A Love Story

7)

In hindsight, Adam would realize that his son would have found Micaela whether or not he stepped in. JR's reaction to their first meeting was evidence to that, as far as he was concerned. But his son, injured and wounded, would have moved far too slowly, hesitated and that, simply, was acceptable.

And so, two hours after his son had left for Switzerland, he received a visit from Kendall Hart and received news from her that would leave him giggling after she left.

Giggling like a twit as he sat in the living room and considered the last three days. No way could any one person set up such a thing, no one, except for…

He kept a picture of his sister on his desk, old-fashioned but beautiful, nearly as beautiful as she was. JR got some of her looks and it always seemed to Adam that his son bore strong features of both Cooney and Lottie, leaving Adam pleased to see something of both women on this world. Although, if Vivianne James was right…

Moving past those thoughts forcefully, Adam, still grinning ridiculously, studied it. Even without Dixie up there, with her to help, Charlotte Chandler could have set this up, laid out this oh-so-perfect grid work for his own plans. Before the light had left her eyes and her smile had faded, she'd had the ability to scheme with the best of them, had taught Adam the unspoken rules of planning.

Unfortunately, she'd never quite taught him the trick to keep from getting caught.

"I was right, wasn't I? You set this up."

The picture didn't answer, but then, it didn't have to. He knew, had felt it in his bones, had felt it in that place in his heart where she had been so long ago, as soon as he learned about the car crash. Now, now that everything had fallen into place, he grinned down at her picture. "Still, why did you wait so long? We could have used this help a long time ago, as soon as that woman came into this house. What, were you busy planning balls up there?"

Once again, she didn't need to answer. After all, what could she have done? Nothing, pure and simple. But now, now that she could act, she was… in a very big way.

"Did you have another stroke?"

Adam gave Palmer Cortlandt a look that could have bent steel, burned flesh. Sadly, it didn't work on other old bastards. "Can't you for once in your life knock?"

Laughing, Cortlandt strode in, taking a seat and pouring himself a drink. "You said something about it working? It couldn't yet, it's too soon. So, back to my first question, did you have another stroke?"

"No, you old coot, believe me, if I died, I'd take you with me, I'd find a way. And don't spill that Scotch." Rolling his eyes at Cortlandt's annoyed mutterings, Adam lifted the paper, the oh-so-precious piece of the puzzle and headed over, resisting yet more giggles. "Look at this. Think as a business man, not that you're a good one, and see what you think."

Adam got the desired reaction… until he reminded him to pull out his business man side. And then, Cortlandt's eyes widened, his mouth opened, then closed. "You son of a bitch… how did you… Is this a joke? If this is just your way of trying to give me a heart attack, so help me God…"

"Ah, if I wanted to kill you, I'd steal something from Hayward. This? Well, this, my friend, is the path to everything that JR could ever want and need."

"And deserve."

"Exactly! He may come after us--"

"Wait? 'Us'?"

"And kill us with supreme cruelty--"

"What do you mean kill!"

"But, even if we go, we will achieve this goal--"

"This isn't soccer, Chandler!"

"And do what we have to do, as both father and uncle, respectively--"

"So now your activating your paternal instincts!"

"And give JR what he so desperately deserves! A real wife--"

"Come now, are wives really all that useful? All the trouble Daisy put me through!"

"And, besides, he's a man, he has needs--"

"Adam!"

The Chandler paused, blinked rapidly, and looked down. Perhaps he was getting a bit excited. It seemed that at some point between the 'kill' comment and the 'needs' comment, he'd stepped up onto his coffee table, using it as a make-shift podium. Clearing his throat, and trying to ignore Cortlandt's hysterical laughter, he stepped down, rolling his eyes again at the other man.

"Well, I think you get my--"

This time, he realized when he was interrupted, scowling at the phone as he strode and snatched it up, barking into it an angry, "What do you want!"

It was very distressing news, which Palmer could tell by the way Chandler's face changed rapidly from a furious red to a horrified white to a positively lethal red again. When he yelled, "You're fired!" and slammed down the phone, Palmer was wiping the tears from his eyes, recovering from his giggle fit.

"What's the matter, Adam? Your podium not fixed yet?" With this, he laughed again… until Adam spoke, quiet and lethal and clearly ready to commit murder.

"Tad Martin is on the plane."

"What plane?"

Adam gave him an odd look, then shook himself, adjusting his tie. "On the plane that JR and Ms. Kincaide are on."

"No."

"Yes… If you'll excuse me, I must go fix this… mistake."

He was halfway to the door when Palmer called out.

"Adam? Just be quick and push him out of the plane, would you?"

The two men, united on the front of, respectively, their son and nephew, exchanged smiles, the kind of smiles that made young business upstarts quiver and run to hide beneath their beds with their teddies and blankets. It was a smile that JR had inherited from both, a smile that Dixie had dealt with all of her maternal power, a smile that Colby had learned at age two, giving it Winifred when the woman had told her that the cookies were burnt.

And with that final exchange, Adam Chandler left to push a mistake out of a plane.

Right before the plane landed, Micaela closed her laptop, pulling on her dark glasses, mostly in an attempt to keep Chandler from seeing the large bags under her eyes. Usually, she slept during her plane rides, but the thought of leaving herself open to attack left her queasy.

What if he tattooed 'Bad Driver' on her forehead? Knowing him, at least over the last half-week, had left her with a bad taste in her mouth. Cautiously, she glanced over, her eyes sharp behind her glasses, studying him intensely.

He was the picture of perfection, all perfect body, strong features, great eyes… Whoa cowgirl, what are you doing?

Micaela had no idea where that had come from, and it irritated her violently, leaving her seething, all but hissing and spitting. Setting the laptop to the side, she smoothed her short skirt, crossing her legs. Brushing her black hair from her eyes, she hooked the strands behind her ears, squirming.

Stupid Chandler… stupid brand-new car. Pa had ranted for a good hour over the phone, muttering darkly about her "goddamn, sonabitch, driving skills". Buck Kincaide was the sweetest man in the world, the best father to ever walk the Earth as far as she was concerned, but he always hated dealing with her driving record.

To be fair, said driving record was as long as he was tall, but, still, she wasn't that bad.

Scowling, Micaela tapped her fingers along the armrest, staring out the window as they finally began their descent. The file that housed her "job" sat at her side, perfect instructions. Instructions she was all too happy to follow.

Check out the spa Adam had built in the resort he'd built several years before, after her meeting to have the papers for the club signed over.

Hey, she was always up for a spa trip, honey. Especially a free one, after all the stress of her last week.

Again, she glanced at The Enemy, narrowing her eyes in quiet fury. He was leaning back, eyes closed, clearly trying to clear his head. And, just as clearly, it wasn't working. At least to judge by the frowning, and the deep gouges in his face. Amy would have a field day with him. He was clearly in pain… back pain.

Ah, did Buck Kincaide understand back pain. Micaela had learned, the hard way, to let go of stress, but Buck was not so fortunate; he had the bad habit of internalizing his anger and stress… except for when it came to his little girl's driving records.

Noting his clear back pain, could it be any clearer here, people, she turned her attention from Chandler, turning her attention to the growing ground.

Bianca Montgomery was in a bad place. And, as hard as she tried, she couldn't find herself.

To be honest, and she wasn't, it came back, all of it, to Arabella Carey, the woman who had started this in the first place. The simple fact was, Bianca Montgomery did not deal with betrayal well, never had, never would; just ask her dolls, at least the ones that survived the fire.

Part of her could see what she was doing, was revolted, and tried to protest however she could. But the rest…

Now, she sat on her couch and stared at her ceiling, listening to the quiet tick of the clock. She should be going to pick up Miranda, but the thought of touching her daughter, like this… A psychologist would have said she was denying her betrayal, pinning her feelings on a scape-goat to keep all that hurt and pain at bay.

Unfortunately, she refused to go to a psychologist. She'd regret the decision until the day she died; even after she was forgiven, her guilt would remain, always there, always causing her to lose sleep. But today, in her place, all she felt was desperation.

You're becoming something hateful, Bianca, don't do this. You can still change this, just go over, tell him, explain these things. Explain to Kendall; take that hurt off her face, don't betray her like this. She's still recovering from the last blows, don't give her more. She'll be angry, she'll be hurt, she'll hate you even, but she'll forgive you. You know it. Just… don't become like this.

Bianca Montgomery didn't listen.

She sat on her couch, in the silence, and didn't listen. She didn't head over to tell Adam that his grandson, JR's son, was out there; she didn't stop her attack on who was, essentially, an innocent man; she didn't apologize to her sister; she didn't step up to the plate to be the one that could have saved three years of grief and hurt, spattered with happy moments that faded in the harsh pain like a rose in winter.

And, in some ways most importantly, she didn't step forward to help the woman she loved when it mattered most.

And that, she would later see, was the biggest mistake of all.

"So, are you ready for this?"

Kendall, in a pair of sunglasses so big she probably could have skied on them, turned her head to stare at him, though he wasn't sure of it. "I'm here, ain't I, Sweetie Pie Honey Bunch?"

Zach grimaced, shaking his head at her mocking in quiet irritation… and bad grammar. Increasing the speed on his Range Rover, he smoothly swept up and onto the highway, heading straight for his airport. This would get Maxie pissed enough to make a mistake in the suit.

Although he'd lost his casinos, he'd put something into place the minute he learned that Bianca had allowed a DNA test; the system wouldn't last long, not even with Edie at the wheel, but it would last long enough to do what he planned.

"I'm going to get a good seat aren't I?"

"What?"

A very dramatic sigh, a twitch of her legs, "Oh wise fiancé… a plane seat, you idiot!"

He carefully guided himself past a herd of nine-to-fivers, all in the same kind of car, little and useless. "Well, seeing as how we're engaged, I suppose it's the least I could do."

"The 'least' you could do?" Oh, the sarcasm in that lovely, gentle, oh-so-feminine voice. "Please, don't rush to hold open my door, buddy."

"How about 'snookums'?"

"What?"

"Why don't you call me snookums? Or, how about, for a change of pace, 'sugar britches'?"

Even though he knew it was coming, he still had to fight laughter at her involuntary shudder. God, how long had it been since he'd had a real verbal judo partner? "Did you tell mama Kane you marital prospects?"

"How is that your business?"

"Well, my spanky-buns, in just a few hours, she'll be my mama Kane."

He sensed, didn't see, the lethal look she gave him… and also sensed the humor she was involuntarily giving off. Kendall shifted, made a noise half-way between a sigh and a laugh. "Trust me, buddy, you won't last long, not at all. You may be able to beat my perfect ass in poker, but she'll… Hey, did you ever hear of when my mother stabbed someone?"

"Well, you did accuse him of rape."

"How did… You son of a bitch."

"Son of a bastard, actually."

A odd, misplaced silence, then, "Do you ever stop talking?"

"Do you?"

"What kind of question is that?"

"One that wants an answer, my little poodle."

"I hate poodles. And those little dogs that Paris Hilton keeps. You know what? I hate all toy dogs in general."

"Chihuahuas."

"What?"

"The type of dog that Hilton keeps? They're called Chihuahuas, and hers is called Tinkerbell."

"This is kind of fun."

He looked over, grinned slightly. "Well, we agree on that. And, boy, if all of those things are like hers… It takes forever for the bites to heal over."

"You don't know them, you twit."

He smiled, waited, almost able to count it down before… "So, what's Paris like?"

Stuart Chandler wasn't very good at plots. He was too good a person to be able to create evil schemes. Marian and Adam said the same thing all the time.

"You're cute and adorable, but leave the planning to me, my little cinnamon-bun."

Okay, well, only Marian added the cinnamon-bun thing at the end.

Nobody knew the tunnels of the Chandler mansion like Stuart, absolutely no one. So it was easy enough to wait behind a wall and listen to Adam and Palmer bicker… and apparently plan against JR's back. Stuart was determined to stop whatever plan it was. As much as both Palmer and Adam loved JR, they just weren't all that good at the whole "trust in their children" part of parenting.

The only problem was that Stuart had no idea what the plan was. This meant, he was useless when it came to stopping it. So he sat, nibbled one of his pot pies and waited for the two to leave. He also sent Tad a prayer when he heard that he was trouble… and apparently going to be thrown from the plane.

Finally, though, after Palmer had gone to rant at Opal about Tad, he snuck out, ran to the bathroom then got down to business.

The plan was so cunning, so devious, so overwhelmingly evil that he wasn't quite sure what he was seeing when he finally found it.

"Oh, boy."

Horrified, Stuart scanned it, printed it, put back the Evil Chandler Plan and then left the house to go discuss the ECP (Evil Chandler Plan) with his wife. After all, she was right.

He may be a cute and adorable cinnamon-bun, but he just wasn't very devious… funny how he'd married a female Adam.

Collette nodded for the fiftieth time, typing at her computer. "Mr. Chandler, I understand, the rooms will be ordered as you, well, order. Um… are you sure you want us to do that to the room?"

"Yes!"

Flinching, Collette gave Oscar a nod, and he made a depressed noise.

"But not tonight… right… tomorrow night… at when… yes, sir, I know you already said… I just want to make sure… No, I did not escape from some asylum… No, I wasn't released… yes, I know you can put me out on the street… yes, sir… no… don't be ridiculous…"

Raising her head to roll her eyes, she met Oscar's gaze, who grinned.

"No, I'm not rolling my… what, how did you… yes, I am wearing gold…" Collette's ramble trailed off, watching as Adam Chandler, the BOSS (Big Old Sinister Superior), strode across the lobby of the hotel. She was vaguely aware of Oscar running to hide behind a plant. Snapping his cell phone closed, he stopped before the young woman, whose vision was rapidly growing gray.

"Hang up the phone, Collette."

She obeyed, staring at his tie.

"Look at me. No, not my tie… not my chin either… not the cheeks… higher, Collette… very good. Are you listening to me?"

"Yes, sir!"

"I have given you an order and your answer is to roll your eyes at me?" She jumped when he smacked his hand down on the counter, causing her to cringe. "Nobody rolls their eyes at me!"

"Yes, sir!"

"I give you a job, a paycheck and this is how you upstarts betray me!"

"Yes, sir!" Blanching, she shook her head furiously. "I mean, no sir. I mean, well, we did that and that was very bad, but it will not happen again! Ever! Never!"

"Oh?"

"Nuh-uh, never!"

"Good. Now, I am here to observe the work, and if I find it lacking, including my… plans… you, and, uh, Plant-buy there, will wind up on the streets! You got me?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Get to work!" he snapped, and then, just like the BOSS he was, he was gone, possibly to kidnap and eat sacrificed virgins.

And, she saw, JR Chandler and Micaela Kincaide were heading in.