Deborah Mello - To Love a Stallion

“Me? Why me?”

“You’re better at that sort of thing than I am.”

Eden looked stunned, her mouth hung open. She stared at her sister. “I swear!” she finally exclaimed, rising from her seat. “Do you know the failure rate for businesses that aren’t organized?”

“We’re organized. And I made the executive decision that you’re doing promotion this week. So get moving. I’m meeting with John Stallion at three.”

Eden raised a curious eyebrow. “So what’s that about?”

“I just want him to get a taste of the ranch from my perspective.”

Her sister shook her head. “You’re not going to let this go, are you, Marah?”

“No, and I’m thinking that a distraction or two might be all we need to get them Stallions looking for land elsewhere. Besides, what do they want ours for? Like Dallas needs another skyscraper,” Marah said facetiously.

Eden grabbed for her leather handbag off the top of the desk, her head waving from side to side. “Just try not to hurt the man, Marah.”

Marah feigned ignorance. “Whatever do you mean, sister dear?”

“You know exactly what I mean. Don’t make Daddy mad, Marah.”

Marah sucked her teeth. “I’m just going to run a little interference that’s all, Eden.” She glanced at her watch a second time. “You better run or you’re definitely going to be late.”

Heading for the door, Eden tossed her sister a look over her shoulder. “Just for the record, I get to be the executive next week. You just remember that,” she said with a soft chuckle.

Marah winked. “That’s a deal. Go get ’em!” she said, laughing. She watched as Eden swept out of the small office, muttering under her breath the whole time.

Following Eden into the interior of the club’s intimate front lounge, Marah’s gaze swept around the room, admiring the newly renovated space. The Post Club had been their brainchild. The concept had come when the two of them were mulling over the fact that neither had a man or even the prospect of a man in her life. Marah remembered the moment as if it had happened just last night instead of four years ago. Marla had just married Michael Baron, her high school honey. Marah and Eden had been sitting in the den of their family home, bedecked in emerald-green satin bridesmaid’s gowns bemoaning their woes into flutes of very expensive 1995 Dom Pérignon Rosé.

Eden had just come out of a bad relationship. Marah hadn’t had a relationship for so long it was as if she’d not known what one was. The two had laughed and cried, happy about Marla’s joy and dismayed by their own situations.

“We should start our own dating consulting service,” Marah had said in jest.

“We could do that,” Eden had responded. “Maybe it would solve our own personal problems and help a few other women out along the way.”

From that moment on the idea had evolved, starting with the letter-writing service—where they offered men and women help in reviving the ancient art of penning love letters—and then expanding into a service that connected letter writers, one with the other. Before either of them knew it, with some hundred-plus love connections made, twenty-seven marriages and twelve babies produced from the unions, they’d outgrown Eden’s dining room table and were in need of larger space to expand their services. It hadn’t helped that during that time Eden had met Jack Waller. When the two married, Eden and Jack were happy to run the business out of their new house.

That’s when Marah came up with The Post Club, a private lounge where the privileged few could meet, greet and take their seduction skills to a whole new level. Leasing the pricey loft space in downtown Dallas had been their father’s idea, Edward Briscoe’s many business connections affording them first dibs on the prime real estate. Located on the twenty-fourth floor, the plush accommodations gave them an expansive view of shiny, new Dallas, with upscale restaurants, shops and one gorgeous glass-and-steel tower after another. Marah loved that she could stand in the center of the room and see the Fairmont Hotel, the Dallas Museum of Art, Lincoln Plaza and the Trammell Crow Center through the expanse of glass that walled the interior space. What she loved more was being just minutes away from the family ranch with its rustic down-home feel. For her there was great beauty in being able to leave one world for a whole other as the moment moved her.

However, with everything they’d been able to accomplish, Marah herself had not made a love connection of her own. Four years later and she still rarely had a date worth talking about. A fact that her sisters and father were fond of reminding her of.

The telephone ringing pulled at her attention as she engaged the Bluetooth headset she had clipped behind her ear.

“Thank you for calling The Post Club! This is Marah.”

A man’s deep voice resonated on the other end. “Marah, hello. This is Victor Tomes. How are you?”

Marah bristled, a chill rolling up her spin. She forced herself to smile. “Very well, thank you, Victor. How about yourself?”

“I need some help, Marah. I’m taking a close friend to Paris with me for the weekend and I want to send her something special.”

“How special is special?” Marah asked, an annoyed expression crossing her face.

“Just enough to pique her interest for the weekend, but not too over-the-top in case I get tired of her by Monday,” the man replied nonchalantly.

Marah shook her head. Some men made her sick, she thought to herself. “Do you want a full-fledged letter or just a simple note card?’ she asked, trying to hide the annoyance that had risen in her tone.

“Do you have something in between?”

“I think I can come up with something for you. And I think a bouquet of fresh flowers would be appropriate, as well.”

“I can do roses.”

“No, definitely not roses. Roses are very personal. They signify long-term relationship.”

“Oh, heck no!” the man exclaimed. “That is surely not the message I want to send.”

“Well, I suggest something exotic, instead. Birds of paradise, I think. They’ll show intrigue and seduction.”

Marah could sense the man nodding over the other end. “You know best,” he said, his enthusiasm seeping over the phone line. “You have my credit card number on file. Just charge me, please. And send the card and flowers to my office. They’re for my secretary, Pamela.”

“Pamela?” Marah shook her head. Just last month Pamela had been calling on Victor’s behalf. Calling to order love letters for some woman in London and another in Memphis. The man clearly got around. “I’ll take care of everything,” she concluded, her head waving from side to side in disgust.

“You’re my girl, Marah,” the man responded before ending the call.

“Thank the good Lord I’m not close to being your girl,” she said out loud as the call clicked off in her ear.

Marah heaved a deep sigh. She still had errands to run before her meeting with John Stallion. There were also a million things she needed to do to prep for the week. There was the Art of Fellatio class she was expected to teach, then later in the week they were hosting a speed dating night—forty men and forty women had already signed up to do three-minute, round-robin dates in hopes of meeting the perfect partner. There were two letter-writing seminars and a weekend retreat on the Nuances of Seduction as well. It was a good thing she was going to be busy, Marah thought as she headed for the exit, because she needed anything and everything she could find to keep her mind off her father, his new girlfriend and that man.

Edward was giving instructions to one of the ranch hands when Marah sauntered to his side in the middle of a regulation-sized dressage arena. The needed repairs on the stadium fences in the jumping arena were finally being completed and Marah blew a sigh of relief that she didn’t have to make a complaint about it again. Her father winked in her direction as he finished his conversation and sent the hired help on his way.