by Linda Howard
If she’d been in a better mood she might have enjoyed the spectacle of all these people gathered to try to please her, but the situation with the dresses had soured the day for her. She had to deal with the veil-maker and the pastry chef, choose the band’s set list, and everyone was saying she had to make her selections now because time was running out and they had other obligations that would prevent them from doing so and so, blah blah blah, all these endless excuses for not doing things her way.
After the wedding, she’d start dropping comments about how incompetent they all had been. Let them see how they liked it when their business fell off. And the one she would talk the most about would be Premier. Everyone had said Premier had the most cachet of any event planner in the area, and of course their Buckhead location made them even more desirable, but Jaclyn Wilde had turned out to be a real pain in the ass, because she kept taking the side of the nitwits who said they couldn’t do what Carrie wanted. Jaclyn was supposed to make it all happen, and not take any excuses; instead she’d been a complete failure at helping make this wedding the vision it should be.
The veil-maker, a short, plump Hispanic woman named Estefani, laid out her book with photographs of the headpieces, ranging from simple bands to ornate tiaras, along with fabric samples. Who knew there were so many options for veils, ranging from net to gossamer film that was so light it almost floated? “All of these are boring,” she said pushing the book away. “Don’t you have something with flair? Black, maybe?” Her wedding dress had a thin black ribbon running just under the bustline, so black wasn’t completely out of the ballpark, but of course she’d never go with a black veil. Watching the woman’s eyes round with horror, watching her try to control her expression, was amusing enough that she might let the idea run for a while, just to keep things stirred up, before settling on something more classic. She wasn’t joking, however, about the tiaras. They all looked like beauty-pageant fare, and what she had in mind was more European royalty.
“Black?” Estefani said, her voice faltering. “With the white dress?”
“Yes, with the white dress,” Carrie snarled, rejoicing inside because Estefani had risen to the bait. At least now she had a target. “Are all of you people so simpleminded that you can’t see beyond what you’ve always done?”
To her surprise, Estefani’s shoulders stiffened, and her brown eyes flashed. “I am not simpleminded. I have good taste.”
“Meaning I don’t?” Carrie demanded, hardening her tone and narrowing her eyes. Before she could launch into a more blistering attack, though, her cell phone rang. She glanced at the number display, intending to let the phone ring, but she saw it was Sean and she held up one finger for Estefani to wait. She took a deep breath, plastered a smile on her face, and answered in a sweet voice.
“Hi, honey.”
Sean was cute, rich, and gullible. What more could a woman ask for in a husband? For now, she let him have his way in almost everything, but that would change after the wedding. Once she walked down the aisle, she’d be in the driver’s seat. Actually, she already was; getting Sean to propose had been the first big step, but just yesterday she’d taken the second step, the money step. Things were working out just as she’d planned.
Sean was planning the honeymoon. It kept him busy, and out of her hair, and he was excited about being in charge and giving her the perfect honeymoon. Thank goodness he took her hints to heart. He was taking care of the last details today, and wanted her opinion. She simply agreed with everything he said, smiling the whole time because the smile was part of the persona she’d created to catch and keep Sean. Physically smiling changed the tone of her voice, kept it light and sweet.
She glanced up to find the wedding planner and the veil-maker staring at her as if she’d sprouted another head. Piss on ’em. Soon she wouldn’t have any need of them. She listened to Sean’s plans, laughed as if he were saying things that were either witty or amusing, told him how wonderful he was and how much she loved him, all the usual bullshit.
As she and Sean talked, she watched Jaclyn and Estefani move across the room, where they huddled with Bishop Delaney and Audrey Whisenant, the pastry chef. The caterer, Irena, stood off to the side making notes and didn’t join them, but the reception hall manager—Melissa somebody—walked over to add her two cents’ worth of nonsense. Carrie couldn’t hear what they were saying; she had to concentrate on Sean, who kept rattling on even though he’d already covered the reasons why he’d called, but from the look Estefani threw at her Carrie knew they were talking about her. Jaclyn’s tone was soothing, which meant she was probably telling them she’d deflect Carrie’s complaints.
Cold rage bubbled through her veins at the idea of anyone thinking she could be handled, as if she were a difficult child. And Jaclyn, with her smooth skin and her smooth hair and the way she had of dressing as if she were really old money and embedded in the Buckhead social structure, instead of being nothing more than a wedding planner, made her even angrier. If it hadn’t been for Jaclyn, things might have gone differently, but from the beginning she’d been an obstacle instead of a help … and now she was talking about Carrie, undermining her even more. That simply couldn’t be allowed to happen.
“If the custom-made crystals hadn’t already been ordered, I’d be out of here,” Bishop Delaney told Jaclyn. “But I don’t want to be hung out to dry on that expense, so I’ll see it through. I won’t ever take another job for the Dennisons, though.”
“Thanks for sticking it out. I’m sorry the job has been such a disaster, for all of us.” Jaclyn felt as if she’d been apologizing since she’d first walked through the door. Come to think of it, she had. So far Gretchen had been the only vendor to quit—though the bridesmaids’ dresses were finished so she hadn’t left the job in the lurch. Estefani might walk out at any moment, though. Her veils and headdresses were works of art and she was justifiably proud of them. Her schedule was packed; she wouldn’t miss the income from this job at all. In fact, she could probably make two phone calls at the most and have an open slot filled. That was what Carrie didn’t seem to realize, that she was dealing with top-flight vendors whose reputations were already made, and who didn’t have to put up with her demands and insults.
“I’ve never before dealt with anyone this difficult,” Melissa whispered. She’d been the manager of the reception hall for the past nine or ten years, so she had seen some doozies. If Carrie was difficult by her standards, that was saying something. She gave Jaclyn a sympathetic look.
“I will not let her say I am stupid,” Estefani said fiercely. “It is she who is stupid. A black veil with a white dress! And my work is not boring.”
“Don’t let her upset you,” Bishop drawled, taking care to keep his voice down. “She wouldn’t know classic good taste if it bit her on the ass.” He patted her on the arm. He was tall and muscled, with bleached blond hair and an exotic black goatee, an almost exact physical opposite from the short, grandmotherly Estefani. In their business they frequently ended up working together, so they had known each other for years. There seemed to be real affection between Bishop and Estefani; she was far more likely to listen to him than she was to anything Jaclyn could say to calm her.
Audrey Whisenant, the pastry chef, shrugged her muscled shoulders. She’d been an Olympic swimmer back in the day and still spent a lot of time in the water, but after winning a bronze medal she’d decided competition wasn’t her thing. Instead, she explored another passion of hers—baking. Her cakes were works of art, lighter and with a silkier texture than the average wedding cake. Unlike a lot of pastry chefs, she decorated her own cakes, too. “Now, if I can just get her to choose the flavors and fillings for the cakes. I have a couple of weeks’ leeway on these cakes, but I’d like to get the details nailed down because I’m going on vacation next week.”
“Then let’s see if we can move on you for now, and give things time to calm down between—”
Behind them, Carrie chirped a cheerful, “Bye, love you,
” to her poor unsuspecting groom, the sound followed almost immediately by a thud and crash as she swiped her arm across the table, sending Estefani’s book flying, along with kabob skewers, cake samples, ribbons, brochures, a couple of ink pens, and Jaclyn’s appointment book, all of which went skidding across the floor.
“Who do you think you are?” Carrie’s voice was low but textured with venom as she stalked toward them. Melissa, Bishop, and Audrey faded back a little, but Jaclyn held her ground, figuring it was her job to stand between them and the advancing demon. Estefani, though, narrowed her eyes and tensed her small dumpling of a body as if she was ready to put up her dukes. The mental image made Jaclyn’s mouth quirk as she struggled not to smile.
“Audrey is going on vacation next week,” Jaclyn said, hoping to deflect Carrie’s attention. “There’s some time to spare on the cakes, but if you can—”
The blow came out of nowhere. Carrie’s palm cracked against her left cheek, sending her stumbling back. For a moment the shock and surprise were so great that Jaclyn seemed to disconnect from reality; the next thing she knew, she was standing with her hand pressed against her burning cheek and Bishop’s muscular arms were holding her steady until she could regain her balance.
“You’re fired!” Carrie spat at her. Her pretty face was twisted in rage, but her eyes were disturbingly cold and calm, as if two people inhabited the same body. “How dare you talk about me behind my back, undermine me with the people I choose to give my business to? From day one you’ve done everything you can to ruin my wedding, but this is the last straw. By the time I’m finished, you’ll be lucky if you can get a job planning a plumber’s wedding. No one in Buckhead will ever use you again, and you know what that means. I want my money back, too, because you certainly haven’t earned it!”
Jaclyn’s head swam, but she stiffened her spine, forced the jelly out of her knees. Pride made her remove her hand from her face, as if the stinging had stopped. Her heart was racing so fast she could barely breathe. Her right hand curled into a fist; she could feel the muscles in her arm tensing of their own accord, as if she no longer had control over them, but Bishop saw the telltale sign and placed a warning hand on her wrist, at the same time putting another one on Estefani’s shoulder. “Don’t do it,” he murmured, so low Carrie couldn’t hear him. “The bitch would have you arrested for assault.” Behind Carrie, Irena had shifted position so she was directly behind her, and the caterer looked ready to take her down.
He was right. Jaclyn took a deep breath. As things stood now, she was the one who had grounds for making any charges, if she chose to go that route. She wouldn’t, so long as Carrie didn’t escalate and hit someone else, but she should be smart and hold to her legal high ground. And, for Premier’s sake, she would end this association as professionally as possible.
“I think all of the appointments should be rescheduled for another day,” she said calmly, giving Bishop and Irena looks that said Get Estefani out of here, as well as I’ll be okay.
“Who gives a fuck what you think?” Carrie asked viciously. “These people work for me, not you!”
Maybe so, but “these people” were moving to do exactly what Jaclyn had suggested, picking up the items scattered on the floor, replacing them on the table. Melissa picked up Jaclyn’s appointment book and was brave enough to approach with it in her hand. “Thank you,” Jaclyn said, taking the book. Melissa immediately backed away again, out of striking distance. As Carrie’s hand moved as if she would slap the book from Jaclyn’s grasp, she said sharply, “If you hit me again, I’ll have you arrested. Is that plain? It’ll make a great headline in the newspaper.”
“I have some paperwork to do,” Melissa ventured, and Jaclyn gave her a brief nod, telling her that clearing the deck was the best thing she could do right now. Melissa wheeled and in short order had the room cleared, the vendors’ tense but muted voices fading as they walked down the hallway.
The two women faced each other, both of them squared off and ready for battle.
It was probably the part about the newspaper, rather than being arrested, that made Carrie clench her jaw and keep her hand by her side. “Do you think any Atlanta cop would do anything to me, considering who I’m marrying?”
“Maybe not, but you aren’t in Atlanta. You’re in Hopewell, and I’m involved with one of the detectives, so you might not fare so well with him,” Jaclyn said, seizing on Eric as a weapon even though he might dispute the “involved” part. “Regardless of that, if you hit me again I’m pretty sure I could hit you back and everyone here would testify that I was defending myself. Before you go that route, you should know that I take kickboxing, and I can wipe the floor with your ass.”
Okay, so much for being professional. The part about kickboxing was a lie, too, but damn if she didn’t mean it about wiping the floor with Carrie’s ass. She was so angry she was pretty sure she could do it. And whether it was the expression on her face or her threat, Carrie reevaluated her actions.
“As if I’d brawl with you like two bar sluts,” she sneered. “You might as well leave. I’ll expect my refund check in the mail within the week.”
“I’ll see to it immediately,” Jaclyn said. “Though the amount will be prorated by the time I’ve spent on the job, most of which has been accomplished.”
Carrie’s face flushed an ugly red. “I want the full amount refunded. If you’d done your job, you wouldn’t have been fired!”
“Read the contract you signed. I believe you might receive a thousand or so in refund.” Considering how hefty Premier’s fee had been, it wouldn’t bother her at all to send Carrie a check for a thousand dollars. In fact, it would be downright satisfying.
“We’ll see about that!” Carrie hissed. “My lawyer will be in contact.”
“As soon as possible, please. And be certain to tell him there were five witnesses who saw you strike me. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled with that.” The adrenaline burning through her made her bare her teeth in a smile that probably looked more like a snarl. Jaclyn had never been in a fight in her life, at least not one that got physical, but she was almost hoping Carrie would take another swing at her because she’d never wanted anything as much in her life as she wanted to punch the bitch on the nose.
“If they want to keep their jobs, they’ll be smart and not say anything,” Carrie said, but her cold, watchful gaze was less certain.
Jaclyn snorted. “They could all walk away and have other jobs within the hour. Which is what I’ll do,” she added, “and there’s no way it won’t be with someone I like more. Have a happy wedding. Maybe someone will show up, other than the poor victim … uh, groom.”
The childish shot didn’t do anything to lessen her anger but it did make her feel better. She spun on her heel and stalked off. For whatever reason Carrie didn’t yell anything else at her, so she even had the satisfaction of having the last word.
With every step she took the weight on her shoulders lessened. Free! The way it had happened was ugly, but she was released from the burden of dealing with Carrie ever again. From here on out, nothing that happened was her problem. By the time she reached her car she was beginning to think her throbbing cheek was worth the end result.
She unlocked the car and opened the door, standing there for a minute while some of the fierce afternoon heat dissipated from the interior. Taking out her cell phone, she called her mother. Madelyn answered quickly and brightly, obviously curious about how the afternoon had gone, but not curious enough to spend the afternoon at the reception hall, in the midst of the action.
“It’s done?” Madelyn asked.
“Yep—in more ways than one.”
Madelyn’s voice immediately changed, taking on a wary tone. “What happened?”
“A lot. We’re going to have to throw a lot of business to these vendors before they forgive us for Carrie Edwards. Gretchen quit. The others may, too. And, best of all, Carrie fired me.” She didn’t want to go into details right then, because her emotio
ns were still running hot, her self-control was holding but was a tad shaky, and she wanted time to calm down before she told Madelyn exactly how it had all gone down.
“Hallelujah,” Madelyn breathed. “Tell me all. Can you meet me at Claire’s for coffee? I have almost an hour to kill before I meet the party for tonight’s wedding.”
A cup of coffee, and maybe one of Claire’s fabulous blueberry muffins, would be a great way to wind down after a tense afternoon. “I can be there in less than ten minutes.”
“I can be there in five. Tell me what you want and I’ll have it waiting.”
Jaclyn complied, ended the call, and got in her car. As she started the engine a silver sedan pulled into the parking slot to her right. A man stepped out of the car, and she stopped to look at him because she had to wonder if Carrie had scheduled any other meetings she didn’t know about. Anything was possible. But she didn’t recognize the gray-haired man who was wearing a well-cut gray suit, with a white shirt and a red tie; he was probably someone arriving to see Melissa about booking the hall. He glanced in her direction as he strode toward the side door, but his mind was definitely elsewhere.
