Susan Elizabeth Phillips - Call Me Irresistible

He couldn’t believe he’d lost control like that. She’d tried to brush it off, but he’d never forgive himself.

He tried to think about something else, only to end up stewing over the mess in Wynette. The town refused to accept his resignation, so his desk at City Hall sat empty, but he’d be damned if he was jumping back into that disaster. The truth was, he’d let everybody down, and no matter how understanding they all tried to be, there wasn’t a person in town who didn’t know he’d failed them.

The lobby doors opened and closed. In the course of one summer, his comfortable life had been destroyed.

“I’m messy and wild and disruptive, and you have broken my heart.”

The unbearable hurt in those green-blue eyes had cut right through him. But what about his heart? His hurt? How did she think he felt when the person he’d grown to count on the most left him in the lurch right when he needed her?

“My stupid heart . . . ,” she’d said. “It was singing.”

He waited in the lobby all afternoon, but Meg never appeared.

That night, he wandered through Chinatown and got drunk in a Mission District bar. The next day he pulled up the collar of his jacket and walked the city in the rain. He rode a cable car, drifted through the tea garden in Golden Gate Park, poked into a couple of souvenir shops on Fisherman’s Wharf. He tried to eat a bowl of clam chowder at the Cliff House to warm up but set it aside after a few bites.

“Just the sight of you made me feel like dancing.”

He woke up too early the next morning, hungover and miserable. A cold, thick fog had settled in, but he hit the empty streets anyway and climbed to the top of Telegraph Hill.

Coit Tower wasn’t open yet, so he walked the grounds, gazing out across the city and the bay as the fog began to lift. He wished he could talk this whole mess over with Lucy, but he could hardly call her up after all this time and tell her that her best friend was an immature, demanding, overly emotional, unreasonable nutcase, and what the hell was he supposed to do about that?

He missed Lucy. Everything had been so easy with her.

He missed her . . . but he didn’t want to wring her neck like he wanted to wring Meg’s. He didn’t want to make love with her until her eyes turned to smoke. He didn’t yearn for the sound of her voice, the joy of her laughter.

He didn’t ache for Lucy. Dream about her. Long for her.

He didn’t love her.

With a rustle of leaves and a chilly gust, the wind carried the fog out to sea.

A few hours later, Ted was headed south on I-5 in a rented Chevy Trailblazer. He drove too fast and stopped just once to grab a mug of bitter coffee. He prayed Meg had gone to L.A. with her parents when she’d left Wynette instead of heading off to Jaipur or Ulan Bator or some other place where he couldn’t get to her and tell her how much he loved her. The wind that had carried away the San Francisco fog had also swept away the last of his confusion. He’d been left with a blinding clarity that cut through all the turmoil of old fiancées and aborted weddings, a clarity that let him see how skillfully he’d used logic to hide his fear of having his easy life disturbed by chaotic emotions.

He, of all people, should have known love wasn’t orderly or rational. Hadn’t his own parents’ passionate, illogical love affair overcome deception, separation, and pigheadedness to last more than three decades? That kind of soul-deep love was what he felt for Meg—the complicated, disruptive, overpowering love he’d refused to admit was missing in his relationship with Lucy. He and Lucy had fit together so perfectly in his mind. His mind . . . but not his heart. It should never have taken him so long to figure that out.

He ground his teeth in frustration when he hit L.A. traffic. Meg was a creature of passion and impulse, and he hadn’t seen her in over a month. What if time and distance had convinced her she deserved something better than a boneheaded Texan who didn’t know his own mind?

He couldn’t think like that. He couldn’t let himself contemplate what he’d do if she’d gotten fed up with the whole idea of ever having fallen in love with him. If only she hadn’t cut off her phone. And what about her history of hopping on planes and flying off to the farthest reaches of the planet? He wanted her to stay put, but Meg wasn’t like that.

It was early evening by the time he reached the Korandas’ Brentwood estate. He wondered if they knew Meg hadn’t shown up in San Francisco. Although he couldn’t be certain they were the ones who’d put up the winning bid, who else would have done it? The irony didn’t escape him. What the parents of daughters most liked about him was his stability, but he’d never felt less stable in his life.

He identified himself over the intercom. As the gates swung open, he remembered he hadn’t shaved for two days. He should have stopped at a hotel first to clean up. His clothes were wrinkled, his eyes bloodshot, and he had a bad case of flop sweat, but he wasn’t going to turn back now.

He parked his car at the side of the English Tudor that was the Korandas’ primary California home. Best-case scenario, Meg would be here. Worst-case scenario . . . He wouldn’t think about worst-case scenarios. The Korandas were his allies, not his enemies. If she weren’t here, they’d help him find her.

But the cool hostility Fleur Koranda exhibited when she opened the front door did nothing to bolster his shaken confidence. “Yes?”

That was all. No smile. No handshake. Definitely no hug. Regardless of age, women tended to go all melty-eyed when they saw him. It had happened so many times he barely noticed, but it wasn’t happening now, and the novelty unbalanced him. “I need to see Meg,” he blurted out, and then, stupidly, “I— We haven’t been formally introduced. I’m Ted Beaudine.”

“Ah, yes. Mr. Irresistible.”

She didn’t say it like it was a compliment.

“Is Meg here?” he asked.

Fleur Koranda looked at him exactly the way his mother had looked at Meg. Fleur was a beautiful six-foot Amazon with the same boldly slashed eyebrows Meg had, but not Meg’s coloring or more delicate features. “The last time I saw you,” Fleur said, “you were scrambling in the dirt, trying to knock a man’s head off.”

If Meg had the guts to stand up to his mother, he could face hers down. “Yes, ma’am. And I’d do it again. Now I’d appreciate it if you’d tell me where I can find her.”

“Why?”

If you gave mothers like this an inch, they’d mow you down. “That’s between her and me.”

“Not exactly.” The deep voice came from Meg’s father, who’d appeared at his wife’s shoulder. “Let him in, Fleur.”

Ted nodded, stepped into a grand entrance hall, and followed them to a comfortable family room already occupied by two tall younger men with Meg’s chestnut brown hair. One sat on the fireplace hearth, ankle crossed over his knee, strumming a guitar. The other tapped away at a Mac. These could only be Meg’s twin brothers. The one with the laptop, Rolex, and Italian loafers had to be Dylan, the financial whiz, while Clay, the guitar-playing New York actor, had shaggier hair, ripped jeans, and bare feet. Both of them were exceptionally good-looking guys and dead ringers for an old movie idol, although he couldn’t immediately recall which one. Neither resembled Meg, who took after her father. And neither appeared to be any more welcoming than the senior Korandas. Either they knew Meg hadn’t shown up in San Francisco and blamed him, or he’d gotten it dead wrong from the start, and they weren’t the ones who’d entered the contest for her. Either way, he needed them.

Jake made perfunctory introductions. Both brothers uncoiled from their respective seats, not to shake his hand, he quickly discovered, but to meet him at eye level. “So this is the great Ted Beaudine,” Clay said with a drawl almost identical to the one his father used on-screen.

Dylan looked as though he’d sniffed out a hostile takeover. “No accounting for my sister’s taste.”

So much for hopes of cooperation. Although Ted didn’t have any practice dealing with animosity, he damned sure wasn’t going to back away from it, and he cut his gaze between the brothers. “I’m looking for Meg.”

“I take it she didn’t show up for your party in San Francisco,” Dylan said. “That must have been quite a blow to your ego.”

“My ego doesn’t have anything to do with it,” Ted countered. “I need to talk to her.”

Clay fingered the neck of his guitar. “Yeah, but here’s the thing, Beaudine . . . If our sister wanted to talk to you, she’d have done it by now.”

The atmosphere in the room crackled with an ill will he recognized as the same kind of antagonism Meg had confronted every day she was in Wynette. “That’s not necessarily true,” he said.

Mother Bear’s beautiful, blond fur bristled. “You had your chance, Ted, and from what I understand, you blew it.”

“Big-time,” Papa Bear said. “But if you give us a message, we’ll be sure to pass it on.”

Ted was damned if he’d spill his guts to any of them. “With all due respect, Mr. Koranda, what I have to say to Meg is between the two of us.”

Jake shrugged. “Good luck, then.”

Clay set down his guitar and stepped away from his brother. Some of his hostility seemed to have faded, and he regarded Ted with what seemed like sympathy. “No one else is going to tell you, so I will. She’s left the country. Meg is traveling again.”

Ted’s stomach twisted. This was exactly what he’d feared. “No problem,” he heard himself say. “I’m more than happy to get on a plane.”

Dylan didn’t share his brother’s sympathetic attitude. “For a guy who’s supposed to be some kind of genius, you’re a little slow on the uptake. We’re not telling you a damned thing.”

“We’re a family,” Papa Bear said. “You may not understand what that means, but all of us do.”

Ted understood exactly what it meant. It meant these tall, good-looking Korandas had circled their wagons against him just as his friends had done against Meg. Lack of sleep, frustration, and a self-disgust that was tinged with panic made him lash out. “I’m a little confused. Aren’t you the same family who cut her off four months ago?”

He had them. He could see the guilt in their eyes. Until this exact moment, he’d never suspected he had a spiteful nature, but a person learned something new about himself every day. “I’ll bet Meg never told you everything she went through.”

“We talked to Meg all the time.” Her mother’s stiff lips barely moved.

“Is that right? Then you know all about how she was living.” He didn’t give a damn that he was about to do something grossly unfair. “I’m sure you know she was forced to scrub toilets to buy food? And she must have told you she had to sleep in her car? Did she mention that she barely avoided going to jail on vagrancy charges?” He wasn’t telling them who’d nearly sent her there. “She ended up living in an abandoned building with no furniture. And do you have any idea how hot a Hill Country summer is? To cool off, she swam in a snake-infested creek.” He could see the guilt dripping from their pores, and he bore in. “She had no friends and a town full of enemies, so you’ll forgive me if I’m not impressed with your notions of how to protect her.”

Her parents had gone ashen-faced, her brothers wouldn’t look at him, and he told himself to back off even as the words kept coming. “If you don’t want to tell me where she is, then the hell with all of you. I’ll find her myself.”

He stormed out of the house, fueled by rage, an emotion so new to him he barely recognized it. By the time he reached his car, however, he regretted what he’d done. This was the family of the woman he loved, and even she believed they’d done the right thing by cutting her off. He’d accomplished nothing except venting his anger on the wrong people. How the hell was he supposed to find her now?

He spent the next few days fighting a grinding despair. An Internet search failed to yield any clues about Meg’s whereabouts, and the people most likely to have information refused to talk to him. She could be anywhere, and with the whole world to search, he had no idea where to start.

Once it was obvious the Korandas hadn’t been the high bidders in the contest, the identity of his matchmaker should have been immediately clear, but he still didn’t figure it out right away. When he finally put the pieces together, he stormed to his parents’ house and ran his mother to ground in her office.