rather had the bad luck to lose her leg in a shark attack than have her daughter date her mortal enemy’s son.
God had a sense of humor.
Obviously.
Melanie hadn’t actually seen Tennyson since running into her when Bronte got married fifteen years ago. Even then they’d stared at one another and disappeared to the opposite sides of East Ridge Country Club. This past year, when Kit and Melanie went to parents’ weekend, Tennyson went to Saint Croix. When they’d traipsed up to Fayetteville to see the LSU Tigers take on the Hogs, Tennyson had skipped the game and gone skiing in Park City. Tennyson had taken Emma and Andrew to Jackson Hole right after Christmas that past December, and Melanie had seen pictures of her once-upon-a-time best friend, but she hadn’t had to actually face her.
But that would change next week when they went to graduation. Emma and Andrew had planned a big party for after the ceremony. Tennyson would be there.
“Wish me luck,” Kit said, emerging from the bathroom looking as handsome as ever, even if his eyes were slightly squinty and his hairline a bit thinned. Time had been gracious to Kit Layton, that was for certain. He still turned heads when he entered a room, his blue eyes vibrant against the craggy, tan face, his lean physique commanding, his teeth bright when he flashed a smile.
“You don’t need luck,” she said, allowing her lips to curve as she slid her gaze over her husband in his best suit. Still such a babe.
“You always say that,” he said with a chuckle.
“Because I believe it. You’re good at what you do.”
Thanks to her father gifting her money and the acreage right off the Red River before he died and Kit’s innate talent for developing property into profitable ventures, the company she and Kit had started when they’d first married was flourishing. Early on, Melanie had worked elbow to elbow with her husband to build their property-development company. With her degree in accounting and Kit’s marketing acumen, they’d given birth to some of the most successful housing developments in South Shreveport. The venture Kit was currently working on encompassed a development based on their favorite beach-vacation community, harkening back to days of old when neighbors met in a common area and activities promoted tight-knit relationships. Instead of going for the pastels-and-beach vibe, Kit had envisioned something more native to northwest Louisiana, focusing on natural flora and fauna with hints of rustica, like a “farmers’ market colliding with an upscale state park.”
Right as Kit turned to say something to her, his phone rang. His mouth twitched into something pleasing as he clicked the button. “Hey, Char, I’m about to leave now. You pick up the boards from the printers? They do them right this time?”
Melanie watched as his face reflected his approval at what the other person was saying on the line. Charlotte Mullins was his administrative right-hand woman, who he’d hired last year when his longtime assistant had retired to New Mexico to be closer to her grandchildren. Charlotte was the cousin of one of Melanie’s Junior League friends and had moved to Shreveport to start her life over after a bitter divorce. With a degree from Wharton’s business school and a desire to not be part of corporate America with its impossible demands on time and energy, Charlotte had agreed to work for Kit part time. That part-time job had morphed into a full-time pseudo partnership, with Kit agreeing to a hefty bonus for her if this deal went through.
Melanie liked Charlotte. Or at least she had at first.
Charlotte was thirty-two with long, dark hair and fit legs that came from daily tennis. Pair that with her crackling energy and sexy Carly Simon vibe, and the younger woman made Melanie feel like two-week-old cheese—once desired but now avoided when rooting in the refrigerator. It didn’t help that at times Kit seemed to anticipate Charlotte’s company more than he did that of his own wife. Melanie quickly grew tired of hearing about how smart the woman was, how men hit on her when they were out to lunch, and how Char had hiked some mountain in Colorado. Blah, blah, blah.
So she was young, fit, and pretty? Whoop-de-freakin’-do.
“Yeah, Heritage Woods is going to blow their minds. I can’t see how Hal wouldn’t want a piece of this. You did good, Char. After we seal this deal, we’ll have dinner and toast your brilliance.”
Melanie turned away from Kit and rolled her eyes so