have to get back to work,” she murmured. “Nice to meet you, Papa John.” Melanie glanced at the interloper, nodding dismissively.
As she strode out of the building, she wondered what would happen next when strong fingers closed about her arm.
“I’ll walk with you,” that firm, bossy voice declared. “If you don’t mind, that is. It seems we have something in common besides our names.” He smiled that thousand-watt grin that made her pulse flutter. “I didn’t realize you worked at Sunset. Guess I didn’t notice you.”
Egotistical male, Melanie decided and tossed her gleaming curls. Her normally clear skin flushed with irritation in the bright sunlight. That was just what every woman wanted to hear—that she had been overlooked.
“Oh, no, I don’t mind at all,” she said with a touch of sarcasm. “Please feel free to tag along.”
She was not a small woman, but Mitchel Stewart seemed to tower over her. Even with three-inch heels, her five-foot-five-inch stature seemed small and ineffective beside his height. She felt as if she was losing the upper hand in every confrontation with him.
She glared at him, tugging her arm out of his grasp as she stepped back, her body language telling him clearly not to invade her personal space.
“I don’t appreciate being accosted in broad daylight, Mr. Stewart,” she said through clenched teeth.
“Oh. Sorry. Do you appreciate it more after dark?” he quipped, grinning. “It was a little joke,” he said, his smile noticeably drooping.
“Very little.” Melanie was not amused. “I expect surgeons are so used to getting what they want, they never think of anyone else’s wishes.” Her normally calm, even tones were scathing.
“I expect they are.”
He was trying to mollify her. She could hear it in his voice.
“You admit it?” Her dark eyes opened wide in disbelief. His impudence galled her.
Mitchel wasn’t sure exactly what was going on. He had been aware of her dislike. It emanated from every pore of her well-shaped body. But right now it was as if there was another conversation going on. One that he knew absolutely nothing about.
He studied her small, tilted nose. It fit perfectly with her high-and-mighty attitude. The original attraction he had felt onstage had not abated. For some reason her dislike drew him like a magnet. He wondered if she would consider…Well, why not forge ahead?
Turning quickly, Mitchel folded her arm in his and began striding toward the parking lot. Perforce the lady had to follow, although not happily.
“Will you stop dragging me about?” she demanded. As she tried to push his muscle-hardened body away, her heel caught in a metal grating. Mitchel caught her as she swayed.
“Now look what you’ve done,” he said, smiling sympathetically. “All I wanted was to help you to your car and ask you out for dinner. I wasn’t expecting you to fall into my arms.”
Melanie pursed her lips and refused to rise to the bait. He was too infuriating. Instead she walked away.
“Where are you going?”
She pointed her finger at the tan beater parked haphazardly in a stall just six feet away. His black eyebrow arched quizzically.
“Vice-president, Communications?” Mitchel’s gleaming dark eyes frowned at her. “I thought you said you worked at the retirement home.” Clearly puzzled, he stared at her for several moments before his face darkened ominously.
“I get it,” he announced, teeth bared. “It was all just a ruse, wasn’t it? Just for the money. Well, I’m not going to be part of your little con game.” His glittering sapphire eyes stared at the placard in front of her car. “Goodbye, N. Landt.”
He turned on his heel and strode furiously away, shoulders stiff with anger.
Melanie sighed, resigned to her fate. “It has been a difficult week, Lord,” she mused. “Today isn’t going so well, either. And it doesn’t look like things will be improving anytime soon. I know I can’t understand everything You do, so could You just help me get through today?”
Sighing, she fished her key ring out of the leather shoulder bag and unlocked the car door. Gently she eased herself into the car, glumly grateful that she’d made it through this far. She would probably drive to the home, enjoy a cup of fresh coffee and get down to what she knew best.
A light tapping on her window roused Melanie from her thoughts. Turning, she saw a tall blond Adonis dressed in an elegant black three-piece pinstripe standing outside her car. She rolled down the window.
“Yes?”
“I’m terribly sorry,” he apologized, flashing a movie-perfect smile, “but you are parked in my spot. I’m Neal Landt.”
It was too much. Melanie burst into laughter, paroxysms of hilarity shaking her narrow shoulders.
“I’m very sorry,” she apologized as concern etched itself on his worried face. Quickly she explained the reason for her visit. “I was so afraid I’d be late, I pulled into the first empty spot and rushed into the studio. I’ll move right away,” she promised.
Melanie flicked on the car’s engine and waved at the bemused young man staring after her. When she glanced back, Neal Landt was scribbling furiously as he leaned against his silver-gray Jaguar.
“I’ll probably get a ticket for parking in his spot, the way today is going,” she muttered, and tried to ignore the pain pulsing through her puffy ankle.
“Once I get to work,” she promised herself. “I’ll be okay then. In fact,” she muttered in frustration, “the whole day would have progressed very well if I had just ignored the stupid letter and gone straight to work in the first place.”
There are no free lunches, she remembered Charity lecturing. Whatever you get in this life is exactly what you’ve worked for, dear. There’s no such thing as something for nothing.
“As usual, you are always right, Mother,” Melanie lamented sadly. “Especially today. But oh, what we could have done with that prize!”
It really was too bad the ill-humored Mitchel Stewart had not been able to see the funny side of this whole situation, Melanie thought, her lips tilting up as her mind replayed the scene. Humming loudly, she pulled into traffic and headed for Mossbank, confident that a return to routine would put her on track.
The mass of paperwork beckoned, and Melanie knew she would have to tackle it soon, but there was one duty she couldn’t neglect in her daily ritual. Anyway, she didn’t want to. She enjoyed it too much.
Quickly she slid out of the navy suit she had worn for her television debut and into the spare pink uniform she kept for just such occasions. She surveyed herself in the narrow mirror she had hung on the back of her door.
“Oh, lovely.” She grimaced, noting the caked lines of eye-shadow and heavy red lipstick. “Wait till the candy stripers see you in this getup.”
She grabbed a brush and tugged it through her dark russet curls, allowing them
