An Improper Affair. Anna DePalo

Brenda’s makeup was perfect for television or for the Las Vegas showgirl she’d once been, but in the harsh light of day, it just looked garish.

      Then again, Kelly reflected, since her mother’s life often resembled a soap opera, the makeup wasn’t completely inappropriate. Brenda continued to live in the fast lane, her devil-may-care attitude still going strong in her fifties.

      Kelly sighed. As a teenager, she’d been embarrassed by her mother’s loose living. Her mother had drunk, smoked and partied hard. And now it appeared some things were destined never to change.

      “I’m looking to partner with a national chain,” she said in response to her mother’s inquiring look, “but there’s a lot of competition for shelf space, especially in the more prestigious retailers.”

      She could only fantasize about getting her designs in Neiman Marcus or—

      “What about Sperling?” Brenda said, her eyes sharpening.

      For a moment, Kelly thought she’d spoken out loud, but then she realized Brenda was giving voice to what she herself had been thinking.

      “I could contact Webb and—”

      “No,” she said emphatically. It would be a bad idea for either of them to let Webb Sperling back into their lives.

      “It’s settled,” Brenda said animatedly, putting down the jewelry box. “I’ll just give Webb a call and—”

      “No.”

      But Brenda was already caught up in another one of her schemes. “Of course, he’s still married to that cheap slut Roxanne—” Brenda’s mouth curved in a hard smile “—but Webb and I keep in touch.”

      Kelly resisted rolling her eyes. As far as Kelly knew, Brenda and Webb hadn’t been lovers in years. But one could never tell with those two, particularly since Webb was a known adulterer and Brenda had never looked a gift horse in the mouth.

      Kelly mentally winced at the thought of her mother approaching Webb for a favor, then winced again as another, more ominous thought occurred and she wondered whether Brenda had already been approaching Webb from time to time over the years for “a small loan.”

      In the end, she’d convinced Brenda to back off the idea of contacting Webb Sperling—or rather, she thought she had.

      Two weeks later, however, the phone call had come. Webb’s tone had been too hearty, his attitude a tad oily.

      She hadn’t had the willpower to resist what was being dangled in front of her, particularly since all her dreams for Distressed Success were bound up in it.

      Now, though, she’d unexpectedly come face-to-face with the avenging angel—someone who despised Webb Sperling and everything associated with him. His son.

      Still, Ryan’s attitude riled her. He had some nerve to judge her.

      When they’d both been teenagers in Clayburn, he’d been the scion of the richest family in town and she’d been the daughter of the local sexpot and living in a run-down house in the cheapest part of town. Sure, her mother had had an affair with Ryan’s father, but only because the senior Sperling liked his women brassy and trashy.

      Her world and Ryan’s couldn’t have been more different—growing up, the only times she’d see him was when she’d occasionally spot him around town. He’d attended exclusive private schools, while she’d been a student at the local high school.

      And though he’d had a reputation for hell-raising, his rebelliousness hadn’t prevented him from getting into Harvard. She, in contrast, had worked her way through two years of community college to earn a degree in small-business administration and management.

      The same will to succeed, however, now made her pick up the phone sitting on the counter. She needed to put her mind at rest, or try to.

      When Webb’s secretary picked up, she said, “I’d like to speak with Mr. Sperling, please.”

      “Who shall I say is calling?”

      “Tell him it’s Kelly Hartley of Distressed Success.”

      “Please hold while I see if he’s available,” the secretary intoned.

      After she’d endured an anxious wait of several minutes, Webb came on the line.

      She’d been afraid he wouldn’t be in since it was already Friday afternoon and her recollection from her days in Clayburn was that Webb liked his golf game.

      “Kelly, what can I do for you, sugar?” Webb said heartily.

      She hated being called sugar, but it appeared to be Webb’s favorite endearment.

      “Thank you for taking my call,” she began.

      “There’s no need to be so formal, sugar. After all, we’re old friends, aren’t we? Next time, you just tell my secretary that it’s Kelly calling.”

      Ignoring the invitation, she went on, “I thought I’d check to see where matters stood as far as putting through orders for Distressed Success’s designs.”

      Webb sighed. “You have to be patient, sugar. I’ve passed along your information to the right people.”

      “Yes, but—”

      “You could say we have a sort of committee system around here for bringing in a new vendor,” Webb said jocularly. “Lots of hoops to jump through.”

      She’d heard the speech before, but it had already been weeks since she’d heard from any of his people. “I know, but it’s been a while since—”

      “Listen, sugar, there’s a meeting I need to get to. Say hello to your mama for me, you hear?”

      Webb ended the call before she could argue any further.

      Kelly bet his meeting was an appointment on the golf course.

      “What’s wrong?” Erica asked, walking back into the room.

      “I called Webb Sperling to check on things, and got nowhere,” she replied. “He told me to be patient, etcetera, etcetera.”

      “Still thinking about your run-in with Ryan Sperling?”

      “Among other things.”

      Erica shook her head. “Don’t let a man shake you up. Trust me, it isn’t worth it—” she stopped and grinned “—particularly when you aren’t even sleeping with him.”

      An image of her and Ryan making love flashed through Kelly’s mind, sending a shiver of awareness shooting through her.

      Appalled, she tried to banish the image.

      She was sick, sick, to even be thinking of Ryan that way after he’d basically accused her of being a skank and made it clear what he thought of her business.

      The guy was obviously a jerk with tons of baggage—baggage she didn’t need. She already had enough luggage herself to ground a 747.

      Erica waved a hand in front of her face. “Earth to Kelly. Come in, Kelly.”

      “Sorry,” she responded, focusing on Erica again.

      “Was it something I said?” Erica joked. “You know—” Erica looked at her shrewdly “—Ryan may be a jerk, but there’s no denying he’s a wealthy, good-looking jerk.”

      “Really?” she asked, injecting her voice with a healthy note of skepticism.

      “Mmm-hmm.”

      “Hey, you’re a married mother of two.”

      “And not dead.”

      “What would Greg say?” she pressed.

      Greg, Erica’s husband, was a hulking firefighter.

      “Actually,” Kelly added, her tone turning thoughtful, “the