Her Frog Prince. Shirley Jump

he kept. If there was an uglier animal on the planet, he’d yet to see it. But it had been enough to garner a comment from Parris, so maybe it was time he did something about himself.

      He left the bathroom of the studio apartment connected to his research offices and went into the main lab. Jerry, his assistant, and the only one he could still afford to pay now that his first grant had just about run out, sat at the counter, making notations in the log.

      “Jerry, tell me the truth. You think I need a little help in the, ah, appearance department?” Brad asked.

      Jerry looked up from his work, cast a quick glance at Brad’s T-shirt and khakis and shrugged. “The squid don’t care what you look like and neither do I. Or are you asking me for some other reason?”

      “Yeah. That research foundation thing. If I go in there, looking like this, I doubt they’ll take me seriously.”

      The fish didn’t care if he showed up in a tux and tails or a duck costume when he went out to do his research. But if he went into the meeting with The National Aquatic Research Foundation looking like something Jacques Cousteau had dragged out of the depths, he had zero chance of getting that grant and continuing his funding. If there was anything a committee liked, it was a good-looking scientist they could parade in front of the media. That and someone who sounded like they were professional, on the ball—and ahead of the research curve.

      “Well,” Jerry said, running a hand through his red hair. “You could use a new look.”

      “What do you suggest? I chuck my wardrobe and go shopping for some black silk pants and bow ties?”

      “Uh, I dunno. I’m not exactly the one to ask.” Jerry patted the front of his Real Men Belch T-shirt.

      “I see your point.”

      “What about your mom? Isn’t that the kind of thing moms live for? To dress up their kids like their own personal Barbie dolls?”

      Brad got to his feet and poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot on the counter. After sitting there in a hot pot all day, the liquid had metamorphosed into something dark as night and almost unrecognizable as java. “Calling my mother is not a good idea.”

      “That’s right. She’s not exactly the president of your squid fan club, is she?”

      Asking his mother for advice would be inviting her opinion, something Brad had learned long ago wasn’t in his best interests. “Right now, my mother is all wrapped up in the charity auction at La Torchere. She’s raising funds for the aquarium she wants to build.”

      “Well, that’s support for what you do, isn’t it?”

      “Building cages for sea life instead of supporting the study of them in the wild? No, I wouldn’t call it support.” Brad took a long gulp of coffee, ignoring the bitter taste. “All she wants me to do is serve on the Board of Directors. She doesn’t want me actually getting my hands dirty.”

      Jerry put on a bright face, clearly seeing Brad’s mother was a sore point to be dropped. “Then what you need, my friend, is a girl. Preferably one with style.” Jerry tapped his chin with a pen. “Do we know any of those? Not Lucy. She does that thing with eating her hair. Mary’s okay, but I’m not sure she can see with those glasses. And Kitty is always wearing those red socks with purple shorts. Even I know your socks shouldn’t be brighter than your shorts.” Jerry put up a finger. “Wait a minute. There’s Susan. She’s gorgeous, well acquainted with whatever it is they talk about in those fashion magazines, and—”

      “My ex-fiancé.”

      “I forgot that detail. Guess you don’t want to call her for help?”

      “I believe she’s on her honeymoon right now. With husband number two.”

      “Oh. Yeah. Timing might be bad.” Jerry sighed. “Well, that’s the end of my list of people who know how to mix and match.” He spun a formaldehyde-filled jar of preserved squid on the counter. “I don’t think these guys are going to be any help. You’re on your own, buddy.”

      “I know a woman,” Brad said finally. “And she wears that designer stuff you see in the magazines.”

      “Jackpot! Where’d you meet her?”

      “She, ah, sort of climbed into my boat when I was out there today.”

      Jerry looked at him askance. “Uh-huh. A beautiful woman just happened to climb out of the sea and into your boat. Like a mermaid. Next you’ll be telling me they’re running unicorns at the horse track.”

      “She fell off Lady’s Delight. You know, the boat for the resort? I was there, so I picked her up.”

      “Was she cute?”

      “I wouldn’t call her cute, but rather…” He thought a minute. “Sassy.”

      Jerry grinned. “Sounds interesting.”

      “She was. In a way.”

      “So, you gonna call her?”

      Brad rubbed at his chin again. The shoe Parris had left in his boat sat on the back counter, like the proverbial glass slipper waiting to be fitted on the right foot. “Yeah. Maybe make a personal visit.”

      Jerry grabbed a research journal, flipped to a blank page and took up a pencil. “Wait, let me make a note of this.” He scribbled the date at the top, then the time.

      “What are you doing?”

      “A minor miracle is happening in front of my eyes, I thought I’d document it for posterity.”

      “Minor miracle?”

      “Workaholic Brad is calling a woman for a date. Hey, you might actually have something besides squid on your mind for once.”

      “I am not calling her for a date. More a—” he glanced again at the pink sandal “—consultation.”

      Jerry tossed the journal and pencil to the side, then sat back down on the stool. “You spoil all my fun. How’s a guy going to live vicariously if you don’t live at all?”

      Parris took a deep breath and pressed a hand to her hair, stopping outside The Banyan Room to look in the mirror and check for the twentieth time that no seaweed or trace of her ocean adventure remained. Everything was as it should be. After a quick shower and change of clothes, She looked capable. Smart. Like she could handle this.

      In other words, like a fairy tale. Truth was, Parris wasn’t sure she could handle this. But she wanted to. Wanted to prove she could.

      When her younger sister Jackie had left her in charge of planning and hosting this huge charity auction worth hundreds of thousands of dollars to go off to marry Steven, Parris had, at first, felt angry and put upon. Then, as the days passed, she’d begun to feel energized by the challenge. As a woman who’d never taken the opportunity to be anything more than a society princess, this was new ground.

      Exciting ground. And yet, at the same time, terrifying territory because her footing was unsure. The auction was the first big event for Hammond Events and Consulting, the company their father had given them as a sort of test and as his convoluted way of bringing his two daughters together.

      With Jackie living among the cow patties and horseflies in connubial bliss at Steven’s Florida ranch while Parris did all the auction work, togetherness wasn’t happening. And with all the donor problems they’d had in recent weeks, Parris wasn’t so sure the auction was happening, either. She wanted this to work out, more now than ever. In the past few weeks, she’d seen the opportunity the auction presented to make something of her life. Of herself.

      Toward that goal, she had to convince the Phipps-Stovers to make a donation. She squared her shoulders, flicked a piece of lint off her suit and took in a breath.

      Merry Montrose, the resort’s manager, came up to her before Parris could enter the restaurant. “How are you, Miss Hammond? I heard about