The Negotiator (Harbor City 1)

Oh. That sounded about as much fun as a world without chocolate. “Why?”

“I have a gala in two days and while Sawyer is many things, he is still a man with horrible sense for women’s fashion.”

“I can pick out my own dress.” Plus, it was highly doubtful she’d be going to the gala. Her period was due any minute, and she’d even worn white jeans and her favorite pair of panties today to hurry it along. Everyone knew Aunt Flo loved to fuck up anything white and/or pretty.

“Your ability to pick an item of clothing is not in question,” Helene said, her tone making a mockery of her words. “However, your ability to pick one that is appropriate for your first appearance at a major event as Sawyer’s fiancée is.”

“Tolong,” she muttered under her breath, although she doubted even if anyone could hear they’d answer her call for help, and as long as she had to continue with the fake engagement farce, telling Helene to buzz off was not a possible option. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m going to have to say no.”

Helene ground her teeth together and the vein popped out in her temple, reminiscent of her son. “I’m not good at apologizing.”

“That was an apology?” Not actually laughing out loud was hard. Still, she managed it.

“It’s a habit my son got from me, I’ll just warn you of that now,” she said, regaining her imperial air. “Also, having trouble finding a happy middle ground seems to be a family trait. That’s why Sawyer is so focused on the company and only the company—until you came along. I’d like the opportunity to get to know the woman who was able to get him to focus on something other than the family business a little better before the wedding.”

“I’m not sure I’m the reason for any change.” In fact, she was pretty damn sure she wasn’t.

“You may not be sure, but I am. Trust me. I tried everything I could think of to get him to slow down before going the nuclear route and pushing possible wives at him. By then I was out of options, and I couldn’t stand losing my son to an early death from overwork like I had my husband.”

Ooof. That hit her right in the hormonal feels. God, she couldn’t do this. “Helene…” The rest of what she was going to say vanished out of her head at the superior look the other woman gave her when she used her first name. “Mrs. Carlyle?”

“You can call me Helene, we’re going to be family after all.”

The elevator dinged its arrival and the doors whooshed open. Helene strode inside, obviously confident that Clover was going to follow behind—and she might have, if she could move her feet. The mention of family had all the guilt and anxiety rushing back to the surface, overwhelming everything except her ability to remember to breathe.

Helene gave her a hard look and pressed down the door open button. “Please don’t make that face. Let’s just go find you the perfect dress…and a last-minute appointment with my hair stylist.”

The little dig, subtle and yet perfectly aimed, was just the thing to break Clover out of her icy trance. Helene and Sawyer might not be carbon copies, but there were plenty of similarities between the two and as with the son, there was no way she was going to get Helene out of the penthouse without letting her think she won. So they’d go through the shopping farce and Clover could return whatever dress she ended up getting at the first opportunity. It’s not like she was ever going to need a ball gown after her she walked out of the penthouse for the last time.

“If I say yes to the dress, will you back off my hair?” she asked.

Helene gave her a skeptical look. “You’ll try on whatever I suggest?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I’ll get it.”

“But I’m buying,” Helene said, waving off the objection as if laying out thousands on a dress was no big deal, which for her it probably wasn’t.

“I couldn’t accept.” The last thing she wanted was to walk away from Sawyer owing his family.

“You don’t have a choice. Those are my terms”—she paused as if considering an option that was slightly less distasteful than Clover picking out her own dress—“but I’ll let you pay for lunch.”

The woman wasn’t going without her. That much was obvious. With reluctant admiration and half looking forward to the distraction from waiting for her period, Clover grabbed her purse from the entryway table and got in the elevator. “You negotiate better than Sawyer.”

“Darling,” Helene said with a satisfied grin, “tell me something I don’t know. Come on, if I’m lucky I’ll have the opportunity to scare Irving again.”

As the elevator doors closed, Clover didn’t have a single doubt that Helene Carlyle could accomplish that with only minimal effort.

Three hours later, Clover found herself under the heat hood at Helene’s salon. She wasn’t sure how she’d gotten there, but the woman had outmaneuvered her at every turn. She really was a force to be reckoned with. So while Clover sat there with tinfoil in her hair, Helene sipped tea from a delicate china cup.

After setting her cup down on the saucer, Helene gave her an assessing once-over. “Sawyer’s very set in his ways, you know.”

“You don’t have to tell me.” No, she’d lived through the experience of learning that all on her own. Her hand automatically went to her belly.

“I suppose I don’t,” Helene said. “He’s just never had any other interests than Carlyle Enterprises, not from the time he was old enough to ride to work with his father. As a little boy, he was just the same as he is now. Simply shorter and with a more limited vocabulary.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.” Clover chuckled despite everything going on between her and Sawyer because the mental image of him as a toddler in a suit was too funny not to. “Although I was surprised by how obsessed he is with the business that he’s never built anything with his own hands. I guess that’s why it was so much fun to renovate the bar cart together.”

One perfectly waxed and shaped dark brown eyebrow went up, and Helene leaned forward. “Explain renovate.”