Shane’s expression made him look like he’d been sucking on lemons, and Mel was pretty sure Tori was responsible. He escorted Tori to a seat and rolled his eyes behind her as she sat. Yeah, the two were definitely arguing. She felt a pang of sympathy for Tori.
But she was surprised to feel a touch of concern for Shane, too. He looked down at Tori in confusion and showed a quick glimpse of that vulnerability he’d surprised Mel with upstairs with his talk of lilacs and his grandmother. Those words had hit her heart, since she wore the pricey Amouage scent because it reminded her of her own grandmother. She excused herself and headed for their table.
People stopped her along the way, and she accepted their compliments and autograph requests with a practiced smile. A man in uniform stopped her to thank her for being on the cover of Sports Quarterly’s swimsuit issue three years ago. He pulled the well-worn folded page from his pocket and asked if she’d autograph it for him. It took every ounce of her strength not to dwell on how awful that Cozumel photo shoot had been. Between the sand fleas and a particularly lecherous photographer, it had been one of the worst jobs she’d ever taken.
By the time she got to their table, Shane was headed toward the bar with a sandy-haired man walking with a barely perceptible limp. Gary was nowhere to be seen. Tori was talking with an older woman. More accurately, the older woman was talking, and Tori was nodding sullenly. The girl’s shoulders were rounded, and she was tugging at her dress. But when she saw Melanie, she jumped up to greet her, pigtails bouncing like springs on her head.
“You’re here! I told Shane you’d come!”
“Oh, my goodness! You’re that model! You did the Coastal Jeans campaign, right?” The woman Tori had been talking to now joined them. “You know Tori?”
Tori nodded, her sulking long forgotten. “Yes, Mrs. Covington, this is Mellie Low. We’re...” She hesitated and Melanie jumped in.
“Tori and I are friends. And I go by Melanie Lowery now. Or just Mel.”
Mellie Low died a long time ago.
Tori beamed as Melanie extended her hand to the woman. Susan Covington explained that her husband was CEO of Covington Golf, and they were one of Tori’s equipment sponsors on the women’s golf tour. She introduced Mel to another couple at the table, the founders of Winthrop Athletic, a clothing company. Helen Winthrop was nowhere near as pleasant as Susan and had barely released Mel’s hand when she started in.
“Mellie, you’re in the fashion business, so please, God, can you give Tori some much-needed fashion advice?” Tori yanked at the hem of her dress. Mel gritted her teeth. What this girl needed was compassion, not cat claws.
“Please call me Mel. And, actually, Tori’s outfit reflects popular urban fashion for teens right now. She’s following a trend.”
Tori’s shy smile had Mel reaching to squeeze her hand, which also kept her from fidgeting with her dress. Helen gave Tori another once-over.
“Hmm. Perhaps it’s the ‘urban’ part I don’t get. We need Tori to reflect our company’s values, not those of the Kardashians.”
Melanie, I don’t care if it’s your favorite shirt or not, you can’t wear it. Nothing is about you anymore—it’s about our clients, and you represent them every waking minute of the day, so get used to it.
Helen turned away to say something to Susan, who rolled her eyes at Mel in sympathy when Helen wasn’t looking. Tori tugged at Mel’s hand and whispered to her.
“Everyone’s staring at me. I was just trying to get back at Shane for making me come to this dinner, but now I feel like an idiot. I never thought he’d let me wear this.”
Melanie could draw only two conclusions. Either that boulder of a man was clueless and thought Tori really wanted to come to dinner in this getup or he’d decided to let her embarrass herself deliberately to teach her a lesson. Either way, the girl was feeling humiliated, and that wasn’t going to happen while Mel was around. Phones were already aimed at Tori from around the room. Social media would have a field day with that outfit.
She leaned over and whispered in Tori’s ear, “I just happen to know where there’s a room full of clothes and accessories that could tone this up or down any way you’d like. If you’re interested.”
Tori’s eager nod was all she needed. Shane was still at the bar with the other guy, paying no attention to his client. She couldn’t wait to see his face when Tori turned the tables on him.
* * *
“YOU LOOK LIKE you’re ready to kill someone, Shane. Lighten up, will you?” Tim slapped his back a little too hard. “We’re here to have a good time, remember? And make money. By being nice to people. Ring any bells?”
Shane nodded absently. He made his living as a sports agent by schmoozing his way through rooms like this one. The Dealmaker. That’s what they’d called him in Boston when he’d come out of nowhere and signed a Beantown deal for one of the hottest basketball players in the league. It was a crazy scheme hatched in college, where he’d first met Marquis Jackson. They’d become friends, and Shane, a cocky law student, had sat at Marquis’s side once he’d declared himself eligible for the draft. When Marquis got himself arrested for a barroom scuffle and then mouthed off to some reporters afterward, some of those people had backed away. But not Shane. He’d started making calls to NBA teams himself, to Boston specifically, and had ended up working out the deal that had made Marquis a star. The two of them had landed on the cover of a Boston sports magazine.
Nana had loved the headline, where he’d been referred to as “The Dealmaker” for the first time. So much so that she’d framed it and hung it on her wall. He frowned. Weird. That was the second time today his tiny Irish grandmother had come into his thoughts. It was all because of that violet-eyed beauty and her damned perfume. Or was it the way Melanie Lowery had stood up to him to protect Tori? That was something his feisty nana would have done. At his side, his best friend and business partner flagged down the bartender.
“I remember why we came.” Shane straightened his shoulders. “I came here to kick your ass in the golf tournament today.”
Tim barked out a laugh. “I hate to break it to you, pal, but you failed. I warned you this new stored-energy prosthetic foot has been killer for my golf swing. The rotation unit is kick-ass, and you owe me a hundred bucks, Brannigan.”
“Whatever. You only won because you were lucky enough to get paired with the club’s pro golfer.”
“Lucky. Sure.” Tim snorted and stepped away to order. “Drinks are on you.”
His buddy being paired with Cody Brooks for the tournament was something Shane had quietly arranged. That was his special talent, making quiet arrangements behind closed doors. He’d also arranged for himself to be partnered with Carter Patterson. A hotshot college quarterback, Carter entered the pros a few years ago in a burst of publicity and attention that proved too much for a kid from Wisconsin. He’d let the pressure get to him and started making ridiculous mistakes on the field. The fans on social media had turned him into a joke. One team after another had cut him, and his agent was doing nothing to help the guy. But Patterson was only twenty-six and had plenty of career left if he could get his head straight. Shane’s deal-making had paid off well today—Tim and Cody had won the charity tournament, and Patterson had agreed to set up a meeting with Shane soon.
The only blemish on the day had been the skirmish upstairs before dinner. Then again, confronting the enigmatic Miss Lowery had been the most energizing moment of the whole day, as well.
“Dude, seriously, put