The Winter Wedding

by A. C. Arthur

  Logan cleared his throat and prayed that visual would clear his mind as well. This visit was about work, not sex. He was not having sex with the event planner.

  “I see,” she said. “So you want details about the wedding and you thought the best way to get them was to barge into my office at almost seven o’clock on a Friday evening?”

  Her skin was a tawny brown hue, her dark hair and thick arched brows were a stunning contrast. While her mouth seemed soft and kissable, even though he was pretty sure irritation was brewing wildly within her. Logan had interrupted, or rather, caught her in what he presumed was a private moment. Even though she really should have locked the door. He considered apologizing, but figured that would only raise her ire. So instead, he forged on.

  “Now that you have a date, what about a venue? A theme? Will there be an engagement party? Press releases? Official engagement photos?”

  He rattled off some of the things Karen suggested might take place during the course of wedding planning because in that area, Logan really had no clue. As the middle child of five, Logan’s mother had yet to gain any in-laws, and Logan was almost positive there was no immediate change coming in that situation. So on any given day, weddings were the furthest thing from his mind.

  Except today.

  “I’ll need to run this by my client first,” she told him pointedly. “If I’m able to at that time, I will share some general information with you.”

  “You can call her right now,” he said.

  “Again, I’ll remind you that it’s seven o’clock, on a Friday night.”

  “There’s two months until the wedding. Surely you’re operating with a sense of urgency. I am too, so we might as well operate together. If no venue has been decided upon yet, just give me an idea of your thoughts for the big day. That’ll be enough to get me started.”

  “I’m not at all interested in getting you started, Mr. Williams. Now, I will check with my client and get back to you on Monday. I presume you have a business card.”

  Logan presumed he was being put out.

  He tapped his pen on the notepad and debated whether or not he should push a little harder. He decided not to since, as Jagger had also pointed out, it was after business hours. The last thing he wanted was for Ms. Dance Fever event planner to get angry and talk badly about him to Monica. He dropped the notepad and pen into his briefcase and nodded.

  “You’re right. I should have called first. My apologies to you for intruding,” he said and stood. “Can we set a time to meet on Monday to go over preliminary plans?”

  “As I stated, I will need to check with my client first,” she told him.

  Logan retrieved a business card from his inside jacket pocket and handed it to her.

  “Then you and I can meet at let’s say twelve-thirty on Monday. We can go to Grazie’s for a business lunch and iron out all the details. I’ll have my assistant make the reservations. Again, I apologize for intruding and look forward to working with you, Cheyna Dansfield.”

  She was still eyeing him warily. “I’ll walk you out, Mr. Williams.”

  Logan nodded because he was all for the opportunity to watch her move again. Every stretch of her legs and movement of her arms reminded him of her dancing and made him think of her wrapping those long limbs around his waist, his neck and… Logan looked up at the ceiling as he followed her out of her office and to the front door.

  “I will give your office a call after I’ve spoken with my client. If necessary, we can finalize our meeting details at that time,” she said as she held the door open for him.

  Logan almost smiled at the way her chin lifted when she spoke. Stubborn and sexy. That was cool, he could definitely deal with that.

  “I’ll wait to hear from you,” he told her and gave what he knew to be his most enticing smile.

  Her expression did not change.

  “Lock the door, Ms. Dansfield,” he said. “And have a great weekend.”

  Logan didn’t give her a moment to think on his words or respond, he walked out of the office and did not look back. It was a huge effort on his part because he would give almost anything to get one more look at her long legs, bare feet and smoldering eyes. Damn, he needed to get laid. Three months had apparently been far too long for him to go without. He boarded the elevator and closed his eyes while shaking his head.

  He never slept with clients or business associates. Never even thought about it. Then again, he’d never walked in on a business associate whose dance moves looked like a prelude to foreplay.

  What the hell was that?

  Who the hell was that?

  Cheyna rested her hand on the doorknob, after she’d pushed the lock in place.

  Logan Williams from The Masori Group.

  She stood there wondering what he must have thought when he walked into her office. “Unannounced and uninvited,” she added.

  Those observations did not stop the heat from fusing in her cheeks. She closed her eyes and let her head loll back. “Dammit!”

  Yanking her hand away from the door knob Cheyna made her way back into her office. She stalked around her desk once more and picked up the remote control. Music soothed her soul. It lulled her in a way that nothing and of course, nobody, had ever done before. She changed the song this time. Diana Ross blared I’m Coming Out, while Cheyna sighed heavily and sat in her chair.

  She was a professional. She had a degree in business from NYU and eight years’ experience as an event planner. For the last two years she’d successfully run her own company. And she’d done all of that on her own. She’d had no other choice.

  Reaching beneath her desk Cheyna found her shoes and slipped them on. This time when she sat up she squared her shoulders. She had a right to be proud of every accomplishment she’d made, every single step she’d taken toward her goal because she’d done it in spite of everything the people in her life had done to her. She rolled her shoulders back and bobbed her head to the music. In seconds she was up, finding her bag and packing all the things she wanted to review over the weekend.

  As the song continued to play, Cheyna logged out of her computer. She unplugged her phone from the charger behind her desk and then she stood. Her bag was heavy, but she pushed the strap up onto her shoulder anyway. She sang a few lyrics and danced behind her desk before finally using the remote to turn the music off. She was on her way out of her office when something caught her eye.

  The floral arrangement Evan had brought into her office hours ago was a big display of fall colors. Bright yellow sunflowers, maroon and bronze chrysanthemums, golden lilies, green and orange daisies burst from the top of an intricately designed vase. It was a vibrant seasonal blast of color that had brightened her office. But that wasn’t what caught her eye.

  A single deep red rose tucked just beneath a large sunflower had her walking toward the arrangement. She tilted her head to closely examine the arrangement again. It was perfectly symmetrical, the design exquisite and full. She reached a hand out to touch the vase feeling as if she’d seen it somewhere before. Then, because Cheyna was known to be compulsive about such things, she used both hands to turn the vase around. Eucalyptus branches brushed her face as she leaned in closer, surveying every flower and wisp of greenery. She turned the vase completely three times before coming back to the rose. The only rose.

  It was in full bloom and Cheyna touched a petal, smiling at its softness and the fresh scent of all of the flowers so close to her face. It was gorgeous and effectively soothed the last frayed edges of surprise and irritation brought on by Logan Williams. She was just about to turn and leave when something else hit her.

  Her fingers once again moved over the vase. It was metal with a bronze colored geometrical design etched into its base.

  “Light and warmth,” she whispered, just as she had when she’d seen it the first time.

  Elainey’s Florist on East 96th Street. Holly and her domineering mother Gwen had met Cheyna there last Tuesday to look at sample bouquets
and centerpiece arrangements that Elainey prepared for them. Cheyna had admired the vase and mentioned how she would be back to purchase it.

  She smiled again. How thoughtful of Elainey to send it to her with this wonderful arrangement. Cheyna left the office with a pep in her step, marveling at all she had managed to create in her thirty years of life. She had a thriving business with professional relationships that she’d taken time and patience to cultivate. On the elevator she made a notation on her calendar to call Elainey Monday to thank her. Now, Cheyna wanted to get home.

  At eight-fifteen, after she’d stopped to get her favorite shrimp tacos for dinner and took a shower, Cheyna sat on her sectional couch with her laptop. She had a taco in one hand while she scrolled through her personal email account. Her studio apartment was only ten minutes away from the office which was a huge part of the reason she’d selected it. The other reason was that it was economical. Cheyna did not require a lot of space. She had no pets and no intention of having them, or children for that matter. Growing up as a foster child taught her how to survive on little or nothing at all. While her business, unlike other two year-old ventures, was operating at a total profit, she did not see the purpose in spending money needlessly. She never knew when things might change and had vowed to always be prepared.

  Speaking of preparation, her mind wandered back to the surprise visit from Logan Williams. Who was he really and why had he barged into her office—while she was enjoying a very private moment—and then acted as if he had a right to be there? The questions had her pushing the last bite of her taco into her mouth and chewing while she typed his name into the search bar and waited for the results.

  Top Ten African American Men on the Move

  Thirty Under Thirty

  Last year’s winner of The Stevie Award for Communications or PR Campaign/Program of the Year.

  The last was an American Business Association award in the area of public relations. Logan Williams was the head of a team at The Masori Group who had taken the top prize on a campaign for an international fashion house. These were just a few of the awards listed on his LinkedIn page. He held a bachelor’s degree in marketing from the University of Maryland Eastern Shore and started his budding career at The Masori Group after an internship with the company during his senior year in college. He was twenty-eight years old and active in the Child First Organization in Brooklyn.

  There was no doubt Logan’s background was impressive. And he was fine. Absolutely no doubt about that. Clicking on a new tab and searching images of him, Cheyna couldn’t help but let out a slow breath. He had a smoothed bronze complexion with sinfully dark eyes and even darker hair. Lots of hair. The pictures ranged from photos she assumed were taken in college where his hair was in long, thick dreadlocks, his full beard on the scraggly side. In others, his hair was cut shorter as it had been today, while the sides were shaved close. His beard was still full, but trimmed neatly. The diamond stud in his left ear from earlier pictures had been replaced today with a tiny silver stud that gave a hip and trendy look to his sleek professional ensemble.

  Who was she kidding, Logan Williams had looked damn delicious in the navy blue suit he wore. He had a runner’s body, tall and lean, but undoubtedly strong. And he’d smiled. Cheyna felt a familiar throbbing in her center and pressed her thighs closer together. He was fine. His suit was designer and he’d smelled good. Better than good, she admitted and shook her head. One of her few weaknesses in life was a good smelling man. His cologne was just the right hint of musk and smooth earthiness that he’d applied sparingly. Men and women who didn’t know the meaning of less is more, bathing themselves in a fragrance until the stench made everyone around them ill, were a problem for her.

  What the hell was she doing?

  Cheyna closed each of the windows she’d opened regarding Logan Williams. The fact was he’d come into her office unannounced on a business call. And he’d caught her off guard. Cheyna did not like being caught off guard, ever. Not in business or her personal dealings. She prided herself on being prepared for anything at all times. It was a lesson she’d learned early on in life, when she realized she’d never have anyone she could depend on besides herself.

  Cheyna reached across the couch to where she had set her phone. She made a notation on her calendar to call Monica on Monday morning to verify that Logan was, in fact, working for the Lakefield Galleries. As Monica was Cheyna’s client, her priority was to Monica and whatever she wanted Cheyna to do with regard to this re-branding Logan stated he was hired to do. The wedding of Monica Lakefield and Alexander Bennett was sure to be one of the most talked about events of the year. And as the Lakefields and the Bennetts were prominent Black families with connections to other notable families, corporations, politicians and such, planning this event was the next step up in Cheyna’s career. That meant there could be no mistakes. This wedding had to be perfectly amazing for the bride and groom, as well as for the one hundred guests that were currently on the guest list that Monica had provided. Yes, this was a defining moment for Cheyna so there was no way she was going to let a hot guy distract her. No matter how much said hot guy had made her think of ripping his clothes off and having him right there in her office.

  Chapter 3

  At 7 a.m. on Friday morning, Liam Edison walked out of his Walker Tower condo in Manhattan. He closed and locked his front door and headed down the hall toward the bank of elevators. It was a familiar trek as he did this every weekday. Liam was usually in the office by seven-thirty. Ten years creating and managing elite events for the rich and famous at ZV Events had added to his obsessive compulsive personality.

  He took the elevator down to the garage level and walked toward section F, which was located closest to the elevators, but tucked into a corner so that cars taking the turn too fast would not get close to his white Mercedes. Pulling a handkerchief from his coat pocket, he wiped the car door handle and then used his key fob to electronically unlock the doors. Once inside the car, Liam was on his way.

  Twelve hours later, at seven forty-five he had changed from the brown suit he’d left his condo wearing, into a Tom Ford tuxedo and shoes. He checked to make sure his bow-tie was straight—even if too tight. Pushing his arms into the black overcoat, he left the offices of ZV Events and headed to the Park Avenue penthouse of Zeke Volker. As he was on his way to a company event, Liam contacted their car service.

  The black Lincoln town car dropped him off at the party and Liam spent another four hours of his life doing whatever was necessary to appease the demanding Zeke Volker. Four hours of mingling, laughing at phony jokes, complimenting undeserving people—basically living up to his work persona—and Liam had been more than ready to leave.

  “It was a very nice party.” Her voice was smooth like silk, her lashes long and curled as she blinked at him slowly.

  The sexy woman who had been eyeing him all night at the party appeared by the curb as Liam waited for his car. He was able to keep his gaze focused on the lovely features of her face—rich sepia complexion, pert nose, diamond-like gray eyes, and full mouth—because he’d already taken in every aspect of her perfectly sculpted body. During his few breaks between laughing and bullshitting with perspective clients at the party, Liam had watched this woman throughout the night. That’s how he’d known that she’d been watching him as well.

  Now he found it interesting that they were standing out in the cold continuing their inspection of each other. “Yes. Very nice. But I was disappointed I did not get a chance to spend any time with you.”

  She wore a long black trench coat over a silver dress, in a material that molded to every curve of her body like a glittering second skin. Large breasts were barely constrained leaving a delicious display of cleavage to entice him. She stepped closer and he inhaled the sweet scent of her perfume.

  “Then we should definitely remedy that situation right now, Liam.”

  Liam was tired. All night he’d thought of nothing more than getting home and into his be
d. He’d even regretted calling a company car because then he would have to return to the office to get his car from the garage. That would put more time between when he could climb into his comfortable bed. But now, he was feeling refreshed and reinvigorated.

  “You know my name, but I don’t know yours.” He resisted the urge to run his finger along the swell of her breasts.

  “It’s my job to know everything about you, Liam. It’s also my job to make you feel like you’ve never felt before.”

  She’d stepped even closer to him as she spoke. So close that her breasts pressed against his chest. Liam didn’t know which deity had offered him favor with this delectable creature, but he vowed to be forever grateful. This had been a rough week and if she was, in fact, a gift to help ease him into the weekend, then he couldn’t wait to unwrap it and see what else was inside.

  But just in case this was some type of cruel joke, Liam lifted a hand to touch her cheek. She tilted her head upward, her tongue brushing lightly over glossed lips. It was a chilly evening and yet, Liam was suddenly sweating.

  Liam lowered his voice and instinctively leaned into her. “What’s your name?”

  “Fiona,” she said and eased away from him to nod her head toward the curb just as the black town car pulled up. “Shall we?”

  When the driver came around to open the back door, Liam extended his arm toward the vehicle. “We shall.”

  Fiona smiled, her heavily glossed lips parting to reveal even white teeth. She eased onto the backseat and the split on the side of her dress opened, giving him an unfettered view of a glorious bare leg and thigh. Liam ran a hand along his neatly trimmed goatee and decided the night had just gotten exceptionally better before climbing into the backseat behind her.

  He was not wrong. They weren’t a block away before Fiona had his belt undone, zipper down and his dick in her mouth.

  Liam loved the feel of her hair. Of course he was thoroughly enjoying the feel and sight of her thick lips wrapped around his pulsing length, as well. But he enjoyed touching the texture of a black woman’s hair in his hands. Loved how his white skin looked against their dark hair and skin. He moved his hands to Fiona’s cheeks, cupping her face and moving her head up and down. With a moan he watched her hot mouth leave tracks of moisture along his dick. Her lip gloss was smudged, her wide eyes locked with his. Was this a dream? He had no idea what he’d done to deserve this delicious nightcap, but Liam didn’t care. He was all for it.