The FBI Bride: An Undercover Bridesmaid Romance
Page 14
Erin stuck her wad of chewing gum in her mother’s hand, smashing it down vehemently in revenge, and leaned back with a sulk.
“Thanks for the gum sacrifice,” Allie told her, nudging at her sister’s shoulder.
“Huh,” Erin grunted, sliding another pack of spearmint contraband from her handbag.
“Look at the blue sky and enjoy the fact that there isn’t ten feet of snow on the ground.”
“You mean smog and obnoxiously tall concrete they call architecture.”
“You only think that because you’re sixteen.”
“Girls!” their mother cried, craning her neck to check the name of the cross street. “Don’t fight on your wedding day.”
Jake remained stoic, his mobile giving out directions in an English accent.
“It’s not my wedding day,” Erin said, making one of her famous faces, eyes wide, nostrils flaring.
“Obviously. But today is Allie’s most special day in her entire life. Be nice. Mind your manners. And please don’t put your chewed gum on the dinner plate at the reception this evening.”
“I’m not eight!” Erin crossed her arms over the deep maroon bridesmaid dress. Lower cut in the bust line than Mrs. Strickland had suggested, but nobody had listened to her protests when the wedding planning rose to extreme levels of tension.
Marla Perry, Allie’s best friend since Kindergarten, reached over with a tissue. “You’ve got a smudge of frosting on your face, Allie.”
“Where?” Allie scrabbled inside her white lace-covered wedding bag for a mirror, which, of course, only held two tissues and a lipstick for refreshing. Allie had a tendency to bite off her lip color. “How could you let me leave the house like that?”
“It’s just a tiny smidge,” Marla assured her. “Probably cream cheese from the cinnamon roll.”
“You just had to go and make cinnamon rolls for breakfast on the day I wanted to be my skinniest best self,” Allie teased.
“I knew you’d go all day without food if I didn’t give you something. And then we’d be picking you up off the floor in front of the minister when you fainted from starvation.”
“Not starvation. Sugar overload. I should have had a granola bar.”
“Granola bars are for birds, not real people,” Marla said. “Fainting can be a means to an end. Sean could scoop you up from the cold floor and kiss you passionately.”
Marla had snagged the lead role in Romeo and Juliet in their high school drama production class and swore she’d leave the tiny town of Heartland Cove and run away to New York City. She’d gotten as far as Toronto—which, for a Heartland Cove resident, that boasted a population of 899 was, nevertheless, a major feat. But her Fine Arts degree in photography was proving difficult to find a decent paying job.
She’d finally taken a position shooting kids school photos all over town with Life Touch, but was determined to open her own business.
The thought of having your own business was exciting. Despite using her MBA to snag a good paying position, Allie was bored to tears with financial reports and office politics as the manager at a small branch of The Royal Bank.
“Mom. Chill,” Jake said at last. Miss British GPS voice told him to turn right, but when he did he hit another red light and jerked to a stop. All the women braced a hand on their seats, then adjusted dresses and jewelry.
“Warn us next time, Jake,” Mrs. Strickland said, the frown deepening between her eyes.
Allie did not miss the family dynamics living in Toronto, although she sometimes got nostalgic for Heartland Cove, the town where she’d been born, worked her teen summers at the Strickland Family Fry Truck, and had her first kiss on the Bridge of Heartland Cove with a boy who told her he’d love her forever—and then promptly moved to Newfoundland three weeks later. It might as well have been Timbuktu.
After a few sexy Facebook messages, he’d posted a picture of himself with a suntanned blond girl—and disappeared from her life forever.
In Heartland Cove he’d been her only possibility for a boyfriend until she’d met Sean her senior year as an undergrad in Business School.
Sean Carter was the complete opposite of the boy from tiny Heartland Cove High. Tall, slim and dark-haired with smoldering eyes and a crooked grin that melted her heart.
“I think butterflies have set up permanent housekeeping in my stomach,” Allie said, while the clock ticked down to the moment they both said, “I do”.
Sean was now on the verge of being offered the position of junior partner at Learner & Associates. He’d worked hard and received top marks in law school. Now the man lived and breathed law, briefs, and depositions. He had a sharp mind and was quickly becoming a talented and incisive criminal lawyer. Being in the courtroom gave him a thrill like riding the most daring roller coaster at Six Flags.
Sometimes, Allie worried that she wasn’t thrilling enough. The only time Sean got truly passionate was after he’d argued a heated and feisty trial.
Mrs. Strickland patted her hand. A little bit comforting. A little bit impatiently. And a little bit sadly.
“You alright Mom?” Allie asked.
Her mother gave a wan smile, and a tug of empathy rose in Allie’s chest. She’d never seen her mother wearing red lipstick. Any makeup really. Frying burgers and fries for the tourists that swarmed the town every day wasn’t exactly conducive to glamour.
Heartland Cove’s main industries were potato farms and lavender fields—and buses that disgorged tourists three times a day to gawk at the Heartland Cove bridge—the world’s longest covered bridge.
Mrs. Strickland brushed off any discomfort she was feeling. “I’m a fish out of water in the glamour of Toronto.”
“You look lovely, Mom.”
Her mother was wearing a maroon sheath trimmed in lace, black pumps, pantyhose, and a ton of hairspray in a traditional middle-aged pouf. A far cry from jeans and a splattered, greasy apron.
Her cell phone began to buzz, and she recognized the familiar ring of her fiancé. “It’s Sean!” she shrieked, patting at her dress and then peering along the floorboard of the car. “I can’t find my phone! Why’s he calling? I talked to him just before we left the apartment. What if he got in an accident?”
“Calm down,” Jake said, speeding through a light. He turned to give Allie a grin. “Knowing him, he’s calling about the cop giving him a speeding ticket right about now.”
“Be useful and help me find my phone, Erin!”
Her sister pressed her lips together and folded her arms across her chest, tapping one toe on the floor mat.
“Okay, sorry,” Allie quickly corrected. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m panicking.”
“Wedding day jitters,” Marla said soothingly, searching under the car seats.
Allie lifted wads of satin as delicately as possible. She shook out the folds of her gown, but there was no sign of the phone. It was as if it had disappeared into another dimension.
“I wish you’d gotten married in Heartland Cove, sweetheart,” Mrs. Strickland said wistfully.
The ringing had stopped by now and Allie’s stomach clenched. Sean had trained her to never miss a phone call from anyone.
He always said that if they were going to excel at their careers and strive for every possible promotion, they could open their own law firm one day, Allie as office manager and head of PR. “Let no opportunity go to waste,” Sean said. “Grab them all.”
“My phone couldn’t couldn’t have vanished into thin air.”
“It’s probably on the floor,” Erin said with a yawn.
“Can you help me reach down and get it?”
Erin heaved a second deep sigh and dug around the floor, swishing yards of satin and tulle out of her way.
“Careful of my dress!”
“I’m being careful. And . . . it’s not here.”
“Marla!” Allie said, panic bringing tears to her eyes.
“Don’t you dare cry and mess up that makeup job. Here, grab the seat ba
ck and lift your bum.” Marla ran her fingers along the leather seat under Allie’s wedding gown. “Aha!” She held up the cell phone between two fingers and plopped it into Allie’s lap.
“You’re a lifesaver.” Allie quickly checked her voicemail. Sean’s deep voice spoke into her ear. “Hey, Allie, I had to run by the office to pick up a new report for this case. Mr. Thompson said I have to read it tonight. The defendant was caught—well, never mind what he was doing. I can’t tell you that. But I will be at the church. Hitting green lights now, almost to the office.”
His voice abruptly stopped and Allie stared at the lifeless phone. It would have been nice to hear an “I love you”, but perhaps he’d found a parking space and run inside the office building.
“What’s up?” Marla asked.
“Nothing,” she lied. “Everything is fine.” Inside, she couldn’t help fuming. “He might be five minutes late,” she added, just to prepare her family.
She hated when they complained about Sean and his awful work schedule. She didn’t want to give them any more ammunition than necessary. Sean was there for all the important occasions. Right now was a critical time in his career and when they were able to be together in the same house it would be so much easier to support each other.
“At least your flight isn’t until the morning,” Erin said, kicking off her tight dress shoes and studying her tanned legs. No doubt, Allie’s sister wanted to be at the lake water skiing.
“Sean will be there waiting for Allie with the minister,” Marla said reassuringly.
Despite her words, the sick feeling grew in Allie’s stomach.
When Marla nudged her, Allie thoughts scattered. In a low voice her friend said, “I know what you’re thinking.”
“What?” she hissed under her breath, not wanting the rest of the inhabitants of the car to overhear them; namely her diary-reading younger sister.
“You don’t want to be embarrassed if Sean is late because you know Courtney Willis is going to be in the front row of the church, watching you marry her old boyfriend.”
“The front row is reserved for family.”
“That was supposed to be rhetorical.”
Sadly, Allie knew what she meant. “In what universe is it fair that Sean’s old girlfriend gets paired up with my fiancé on this new high profile case?”
“In the universe of Ally Strickland,” Marla said prophetically.
“That is not funny.”
“I’m trying to get you to crack a smile. You should be glowing. You’re marrying the man of your dreams—not Courtney’s dreams. She lost him. Bask in the triumph. Hold your head high.”
“Why did Sean invite her in the first place? We had two arguments about Courtney over the past month.”
“I stamped all your wedding invitations myself. Sean sent one to every employee at the firm. He couldn’t leave her out, especially when they’re paired up on this case.”
“Why did she RSVP? Doesn’t she realize that she wasn’t actually expected to attend?”
Before Marla could answer, Jake turned off the ignition and jumped out to open the doors all around. “We’re here!”
Allie’s stomach lurched. The journey to the beautiful little church was over. The moment had arrived.
In forty-five minutes she would be Mrs. Sean Carter.
* * *
Grab the rest of THE NEIGHBOR’S SECRET HERE!
FREE on Kindle Unlimited!
THE EXECUTIVE’S SECRET: A Secret Billionaire Romance
by Kimberley Montpetit
Caleb Davenport gripped his briefcase, sliding out of the hired car paid for by the company account. After a transatlantic flight it was a relief not having to worry about throwing a few twenty dollar bills at the driver, or digging out his credit card. He strode toward the double glass doors of the high-rise club in downtown Denver.
Breathing in the crisp fall air, Caleb finally relaxed, even though he was jet-lagged after making the transfer from Hong Kong via Los Angeles.
He was home, and the Rocky Mountains exuded their own sweet, familiar scent. The high altitude was bracing, clean and fresh. No more stifling hot, crowded streets with a hundred different scents of food vendors, perfumes, and body odor.
Eager to meet up with the rest of the partners of DREAMS, Caleb punched the elevator button for the ninth floor. His stomach grumbled demanding food. Maybe he and the rest of the guys should have met up over dinner. It was later than he’d thought and the small sandwich on the plane hours ago hadn’t exactly been filling.
Waiting for his luggage had taken longer than expected, too, and on this particular Friday night Denver’s downtown streets were packed with taxis, rental cars, the 16th Street mall shuttle, as well as the Light Rail commuter train coming in and out of the convention center tracks. A couple of buses rumbled past, filled with name tag wearing folks. Must be some big conventions going on this weekend.
Personally, Caleb was convention-ed out. Three of them back-to-back overseas with more than a dozen companies signing onto the hot new app. His baby, DREAMS; the computer site and app he’d spent years working on.
All in all, the past week had been a resounding success. His little company had grown by leaps and bounds over the past few years, serving thousands of consumers with insanely inexpensive products around the world.
It was mind-blowing to think he was going to bank close to a billion dollars by the end of the year—and it all started with his group of high school computer geek friends.
Caleb’s pace turned brisk when he pushed through the glass doors into the posh vestibule of the bar. The five of them; Troy, Brandon, Ryan, Adam, and himself, sent each other a deluge of text messages while overseas—but they often didn’t convey many details. Even more often were missing text messages. As if they disappeared traveling through long distance phone lines in third world countries.
The one message that had managed to get through to everyone was his invitation to celebrate at their favorite bar.
“Meet me at The 54,” he’d texted and, like a ten-thousand-mile miracle from across the Pacific Ocean, he’d received four thumbs up from his partners.
At the end of the plush carpeted vestibule, Caleb opened the second glass door that spelled out The 54 in swirly gold letters. He was greeted by the hostess, a woman of about twenty-five dressed in a black dress that shimmered from a luminescent fabric. Sleeveless, plunging neckline, the woman had a terrific figure, and toned arms as if she had an exercise trainer.
“Good evening, sir. Welcome to The 54,” she purred in a cultured voice with a slight accent. Italian? English? He couldn’t quite detect her country of origin, although he should, he’d been to London and Rome often enough the past few years on business. “Do you have a reservation with us tonight?”
“Reservation’s under Caleb Davenport.”
The hostess placed a red manicured finger on her wait list. A small lamp on the tall desk illuminating the ledger with a golden glow.
“I have you right here, Mr. Davenport,” she said. “Please follow me.”
When she sashayed Caleb to his reserved table in the back, he noted the shapely legs in five-inch high stilettos. With the heels, she was still much shorter than Caleb, who, at six feet four often came across as a big, lumbering bear, even while keeping in shape by running five miles every day. She couldn’t be more than five feet two. Despite the attractive women he ran into making business deals and traveling, most women were too short for his taste. He’d love a girl who was closer to five foot ten or taller, actually. Someone he could dance cheek-to-cheek with. A woman he could kiss without breaking his back.
Of course, Caleb wasn’t planning to hit on The 54’s hostess, despite her beauty and lovely accent. But once again, whenever he saw a woman he admired, Caleb instantly found himself thinking about the woman he did want. The woman he wanted for his wife and the mother of his children. Someone to share all this—this crazy life—the money—the travel. And yes, the burden.
And, of course, make a visit to his parents. Despite the pain that visit brought. Tonight he was feeling guilty, knowing he hadn’t visited them in nearly a year. It was too difficult, emotionally distracting, and exhausting, but his mother’s birthday was coming up and she’d never forgive him if he didn’t bring himself bearing a gift.
It might be crazy to make a list of what he wanted in a woman, but when the hostess showed him their table for five and laid out their menus, Caleb realized he could practically reach down and pat her on the head like she was twelve-years-old. Girls who could wear heels and look him in the eye were hard to find, but a definite priority for his “list”. Harder to find in the Asian countries he was currently visiting setting up accounts for DREAMS. Idly, Caleb wondered if women were taller in London where Troy usually traveled. He’d have to ask, he thought, and then grinned to himself.
Pushing thirty, Caleb was ready to find the woman. A woman he could spend the rest of his life with. His business and travel didn’t leave much time for dating. Let alone women he could talk to without an interpreter. Even if they spoke English and he loved their accent, it wasn’t the same. Whether it was books or music or movies or favorite foods, they had little in common.
Caleb gave a sigh and dropped his briefcase to the floor by the table, glancing about for any sign of his team.
The 54 was quieter than most upscale Denver club for the rich citizens of this city. And for him, having a membership here was a reality that was hard to calibrate with his old life.
When Caleb stared at the art deco on the walls, the polished 1920s furnishings, and the painted ceilings, he felt like an outsider.
Heck, he’d grown up in a poor neighborhood, attended a passable elementary school, but fortunate that it fed into a better high school. His father had been a drunken mechanic working odd jobs at home, his mother a part-time school aide who kept her husband company at night with the bottle.