by Jen Peters
Mitch jerked his arm away. “What do you think you’re doing?” he growled, keeping his voice low. “You know this evening is important.”
“To you personally?” she laughed. “Or just to your little project here?”
“I swear, Melanie, you’d better behave like a decent human being, or I’ll stuff you in your car and drive you out myself.”
The corners of her mouth lifted. “Promise?”
Mitch grit his teeth.
“Oh come on, Mitch. I’m just having a little fun.”
“Fun is when it’s appreciated on both sides. This isn’t the time.” He took a deep breath. “Look, Melanie, we all know what you can do with that finely-honed tongue of yours, and I don’t want any of my guests cut down to three inches high. Just don’t. Please.”
Melanie sighed. “All right, since you asked nicely.” But she said it as she leaned against him, pressing against his body from thigh to shoulder.
And held the position until Ree returned and motioned her to her seat.
The stuffed mushrooms looked delectable as Chris placed them carefully in front of each guest. Mitch couldn’t ask for a more attentive waiter to set the standard for their reputation. He closed his eyes briefly, took a breath to ease the coiled spring inside him, then opened them again.
Drat, she was still there. How could she not be? Melanie hadn’t taken his earlier hints that he wanted to back off, and she obviously hadn’t taken him seriously after the Gala when he had flat out said he didn’t want to see her again.
And now here she was, primed to manipulate moments and people to get what she wanted, not caring in the least that the other guests were there for a reason. Flashes of animosity were already flying between her and Ree.
Mitch answered the senator’s question about the inn’s history, aware all the time of Ree’s rigid body. She carried on a smooth conversation herself, though, talking up the McCormick Inn and the town, while from the third table, Melanie’s low laugh somehow cut through conversations. What was so funny between her and his other two colleagues?
Then he caught a snippet and couldn’t help but listen more.
“Yes, Ms. Swanson seems to have done an admirable job here,” Melanie said, “especially being so young. Do you know when she finishes college?”
More laughter from the others, although Mitch could tell Carson’s wasn’t natural.
Melanie’s sigh was so loud even he heard it. “I just wish she could take more of the load—Mitch is down here so much that his duties as an attorney are being neglected.”
Mitch tried to hold back a snort and choked on his wine instead. At least it was better than spewing it all over the tablecloth. Or Senator Hernandez.
He pulled himself back to the guests at his own table. Chris cleared the appetizer plates away and brought out the entree—fragrant and enticing. Billy Cunningham was everything he had promised.
“So tell me about this new project of yours, Senator,” Mitch said, tuning out the conversation fragments from Melanie’s table. Ree, only a few feet away from him, continued to seethe.
They talked and ate and, finally, Ree stood. “While our chef puts the finishing touches on dessert, let me introduce you to the McCormick Inn.”
She led the way through the mansion, introducing rooms and pointing out original woodwork. Carson and Judd were with her, making jokes and flirting. A slow simmer of jealousy had Mitch heating up again—couldn’t they see he and Ree were together?
Probably not, not with Melanie hanging on his arm and monopolizing his attention. Or trying to.
He tamped down his feelings and turned to the Colemans. “One of our builders, Cat Billings, also does specialty woodwork. She did a beautiful job restoring the fireplace.”
They made appreciative noises and mentioned some friends who would love it there, while Ms. Richards took copious notes.
Ree led them upstairs toward the guest rooms. Mitch wanted to hear how she introduced them to the turret room, but Melanie held him back.
“Wait a minute. I need to talk to you, and the office wasn’t really the place.” She stroked his arm lightly. “We left things a little unsettled at the Black and White Ball.”
“No, we finished things there.” He glanced upstairs, but the group was out of sight.
“Ah, Mitch, is anything ever really finished? We’ve had some good times together—no reason to cut it off completely.”
Mitch pulled back. “You just don’t get it, do you, Melanie? All we ever had were casual dates, escorting one another to events. Anything else you might have felt was one-sided.”
She pouted, like a child, although he was sure that wasn’t the effect she was after. “I really thought you cared about me.”
He didn’t respond. Anything he said would just give her something else to spin.
She finally sighed and stepped back. “I had hoped it might grow into something more. I guess I was wrong.”
Mitch didn’t let his guard down. “I’m glad you finally realize that. I have no doubt that the right person will come along for you someday, but I’m not him.”
Melanie studied her glossy pink fingernails. “The inn is beautiful. I can see why you like to come down here.”
They spoke politely of plans for the B&B and the sculpture he wanted for his grandfather’s memorial. Mitch finally heard the others returning.
“Mitch?” Melanie grabbed his hand as footsteps started downstairs.
And suddenly she had pressed against him, her mouth all over his, her hands in his hair, on his back.
Ree’s gasp blasted through his consciousness before he could pull away. Melanie didn’t unlatch easily, and Ree hurried through to the dining room.
“Stop it, just stop!” he growled, finally untangling himself from Melanie’s grasp. He needed to get to Ree. Now.
Melanie stepped back, a tiger’s smile on her cold face. “See you around, Mitch.” She blew him a kiss and stalked out the door.
Appalled. Dumbfounded. Mitch didn’t know what word to use, but his girlfriend had just caught him kissing someone else. Or at least that’s what she would think she saw.
“Geez, man, you sure know how to ruin something,” Carson said.
Mitch sagged against the wall. “You saw?”
“And heard. Why do you let her do that? She twists everything around the way she wants. I only just met Ree, but she’s worth ten of that piece of work.”
He was right—Ree was the best thing that had happened to him in a long time. And there was no way he was going to lose her over this.
“Take charge of the others, will you?” He pushed through the door to the kitchen. “Ree!”
Her hands were already elbow-deep in suds. Billy took one look at him and followed Chris out the door with the lava cakes.
Mitch put his hands on Ree’s shoulders, but she didn’t turn around, just kept scrubbing furiously at one spot on a pan. “It’s not what it looked like,” he assured her.
“I know.” Her voice was almost a whisper. “You said she’s—”
“She’s only a co-worker,” Mitch said determinedly, “a rather manipulative co-worker. She was kissing me.”
“I figured that’s what it was.” But Ree still wouldn’t turn around.
“Look at me, Sweetheart,” he said, gently pulling her to him.
She turned, hands dripping, and rested her forehead on his shoulder. “She’s everything I’m not.”
“And I’m glad. I wouldn’t like you so much if you were her.”
Ree finally met his eyes, at least enough that he could see unshed tears still lurking there. He kissed her nose, then her eyelids, then leaned down to meet her mouth. She smiled against him, then melted into his arms and his kiss.
“Hey, Mitch,” Carson said, poking his head in from the dining room. “When you can tear yourself away, you’ve got other guests here you really ought to say goodbye to.”
“Coming,” he said.
“Do you mind if I stay her
e?” Ree asked hesitantly.
He gave her one more kiss, more lingering than he should have, and said, “You take all the time you need.”
Mitch wrapped things up with the other dignitaries, glad for their assurances that they’d come back—and bring their friends with them. He said his last goodbye just in time to see Ree climbing into her old Honda.
“Wait!” he called, sprinting to her car. No way was he letting her leave without making sure she was okay. He caught the driver’s door just before she closed it.
“C’mere,” he said, reaching for her hand and pulling her out to stand within his arms. “You’re not running off now, are you?”
She shrugged, uncertainty still in her eyes.
“Oh Ree,” he groaned, “I wish I could stay and take you for a day off tomorrow, but I can’t. I have some critical casework I have to be in the office for this week. And with the Markov wedding on top of all the regular opening stuff, you’ll be plenty busy.” He kissed her lightly. “But I’ll be back on Friday to help.”
She looked up at him, vulnerability still showing, and he tried to channel all his reassurances through his eyes. He reached up to stroke her cheek, then bent his head to meet her warm, willing mouth.
This woman…she did something to him, made him feel things he was never willing to feel before. He had to keep her in his life, but it wasn’t time for major pronouncements yet. Not in their relationship, and not while his career was in crisis. But he didn’t want to lose her, either. He yearned for his grandfather’s advice, but it was too late for that.
In the meantime, he could anchor both of them with a kiss that surely had to tell her how he felt.
After an incredibly long, restless night, Ree hefted a shiny, new steak knife in her hand, wishing she could throw it against the wall instead of placing it carefully in the armoire. Despite Mitch’s consoling kiss, the evening had left her unsettled and edgy. Aiming a knife at an imaginary Melanie Xanthe would relieve a lot of tension—and feel far better than it probably should.
How dare any woman come in and diss her like that? And not just her, but Mitch and the inn and the whole town!
She closed the drawer carefully and then kicked the empty box across the room.
“Whoa, watch it there!” Robin held her hands in front of her for protection.
Ree blushed. “Sorry, I just…”
“Needed to let off a little steam?” Her friend picked the box up and brought it back. “I was going to ask how last night went, but maybe I don’t have to.”
“Robin, you wouldn’t believe it. This woman showed up, a real witch who took pleasure in cutting down everything I did. You should have seen her—she even wore a safari outfit to show how far from civilization we are!”
“Not invited?”
“Definitely not! But she knows Mitch and decided she needed to come down and claim him.”
“Claim him? As in ownership?”
Ree practically spat. “She kissed him. She was all over him, marking him as hers.”
“And what did Mitch do?” Robin plunked herself in a dining chair.
“After he finished kissing her, you mean?”
Robin gasped. “No!”
Ree let her breath out in a whoosh. “No, not really. At least he says not, no matter what it looked like. He says they work in the firm together and they’ve gone to parties together, but that’s all.”
After a moment, Robin said, “I hear another ‘but’ in there.”
Ree sat next to her and sagged. “You know my track record with men. It would be just my luck that Mitch falls into the pattern. That this was all too good to be true.”
“No way. I’ve seen you and Mitch together, and that’s not it. She’s just a conniving shrew and Mitch is telling the truth.”
Ree shrugged. “Maybe. But I still haven’t figured out how his career meshes with the person he seems to be. It’s there, niggling in the back of my brain.” She gave herself a mental shake. Hashing it over wasn’t going to get her anywhere, wouldn’t change anything. “Come on,” she said, standing up and pulling a box of crystal goblets to her. “We’ve got a lot of work to do.”
The activity helped lift her mood. So did talking about the Markov wedding.
“It could put us on the map, Robin. If Mrs. Markov tells her friends, and her daughter tells hers, word will get out, and we could have weddings here all next year!”
Robin crumpled the packing paper and tossed it into a corner. “You sure you can get the gardens ready in time? And all the stuff you need? I mean, you can’t seat 35 people in here." She looked around the dining room dubiously.
“Of course not. We’ll have all the tables on the back porch. Tiny lights, even if it’s daytime, and fresh garland. It will be charming. And I’ve already lined up rental places for the extra chairs and tables, and we’ll need tablecloths, and centerpieces—Mom will probably do those." She stared off into space, picturing small, intimate tables with three simple roses, baby’s breath, and a lavender ribbon.
“Earth to Ree,” Robin said, waving her hand. “If your mom does the centerpieces, doesn’t that mean you’d be doing the centerpieces?”
“Oh, right.” Ree deflated. How could she forget that? She’d need to explain to her mother that she wouldn’t have the wedding business after all. “Okay, that’s another problem I need to solve. But that’s what I get paid the big bucks for, right? Oh, and she’s asked for rolled napkins to go in special napkin rings that she’ll send up. Anyway, it’s a ton to cram into this week, but we can do it.”
“We?” her friend squeaked. “What’s this we stuff?”
“You’ll help me, right? I mean, we need to pull this off perfectly to impress Mrs. Markov.”
Robin shook her head. “I’m all thumbs with this stuff, remember? Like when we tried to do our own corsages?”
“It was sixth grade—everyone was all thumbs. And we looked really dorky, too." That was back when Ree had wanted to do everything her mother did, and wanted to prove to her that she was capable of helping in the shop. And then when she did prove it a few years later, look where it landed her.
“Anyway,” Ree said, “Mrs. Markov said that—”
“I’ve heard that name before,” Robin mused. “Didn’t she have a son who played football?”
Ree snorted. “If she did, they never would have played us. Big schools don’t play tiny ones, remember?”
“No, it wasn’t that anyway. How old is her daughter?”
Ree shrugged. “She didn’t say. Late twenties or early thirties, I would guess, judging from the mother-of-the-bride’s age.”
Robin shot off the stool. “Mother of the bride! That’s it!" She whipped out her phone, typed into it, then sat down and groaned. “I knew it. This is bad.” She handed her phone to Ree, who looked at the screen and gasped.
Mrs. Markov was a top-tier wedding planner.
Not just the bride’s mother, but an expert who knew wedding venues backward and forward.
Eventually, her friend’s voice crept into her consciousness. “You can do this, Ree. What were you just telling me about the intimate tables and all the twinkly lights? And the centerpieces just so?”
“Then why did you say this was bad? It is bad. She’ll be judging us every step of the way.”
Robin’s arm slid around her shoulders. “Breathe, Ree. I’m sorry I said that. I shouldn’t have. You’ve learned this, you’ve trained for this. And you have a great plan. It will be a beautiful wedding.”
Ree took a deep breath, her body loosening as she let it out. Robin was right—she could do this. She had a plan, she just needed to execute it. She took another breath, then nodded and grabbed her notebook. “Thanks, Robin.”
Her friend smiled and stepped back. “That’s what BFF means.”
“It keeps my mind off Mitch, too.”
Robin left to take care of her dogs, and Ree kept on with her notebook. With Mrs. Markov being a wedding planner, she’d have even higher e
xpectations. Everything had to be perfect, with back-up plans for the back-up plans.
She wondered why Mrs. Markov hadn’t said anything. In fact, she’d specifically said “nobody cares like the bride’s mother.”
Then Ree sat back, finally understanding.
This was a test.
Ree knew it as surely as she knew she wanted to work in Europe next year. If Ree could pull this wedding off on such short notice, with all of Mrs. Markov’s requirements met the way she wanted, then the McCormick Inn would have more wedding business than they knew what to do with. Mrs. Markov would recommend it to clients and colleagues both.
But if they failed…
Ree gripped her pen tighter. There was no way they were going to fail.
* * *
“You know, what this place needs is an old Victrola,” Harriet told Ree before she drove off two days later.
Ree couldn’t get the old time phonograph out of her mind now. Somehow a Victrola with its curving speaker horn seemed romantic, bringing visions of long, flowing gowns or dashing young couples dancing a lively Charleston.
Would Harriet buy a replica or search for an antique? Ree dashed to the flower shop to get some work done before interviewing a few people for housekeeping positions. As she poked rose and lily stems into an arrangement, her mind filled with possible images of what the Victrola might look like—how big was the record box? Would the horn be black or brass?
As she finished off the bouquet with edelweiss and greenery, she suddenly wondered what was left in the storage unit Mitch had rented. The mansion’s attic had been taken over by insulation, ductwork and plumbing, not to mention a small sitting area and a half-bath. The guys had moved a whole lot of old stuff from out of there, and Ree wondered if they included a Victrola. Or even a small statuette to go in the memorial garden, maybe half-hidden so it would add interest but not take away from Mitch’s sculpture.
She finished the flowers and did three interviews. The best was a lady who not only had tons of experience, but folded hand towels into artwork.
As soon as she ordered the background checks, Ree headed for the storage unit. She raised the garage-type door and stared in dismay.
