently.
“I will pay for your ride, sweetheart, if you just shut up and leave me in peace.”
“I—I…” She was too flabbergasted to continue. And yes, her freezing hauteur did little to combat the rapidly beating heart in her chest.
She clenched her fists into a ball and fell silent. Taking a quelling breath, and letting it out slowly, she did eventually dare to say, “Do you always get your way?”
When he did not answer, she added, “Fine, pay for my ride. It’ll cost you more than you bargained for.”
Finally, his eyes reached hers. “Lady, since meeting you, I’ve dealt with a lot more than I bargained for. Say what you will, but get it out of your system because I am sharing this ride, and I do believe by the wheels of the vehicle still turning, this fact has been proven in spades.”
“Well, I never…”
“That might be your problem. Perhaps you should. Most women who do aren’t as sour as a bowl of lemons.”
The cab driver found their exchange amusing, pulling to the curb with a huge smile on his face.
Mitch opened the door, stepped out, and handed the man a hundred dollar bill. He then walked into the fanciest restaurant in all of New York.
That was it? No goodbye? No ‘have a nice life’? Nothing. Just hand a man one hundred dollars and disappear?
Cheyanne smiled for the first time since leaving Africa. She shared a plane, a cab, and heated words, but the powerful Mitch. Lavede still had no clue of her identity. If or when he found this out, he would then know the woman who made his mocha eyes turn black, his blood pressure likely rise, and his ability to be of a civil tongue, was none other than an heiress to an empire.
She leaned back in her seat and started to laugh. A set of wary eyes scanned her in the rearview mirror as though she had finally lost her mind.
Mitch snubbed her and infuriated her, but he could not touch the soul of one of the richest women in America.
Chapter Four
Rosa ran out the door to greet Cheyanne, who had already climbed the marble front steps with duffel in hand.
“Little Rose…you are home!” she screamed.
It felt good to get this warm welcome, knowing ahead she would not receive the same from her parents. She was even a little apprehensive to what lie ahead.
“Come in. I have your room ready…Oh, it is so good to see you. So, so good.”
Cheyanne smiled down at the petite woman. A tinge or regret eased into her heart. She would not have left Rosa if her father hadn’t forced her to make a choice.
She stepped into the foyer, and bombarded by the familiar smells of home let out a sigh. Things had changed and yet nothing inside the Ribbons estate seemed altered.
“You look as if you are starving to death,” Rosa said. She then pinched Cheyanne’s thin arm. “Did they not feed you over there?”
“I ate. Mainly bugs and leaves,” she teased. “I was waiting for your delicious cooking to fatten me up.”
She had been too busy to eat, getting famous.
Rosa bear-hugged her again, making certain she would not disappear. “It is so good that you are home.”
A single tear spilled from Cheyanne’s eyes, quickly wiped away with the back of her hand. “Are my parents home?”
“No. They are both out, still,” she said, looking away.
Cheyanne did not want to press Rosa, at least not yet, but something was amiss, and Rosa would be the last person she would ever grill for information.
Still, Rosa was trying to avoid saying too much. It showed in her round, dark eyes, and in her avoiding conversation by rushing Cheyanne through the house.
“When did they say they would be back?”
“Soon. They’ll be back soon. Come. Let me show you to your room. You can change, and then I will fix you something to eat. I want to hear all about Africa. Your letters…they don’t tell much, and I have missed you greatly.” Rosa reached into the pocket of her smock and pulled out a hankie, wiping her eyes.
Once inside a room, Cheyanne dumped the contents of her duffel onto the bed. Thinking she would get her old room, she was a bit taken aback the whole of the upstairs was remodeled into three massive suites. She was literally shoved into a closet. Glancing at the cream carpeting and warm, cinnamon bedspread under her filthy pile of clothing, she turned and spotted a vase of roses on the stand near the bed. She almost forgot about the roses.
She opened the balcony doors and the scent wafted into the room. Her mother had the largest private rose garden in all of New York. She reached for a bloom in the vase, bringing it to her nose.
The memories rushed back in droves, as if she had been here only yesterday. She was once again reminded of the reason she left, and why it hurt so much to return. She’d been forced to drop every part of her existence because of a demanding father, and he could not give her the courtesy to be here. She barely heard the rest of Rosa’s words, incredibly mad at her sire.
****
“Goodness child! You were certainly hungry.”
Spinach salad, breast of chicken with toasted almonds and a rich cream sauce, garlic biscuits, and a variety of fresh fruits practically inhaled, Cheyanne said, “I haven’t tasted anything this good in four years.” She licked another morsel of the delicious meal from her fingers, giving Rosa a soft smile.
“Then we should have you fattened up in no time,” Rosa said, smiling back.
Suddenly, the old woman’s face clouded, as if what was on her mind was causing her great distress. To avoid an unnecessary discussion or unease, until ready to accept things as they are, Cheyanne changed the subject. A long and trying trip, she needed time to adjust to being home again.
Shrugging off a depressive state, hoping this cat and mouse game with her father would someday end, she went upstairs to take a long, hot shower. She climbed under the sheets for a quick nap, exhausted.
She never meant to sleep away her day. That the bedside clock read eight p.m. appalled her. Rosa had mentioned dinner would be served at six p.m., influential dinners guests to arrive by five. Good Lord, they’d be finished eating by now, lingering with coffee or spirits in the parlor.
She jumped out of bed, dressed in what showed the least amount of wear, and applied a thin layer of makeup. She didn’t care what her hair looked like, tugging a hurried comb through it. They would just have to take her as she was.
One last glance in the hall mirror and she was ready to face the music—sort of.
She was not about to go another minute without being told of the exact reason for her return, guests in the house or not. Nevertheless, her nerves were in shambles as she reached the dining hall. Perhaps crashing a party hadn’t been the brightest idea she’d ever come up with. She could leave, hide a year or more, and burrow into some hellhole town in the good ole `USA, off the grid. Lots of folks disappeared. Then again, she would miss her life’s work and digging in dirt saved her soul.
Feeling at a loss, she backed away from the door. Nothing good ever came from confronting your enemy within his territory. Too much adrenaline pushed a fool into foolish moves.
She stopped dead in her tracks the instant she heard voices. She then heard her name.
Her father had opened the door behind her and people were filing out the room, one after the other. She did not stand a snowball’s chance in Hell to get away from this unscathed.
Another door to her left open, and in walked Jessup with his arm entwined around a woman Cheyanne did not recognize.
“Well, as I live and breathe…” her brother said. “The old coot finally got you to give up the dirt, has he?”
This grated Cheyanne raw. She hadn’t seen her family in four years, and she was being called out on it in front of strangers over her chosen profession?
That bit, hard.
The woman with her brother was not at all pleased Jessup was wasting time talking to her, either. She was smoothing imaginary wrinkles from her beautiful dress, tapping her foot when Jessup did not seem to recognize her discomfort.
Cheyanne could not have missed it even if she tried. Jealous green eyes were boring holes into her.
“Pops never said you were on your way home,” Jessup announced, loudly.
“I wasn’t planning on it,” she replied, checking the rest of her thoughts at the back door. It would do her little good to start an argument.
“I’m amazed you came home at all…especially now.”
“Oh, and why’s that?”
She never got the answer. The same shadowed look Rosa had earlier had crept into her brother’s eyes.
“Cheyanne, I’d like you to meet Regina, my fiancé,” he said instead.
Fiancé? No one told her about Jessup getting married. Then again, the letters she’d received in Benghazi were rare, and not much was mentioned of family, mostly of New York’s elite.
She tried her damnedest not to show too much reaction to this news, holding out her hand. “So glad to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you,” she lied.
Yes, she would find her ticket punched for a trip to Hell for all these lies, but no one was calling her out on them now.
She smiled sweetly at the woman, who was more fascinated with the clothes on her back than the introduction or polite handshake. Distaste and perhaps disgust was quite evident behind her green gaze.
Ten seconds later, friends of her father’s she hadn’t seen in years waltzed through the open door, barely giving her the time of day.
Cheyanne felt the gut punch—hard. Her father had given her no quarter, merely walked past her and mumbled, “Glad you could make it.”
It was almost painful to breathe. An emotional failure about to happen, before it did, she knew she had better get out of here while still able. Her brother was getting married, no one cared to tell her, and she had flown across the world for a vague summons to the tune of “Glad you could make it.” Was she being pranked?
“If you are planning on joining the family, go put on something a little better,” Joe demanded. His long finger pointed at her attire. “You know better than to come down to dinner in that.”
Cheyanne looked down at what she had literally tossed onto her body. Wasn’t khakis and a T-shirt good enough for these people?
He threatened to shut down her life’s work, and if she did not bend to his every whim, he threatened Angel, and all she gets was she should put on better attire? She was about to turn and leave when out walked another person. She faltered, a familiar honey-coated voice stalling her footsteps. Turning to face him, all breath was stolen from her lungs.
It couldn’t be?
She felt the heat in her loins creep up to her face. Dammit! She could not stop the drool from forming at the sight of him. Dressed in a tuxedo was the man of her nightmares—at least he was over the last few days.
“I do seem to be following you, Ms. Ribbons,” he said, expressing no concern for her discomfort. He then raised his brow, adding, “I just need to make a quick phone call.” He walked right past her and into the library, where a phone sat.
What? He did not have a cell phone on him?
Cheyanne stood in the foyer, confused. Mitch was an invited guest in the Ribbon’s mansion? How was this possible?
A minute or two later, he came back and found her in the same spot as before. She shook her head to clear it of the fog. About to go into the room where everyone else was, he effectively shut this off by a steely grip to her arm.
“I wouldn’t do that if I was you.”
Her eyes whipped to the stronghold on her arm. “Thankfully, you’re not me. Let go of me!”
“I will, after I give you a little friendly advice.”
“Who the hell do you think you are?” Trying to tug her arm free of his grip became a feat in itself. On the other hand, if he would just answer this one question, she’d have a piece to this ongoing puzzle.
“I’m here on business, Ms. Ribbons. You already know who I am,” he said quickly, as if he had no time for idle conversation beneath his pay scale. He then shocked her with, “Why are you here?”
“What is that supposed to mean? Don’t you know who I am?”
“I do…now,” he replied glumly, “and I am just as thrilled about it as I was before.”
She again tried to tug her arm free. Mitch was not about to let her go.
“You rotten sonofa…” She did not get far with this.
“Go ahead. Say it. It’s in your mutinous eyes to do me harm.”
She hoped what was in her eyes was the desire to punch this man in the face, the fist on her other hand balling near her leg.
“I’ll let you in on a little secret, sweetheart,” his words so caressingly soft near her ear.
If it wasn’t for the fact his tone did not match his steely grip to her arm, that his eyes did not match anything considered friendly, she might have listened to this ‘little secret’. As it was, it sounded more of a threat and she had no desire to hear a single word from anyone if threatened.
“I know exactly why you are here, and you would be wise not to make me your enemy.” He then dropped her arm like a hot potato.
“Oh really?”
A missed heartbeat found her pinned up against his chest, her sensitive breasts crushed against a veritable wall of thick muscle and determination.
He muttered under his breath, “No wife of mine will ever get away with putting thought to hitting me. Undo your fist, sweetheart.”
Determined that her ears had deceived her, her questioning stare gave her thoughts away.
“You didn’t know did you?” he ground out in disgust.
“Know what?” Two words that barely made it past her lips.
“Lavede Enterprises and Ribbons Corporation are merging…and you, my dear, get the pleasure of merging with me, in every sense of the word.” An arrogant crack at the corner of his mouth was hinting at a smile, but one was not quite forming.
“What?” she yelped. Her throat then felt nothing but pain.
As luck would have it, the wretched dining room door opened, and her mother walked out.
“Cheyanne!” she exclaimed. “No one told me you were here.”
No one?
Louise then turned to Joe. “You never mentioned you found her.”
Cheyanne was in a mindless swirl, bombarded from all sides. What in the world had Mitch said to her? Wife? What in the world did her mother mean…found her? What in the hell was going on here?
Her father showed her no mercy. “I didn’t mention it to you?” he asked his wife, effectively preventing further discussion about it in front of invited guests.
“No, you did not,” her mother warned sweetly.
Cheyanne could not miss the exchange between her parents, fearing she would lose her place and then be so lost she would never recover.
Her father then said, shock of all shocks, “Come join the party, Cheyanne.”
What? In the clothes on her back? Surely, he jests?
“Yes, do join the party,” Regina piped in, her words not quite meeting her glare. “We are just discussing a celebratory engagement party for tomorrow night.”
“No. I would not want to intrude,” she tumbled out, her tongue tied in knots from Mitch’s innocent piece of advice still swirling in her head.
“Nonsense,” her mother declared. “Join us.”
“I haven’t unpacked…so much to do.”
A steely grip suddenly held her by the elbow—again. “I’m sure it won’t take that long to unpack a few dirty clothes, Cheyanne. Join the party.”
Her eyes whipped to his. He was smiling at her now, but she wasn’t feeling the love.
He physically walked her into the room with the rest, once inside, dropping her elbow to sit on a sofa. Nowhere to sit, she stood her ground. He then nonchalantly scooted over to make room for her next to him.
She ignored this play, countering it with a glare.
Her mother found the vacant spot, and told her to sit.
She again glared at Mitch just to make herself feel better.
As her ass was about to touch the cushion, he slid over and she nearly landed on his lap. Damn the man. He knew what it was doing to her to be so near to him. She’d rather eat dog dung than be inches from someone who made her teeth ache.
“I hear you just arrived from Africa?” one of the guests asked.
She was still reeling with the fact Mitch would not move over and their thighs were touching.
“Um, yes, that’s right.”
“Do tell us about you little adventure.”
Little adventure? Cheyanne bit down on her tongue to hold back the fury. It was not a little adventure, it was her career, her life’s work, the blood pumping in her veins.
Her father, subdued into listening about her wayward lifestyle for the next half hour, the escapades, the spider bites and cave-ins, shifted what seemed uncomfortably in his seat. Yes, she may have elaborated on a few of the details, but no one was calling her out on it.
