A Birthday Secret
By
Nickolas Drake
SMASHWORDS EDITION
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PUBLISHED BY:
Nickolas Drake at Smashwords
Copyright © 2011 Nickolas Drake
Smashwords Edition License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.
*****
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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A BIRTHDAY SECRET
Melanie had to cringe looking at the deep pile of paperwork burying her desk, and then after a nervous swallow, spoke to the impatient caller. "I'm sorry, but Carol's out of the office right now. As soon as she gets back, I'll give you a call about the menu plans for your medieval banquet." She knew her answer sounded weak, but it was the best she could offer, considering the mess of paperwork burying her small office.
"Don't bother girlie," the caller shot back, "I'll get Maxine, I know she can deliver." Not waiting for her choked response, he sharply slammed the receiver down, putting an end to the latest in a string of events this hectic morning.
Leaning back in the chair Melanie sighed deeply, and then pushed her fingers through her heavy auburn hair, wondering when she’d find the time to get it cut, and then absentmindedly set the handset down and stared at the silent phone for a few moments.
It had been several weeks since the avalanche of new bookings had begun to inundate her company, Melanie Layton's Theme Party Soiree, and now there seemed to be no end to the telephone ringing, or the mounting paperwork and confusion it was creating. Never, in her wildest dreams had she figured so many businesses and private individuals would be in the market for her custom services; in reality she was becoming frantic. She didn’t like to brag, but she is an expert at setting the mood, acquiring a corresponding location, and all the other details, but now, overwhelmed by the response, she began to wonder what she was going to do next.
In desperation she'd tried to computerize the office, but after the first few months, it was painfully obvious her old laptop was no match for the heavy tasks she'd set before it. She glanced up at the calendar, and thought about a special party she was planning for her best friends, and knew she hadn't devoted half the time she'd need to properly pull it off.
A month ago she spotted an advertisement for a dual core laptop, 1 TB, wireless, Bluetooth system that seemed to her critical situation like a godsend, however, like most things that seem too good to be true, this too fell into that same category. Several lame excuses later, she was still waiting for her damn machine, miracle software, and personalized training, and listening to the same tired apologies.
Jolted to action by these thoughts she fiercely punched the telephone buttons. "BC Computers," a young woman chirped. After asking for the customer service desk, she was put on hold, again, increasing her aggravation. She followed the second hand around the dial several times before she was connected. "Brad speaking," boomed the masculine voice.
Her temper melted a little, being taken back by the unexpected deep sexy voice, and then trying to steady herself she took a deep breath, and began, as forcefully as she could muster. "I seem to have a problem here. I purchased one of your new laptops weeks ago, and after several calls, it still hasn't been delivered. I don't care to hear any more of your explanations about burning it in, or formatting the hard drive, or any of your other jargon; I need my system here, now!" she demanded, hoping her tone didn't indicate she was almost at the end of her rope.
Unruffled Brad countered, businesslike and cool. "Give me your name, and I'll check into it right away. I can't say what might have happened," he began to apologize, "but,"
Hearing what she thought would wind up being just another delay, she blew up. "I don't want to hear it," she interrupted, "I've got a business to run. Just get me the damn machine I paid for," she ranted, not really feeling better for the rude effort. After sarcastically spelling her last name for Brad, she hung up, and then turned with a depressed sigh to the disheveled mess on the desk, cautiously eying the phone, silently hoping it wouldn't ring again.
Several hours later, the building guard buzzed her to let her know there was someone in the lobby with a delivery. It was strange for UPS to be arriving so late in the day, especially since her small staff had all gone home a couple of hours before. Rounding the corner into the lobby, Melanie slowed her pace when she saw the boxes marked 'computer hardware'. With a smile beginning to tug the corners of her lips, she looked at the box marked '32” LED Monitor' and then noticed the man lugging it in, and forgot the computer.
With a practiced step, he placed it on a small dolly and then extended his large dusty hand. "I'm Brad. I'm sorry about the hang up getting your system to you. Now, if you'll just show me where you want it, I can get it set up for you in no time," he promised.
Melanie’s first reaction was to answer him with a sarcastic remark about speedy delivery, but that was before she was again distracted by the riveting sexuality Brad projected.
About six-two, he was powerfully built, and snug black designer jeans hugged his tight butt. His muscles rippled under the white pull-over knit shirt, as he lifted the heavy boxes like child's play, stopping once to wink at her. When he stepped over to shake her hand, she tried to distract herself from her fixation with his muscular body, and made the error of locking eyes with him. Framed beneath black curly hair, his deep blue eyes were outlined by thick black eyelashes. Sporting a dark tan, the firm planes of his lean face were emphasized as he smiled, drawing his expressive lips over perfect white teeth. "Uh, Melanie is it? Where would you like me to put the computer?" he asked again, making her realize she'd held his hand one fleeting beat too long. Now she really felt like a fool, so much for a businesslike demeanor!
I didn't know it at the time, but Brad shared her appreciation. He told her later, he was struck at once by the jade green of my eyes, 'thanks’ Ma' she breathed silently at the time, and later told her he'd almost kissed her right on the spot, but was still a little put off by her sharp tongue. He was amused by the way her what he called, haughty nose crinkled in annoyance at herself, when he caught her checking him out, and let her know about it with a wink. Flustered, and weak kneed, she attempted to recover. "What, Oh, I'm sorry. It's been a bitch of a day, and I'm not thinking clearly. My office is down this hall, to the back of the building," she said, motioning toward the long corridor off to her right.
Sizing up the considerable distance, Brad grimaced. "Thanks," he grunted, shoving the loaded dolly to make it start rolling in the direction she'd indicated. Taking her time, she walked a few steps behind him, enjoying the view, but then the thought struck her, bringing back a flood of irritation. She wouldn't be able to go until he was finished, and she'd already put in a fifteen hour day.
Speeding up her pace, she caught up with him. "Do you think this will take much time? I was planning on leaving pretty soon."
Brad stopped abruptly, and turned to face her, his features lined with irritation. "Listen lady, what's it going to be? I came down here on my time to get your system to you, and now you want to leave. Some people never appreciate anything," he fumed, hooking a finger in the belt loop of his jeans as he turned to look out the window.
This little display didn't put her off for a second and cute or not he wasn't pushing her around. "I believe you'd better think about this. If you'd delivered my system when it was promised, we wouldn't be here right now. If anyone should be upset, it's me," she reminded him, staring back. "I've been waiting for three weeks, and have been losing business because of the postponement," she decided to add for good measure, seeing she was making headway.
Brad stared back, taken back by her response, his hostility fading. "I have to confess, there's no justifying the hold up, but once this baby is up, your database problems will be over. As to your loss of business, I can only apologize," he conceded, gallantly putting aside her aggravating behavior, while taking another appraising look at her for good measure. Melanie had always been tall and slim, and looked much younger than her late twenties, and Brad was making it apparent he was trying to do some calculations on the subject.
She could see he was making sure she wasn't wearing either a ring or the tan line from one, and then based on an educated guess on her part, Brad decided to try his luck. "Since we're both on the job late, and have to eat dinner, how about grabbing a bite with me once we're done, at Alfredo's maybe?" he offered, casually throwing out the name.
Melanie was taken aback by the sudden change, but she wasn't about to let him know. Sure, he was a striking hunk, but she wasn't going to have dinner with some overconfident guy, no matter how tempting the offer might be. Besides, Alfred's had a reputation for being appallingly expensive, and she wouldn't feel right letting a relative stranger pay for such a meal. Thinking fast, she tried to get out of it.
"Thanks for the offer, but not tonight, I don't have much cash with me and I certainly don't expect you to pay in such a ritzy place," she explained, her words gradually coming slower as she took in the look crossing Brad's face.
"I didn't ask you to pay for dinner, I asked you to dinner," he said, emphasizing the word 'to'. "Besides, I'll put it on my expense account, and let the business take care of it," he mentioned offhandedly, trying to set her fears to rest.
How could he have known, that when business people charge to expense accounts unnecessarily as a tax write off, happened to be one of her pet peeves? Now, coupled with Brad's flip attitude about his employer, she couldn't keep her mouth shut. "Look, I tried to be polite about this, but I guess you just can't take a hint. No, I don't want to have dinner with you. I know how expensive Alfred's can be, and I don't think your employer would like paying for an extravagant dinner on a whim," she preached, "besides, I'm a small business owner, and I don't put up with excessive charging on my employee's expense accounts," she said righteously, feeling fully justified for her moralizing.
She could see by the expression on his face he was suppressing his first urge to walk away, and write her off as a nut case, but after a moment, she saw by the slight smile tugging at his lips, he must have been privately admiring her principles. "I know how costly Alfred's is, and I can tell you honestly, my boss and I think alike, and he'd encourage me to take a valued customer such as yourself to a nice place. We'd like to try to make amends for the inconvenience we've caused you," he offered, trying to settle things down.
Rather than soothing ruffled feathers, she couldn't believe the nerve of this guy, standing there Mr. High and Mighty, telling her what his boss, apparently a successful businessman, would be reasoning. "Obviously you don't understand a word I've been saying, so let me make it clear. I don't want to have dinner with you, now or ever. Anyone who would try to take advantage of their company just to impress someone else isn't someone I'd like to know."
Brad stood stiffly in front of her, his lips compressed in a thin white line. "When you first said no, I thought it was out of some sense of misunderstanding. I know it must seem a little strange to you for an average guy to ask you out to a nice place, but in case you haven't noticed, the days of slave labor are over. We're pretty well paid these days, you know. Secondly, I like my employer, and wouldn't do anything that would jeopardize our working relationship. Maybe you and your sense of ethics can't understand a link like we have," he said coldly, his eyes never leaving my face.
Melanie couldn't believe her ears! This man had the nerve to stand here and reprimand her, when all she'd done was to object to his trying to take advantage of his company. Well she certainly wasn't going to sit back and take it, not for a minute! Infuriating her more, was the fact she was so damned attracted to this arrogant creep, for reasons she yet couldn't quite fully put together. "I've had just about enough. Please just finish, and leave. I'm going to write a nice short note to your company, to let them know just what kind of people they have working in the field. I'm sure when your President gets wind of this 'service call', you'll see how far off the beam I am," she said confidently, thinking she finally gained the upper hand.
Brad slammed the set of tools back in his small leather case, then walked to the door. Turning back to her, his features were lit with a dazzling smile, the last thing she'd expected. "You go right ahead and write your letter, and yes, I'm sure you'll get a reply, in fact, I'll guarantee you will. Our President is a man who believes in customer satisfaction, and I'm confident he'll make sure you're content." Finished, he gave her a short wave, and then walked briskly out the door, without looking back.
Melanie couldn't react for a few moments, taking in his last words. His boss would get a letter all right, right from this little machine Mr. Big Shot had installed. She couldn't think of a more fitting way to compliment his misplaced self-confidence. When she'd placed the order for this computer, one of the things the wordy salesman had stressed was that from the President on down, how the company stood by their merchandise and supported their customers. It would be worth it to spend a little extra time tonight and get the letter written while she was still in the mood.
Two days later, she was sitting at the new computer, marveling at how much, in the short time it had been in my office, things had straightened out, but she still needed the help of an expert to assist her. Humming to herself, she was just putting the final touches to a quotation for a visiting Japanese businessman when the phone rang. "Hi, this is Roxanne, I'm with BC Computers. Mr. Chase has asked me to call you and let you know he read your letter and would like to meet with you personally. If you happen to be free today, he'd like you to have lunch and discuss your concerns."
Melanie smiled to herself, now she'd get some satisfaction and put that over-confident character in his place. "Lunch today sounds fine, where shall I meet him?" she asked, pleased with the swift response.
"He said he'll send the car for you about 12:30. I'll let him know you accepted. Bye for now." Melanie set down the phone and had to grin. Lunch with the President himself! She'd followed the company's progress from a start-up three years ago, and knew of the elusive Mr. Chase's reputation as a humanitarian and innovative businessman. With any luck, she might be able to pick up some of the pointers she so desperately needed, and glean some of his business savvy. God knows she'd soon need a mentor if things continued to grow at the present rate.
At 12:30 sharp, the receptionist rang to let her know the car was waiting. She took a last look in the mirror, at her new gray silk blouse and black wool suit and then turned and rushed out to the lobby. She was shocked when she saw a large white Mercedes sedan, tended by a man dressed in a black suit, holding the rear door open for her. Undaunted, she nodded her appreciation, and then sank back into the butter soft leather seats and fantasized to herself how different San Francisco looked from this luxurious vantage point.
After a few miles, she was so engrossed with her plush transportation; she didn't notice the car had pulled up in front of Alfredo's. All at once her self-assurance started to falter, but she quickly regrouped, and reprimanded herself. 'Why wouldn't he want to come here?' she reasoned silently. 'After all, a man in his position would be used to conducting his business meetings in places like this, even if they are among the most exclusive in town,' she added as an afterthought, fortifying her courage again. The driver held the door open for her and she emerged, confident that no one looking at her would ever guess the car wasn't for her exclusive use. Mentally bracing herself, she walked casually into the elegant baroque restaurant and gave the Maître d' Mr. Chase's name. At once the man’s cool demeanor brightened, and then with a flourish, motioned the direction she was to follow.
Glancing around, she tried to be discreet, not wanting to advertise this was the first time she'd been here. The dim polished wood interior was accented with softly glowing lights, rich bee's wax candles set on crisp white linen table cloths laden with fine china and heavy sterling flatware. He led her across what seemed to be a sea of jewel-like Persian carpets, floating on an expanse of gleaming mahogany plank floor. Turning swiftly he swept her into a small secluded alcove, set apart from the rest of the diners; and then she saw him.
"You!" she exclaimed, unable to hide her shock.
"Me!" Brad countered, highly amused at my astonishment.
"What are you doing here? I was supposed to have lunch with Mr. Chase. Just what kind of game are you trying to play, Brad?" she steamed at the prospect of being the butt of a joke.
Silent up to this point, the Maître d' spoke up. "Why Madame, what are you saying? This is Mr. Bradford Chase, a very regular and I might add, valued guest of ours," he gushed, well aware of which side his bread was buttered on.
Shocked into silence, she moved over to sink down, red faced, into the seat across from Brad. For a few seconds all she could do was fumble with her knife, suppressing fantasies about revenge, and then spent a few more adjusting the napkin the Maître d' had swept into her lap. Finally she couldn't avoid him any longer. "Why didn't you tell me who you were? Did you enjoy your little game playing, making me look like an ass?" she demanded, in a quiet voice laced with resentment.
Brad's eyes twinkled in amusement, seeing her squirm in a dilemma largely of her own making. "To answer your first question, you didn't ask for my last name. Second, I get no pleasure from making people look ridiculous, and in your case, I doubt I ever could," he simply said, ending with a disarming smile.
Melanie opened her mouth to counter, but was stopped as the waiter arrived with a chilled bottle of Dom Perignon. He expertly snapped off the explosive cork and filled our paper thin crystal flutes. In spite of the way she felt, she had to admit the man had good taste, and he certainly had an appealing smile, that, she was sure, he used to his fullest advantage. She decided to try to end their bantering. "Why don't we just forget about what happened, and enjoy lunch. I take it the 'BC' in BC Computers stands for your initials, right?" she asked, stating the obvious, trying to change the subject away from her predicament.
"Good guess," he commended her, laughing. "Normally I don't wine and dine customers who only purchase one system, but then again," he explained, "not every client has your potential." In the few days since Brad's first encounter with her, he'd had his legal department do a thorough run down on her, and was quite impressed. Now, he informed her, if his hunches were correct, he was in a position where he'd be able to help her reach her next business plateau, that is if he could alter my opinion of him. This was the general gist of the conversation she had only seconds to mull over before she answered. Somehow she had the feeling a lot might be riding on just how she answered. "I agree, we did get off on the wrong foot, so let's forget it, ok? How about a toast to a new understanding," she suggested weakly, raising a glass, hoping he wouldn't notice her slight tremble.
Locking eyes and returning her toast, he touched her glass with a light musical ring, and then took a sip of the delicious wine. "To a new understanding," he repeated.
"I wanted to let you know, that since I've been using the new machine, I can't believe what a difference it makes. My poor old PC now seems like it was designed for the Stone Age," she laughed.
"Most of the new machines make the older models seem that way, the only problem is, with the way technology is changing, even the newest machines will be old hat in just a few months, so don't feel bad." Quickly Brad ordered Prosciutto and Melon appetizers, and then waved the waiter off, not wanting him to interrupt the new mutual assessment they were sharing.
"I expect that kind of thinking would only apply to those individuals interested on staying on the cutting edge, to overuse the phrase one more time. Most people who buy computers, are only looking for a tool to help them get the job done, like I was," she conjectured.
Brad leaned forward, his interest peaked. "Exactly; that's just the reason why my business has been so successful. I don't mean to brag, but I've always believed it's the service after a sale that makes the product really worthwhile. You take a bare bones computer, for instance, and you wouldn't believe the innovative products that have sprung up for those basic machines. The major part of my business has been to match those products to the user’s needs, much like the needs of your growing enterprise," he said, his eyes sparkling.
"So you've done your homework, I've heard you were very thorough. Yes, I've done ok, and like you, I believe in keeping the customer happy, I guess that's why I was so upset the other day. I couldn't seem to get anything done, and everyone wanted everything right now, but I'm sure you know the feeling," she said, slightly embarrassed by her zeal.
"Boy do I ever, but that's the way it should be, if it wasn't, that's the time to worry. I don't know about you, but," he began carefully choosing his words, "I don't want to waste this great meal and your terrific company talking shop. Tell me who Melanie is," Brad coaxed, moving his hand to momentarily touch her fingertips.
You could have knocked her over with a feather! Here she was sitting with a legendary businessman, and he was playing footsie on top of the table. Even more surprising was his obvious sincerity, he really wanted to know about her, Melanie. It was easy to deal with Brad as another business person, but now she was being forced to consider what she thought about the man. She felt her cheeks begin to grow red again under Brad's scrutiny, and wasted no time in averting her eyes from his. After taking a slow sip of the icy champagne, she steadied her racing pulse enough to answer. "You seem to already know anything I might tell you about me through your investigation of my business, so what could I tell you that would be new?" she bantered, trying to get his goat, and direct the subject from herself.
Knowing full well she was trying to divert his attention away, he pushed her further. "Like I said, I want to know about you, the woman, and I can give you a start," he said, eyes twinkling.
"Oh, how's that?" she asked, cautiously.
"I know you've got quite a temper," he said thoughtfully, enjoying her reaction.
Much to Brad's obvious relief, she laughed. "Ok, ok, I get your point. I'm sorry about the letter, and shouldn't have written it. Can we call a truce?" she pleaded with mock fervor.
"Of course, and I'm glad you wrote the letter, otherwise I wouldn't have known just how much of an impression I've made on you. Believe me, I intend to keep that letter in a special place," he said, causing her to look up, wondering exactly what he meant by a special place.
"Whatever," she tossed at him attempting to be flippant. "To answer your earlier question, I don't think you can fully understand my business, in spite of your research, until you comprehend the kind of person I am."
"Point taken, that's exactly what I'm after, go on," he urged, again leaning closer toward her.
"I worked for several years in public relations for an advertising firm, spending day after dreary day writing build ups for every kind of event under the sun. Finally one day, over a few drinks, Carol, my best friend and now personal assistant woke me up. Here I was selling promotions and coordinating events for other people, while the company I worked my fingers to the bone for made a fortune!"
Brad could easily sympathize. "Unfortunately that's generally the way it works. Too often, talented people either lack the drive or the resources to break out of a cycle that keeps them bound to it. The laws of supply and demand, I'm afraid," he commiserated.
"Well," she began again, arching her eyebrow at being lumped into one of two categories, "this is one talented person who roused in time and fortunately had the backing and resources to do something about it. Don't get me wrong, I only had enough money to literally start on a shoestring, but I don't mind saying so, I write some of the best PR copy in the business. To make a long story short, after countless late nights, one in particular you know about, and a lot of luck, I think my business is holding its own, very well," she said proudly.
Brad nodded and raised his glass slightly. "Very well indeed, you have plenty to be proud of," he praised her, again leaving a doubt in her mind as to the subject. "I don't know exact figures," he cleared his throat on purpose, and smiled, "but I have a fair idea. In fact, one of BC's subsidiaries staged a Thirties party on a yacht in San Diego Harbor last month," he said smiling at her surprise. "With your help, and due to some informal negotiations that went on, sales with that client rose over twenty percent," he said gratified.
Melanie was visibly astounded. "Which company was that? I remember doing the same thing for two separate firms," she asked, taken unaware.
"If you promise to have dinner with me tonight, I'll tell you," he baited her.
She was taken aback by the speed at which he was moving, but wasn't about to let him know. "I guess may never know, I'm afraid I'll have to pass on dinner. I took on a new client this morning, and part of the deal was that I would have a preliminary copy of their layout ready by nine tomorrow. I may be small, but I have my commitments," she reminded him.
"What about tomorrow night?" Brad asked, tenaciously.
She looked away from him; afraid her eyes would give her away, and let Brad know he'd gained the upper hand. Trying to remain cool, while her heart was sprinting out of control, was quite a feat. Every time Brad moved closer to make his point, she was struck again by the intense mutual attraction held in check only by the thin veneer of the business world. "Why don't you let me give you a call tomorrow?" she asked, almost whispering, not trusting her voice. "If this thing turns out like I think it might, I'll probably be dead on my feet. I don't want to promise anything, and then have to cancel at the last minute, so I'll let you know then," she committed.
"I suppose I'll just have to live with it, if I want to fit into an executive's hectic schedule," Brad quipped, disappointment apparent on his face.
She looked at him for a moment, trying to fathom just how sarcastic he'd meant his remark to be, and then saw Brad's expression and felt her happiness begin to soar. Suddenly an idea dawned on her, and as it rapidly formulated in her mind, a broad smile broke out. "Ok, Mr. Business man," she began, "I've got a little proposition for you." From the way Brad's eyes glittered and he leaned toward her, she knew she'd hit a nerve.
Brad smiled, intrigued. "I'll bite, so what's your deal?" he asked, somehow knowing it was going to be good.
"I need help setting up a database for my business and the best way for you to understand how things are done, is to work with me on a project. A very close friend of mine is giving a birthday party for her husband, and wanted the theme to be a Murder Mystery weekend. If you could see your way clear to break away from your engagements, I think you'd get a pretty good idea of the kinds of things I have to deal with to pull something like this off. What do you say?" she prompted.
She could tell how Brad had to work to control his facial expressions so she wouldn't know just how much he liked the idea. He toyed with his fork for a few moments to give her the impression of mentally checking his calendar. Melanie knew he liked the plan, but wanted to keep the cards stacked slightly in his favor. At the time, she didn't know it had been a long time since any one had captured his interest, and he didn't want to blow it. As she got to know him better she found out he was used to moving fast when he saw something he wanted, and realized in this case, his determination might just work against him. He felt he'd have to be cagey to win the prize, but this is getting ahead of the story.
"Sounds great, just let me know the date, and I'll make plans to be there," he said with enthusiasm.
"Terrific! I'll have to work out another character, but that should be no problem, I'm really happy you decided to accept," she said sincerely.
Brad slowly spoke, playing his hand carefully. "I hope you don't mind, but I have one small condition to my acceptance," he threw out, playing it down.
"And what would that be," she asked cautiously, her triumphant smile beginning to fade slightly.
"Don't look so stricken, this won't be too painful for you, I hope," he said, looking deeply into her green eyes.
"I hope not either, so what's your condition, I should have known this was too easy," she said remorsefully, her thunder stolen.
"Your party sounds like a kick, and I'll give you any help I can, but I want to go as your fiancé," Brad said, his eyes never leaving hers.
She was thunderstruck. "What! Why do you want to do play a game like that? These are my close friends, I told you," she spat out, losing her cool.
Brad's reaction was controlled. "I know, but those are my terms. When the weekend is over, you don't have to see me again, but for those few days, it's my stipulation. What do you say?" he questioned. She could see he was hoping his gamble would pay off. Like most of his decisions she knew about, this one too was a gamble, and he apparently trusted his judgment. Only one other time she'd heard a rumor about Brad and another woman, but something happened, and she had left town. From the pace he was moving he planned to make this time different.
Her temper began to burn, but she wasn't about to let him know it. If this spoiled darling of the computer world was so used to having his way, who was she to stand in his way? Once they were at the party, they might say they were together, but she'd show this character she knew her way around town too. The only thing he had on her was a few more years of experience, but she was one lady who knew how to take care of herself. "Whatever you say. If those are your terms, then those are your terms. Get ready to have the time of your life," she said, extending her hand to shake on it.
CHAPTER TWO
Looking up from the car navigation, she pointed toward a stand of bushes. "There should be a turnoff somewhere around here, over there, to your left." She was elected to fine tune directions as Brad maneuvered his sleek BMW around the twisting road.
He squinted through the dust at the narrow dirt road, almost hidden with Acacia trees. "Are you sure that's the one?" he asked, looking dubiously at the apparently seldom used road.
"That's what my directions from the real estate agent say, and there's a note here saying the drive might be somewhat overgrown. Apparently no one has lived here for quite some time, but the current owner refuses to sell off any of the land; he wants to sell it in one piece, keeping the price astronomical. When I said we wanted to rent it for a few days, the agent literally jumped at the chance to make some money off the White Elephant," she explained as they bumped over the narrow dirt road, causing Brad to flinch visibly with every deep chuck hole.
When they left San Francisco, they had driven south, and then turned toward Woodside, heading for an estate picked for its remoteness and atmosphere. It had taken her a couple of weeks to find the perfect place, but when she saw the pictures in the realtor's office, she knew it was right. Two days earlier, her set up crew had gone ahead to make the house livable, and get preparations under way for the Murder Mystery weekend. As she glanced down at her notebook, her thoughts flashed back to earlier that afternoon when Brad had arrived to pick her up.
As he entered her apartment, Brad gave her a quick hug, lingering only for a moment and then sent her to get a bottle of Perrier. Stopping in the kitchen for a few seconds to take a deep breath and slow the pace of her heart, she jumped when she felt Brad's warm hands. She could feel their heat sizzling through her satin blouse, as he took hold of her shoulders and nuzzled her neck.
"I wondered what happened to you, you were gone so long," he said close to her ear, not taking his hands away, at the same time she was fully aware of the heat radiating from other parts of his body.
Melanie pushed the drink at him, and gave in to a chill of pleasure. "I uh, had to get some more ice, here's your drink," she stumbled, pulling away from him. Brad took the small bottle and tumbler filled with ice from her, and then surprised her by setting them both down, and reaching into his pocket. Finding what he was looking for, he extended the small box toward her.
"What's this?” she asked, looking confused as she opened the small carton. Her eyes opened wide in shock as she pulled out the black velvet ring box. Flipping it open, she saw a ring with a huge pear cut diamond set in woven bands of gold and platinum. "Brad, I don't think this is one bit funny," she sputtered at a loss for words.
"It's not meant to be funny, as you put it. I said my terms for the weekend were that you were to be my fiancé, and I believe in being thorough," he answered, amused at the look on her face leaving her speechless.
But that was hours ago, and another jolt from the bumpy drive brought her thoughts back to the present. She realized, aside from the beautiful ring on her hand, she now had other concerns.
Several times before they arrived she glimpsed the high gables of the house rising above the dense foliage while they wound through the surrounding hills. As they drew closer she began to wonder just how large the place was, indicated by their distant spacing. When they broke into an opening she could tell by the way Brad slowed the car and let out a low whistle, he pretty was impressed too.
"I have to admit, you sure know how to set the mood for a mystery party," he complemented her, looking over the vast wood and stone mansion. "This place looks like something plucked out of the English countryside."
"Actually, it was," she told him, causing him to look up, questioning. "Joseph McCairn immigrated to the U.S. in the early 1800's, in the waves of immigrants from Ireland. He managed to start a logging camp and soon, through shrewd and unscrupulous business practices, built himself quite an empire. He needed a summer home away from the city, so he bought and moved over here, stone by stone, the manor house on the estate where he was born. Quite a feat for those days," she added.
Brad's features glowed with admiration. "Quite a feat for any days! This place is palatial, and look at the architecture. What is it, Early Gothic, or what?" he asked, taken back by the imposing structure.
She enjoyed his amazement and picturesque description. "Early Gothic is a great description! Besides, where else would you want to hold a Murder Mystery weekend? Liz's husband is an avid Agatha Christie fan, and since they were the major source of financing for my business, I wanted to put on an extra special show. Liz agreed with me to pull out all the stops!" she enthused.
Brad shook his head. "You sure did. Well I don't know about you, but I'm ready to get out and go have a look around. Shall we?" he asked, as he opened the door and taking her hand.
Several minutes later they were standing in the main reception hall, surrounded by a collection of fabulous Empire Period antiques, with Melanie introducing her unexpected surprise to several of the set up crew. Final preparations were being made for the six other guests, due to arrive around 8:00 that evening, so introductions were brief, but the myriad of activity didn't stop an occasional congratulatory smile from being shot at her.
Even though she knew her relationship was to be short lived, she had to grit her teeth every time she smiled back. She was silently cursing Brad for putting her in a position where she was less than truthful with the people who worked for her. To be completely candid with herself, however, she did feel a sense of pride at the way a few of the staff openly gawked at her handsome man.
"You know, if I didn't expect this, putting together the ten players, a remote location, and murder in the air, I'd say this little set up bears a strong resemblance to Agatha Christie's AND THEN THERE WERE NONE. How about it?" Brad inquired, grinning ear to ear.
Melanie slowly clapped her hands. "The man is a literary giant!" she kidded. "Seriously though, you're right, but only as far as the setting. That particular novel was his favorite, so I decided to create a fantasy come true. What do you think?" she asked, her enthusiasm spilling out as pride when she looked around at the magic her people had worked.
Brad admitted her idea and execution were perfect. "Not too close to the book, I hope, as I remember, almost everyone gets knocked off," he said with mock anxiety.
She flashed him a smile and turned to straighten a silver bowl of flowers, not quite symmetrical. "That will have to be one of the surprises waiting to solve this weekend. For now, you can help me take a quick inventory of the food supplies, and make sure the bedrooms have been made up. I want you to take all this in, so when we get back, you keep your end of the bargain, concerning the database," she reminded him.
Brad placed his arm around her shoulders. "Oh, I'll keep my bargain, alright," he promised, "now how about showing me those bedrooms, I think we should start out by being thorough too," he teased, enjoying her reddened cheeks.
The next few hours flew by, as Melanie commandeered Brad around the mansion, attending to several last minute details, even though they were nothing more than picky technicalities. By seven-thirty, all her assistants had worked their magic, turning the old unused mansion into a dazzling showplace of gleaming Chippendale furniture and glowing candles, accented by blazing arrangements of flowers filling every corner. Now, anyone walking into the large drawing room would swear they'd been transported back through time and space to an elegant weekend house party, in the 1920's English countryside.
Half an hour before, she'd bid the last of her set up staff goodbye, and then rushed upstairs to change before her guests started to arrive. Checking her watch one more time, she glanced in the mirror, and then went down to join Brad, who was impatiently waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. He looked up when he heard the sound of her steps approaching the landing.
She paused at the top for a moment, and knew by the look on his face that she struck the nerve she was aiming for. Dressed in a dazzling black beaded flapper dress, she knew her slim figure was displayed to its best advantage; her thick auburn hair was tamed in gleaming Marcel layers. She kept her jewelry simple, by wearing her grandmother's gold and diamond pendant that was rivaled only by Brad's spectacular gift. He must have suddenly realized he had been holding his breath, and expelled it slowly in a whistle as she began to walk down the stairs, carefully keeping the shimmering jet beads in motion. She followed his eyes to her hand, and could see the open enjoyment as he saw the brilliant flash of his ring.
Being honest, she too had to carefully watch her step, for she had been taken aback by the man waiting for her. Dressed in an old fashioned Banker's Pinstripe three piece suit, his dark handsome good looks were to her, breathtaking. When she neared him, Brad held out a sparkling cut crystal glass of effervescent champagne, his deep blue eyes never leaving hers for a single second.
She recovered quickly, and took the glass from his hand, noting he had added a heavy gold watch chain, the perfect ornament to his outfit. Without saying a word, he gently kissed her lips, tapped her glass, and then took a drought toasting her.
Melanie was just about to break their eye contact, when the melodious door chimes announced the arrival of their first guests. She nodded to Gary, the butler for the event, who came rushing out of the kitchen, smoothing out his outfit, and then followed him at a more dignified pace as he skidded across the Carrera marble foyer to pull open the massive carved door.
"Liz, you look wonderful, and Marshall," she laughed, seeing her friends dressed so out of character, "you look just like a character from The Great Gatsby. Your clothes are marvelous!" she complemented them, impressed by their creativity. In one motion, she took in Marshall's cream colored three piece suit and Spats, completed by a cream colored hat with a black silk band. Liz, was wearing a shimmering violet gown, that set off her deep tan and complemented the cascade of silvery blond hair, tumbling down her slender back. She was occasionally taking a superficial drag from an ebony jeweled cigarette holder, unlit, more for effect than enjoyment.
Stepping over to hug Melanie, Liz looked around. "Well, my dear, I must say I'm impressed. When you decide to throw a party, you really throw a party," she declared, pleasure radiating from her perfect face. "Happy birthday, Marshall darling," she exclaimed turning toward her husband.
"What? This is a birthday party? You only said it was going to be a costume party weekend. You little Minx," he growled as he pulled his slender beaming wife into his arms. "Ok, so what's the scoop, what else don't I know about this party of yours, Melanie," he questioned her, his cheeks still flushed with pleasure.
"We'll get to that in a minute, but first, I'd like to introduce you to Brad Chase, my uh, fiancé," she told them, timidly saying the last word, expecting their response.
Liz squealed shrilly and then grasped her arm in her claw-like grip. "Your fiancé! Melanie, why didn't you tell me? How could you keep a hunk like this secret, sorry Brad," Liz momentarily remembered her manners, "let me see your ring. Oh my God, it's a rock! Gorgeous, and platinum too, I'd know that anywhere! Trust you to hook the big one." Liz had the presence of mind to act embarrassed at her remark.
Turning to glare at his wife, Marshall extended his hand. "Welcome to the family. I imagine you can tell you've caused quite a stir with the mouth over there," he nodded at his wife. "When did all this come about, and why do I seem to recognize your name?" he asked, trying to think.
Brad smiled at Melanie, and slipped his arm around her waist. "I have to admit this was a kind of whirlwind romance, but I've never been one to waste time. To answer your second question, I own BC Computers, and supply the computer systems for several businesses around the Bay area. The press seems to like to make everyone bigger than life, it seems, most people don't realize I'm just another guy trying to make a living like everyone else," he said quickly trying to play down his well-known ruthless business reputation.
Melanie shot daggers at him, knowing full well who the remark was aimed at. "Very funny," she muttered then turned her attention to directing the chauffeur upstairs with their bags.
"So tell us, Melanie Dear, when did all this come about, and don't leave out a single detail," Liz requested, looping her arm through Brad's, while beaming a dazzling smile up at him.
Melanie looked momentarily flustered, but recovered quickly. "Actually there isn't much to tell. We met a short time ago, and one thing led to another and that's about it," she improvised, cursing the smug look on Brad's face.
He unhooked his arm with some difficulty, stepped over to here, and then kissed her cheek. "She's still a little shy about the idea, but I'll see that she comes around, actually it was Melanie that did all the chasing," Brad told Liz, enjoying the slow burn she was going through.
Marshall loudly cleared his throat and spoke to his wife. "Leave them alone, Liz, when they have something to tell you, they will. Now, amuse yourself by telling me about this party you've cooked up. And for God's sake, quit making eyes at Brad, Liz, he has enough around here to contend with without you adding to his problem," he scolded her, getting a frigid look for his trouble.
"Well, now that we're here," she began petulantly, not at all liking his tone, "I guess it's ok to tell you. I wanted to do something extra special for your birthday, so Melanie and I cooked up this little Murder Mystery Weekend idea," she said.
Melanie rolled her eyes. "Who cooked up the idea, Liz?" she cut in, keeping Liz from trying to steal the show.
"Oh alright, it was your idea. She knows how much you enjoy those dreary who dunnits. Anyway, she asked me who your favorite author was and your favorite book by that author, and I said Agatha Christie of course. It would have to be a toss-up between And Then There Were None, and Murder on the Nile, however," she started to go on.
Marshall kissed Liz's forehead. "You surprise me, Darling, I thought the department store circulars were the only reading material you paid any attention to," he said, giving his wife a wink.
Liz shot him daggers. "You'll pay for that one, my love," she promised, then turned back to the others. "As I was saying, we could hardly all go to the Nile, so we secured this place for the weekend, we have no phones, everyone is arriving by chauffeured limousine, and the estate is remote. In other words, we've tried to make this little romp as much like the real thing as possible," she explained, stopping to pick up a full Champagne flute.
Genuine appreciation shone from Marshall's face as he kissed his wife and beamed at Melanie. "This means a lot to me that my wife and friends would go to so much trouble to create something so special" he said quietly, looking thoughtful, almost distressed.
Melanie decided things were getting too quiet. "Ok, as soon as the rest of the group gets here, I'll be passing out the background sheets on each character so we can get the party underway,” she said steering them toward the massive sideboard laid with a multitude of hors d'oeuvres. She was thankful that for now, the conversation had turned away from Brad, putting a temporary end to several unwanted questions.
They started to walk back over to the seating area, when Liz pulled her aside, causing her a pang of dread at more unwelcome questions. "Where's the john in this old barn? I'd like to freshen up a bit before the others arrive," she asked furtively. Melanie breathed a silent sigh of relief that her fears were ungrounded and then pointed off down the corridor, giving the directions Liz had requested. Flashing her a smile, Melanie watched the older woman saunter toward the door, her violet gown draped strategically to accentuate her slender curves. With a backward glance she winked at Brad, and then after watching his slow smile, disappeared around the corner.
Marshall chuckled, shaking his head. "I have to apologize for my wife," he began with an amused look, "at times she can be pretty intense. I guess it's my fault, though, I can't help spoiling her, just when I've about had it with her and her flirtations, she pulls off something like this event, and I find I can't be mad at all. I gather I've been out maneuvered again," he explained, not seeming to mind his predicament too much.
Brad slapped him gently on the back. "Don't worry about it," he assured him, "she seems like a fun person to be around. Melanie has only the best to say about the both of you," he complemented them.
Marshall put his arm around her and gave her a squeeze. "We both look at this young woman as the daughter we never had. I know I can speak for Liz when I say how pleased we both are that she's found someone like you to love her," he said, sincerely. Melanie wouldn't venture a look in Brad's direction; she didn't want to see the triumph on his insolent face.
While she was considering a remark to cool Brad's jets, Liz's high pitched scream tore through the room, stunning them all. Flashing each other a questioning glance, they turned and rushed from the Salon into the corridor. Standing outside an open door, was Liz, the echoes of her shrieks dying away into a near hysterical laughter.
"Liz, what is it, what's the matter?" panted Marshall as he reached his giggling wife. With her laughter beginning to calm down, she pointed into the storage room she had mistakenly opened. Inside, was a life-size figure of a man, dressed in a full tuxedo, with a very realistic looking stiletto jutting from his chest, surrounded by a pool of seeping blood.
I hugged Liz. "Now you've done it Liz, Troy wasn't supposed to make his grand appearance until after breakfast tomorrow morning. Well, since you are the guest of honor, I'd like you to meet Troy Wellington, the owner, or I should say, late owner of Wellington Manor, in which we now stand," she theatrically explained, waving her hand at the murdered mannequin.
Marshall smiled, and then turned to her with triumph in his eyes. "This is quite realistic, but I'm afraid you haven't done your homework very well. In the novel, the first killing was done by poison, not a knife. How are you going to explain this?" he inquired, proudly showing off his knowledge of the book.
Melanie’s response wasn't at all what Marshall had expected. "I figured you'd have something to say about this right off," she began, knowing Marshall was a stickler for detail. "I did do my homework, but since there is only going to be one 'death' this weekend, I wanted to go for a little more shock value, than a case of poisoning might afford. Furthermore, my dear Mr. Watson," she stopped momentarily, "as you will recall when I invited you to lunch the other day, I said this weekend would be based loosely on a famous twenties novelist. Therefore I can claim my own version of literary license."
Marshall nodded his head in agreement. "Point taken, I do remember our conversation. You are a sly one, I have to admit," he conceded.
Hearing the door chimes, Brad stepped forward and closed the closet door, while Melanie directed Liz to the correct room. Gary rushed out of the passage to the kitchen and again, with a flourish pulled open the heavy front door to reveal the next guest's arrival.
Melanie hurried over to greet them, and was delighted at their choice of costume. Alex and Donna Carrass were a striking couple at any event, he with his dark arresting, not quite handsome good looks, and she, a statuesque redhead. Both were always making the society pages of the San Francisco newspapers. Alex is a partner of Marshall's in their private psychiatric clinic, and Donna an acclaimed Child Psychologist in her own right, were Marshall and Liz's closest friends. Tonight however, he was dressed in a formal tuxedo, with a cream jacket, tailored to accentuate his muscled physique. Donna wore a Grecian style emerald green gown, plunging low to reveal her spectacular bosom. She graced her slender neck with a dazzling necklace of square cut emeralds, mirrored by a matching set around her delicate wrist. Melanie noticed somewhat peevishly that Brad seemed to be stunned by her entrance.
Enveloping her in a cloud of expensive perfume, Donna embraced her, and pecked at the air by her cheek. She all but thrust her from her clawing embrace, fixing her sights on Brad. "And who might you be, I don't believe we've met," she said to him, instantly forgetting about everyone else in the room.
Melanie felt a pang not unlike jealousy, and insinuated herself between Brad and the female vulture. "Brad is my guest," she said boldly, staring her down, "Donna. Donna Carrass, I'd like you to meet Bradford Chase," she said formally, watching the woman take a mental inventory of her latest interest.
"My, My, Melanie love, I never would have thought you had it in you. This just might turn out to be an interesting weekend after all. Brad, may I call you Brad?" she asked, not waiting for an answer, "Will you please show me where the refreshments are? I'm absolutely parched after that primitive endless road up here," she drawled, pawing cloyingly at his arm.
"Donna," broke in her husband, "have you forgotten the several glasses of champagne you inhaled in the limo?" he said, shooting her a resentful look, watching her with his hawk-like black eyes.
Donna glanced over her bare shoulder at him. "Don't be such a bore, Alex, I'm sure Melanie is dying to show you the rest of the house, aren't you sweetheart?" Donna prompted her with a wink that was ignored.
Feigning disdain, Donna turned her attention to Marshall, wrapping her arms around him, engulfing him in a too long kiss.
Melanie noticed the sneer beginning to develop on Liz's features as she walked back into the room, and also saw that Donna in turn, was keeping a close watch on her current victim's wife. Trying to cool tempers down before there was an eruption, she took Donna's arm. "C'mon Donna, leave some for the rest of us," she joked, catching a flash of the older woman's irritation.