by Kaye Dacus
“Oh, love a duck!” The pantry door slammed against the wall in response to George’s hasty retreat. Had they been reporters? Had they found anything? He hadn’t thought it would be necessary to lock the office when he was out of the house. He kept the file cabinets locked unless he needed something out of them.
The dark wood door swung open at his touch. Nothing appeared to be out of place.
The computer. He dropped the bag of cornmeal and turned the machine on. It didn’t require a password to get into the main operating system. Most of his files were encrypted, but what if they’d copied them and had a computer elsewhere that could get into them?
“What’s wrong?” Ketty wheezed, out of breath from running after him. “Did I do something I oughtn’t have?”
He stared at the blue Welcome screen. How difficult would it be for them to figure out his password for the confidential files was anne0608? The “anne” part they might figure out if the perpetrators knew Anne was planning the wedding. What they didn’t know was that he’d first met her on June 8.
The image of the Big Ben clock tower with a purple evening sky behind it replaced the start-up screen. A yellow bubble popped up in the right corner. YOU HAVE FILES WAITING TO BE WRITTEN TO THE CD. TO SEE THE FILES NOW, CLICK THIS BALLOON. His heart sank when the window opened and he saw the list. Five files. The RSVPs and travel arrangements for the engagement party. The guests for the wedding ceremony. The invite list for the reception. And the detailed questionnaire he’d filled out for Anne.
He hoped the thieves had been thwarted by the unreliable CD burner. But half the time when he used it, that message popped up even after the files had been successfully copied to a disc. He closed his eyes and rubbed them with the heels of his hands, hard enough to see stars.
The dulcet chime of his Westminster clock marked forty-five minutes past the hour. Mama Ketty’s warm hand rested on his shoulder, and she leaned over him to look at the screen. “What’s all that?”
He let out a defeated breath. “Confidential documents about the wedding. Those blokes weren’t movers.”
“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. I knew I should’ve called you when they showed up. But they knew your name. …” She squeezed his shoulder. “Do you s’pose they’re reporters?”
Nodding, he shut down the computer. “I’m certain of it.” He patted her hand. “Our saving grace is that Mr. Ballantine will make the announcement just a few hours from now. If they can get through my password and figure out what the files mean, we can only hope they try to keep the information for themselves. After the press conference this afternoon, everything will be public knowledge, and they’ll lose their exclusive story. Just pray they can’t break those passwords.”
* * *
Anne checked her watch again and flipped open her phone. She didn’t even have to look at the keypad as she punched in the code to speed-dial George. He was always on time. She hoped he hadn’t overslept. Too much still needed to be accomplished before the florist arrived at noon.
After one ring, he answered. “Good morning. Sorry I’m running behind schedule a bit.”
“I was starting to worry about you. What’s your ETA?”
“I’m turning onto Spring Street as we speak. As soon as I overtake this lorry that’s pootling down the lane, I should be within sight of the coffee shop.”
She laughed. “ Pootling? That’s a new one on me.” She craned her neck to see down the road. “Ah, there you are. See you in a bit.”
“Toodle-oo.”
Taking a deep breath to calm her racing pulse, Anne tucked the phone in her pocket. Would he regret his actions last night? They’d spent so much time trying to avoid the attraction between them, she didn’t know how easy showing affection for each other would come for either of them. Yet as she watched him unfold his lanky frame from the low-hung convertible, she wished he’d stop pootling and get over here and take her in his arms and—
She tried to control the size of her smile as he approached.
He clasped her hands and gave her a quick kiss on each cheek. “Good morning.”
Disappointment surged, but she tamped it down. Standing on the front porch of one of the most popular coffee shops in midtown probably wasn’t the best place for the kiss she’d hoped for. “Good morning. You look tired.”
“And you, m’lady, look fresh as if you’d just returned from a long holiday.” He tweaked her chin, then motioned her toward the door. “Shall we? I don’t know about you, but I could use a lot more coffee this morning.”
“More? As in, you’ve already had some?” Anne reached for the door handle, but George was faster. She loved being treated like a fine lady…especially by him. Her male cousins were all gentlemen, but sometimes they forgot to open doors or allow her to enter ahead of them. George never forgot. More often than not, he asked her to wait for him to perform his chivalrous duty.
He gave her half a grin. “I had to or I was afraid I might fall asleep driving here.”
“Good morning, Anne!”
She turned and greeted the three young women behind the counter, introducing George. While he read the menu board, one of the girls handed Anne her usual.
“That looks good.” George leaned over and took a whiff of the enormous muffin.
“This is a tall caramel vanilla latte with a splash of hazelnut and a glorious morning muffin, still warm from the oven.” Her stomach growled at the aroma of the dark bran pastry filled with raisins, grated carrots, walnuts, and dates, not to mention the cinnamon, nutmeg, brown sugar, and honey. She took a sip of her coffee and closed her eyes as she imagined the tingle of the caffeine rushing to every nerve in her body. She’d have to have at least one more of these before she’d have enough energy to get anything accomplished this morning.
The three baristas gave Anne a pitying look when George ordered a “large coffee, black.” She rather liked the fact he was a no-frills kind of guy. Forbes had probably given closing arguments in court that were shorter than the description of the specialty espresso he drank.
Melted cheddar cheese oozed from George’s croissant, and the salty fragrance of the ham made Anne wish she’d ordered that instead. Oh well. Maybe next time. She found an unoccupied table on the back deck that overlooked Schuyler Park and pulled out her list. Halfway through, though, George’s attention seemed to be elsewhere.
She set the notepad down on the table and pinched off a chunk of her muffin. “What’s going on, George?” She popped the bite in her mouth and savored the chewy sweetness.
The faraway glaze slowly left his eyes. “I’m sorry, what were you saying?”
“Just trying to find out why you haven’t heard a word I’ve said since we sat down.” She really didn’t have time for him to be unfocused today.
He sipped his coffee and dabbed the corners of his mouth with the white paper napkin. “I do apologize. Pray, continue.”
She shook her head. Keeping secrets again? Or just fatigue? Maybe she was overreacting, but she couldn’t take that chance. Disheartened, she took a swig of her latte to try to wash down the lump in her throat. She didn’t know him well enough to discern if his blue funk was because of her or something else he didn’t want her to know about. Truth be told, she hardly knew anything personal about him. She wanted to remedy that, but when he wouldn’t open up to her…
Exhaustion pushed her emotions to their limit, and she blinked back sudden tears. She’d gone and done exactly what she’d feared— given in to her feelings and made herself vulnerable to him. Just like before, she’d end up with a broken heart after he’d gotten everything from her that he wanted. Just what did he want from her?
She jolted when his fingers touched hers. She pulled her hand away and rested it in her lap, focusing on the now unappetizing lump of muffin on her plate.
“Anne? Anne, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to shut you out.” He let out a deep breath. “I discovered this morning that some confidential documents may have been stolen from my computer. D
ocuments containing information about the wedding.”
Her gaze snapped to his. “Someone hacked into your computer at home?”
“Not exactly. Someone got into my office and may have copied the files onto a CD. I don’t think they can do anything with them. But…”
She no longer felt sorry for herself, but for him. “Oh. George. What happens if they figure it out? Will you lose your job?”
He shrugged. “There’s nothing for it now. We can just pray.…”
“Yes.” She nodded and reached across to take his hand. “Let’s pray. That’s why everything feels so overwhelming to me. I didn’t start my day in the presence of God.” She closed her eyes and bowed over the small round table. George lowered his head, his forehead nearly touching hers. She took a deep breath and cleared her thoughts. “Most merciful and gracious Father, only through the grace of the blood of Your Son, Jesus Christ, can we come before Your throne. Humbly we give You thanks for Your goodness and mercy, for the blessing of life, and most especially for Your grace and love. Please give us strength today to do what needs to be done, to put aside fatigue and concerns, to make this the best event for the client. Help George to set aside his worries over the crime committed against him. We ask that You keep the thieves from ruining his employer’s special day and endangering George’s employment. Help me to be a conduit of Your Spirit of love and hospitality with everyone who crosses my path today. Amen.”
George squeezed her hand. “Almighty God, I come before You with a humble heart this morning. Grant that I may be able to put aside all anxiety to be prepared to be of service to You and to Anne today. Help us to trust Your guidance and not be carried away by our own plans or preoccupations. Drive away wrong desires, incline our hearts to keep Your law, and guide our feet in the way of peace; that, having done Your will with cheerfulness throughout the day, when the night comes, we may rejoice and give You all the glory. Amen.”
Chapter 21
“Have you seen George?” Anne looped a gold-beaded garland around her neck and picked up a string of white twinkle-lights.
“Not recently.” Her cousin Bryan came down a few rungs and reached for the end of the light cord. He scrambled back up the ladder to complete the faux starry sky. “You might try in the office. Last time I saw him, he was griping about not being able to get a good signal on his cell phone. He might’ve gone in there to use the landline.”
What could possibly be so important as to take him away from the work he’d promised to help with? “How long ago?”
“Probably more than an hour ago.”
“Thanks.” She crossed the ballroom to deliver the strand of beads to the student workers decorating the parade float. Continuing through the heavy pine door, she tried to get hold of her anger. How could he disappear on her like this? She’d hoped to turn things over to him for half an hour so she could sit down and regroup— and maybe close her eyes for a few minutes. She was getting too old to keep these kinds of hours. With her business’s financial future secure, she needed an assistant—or a partner.
The office door stood open. No George. Frustrated, she dropped into the tall executive chair behind the desk, picked up the phone, and dialed his number.
He answered on the third ring. “George Laurence here.”
“Where are you?” She grimaced at the accusation that managed to slip into her voice despite her best efforts to affect a light tone.
“I am in the hot sun at the top of a very tall ladder trying to hang purple, gold, and green garlands while talking on the phone without plunging to an early and grizzly demise.”
Embarrassed relief washed through her. “Oh. I thought…”
“Anne.” His deep voice caressed her jumbled emotions. “I promised I would be here for you. Unlike…other people, I always hold true to my word.”
Her throat tightened. His ability to understand what she was thinking continued to amaze—and comfort—her. “I’m sorry I doubted you.”
“No apology necessary. Why don’t you close the office door and rest for a few minutes? I’ll fetch you should any problems arise.”
The idea of being “fetched” by him like a stick by a golden retriever brought her to irrepressible laughter. She couldn’t explain her mirth to him at his inquiry. She repeated his “Ta-ta for now” and hung up.
Indecision hit her when she crossed to the door. Three o’clock, and so much left to do. Could she afford to disappear for fifteen minutes? Or, being honest with herself, could she depend on George? Happy Endings, Inc., and her reputation as an event planner represented what she valued most in life, outside of her family.
She closed the door. If the relationship between them stood any chance of developing into…something, she must learn to trust him. Besides, what could happen in the few minutes she needed to get her second—or was she already on her third—wind?
* * *
At five o’clock, George found Major O’Hara and asked him to bring all of the workers together in the break room behind the kitchen. Cliff’s press conference would begin in half an hour, and George wanted the staff to be made aware of the ground rules for tonight’s event.
He found one of Anne’s cousins in the crowd of student workers. “Have you seen Anne recently?”
Jonathan shook his head. “Not for a couple of hours. I thought maybe she’d gone to run some errands.”
“Thanks.” George asked O’Hara to keep everyone together until he returned. He jogged across the ballroom-turned-French Quarter and down the hall to the administrative office. He turned the knob softly and swung the door open.
Anne never stirred. Even when she was sound asleep, stress drew her forehead into worry lines. He eased the door closed and released the handle centimeter by centimeter until it latched. He wanted to reveal the guest of honor’s identity to her in private anyway. Best let her get all the rest she could. She’d need it. As soon as he finished with the staff, he’d come back and tell her.
The buzz of voices in the break room stilled when George entered. “I know many of you have been curious as to whom this event is for. That’s why I wanted to call you together. Our guest of honor this evening is Mr. Cliff Ballantine.”
Astonishment swept through the room, and the initial gasp turned to excited whispering, especially among the females. He held his hands up to regain their attention. “Obviously I don’t have to explain who he is. There are, however, some ground rules everyone must agree to before his arrival. If you cannot agree, or if you break any of these rules, you will be asked to leave.”
He pulled a manila folder from his bag. “First, Mr. Ballantine will not be signing any autographs tonight. Please do not approach him with any such request. He has been kind enough to supply autographed photos for each of you instead.” He passed the stack of black-and-white head shots to the young woman at his right. “Second, you may not, under any circumstances, call anyone to let them know he will be here tonight. You are more than welcome to talk about it after the event to whomever you please.” He reached for a cardboard box on top of a stack of chairs. “Please deposit your cell phones in this box. They will be locked in the office until the end of the event.”
Excited twittering turned to groans. George gave them his sternest look. “If you cannot abide by these rules…” The thud of phones dropping into the box drowned out the complaints. “Third, there will be many other people here tonight whom you may be tempted to ask for autographs. Don’t. After the event is over, if they offer to sign something for you, that is permissible. But don’t solicit them. Finally, for those of you who will be greeting guests at the door, if they do not have an invitation, please call me over the radio before allowing them admittance.”
A hand shot up at the back of the room.
“Yes?”
“Even if it’s someone we recognize, we’re not to let them in?”
He didn’t want any of the guests offended, but he didn’t want any paparazzi or reporters gaining entrance, either. Most of the
guests would understand. “Please call me no matter what.” He pulled another stack of papers out of his bag, split it in half, and started them around the room. “This is a release stating that you have heard and understood the guidelines I’ve just enumerated for you. Please sign it and return it to Mr. O’Hara or me, and then you can go back to your duties.”
They were signing the releases when Anne’s cousin Jonathan burst through the doors. “George, I think you should come outside.”
He left Major to gather the paperwork and ran across the building. His phone beeped and he pulled it out to answer the call from Cliff’s publicist.
“We were on our way to the hotel in downtown, and Mr. Ballantine decided he wanted to have the press conference at Lafitte’s Landing instead.” Tracie’s voice betrayed her state of near-panic. “You’ll need to figure out a podium and some sound quickly.” A black stretch limousine, followed by innumerable vehicles, wound its way up the long drive toward Lafitte’s Landing.
“Oh, my sainted aunt!” He spun and ran back inside. “Keep Mr. Ballantine in the car until we get everything set up,” he called into the phone, then disconnected and clipped it back in place.
One of the staff directed George to a storage room where he found a large lectern and portable sound system. As the boys who’d worked with the equipment before rushed to get everything plugged in, George arranged the stanchions and black velvet rope, originally set out to line the red carpet leading to the entrance, as a barrier to keep the reporters and cameras out of Mr. Ballantine’s face. Like locusts, they swarmed toward the building, but the college students did an admirable job of keeping them behind the barricade.
