Free for the Wedding

by Briggs, Laura

  Thus far, she couldn't help but notice, he spoke only of Solar System's success, but not about his own. As if the software business was more important than any personal ambitions which undoubtedly were attached to his employment.

  Single, she thought, glancing at his ring finger. Maybe he’s obsessed with work because of some personal void. No friends, no hobbies, no girlfriend...

  She shook the thought away, struck by the eeriness of this comparison. The hair on the back of her neck rose momentarily, until she reminded herself that she was invited–nay, practically begged–by the couple-to-be to attend this wedding. She wasn't going to do anything more than celebrate her friends' happiness. If their happiness was genuine and not the product of an elaborate misunderstanding, that is.

  Until then, she needed only to nod and make polite conversation with this total stranger.

  “So this wedding in Virginia,” said Riley, catching her off guard, “did you organize that too? ‘Cause you seemed kind of focused on it at the rental agency–”

  “No, no,” Val blurted. Heat engulfed her cheeks as she recognized the forcefulness in her own voice. “I’m just a friend in this case, not a coordinator. He called me out of the blue a month ago with the news and I promised I'd be there.”

  “He?” Riley looked confused, his glance turning from the stretch of highway to study her. "Your brother? Your dad?"

  “No,” she said. “A friend. ‘They’ actually. Two friends. Both of them are friends, I mean.”

  "Two guys?" he ventured this question with a slight hesitation. "Not that I'm saying–"

  "A guy and a girl," she answered. "She was my best friend in middle and high school. And he's just a good friend, too."

  She was twisting the handle on her bag as she talked, wondering what on earth had invaded her system and caused this disconnect between her reason and her speech. “I'm not in the wedding or anything. We were just very close, all of us, when they were sort of like childhood sweethearts."

  A very distant sort of. Although she supposed Jason must think of himself and Heather in those terms, given that the note practically promised that, someday, her heart would fall for him.

  Riley was silent, as if waiting for the punch line. "That's nice," he said, finally.

  There was nothing else to say at this point. He gazed silently at the road ahead, the posture of his shoulders suggesting he was still burdened by other thoughts. Feeling ashamed that she had said any of her previous remarks aloud, Val faced the window and tried to think about something other than the psychological implications of this trip.

  *****

  Baltimore’s Old Shore Inn was an impressive four story brick building with a design that hinted at a previous century's charm. Antique glass globes flanked the arched doorway, a series of majestic gables sheltering the fourth floor windows far above.

  ‘Providing Old World Elegance Since 1912,’ read the brass sign on the driveway’s stone-pillared entrance.

  “Pretty swanky digs for a business meeting,” said Val, leaning close to the windshield for a better view as she unbuckled her seat belt. She wished her own agency could afford such elegance for their annual meetings with potential investors. Imagining the glamour of travel as one of the perks to a salesman’s job, a faint spark of envy stirred inside her.

  She detected a slight twinge of discomfort in Riley's face in response.

  “Mr. Hammond keeps one of these rooms permanently reserved,” he said, climbing out of the driver's seat. “See, Maryland is the base for two of his businesses, so it’s kind of a home away from home.”

  “Sounds reasonable,” she joked, admiring the brick façade.

  He didn’t crack a smile or even seem to register the words as he pulled her wheeled suitcase and his duffel bag from the back. He was all nervousness, his fingers busy buttoning the long-sleeved shirt to cover his graphic tee.

  Why was he so nervous now? Surely he had time to change into something more formal before his meeting. After all, what serious businessman wooed potential clients looking like an ad for J. Crew?

  When she reached for the wheeled suitcase, he didn't relinquish the handle. "There's something I should maybe mention," he said. "That is–this isn't exactly an organized meeting."

  "What do you mean?" she asked.

  His eyes avoided her own. "This might take longer than a day. I know I promised–" he raised his hands defensively, "–but I couldn't think of a better way to explain that this is sort of a last-minute plan. Which means I might need to sort of...stay here."

  Indignation washed over Val's features. "Stay here?" she repeated. "Do you know how much a place like this costs? It's a fortune–"

  "I know," he said, wincing. "Look–forget the car costs. I'll cover the whole rental–if this deal works out, my company won't care. And you can take the car and stay at the nearest motel for the night if you want. Just pick me up tomorrow." The expression on his face with these words suggested he was pleading for this last part, as if anticipating the temptation to abandon him here.

  Her lips parted, but no reply emerged. She couldn't think of anything to say to him that would counter such utter craziness and complete thoughtlessness.

  "Fine," she said. Seizing the suitcase handle, she turned on her heel and marched towards the lobby, not waiting for him to lift his bag and catch up.

  "You can go now–" he offered.

  "I really don't think it matters right now what I do," she answered huffily, without looking back. "I'll keep you posted." Inside, she would decide what to do. Take the keys, find a motel, eat a cold salad from some deli while Riley Cohen wined and dined his client here.

  It was an act of cringing cowardice not to mention this possibility to her earlier. She felt tricked by him, which considerably mediated the pity formerly bestowed on the defeated businessman denied an emergency rental.

  The Old Shore Inn's lobby was indeed a display of Old World elegance. Golden-yellow wallpaper bathed the reception area in a cheerful glow. An antiquated grandfather clock ticked off seconds by the grand, winding staircase–no elevators in a place like this.

  There was a bar, however, as she learned by peering through one of the connecting arched doorways as she passed by. A handful of patrons sat before the rich mahogany structure, while more travelers lounged in wingback chairs forming a seating area before the unlit fireplace.

  “Welcome to the Old Shore Inn.” The hostess crinkled her nose in a practiced smile as Riley loped ahead of Val, searching for his wallet in his blazer's pocket. “We have a variety of rooms and suites available, including our honeymoon suite, known as the Morning Tide.”

  “Just a guest room, thanks,” said Riley, no doubt hoping to save his company unnecessary expenses with the no-frills choice.

  Noticing Val coming behind him the hostess asked, “Will this be an accommodation for two?”

  “Oh, we’re just–” Riley broke off, as if unsure how to phrase the next part. “I mean, we drove together but we’re not…there’s no…”

  “We’re not together,” Val supplied. Flustered somehow by the notion they were romantically linked. Her companion’s inability to clarify their relationship was ludicrous, given her current anger at him. A stranger who had managed to become one of the planet's most annoying people in a single afternoon.

  “I see.” The receptionist flipped open a desk ledger, scanning a list of potential rooms. “How does a guest room on the second floor sound?” she asked Riley. “That includes a flat screen TV and Wi Fi access for your convenience.”

  He cleared his throat. "Is that the–economy version?" he asked. Clearly embarrassed by this question.

  The receptionist's voice took on a frosty edge. "That is our cheapest room, sir."

  “Sounds great.” He slid his credit card across the desk, his eyes averted from Val as she stood by, attempting not to listen.

  Just a few hours and this minor inconvenience would be past her. Tomorrow would find her back on the road, speeding
towards her destination. Towards a sense of closure, perhaps. Or something else–although what that something else was, she didn't allow herself to think, despite the tingle of anticipation which rushed over her.

  The clock by the stairs chimed noon, a hollow bell-like sound that caught her attention. “What time is your first meeting?” she asked Riley, as he waited. “It’s getting late, so I’m guessing you have an afternoon conference. Or maybe dinner time?”

  Her fingers crossed behind her back with this last question, thinking it might be the easiest way to avoid each other for her to take the keys and depart now.

  Before Riley could answer, the receptionist cleared her throat. "Your credit card has been rejected, sir.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked. He leaned closer, a look of dismay on his face. “There must be some glitch…”

  "There is no mistake, sir," she answered. "You have a credit limit of one thousand dollars and all of it has been charged."

  "But I haven't ..." His words trailed off, as realization dawned. One hand pressed against his forehead as he sank towards the desk. “The rental car. It must’ve maxed my account.”

  “Your account?” Val’s brow furrowed with confusion. “I thought your company was paying for this.”

  Something was wrong here; a twinge of suspicion stabbed through her as she studied Riley, who was holding his rejected credit card as if it were deceased and deserving of mourning. He hadn't bothered to reply to her observation on his choice of pronouns.

  “Okay," he said, "this is kind of funny." A slightly hollow tone in his voice suggested there was nothing amusing in the story which followed. “See, I really am on a business assignment–and I do intend to meet with a potential investor. But technically–in the strictest definition of the word–my company didn’t authorize it.”

  Val absorbed this piece of news in silence, her mind filling in the blanks. That Riley had setup a business transaction himself, without his employer's sanction and possibly at the risk of the company’s integrity. That he was footing the bill himself in some sort of desperate endeavor.

  Meanwhile, the receptionist was losing patience as more customers filed into the lobby.

  “Sir?” she prompted. “Would you like to pay cash for the room? We don’t accept cheques, I’m afraid. ”

  His expression made it clear this wasn’t an option for the hundred and twenty dollar charge. He remained in place, his frown deepening as if the list of options in his mind was yielding nothing to him.

  Leaning across the desk, Val placed her credit card before the receptionist. “Two guest rooms, please.”

  The receptionist's eyebrow twitched faintly. She swiped the plastic card, her fingers tapping the keyboard as a registration form appeared.

  “Two rooms?” Riley repeated. "What are you–"

  "I don't think you want to sleep in the parking lot," she said. "And I think you probably can't meet somebody in this hotel if you're staying in a motel fifty miles away."

  There was something in his eyes she could not define. Gratitude, wonder, possibly shock. “Thank you,” he said. "When this is over, I will pay you back–"

  “You charged the car fee, so it’s the least I can do," she said. "After all, if it had been my card at the rental agency, then you wouldn't be maxed out. Consider it payment towards my half of the car bill."

  Of course, he could also consider the possibility that she wouldn't have needed to charge such expensive rooms in the first place if she hadn't shared the car with him. For a mere six hundred dollars, she could still be driving towards her Virginia destination.

  He was studying her intently, a sensation that made her self-conscious as she waited for her card to be returned. She twisted a strand of auburn hair, the urge to fidget too strong to resist. At this moment he was no doubt admiring her coolness and competence in the face of distress, something he was clearly lacking. He was certainly not admiring anything else about her, including her rumpled appearance after a long afternoon's travel.

  When she turned to face him, however, she found his gaze latched elsewhere. On the opening to the inn’s bar, where a tall figure had just emerged dressed in golf pants and a polo shirt, a visor shielding their gray-brown hair.

  “No way,” said Riley, in a too-loud voice which feigned that of a major surprise. “This is too much."

  A forced laugh, hearty and nervous at the same time, accompanied these words as he stepped into the man’s path, hand extended in greeting. “Mr. Hammond–what a pleasure to see you again. We spoke at the TechPro Luncheon last week, remember?”

  A mixture of confusion and annoyance appeared on Hammond's face. Obviously, this last-minute meeting hadn’t exactly been arranged by both parties. A fact that made Val’s heart sink even further than Riley's first revelation.

  “Cohen,” he said, in the dull voice of one who finally makes the connection. Accepting Riley’s handshake he observed, “You’re with a company–a small one. Space something-or-other.”

  “Solar Systems,” Riley corrected. “In fact, we just debuted the updated version to our mobile computer. The Comet II,” he added, clearly hoping to jog the older man’s memory. “I showed you a prototype at the luncheon.”

  “Right,” said Hammond, a hunted look in his eye. “Yes, I sort of remember. Very nice.”

  Cringing, Val ducked behind a brochure rack beside the reception desk. Now that the room keys were in her possession, the kindest thing would be to leave before this scene got any worse. But she seemed rooted in place, unable to tear herself away from the disaster unfolding before her eyes.

  When Riley glanced her way, she buried her nose in a golf course pamphlet. Her gaze skimming pictures of rolling green hills as the conversation continued a few feet away.

  “Well, it’s good to see you–” Hammond said, attempting to move on.

  “And kind of surprising, right?” Riley crossed his arms, his stance shifting to block any sudden escape from his prey. “I didn’t expect to be here this weekend,” he confided, “but a possible new investor put a rush on the contract details. They’re, um, eager to incorporate our product into their work environment.”

  “No kidding?” The would-be client raised his brows with mild interest. “Anybody I’ve heard of? I’ve got connections almost everywhere in the corporate world. Maybe I’ve crossed paths with your boy before. Even if he's small potatoes.”

  “Maybe so,” the salesman fumbled. One hand rubbed the back of his neck in a nervous gesture, his brow furrowed in concentration. “It’s a ‘she’ actually. A very prominent figure in the…”

  He paused, his gaze roaming the lobby in search of inspiration. Settling on Val’s partly hidden form as he finished, “... in the event planning industry.”

  What? Instinctively, Val shrank further back, trying to obscure her entire body with the flimsy display rack. Too late, as Riley waved frantically in her direction.

  “There she is now–Miss McCray! Come join us a minute.” His motion had become a gesture beckoning her forwards. To refuse would leave him stranded for embarrassment–as if anything could be more embarrassing than what she had just witnessed.

  Reluctantly, Val stepped from behind the wire rack. Heat flamed her face as she approached them with what she hoped was the air of a rich businesswoman. Something hard to feign in a retail dress and heels dating from two summers ago in fashion trends.

  “Nice to meet you, Miss McCray.” The businessman reached to shake her hand. "I don't think I'm familiar with your work." The hand now holding her own found it still clutched the golf brochure from the display.

  “You’re a golf enthusiast, I take it?” he asked.

  “Oh…you know,” Val shrugged. “A game here and there, when I have the time. Which isn’t often in the business world.”

  In truth, she’d never made it past the putt-putt stage, where her poor skills earned her the tongue-in-cheek nickname “Long Shot”. Molding her lips into a bright smile, she asked, “What about you? Big f
an of the game?”

  “Well, I own a few courses,” he chuckled, “so I better enjoy it, right? As a matter of fact,” he said, checking his wrist watch, “I’m on my way to the Shamrock Course right now. So I guess–”

  “That’s where we’re going,” Riley blurted. “Really, we were just about to hit the course when you showed up. I can't keep up with this one, let me tell you. If she decides to invest in us–”

  As he rambled on, his arm bumped Val’s. Eyes meeting hers in a gentle plea to play along.

  She wanted her gaze to be cold, to freeze him outright for this ludicrous move. Instead, she merely closed her eyes as if falling victim to a defeat equal to Riley's own standards.

  “Crazy coincidence, right?” he said, to no one in particular.

  “Right,” she echoed. “Crazy.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  This had been a mistake.

  Val couldn’t deny it any longer, as she watched her errant golf ball sail straight for the bunker. It hit the sand with a soft thunk!, raising a cloud of dust.

  It was a sight that had grown all too familiar after ten holes on the Shamrock Golf Course. A venue which more than lived up to its Celtic name with hilly, rugged terrain and grassy coves that seemed to swallow golf balls whole in a deceptive thick green foliage.

  “Looks like your bad luck streak continues,” Mr. Hammond observed with a wry tisk.

  His smile was grim as he rooted among his bag for a different club. So far, he had witnessed her sink two shots into ponds, as well as skinning a pine tree with a wild ball on the fifth hole.

  “Guess I’m a little out of practice after so many months.” Val’s fake smile was wearing thin, she knew. And this stupid charade was crumbling like the sand she waded into for her next shot.

  “You’re just too busy making other people’s fun possible,” Riley insisted, punching her shoulder in a comradely manner. He had trailed her to the sand trap, his arm hoisting her bag as well as his own. Apparently, he was feeling some remorse for wrangling her into this.