be locked into a project with a guy that made her nervous. And nice guys could never understand that she wasn’t going to sacrifice who she was on the altar of marriage. Men always started out saying they won’t ask a woman to give up her career or her dreams, but she’d watched too many of her friends cave in when their husbands put on the pressure. She didn’t have the time or the desire to play that game.
Time. Now there was the real problem. She didn’t have the time to devote to this project, even if she were so inclined. So all in all, it would just be easiest if she let them both off the hook.
“Look, Trent, I appreciate you talking to me about the video and all, but I don’t think I’m your girl.”
He looked at her for a long moment, and Melodie appreciated his honesty by not offering false disappointment.
“If you’re sure…” he began.
Melodie nodded. “Yes, I think it would be best. I do want to thank you for the opportunity.”
“My pleasure.”
She doubted it, but it was nice of him to say anyway.
They stood and were shaking hands when Joey burst into the room. “Uncle Trenton! Amber threw up!”
Trent turned and raced to the play area. He’d barely reached the door when Amber came through and launched herself into his arms, tears streaming down her face.
“I was just…” The rest of her words were lost in her sobs. Melodie stroked the child’s head comfortingly.
“She was hanging upside down on the monkey bars when she hurled all over everything. It was cool!” Joey supplied with typical brotherly concern.
Attendants hurried to the area with cleaning supplies, and a manager came over to them. “Is the child all right, sir?”
“Yes, she’s fine. I should have made her wait longer after eating.”
“That’s quite all right. This happens often.”
Trenton stood with Amber in his arms and gave Melodie a wry smile over the little girl’s shoulder. “Look, Melodie—”
They both gave exasperated sighs as his cellular phone chirped in his pocket. Shifting Amber, he answered the summons.
Feeling awkward about listening to his side of the conversation, Melodie tried to focus her attention elsewhere. This was one of those situations the protocol police needed to come up with some new rules for. Did one stand there and listen obviously? Did one look off and pretend not to listen? Did one physically move away? Melodie decided if she could find the time she was going to write a book: Cellular Phones and the Men Who Love Them.
It should be a bestseller.
Thankfully, he kept the conversation short. When she brought her attention back to him, it was obvious that he wasn’t exactly happy.
“That was Bridgette.”
Melodie waited, not sure that a response was required.
“I told her that you declined, but she insisted I invite you to dinner at my house tonight. We’re having a meeting of the video staff at seven-thirty. It will be informal.”
Melodie wanted to inquire which would be informal—the dinner or the meeting.
“Please, Miss Melodie,” Amber said, her blue eyes liquid with tears. “I want you to meet my mommy.”
“No, honey. Not this time. I promise you I’ll stay after school one afternoon and meet her, okay?”
Barely mollified, Amber nodded and rested her head against her uncle’s broad chest.
After giving Amber a final pat, Melodie smiled at Trent. “Thank you again, but no. I’ll just go so you can take care of the kids.”
Trenton held out his hand and shook hers warmly once more. “I appreciate your time, Melodie.” He reached into his pocket for a pen. “Here’s my card,” he said as he wrote on the back, “in case you change your mind. It was nice talking with you.”
“You, too. Goodbye.”
In a blink, it seemed, they were outside and heading for their respective vehicles. As she slipped inside her traveling sauna, Melodie wondered how she’d gotten herself into another fine mess with so little effort. At least she had gotten herself out of it without any damage.
She was still lost in thought as she pulled into the driveway of her little cookie-cutter home. Her address might not be in Hyde Park or Tarrytown or any of the other wonderful neighborhoods she’d love to live in, but it was hers—and the bank’s.
She wondered for a moment where Mr. Trenton James Laroquette, Esquire, lived. She could only imagine. Probably in the house of her dreams.
Well, wherever he lived, the fresh coat of paint she’d put on last year still looked good and other than the fact that the yard was overdue to be mowed, the place was neat and tidy.
The first thing she did after opening the door was flip on the air conditioner. It was one of the few luxuries she afforded herself, and her standing rule was to turn it on when she got home in the evening and leave it on until she left for work the next morning. It was a little stuffy now, but the house would be blessedly cool for the rest of the night.
As she headed through the living area toward the dining room, something nagged at the edges of her consciousness. It wasn’t until she was almost done flipping through the stack of mail on the table that she realized what it was.
Things were missing.
The Led Zepelin poster was gone. Half the CD rack was gone. The gray recliner and end table were gone.
Most of all, she guessed her roommate was gone.
Melodie glanced around and noticed a few more things missing. Danielle hadn’t exactly been a neatnik, so the very fact that the place looked organized was surprising. Even Danielle’s room was clean—simply void of any personal effects.
When Melodie reached her room, she headed straight for the shower, leaving a trail of sweaty clothes across the floor. She loosened her braid and ran her fingers through her long, heavy hair as she adjusted the water temperature and stepped under the spray. She planned on standing there until her fingers started to wrinkle.
She didn’t quite make it to wrinkle stage before turning off the taps, but she did feel cool and refreshed. She wondered if it was odd to feel more from a shower than from a roommate who had abandoned her, leaving her in the lurch, but Melodie pushed the thought away as she wrapped one towel turban-style around her head and tucked another under her arms.
She supposed she should feel something—anything—since Danielle was gone, but the most she could come up with was a mild sense of relief mixed with an even milder twinge of disappointment. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t known this was coming.
Then
