Bringing Home a Bachelor by Karen Kendall

say.” He wiped his brow. “You got me, sir.”
    “Yes, Peter, I did.” That mocking laugh came again. “You may have got some, but I got you. I learn the American slang, eh? Is good?”
    Pete forced himself to chuckle and nod. After all, he couldn’t exactly tell his boss to go to hell, now could he?

7
    M ELINDA TOOK THE service stairs down the three flights to her room, just to make sure she didn’t run into anyone she knew. She made the mistake of touching her hair again, and it felt like insulation material rolled in tar.
    What she wanted and needed was a nice, hot, relaxing bath—and possibly a lobotomy. That way she wouldn’t obsess about Pete, her forwardness with him, whether or not he would call her, and whether or not she wanted him to.
    She fumbled her key card out of her evening bag and soon she was inside her own hotel room. She kicked off her shoes, wriggled out of her dress and padded barefoot into the bathroom, where she plugged the drain of the tub and started the hot water. Playa Bella had thoughtfully provided shampoo, bath oil and conditioner to their guests, and she wished she had two of the little bottles of shampoo.
    Within minutes, she was sprawled naked in a hot bath and soaking her head—a good thing. The half a can of spray in her hair went from being sticky when dry to being gooey and slimy when wet. Yuck. She sat up and dumped shampoo into her hand, then attacked her scalp. Once she’d rinsed and repeated, she began to feel better.
    Mel drained the tub and refilled it with clean water. She added the entire bottle of bath oil, then lay back again and relaxed, emptying her mind of all criticism, all business worries and all of her secret angst about never getting married, dying alone and being eaten by her little dog.
    She was slipping peacefully into a warm, mellow, Zen state when someone knocked on her door.
    “Melinda?” called her mother’s voice.
    Nooooooooooooooooooooooooo!
    Mel prayed that she’d just go away. No such luck.
    “Honey?”
    “What?” she hollered rudely.
    “Are you all right?”
    I was before you came along to annoy me. Aloud, she said, “I’m fine, Mom.”
    “May I come in for a moment?”
    “Just a minute.” Her peace destroyed, Melinda got to her feet, stepped out of the tub, and wrapped herself in a terry robe. She sighed, belted it and swaddled her dripping hair in a towel. Then she went to the door and opened it.
    Her aging Barbie of a mother stood there, clearly concerned. “How are you feeling?”
    “Huh?” Melinda had forgotten the lie about stomach troubles she’d told. “Oh…I’m fine now, thank you. I took some antacids.”
    “Mark said he knocked on your door earlier but there was no answer.”
    “I was sleeping.”
    Jocelyn stood there awkwardly for a moment, as if she didn’t know what to say. But that was impossible, because she was a social butterfly and in charge of one of the big Miami charity leagues. She always knew the right thing to say. “Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better.”
    “Thanks.”
    “Sweetheart, we don’t see much of you lately. Your father and I wish you’d come by the house more often.”
    Maybe I would, if you didn’t constantly drop hints about my weight and serve me cucumber rounds and water with lemon in it. Mel sighed.
    “I know you’re busy, though.” Her mother still stood uncomfortably near the door.
    Melinda felt guilty, as usual. Her mother had the ability to make her feel either guilty or furious within two seconds flat. “Mom, what? What’s on your mind? Come in and sit down.”
    Jocelyn brightened immediately at the invitation, and Mel told herself she should be nicer to her. She should have more respect.
    “I noticed that Pete took you some champagne while you were out walking on the beach. Wasn’t that nice?”
    Uh-oh. “Yes, it was very sweet of him.” Did you also notice that I’d already swiped an entire bottle? Mel braced herself for a lecture.
    “He’s grown into