Operation Prince Charming Page 8

  “It isn’t, but I needed to see you.” His immediate crisis overrode any awkwardness he felt at seeing her again after nearly mauling her in the restaurant parking lot.

  She quickly closed the lid of her computer and stood. She wore a short-sleeved sweater in the Pepto-Bismal shade of pink she favored, and gold earrings in the shape of palm trees dangled from her ears. Just the sight of her made him smile inside.

  “Of course, come in.”

  “It looks like you were busy. I can come back another time.”

  “Don’t be silly. You’re here now.” Ali gestured for him to have a seat as she sat down, but he preferred to stand. He paced from one end of her office to the other before stopping in front of her desk.

  Hunter blew out an exasperated breath. “She wants me to go with her to the opera. Tonight.”

  Ali’s shoulders relaxed, and the concern on her face melted into a grin. So much for him thinking she’d be the one person who wouldn’t laugh.

  “I shouldn’t have come here.” He turned on his heel. “Sorry to bother you.”

  “No, wait. I’m not smiling because I think it’s funny,” she said. “I think it’s wonderful.”

  “What?” Hunter asked incredulously.

  “By your expression, I’ll assume this will be your first opera? Did she mention the name of it?”

  “Tosca or something like that,” he said, finally sitting down.

  “Ahhhh.” Ali leaned back in her chair. “That’s one of my favorites. Wow, I wish I were in your shoes.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  She chuckled. “Opera’s been the butt of a lot of bad situation-comedy jokes, but in reality it’s good stories told through sweeping arias, lush melodies, and so much passion. The sets and the costumes are usually just as amazing as the spectacular voices.”

  Hunter watched her eyes soften as she continued the description. His gaze dropped to her glossed lips and he remembered how much he’d wanted to taste them the other night.

  He shifted uncomfortably in his seat to conceal his growing hardness. What in the hell was going on with him? You’re with Erica, he told himself. She’s the one you want.

  Now if only his brain could convince his body, which at this very moment only desired the woman in front of him.

  Ali’s voice took on a wistful tone. “It’s really beautiful.”

  He cleared his throat as if the gesture would clear his head.

  “Sorry for getting carried away,” she said. “I’m a huge opera fan, and it’s been a while since I’ve been to a live performance.”

  “Well, I’m more of a sports fan, and I’d rather be sitting in a stadium, dome, or field catching a game.”

  Ali flicked her hand in a dismissive wave. “Tosca is a great opera for a newbie. It has everything: love, lust, jealously, intrigue, deceit, even murder.”

  Hunter shrugged. “It’s not like I’ll be able to understand any of it. Erica mentioned it was in Italian.”

  “Don’t worry, subtitles are projected above the stage so you can follow along. However, you’ll probably be too enraptured in the performance to bother with them.”

  Hunter had to admit Ali’s enthusiasm piqued his interest. He’d assumed tonight was more of Erica trying to make an impression on someone, but perhaps he’d misjudged her.

  She could be as thrilled as Ali about it. Hell, if she was half as excited as Ali, she’d have a good time.

  Pete’s question returned to the forefront of his mind.

  “When is the last time you had fun with Erica?”

  If he kept an open mind about tonight, maybe they would have fun together again.

  Ali lifted the lid of her laptop. “Let’s see what we can do to help you out.”

  Her brow furrowed in concentration as she typed. “Ah, here we go,” she said. “Lucky for you the Nashville Opera has a study guide on their Web site. Looks like it’s chock-full of tidbits on tonight’s performance.”

  Hunter heard the whirl of a printer in the background and moments later Ali handed him a printout of the guide.

  “Read this over and you’ll be fine. Also, the director is giving a talk, which will fill you in on some background, an hour before the performance. So if you can make it, I think it’ll help you appreciate the experience,” she said, returning her attention to the online version.

  “Thanks for all the info. I feel a lot better than I did when I arrived.”

  Ali glanced at the computer screen. “Oh my God, it says the role of Floria Tosca will be sung by Enjolique Redmond. You are in for a treat. That sister sings like an angel.”

  “Sister?”

  Ali nodded. “She’s African-American. I saw her in La Bohéme last year in West Palm Beach, and she was amazing as poor, tragic Mimi. Oh, by the way, La Bohéme was also composed by Puccini. There’s a short bio on him in the printout I ga…” she paused. “I’m getting carried away again, aren’t I?”

  “A bit, but I appreciate your help,” he said.

  “No problem. I can hardly wait to hear what you think of it.”

  “Looking forward to it,” Hunter said as he left her office. And he was indeed looking forward to seeing her again, more than he had a right to.

  Ali wasn’t sure which was more pathetic.

  Sitting at home alone thinking about Hunter and his gorgeous girlfriend enjoying their opera date or roaming the mall alone looking at clothes she couldn’t afford, wishing she were there with him.

  She’d thought a shopping trip, even if it was only window-shopping, would cheer her up.

  It hadn’t.

  Ali flipped through a rack of skinny jeans with two-hundred-dollar price tags. A year and a half ago, she would have been shopping with her best friend and assistant, Kay, and she would have thought nothing of buying a pair for both of them.

  Now she was too broke for pricey jeans and too jaded to let another woman get close to her.

  Ali stalked out of the store into the mall corridor. Maybe she couldn’t afford new clothes, but she could drown her sorrows in a giant cinnamon roll.

  She paused by the directory to see if she was headed in the right direction.

  “Ali, is that you?”

  Ali braced herself and forced a smile to her lips, prepared to greet one of her students’ mothers. She turned toward the voice and was surprised to see Sandy.

  She smiled, genuinely happy to see her.

  “Doing a little shopping?” Sandy asked.

  “No, just looking,” she said. “And I want to thank you again for dinner last night.”

  “Girl, please.” Sandy waved a dismissive hand. “We were glad to have you, especially me. It was nice not eating with just the boys for a change.”

  Ali laughed. “And your sons are adorable. I enjoyed meeting them.” She looked around. “Are they here in the mall?”

  “No way,” Sandy said. “They’re at home with Pete. I try to do a few laps around the mall a few evenings a week. My baby’s two, and I still can’t fit in my prepregnancy jeans.”

  Ali thought about how snug her clothes felt since she’d started mainlining chocolates. “I do need to do something.”

  Sandy nudged her arm. “There’s no time like the present. Walk a lap or two with me.”

  “Okay.” Ali shrugged, figuring she really didn’t need cinnamon rolls anyway.

  They walked briskly down the long corridors, pointing out cute outfits gracing store window displays.

  “When is the last time you could pull off something like that?” Sandy pointed to a skintight, strapless sundress that even made the mannequin look fat.

  Ali laughed. “Never. I don’t think the Onesies babies wear are that tiny.”

  Sandy sighed. “I used to go to the gym, but gave up my membership last year. I just never seemed to be able to make it over there.”

  “Tell me about it.” Ali couldn’t remember the last time she’d worked out regularly. “I used to run, but it’s been so long.”

  “Really
?”

  Ali nodded. “I was training for my first marathon, but got distracted.” More like the fact that she’d walked in on her husband screwing her best friend and her life imploded.

  “Pete runs. Hunter too. But all that pounding the pavement isn’t for me.”

  So Hunter was a runner, Ali thought as they continued walking. No wonder his body looked so incredible. She thought about how she’d braced her hands on his powerful biceps the night she’d stumbled. Her fingers had itched to roam up to his wide shoulders and feel their way down his broad back.

  Good Lord, she needed something, all right, and it wasn’t more chocolate or a cinnamon bun. Her attraction to Hunter had reminded her how much she missed being held, touched, kissed, and having a man make love to her.

  As if on cue, Sandy asked her about him. “I know we don’t know each other very well, but I was curious about you and Hunter.”

  “There is no me and Hunter. He’s a client.” She averted her eyes from Sandy’s penetrating gaze. “Why on earth would you think anything else?”

  “Because I saw the way you looked at him when you thought no one else was looking, and the way he looked at you.”

  “Well, you’re wrong,” Ali said, walking faster. “Hunter has a girlfriend that looks like she belongs on a magazine cover, and who at this very moment he’s taking to the opera.”

  Sandy didn’t appear convinced.

  “Besides, I’m much too busy with my work at the school to get romantically involved,” Ali said.

  Sandy stopped midstep. “Speaking of work, there’s something I wanted to ask you.”

  Grateful for the change of subject, Ali felt the tension ease from her bunched-up neck and shoulders. “Let me guess, you want to enroll your boys at the school.”

  Sandy shook her head. “Don’t get me wrong, they could use it, all right, but that’s not it.”

  “Then what is it?” Ali asked her, curiosity piqued.

  “I was wondering if you could show me how to replace my kitchen faucet.”

  Chapter Nine

  Hunter sat riveted as Enjolique Redmond’s rich soprano commanded the theater, bringing fiery diva Floria Tosca to life.

  Enjolique’s celestial tones along with the classical tenors, baritones, and basses making up the rest of the cast touched a place deep inside him with their heart and powerful voices.

  Ali had been right when she called it moving, he thought. Subtitles scrolled across a screen above the stage, but he didn’t want to look away from Enjolique’s expressive chestnut-hued face to read them.

  Now he understood Ali’s love of the opera, and her eagerness to help him enjoy it. He wished she were seated beside him in the darkened theater so he could witness her passion for it firsthand.

  Erica drowsed, and Hunter cringed inwardly as a snore rippled down their aisle. Several people turned in their seat, and he didn’t have to see their faces to know they were glaring.

  Hunter nudged her with his elbow.

  “What?” she snarled, her voice husky with sleep.

  He inclined his head toward the performers, not wanting to cause more of a disruption by whispering in her ear as she was mumbling as she came out of her sleep.

  Erica yawned audibly, not bothering to stifle the noise with her hand.

  Hunter heard a woman’s voice hiss from down the aisle. He couldn’t blame her. The performers’ amazing voices had magically transported them back in time to early twentieth-century Italy, only to be yanked to reality by Erica’s rudeness.

  Hearing Erica’s sharp intake of breath at the admonishment, he placed his hand over hers to forestall an outburst and to try to reconnect with her on some level.

  The evening had gotten off to a bad start when he’d arrived at Erica’s penthouse wearing his charcoal suit instead of the tuxedo she’d wanted.

  “You promised to make an effort,” she’d whined.

  The fact that he was even going required major effort on his part, he’d wanted to say, but kept a lid on it to keep the peace. They needed a pleasant evening out together.

  “My date should be wearing a tux,” she’d said. “You never know who we’ll run into.”

  He’d kissed her lightly on her heavily made up cheek. “No one will be looking at me,” he’d said. “You look good enough for both of us.”

  “I do, don’t I?” Erica had twirled to show off her shimmery gold cocktail dress. It had a deep slit up the side to highlight her long legs.

  In the darkened theater, Hunter kept his hand over Erica’s until the curtain dropped on the opera’s first act and the lights came on.

  “Is it over?” Erica asked. “Thank God.”

  Then why did you pretend like coming here tonight was so important? he wanted to ask but didn’t bother. He already knew the answer.

  “It’s just the end of the first act,” he said aloud. “We have twenty minutes, so let’s go out to the lobby to stretch our legs a bit. I believe they have champagne.”

  A smile overtook the scowl marring her thin face. “Now you’re talking.”

  They made their way to the crowded lobby. Two of the Tennessee Performing Arts Center’s four venues had performances that evening, and the opera audience flowed out into a lobby already jammed with people there to see the repertory theater’s new show.

  “I believe you mentioned champagne,” Erica said.

  Fortunately, Hunter was able to slip into a short line and retrieve two glasses. He took a sip of the bubbly, wishing it were a cold beer instead.

  “Don’t look, but Mrs. Palmer and her husband are coming this way,” Erica whispered excitedly. “She’s a former ambassador to some wretched country in the middle of nowhere and very tight with Vivian Cox.”

  Hunter blew out a breath. Again, with Vivian Cox. He didn’t know what he was sicker of, hearing the woman’s name or Erica’s all-out campaign to impress her.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Palmer, how lovely to see you here.”

  Hunter turned as Erica greeted a tall, regal woman with a huge smile. The woman wore a simple black dress and her graying braids were swept atop her head. Mrs. Palmer and her husband returned Erica’s exuberant greeting with tight smiles that didn’t reach their eyes.

  “I see you’re awake now,” Mrs. Palmer said.

  Hunter watched Erica’s smile falter. “I…uh…I wasn’t asleep. I just prefer to enjoy the performance with my eyes closed so I can fully appreciate the singers.”

  The other woman studied Erica a moment, the corner of her mouth pulled upward in a nonamused smile. “I’m glad you could appreciate it, because it didn’t seem as though it could keep your attention.”

  Mr. Palmer, who reminded Hunter of a grim-faced undertaker, nodded his bald head. “Sounded like somebody was riding a Harley up the aisle,” he muttered.

  Hunter told himself he wasn’t going to butt in. Besides, this time wasn’t like the other occasions when the people Erica was desperate to impress took potshots at her. The Palmers, along with everyone sitting in their section, had a legitimate gripe.

  “How could someone doze through such a moving story? I don’t understand.” Mrs. Palmer continued while Erica stared on helplessly.

  Hunter hadn’t intended to intervene, but his girlfriend looked so pitiful. Biting back the urge to tell them they’d made their point and to get off her back, he tried another approach.

  “I was told the singing of Te Deum was a highlight of the first act, and I wasn’t disappointed. What did you two think?” Hunter directed his question at the Palmers.

  “I tell you I was sitting on the edge of my seat.” Mrs. Palmer clasped her hands together in front of her chest. “The baritone gave me the chills.”

  Her husband bobbed his head. “We had the opportunity to hear him sing last season in Don Giovanni. Mesmerizing.”

  “This is my first opera,” Hunter admitted. “I read in the study guide Vissi d’arte is also a noteworthy aria.”

  “Oh yes,” Mrs. Palmer enthused, and went o
n to point out what Hunter should listen for in the second and third acts.

  The lights flickered, signaling the end of the intermission. Mrs. Palmer turned to Erica. “It’s not often you come across a man so cultured and handsome. You’re a lucky woman,” she said.

  His girlfriend’s plastered smile lasted until the Palmers were out of earshot.

  “I don’t believe you did that,” Erica said, the scowl returning to her face.

  “What? Come to your rescue?” Hunter asked incredulously as they walked back into the theater.

  “All you did was make them fawn all over you and make me look stupid,” she hissed.

  “I thought I was helping you. Besides, I tried to get you to come early to hear the director’s background lecture, but you claimed to know all you needed to know about this opera,” Hunter shot back.

  “You didn’t have to show me up with all that talk of arias and tenors and whatnot.”

  Hunter scrubbed a hand down his face, unable to believe what he was hearing. He’d preached patience to Sandy, Pete, and everyone else Erica had offended since she became wealthy, but she finally had him on the verge of losing it.

  “You’re the one who wanted me to be ‘charming.’ Isn’t that what the classes I’m taking for you are all about?”

  “Well, maybe they were a mistake. You’re becoming too charming for my tastes.”

  The auditorium lights dimmed as they took their seats. Despite the tension between him and Erica, Hunter found himself sucked into both the second and third acts of the performance. Meanwhile, Erica fumed beside him with her arms crossed over her chest.

  He rose to his feet clapping as the actors came out to take their bows. The applause grew thunderous when Enjolique Raymond took her last bow and the curtain fell a final time.

  Tension followed them like an overhead storm cloud on the short drive to Erica’s penthouse. He pulled up to the curb near the entry to her building.

  “I was out of line back there,” she said finally. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” he said with a sigh.

  She laid a hand on his arm. “Do you want to come up?”