Getting It Now!

by Rhonda Nelson

  So he’d very neatly ended it with her first—in front of a smug-faced Spencer, no less—in order to beat her to the punch.

  He was the bastard, Philip thought.

  He massaged the bridge of his nose, felt his sinuses burn. “I’ve, uh…I’ve got to go,” he said, totally distracted by the horrific mistake he’d made.

  “Do you want me to come over?” Rupert offered, evidently still his friend despite his abuse and stupidity.

  “No, but thanks.”

  “I don’t have any plans,” he assured him. “We’ll make a night of it. Really, it’s no prob—”

  “I appreciate it, Rupert, but I think I’m going to have to figure out how to deal with this one on my own.”

  “Call me if you need me,” he said. A moment later, he disconnected, leaving Philip completely on his own.

  A bitter smile curled his lips. Alone again, he thought. The running theme in his life.

  But this time he had no one to blame but himself.

  14

  “DO YOU WANT TO TELL ME what’s wrong, or am I going to have to tie you to this tree?” April hissed into Carrie’s ear.

  “It’s not good wedding conversation,” Carrie told her, hurrying around to make sure that dishes were replenished when needed. Furthermore, if she talked about it—or even thought about it, for that matter—she’d cry.

  Just as she had last night.

  April determinedly dogged her steps. “I don’t care if it’s good wedding conversation or not. The wedding is over. Technically, this is the reception.”

  Carrie picked a stray strawberry which had inadvertently fallen off the fruit tray from the table and popped it into her mouth. “Semantics,” she said. “Seriously,” she told her, pausing to look into April’s worried green eyes. “I can’t talk about it right now.” She gestured toward Frankie, who was presently posing for pictures with her husband. “This is her day. I’m not ruining it for her.”

  And she meant it. As soon as this was over, she’d go home and bawl her eyes out, lick her wounds in private. But she would not be the cause of any unhappiness or distress on Frankie’s big day.

  April winced, her gaze softening with sympathy. “Later then, okay? I’m here for you.” She reached out and squeezed Carrie’s hand. The sweet gesture momentarily made her eyes burn.

  “Thanks,” Carrie told her. “I, uh…I appreciate it.”

  Rubbing a hand over her hugely pregnant belly, Zora carefully negotiated the terrain beneath the tree and waddled over. A fond smile curved her lips as she gestured toward Frankie. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

  Frankie, positively glowing in a beautiful white dress, and Ross, her handsome groom had officially tied the knot. Frankie hadn’t wanted her abusive father at the wedding, so when it came to the point in the ceremony where the pastor asked who was giving her away, the three of them had stepped forward and in unison said, “We do.”

  The weather had cooperated, affording them an unseasonably cool summer day and the shade beneath the huge, towering branches proved especially nice.

  April and Ben had come out early and strung hundreds of clear crystals in various shapes and sizes from the branches, and multifaceted beams of light illuminated the area with an almost fantastical fairytale feel. Soft jazz played from carefully hidden speakers and the occasional confused bird would swoop through, garnering a laugh from the small, intimate crowd.

  Carrie’s catering had been a huge hit, but the ultimate payoff had been Frankie’s reaction to the hummingbird. She’d gasped, then a broken sob of happiness had erupted from her throat and she’d cried.

  “It’s the most beautiful, most perfect cake I have ever seen,” she’d said. “I knew leaving everything up to you guys was the best way to go.” Then she’d hugged each of them in turn, Zora more difficultly because her belly got in the way.

  “She is gorgeous,” Carrie said, gazing fondly at Frankie and Ross. Her heart ached for that sort of happiness, the kind that she’d foolishly imagined she might have had with Philip.

  Clearly, that had been a pipe dream.

  The first sign of trouble—the blameless sort, dammit, because she hadn’t done anything wrong—and he’d cut and run without even affording her the courtesy of defending herself. She knew Philip had issues—had gleaned enough about his childhood to understand that he had justifiable abandonment concerns—but, call her crazy, she’d honestly thought that she’d gotten through to him. That she’d managed to worm her way into his affections despite his fear of potential heartache.

  In short, she’d thought she was special…and she’d thought wrong.

  Last night Carrie had kept expecting him to call or come by, to come to his senses and apologize for lumping her into the same opportunistic category as that witch who’d purposely stolen his last show.

  She wasn’t her, dammit.

  As the seconds had slipped into minutes and minutes into hours, she’d realized that he wasn’t going to do either.

  She’d finished Frankie’s spread, worked on the cake, then had quietly sobbed when she’d applied the various stems, leaves and buds Philip had made. Curiously enough she’d walked out of Spencer’s office—without a job, no less, because she’d quit before she’d work for another Martin and clearly Spencer was a candidate in the making—and hadn’t shed a tear. She’d calmly gathered her things in the privacy of her dressing room and hadn’t so much as sniffled. Hoover’s happy dance when she’d walked through the door yesterday afternoon had almost made her crumble—bless his little heart, her little dog loved her even when no one else did—but in the end she’d held it together.

  But let her come across a couple of sugared cake decorations Philip had helped her with, and the damned floodgates had broken. She supposed because they’d represented so much more. The future she’d hoped they’d had, the easy companionship they’d shared while they’d worked together, and the sweet beautiful love they’d made in her kitchen after they’d finished. Though she knew it was stupid, Carrie hadn’t applied all of them to Frankie’s cake. She’d kept a small, delicate bud as a tortuous memento of what might have been.

  “April, do you think you could work some magic with your husband to speed up the photo process?” Zora asked conversationally.

  April shot her a look. “Sure. Is the heat starting to get to you?”

  “No, but my water just broke, I should probably get to the hospital and I’m not having this baby without Frankie.”

  It took a second for Zora’s matter-of-fact statement to penetrate, but when it did both Carrie and April squealed and sprang into action. “You’re in labor?” April gasped. “Now?”

  Tate was at Zora’s side in less than three seconds. “What’s going on?” he asked, carefully reading his wife’s face.

  “Her water broke,” Carrie told him.

  Tate’s eyes widened and slow smile moved across his lips. Zora confirmed Carrie’s pronouncement with a soft nod and the two of them shared an excitedly tender look.

  Frankie hiked up her dress and, veil bobbing, husband hot on her heels, ran to Zora’s side. “What? Did I just hear someone say that your water broke?”

  Zora nodded. “Yes.”

  Tate started herding his wife toward the car and the rest of guests followed them, trying to keep up with what was going on.

  Frankie squealed delightedly, then her face blanked and she glared at Zora. “Have you been having contractions?” she asked accusingly.

  “Since five o’clock this morning,” Zora confirmed.

  Huffing it along right beside her, Frankie yelped in frustration. “Five o’clock! And you came here? Have you lost your mind?”

  “I couldn’t miss your wedding. We had to give you away. Besides, first time labor takes a notoriously long time.”

  “Be that as it may, that’s completely reckless! I’ve read the books.”

  Hurrying along as well, April jumped into the fray. “She’s right. We’re almost an hour from town. How far
apart are your contractions? Have you been timing them?”

  Tate opened Zora’s car door, reached across and quickly buckled her in. “Six minutes,” she said, slightly out of breath. “We’ve got plenty of time.”

  Carrie thought she heard Tate say something which sounded suspiciously like “stubborn know-it-all.”

  “I heard that,” Zora admonished, shooting her husband a glare as he slid behind the wheel of the car. She glanced nervously at her friends and an uncharacteristic flash of something akin to fear momentarily shadowed her ordinarily unflappable gaze. “Y’all are coming right?”

  “Of course,” Frankie said briskly, and Carrie and April echoed the sentiment.

  Tate quickly maneuvered the car from the side of the road and took off. Frankie glanced at Ross. “Do you mind if we’re a little late leaving for our honeymoon?” she asked anxiously, clearly torn between her new husband and her old friend.

  “Not at all, babe. Whatever makes you happy.”

  Frankie beamed at him and kissed his cheek. “That’s why I love you.”

  “What about all this stuff?” April asked, gesturing toward the tables, chairs, food and decorations. “We can’t just all take off.”

  “We’ll take care of it,” her father said, immediately stepping forward to volunteer himself and Davy, Ben’s father, as clean-up crew.

  “Are you sure, Dad?” she asked.

  “Certainly, honey. Go be with your friend.”

  “The coolers and things are all in my SUV,” Carrie said, pointing out another problem.

  “Leave it,” Davy said. “We’ll get it back into town.”

  “You can ride with us,” April told her. “We’ll drop you off at home when we leave the hospital.”

  Satisfied that all was in order, Carrie, April and Frankie gathered their purses and the hems of their gowns and took off across the field.

  “Slow down,” Ross admonished his wife, ambling along behind her. “You’re carrying my unborn child.”

  Frankie beamed at the two of them. “Can you believe it? We’re having a baby!”

  “I KNOW YOU’RE THERE,” Rupert said. “You’re like a pack animal. When you’re wounded you burrow. Pick up the phone.” Rupert paused. “Dammit, Philip. I need to talk to you. I got a call from Joyce last night and there’s something you should know.”

  Philip was tempted to pick up the phone at this news, but ultimately resisted. He wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone, not even Rupert, though he knew his friend had his best interests at heart.

  He’d been unforgivably stupid, then had compounded matters by being a coward to boot.

  He should have called her, gone to her—done something—but after the mess he’d made of everything, facing her had simply been too hard. He felt like a royal class fool and knew he’d need to do something extraordinary to fix it and get back into her good graces.

  Provided he even could.

  Rupert’s exasperated sigh hissed into his answering machine. “Fine,” he said. “We’ll do it your way. Yesterday after you left, Carrie quit. Completely. She—” A long annoying beep sounded as Philip snatched the phone from the receiver.

  “She did what?” he exploded.

  “Ah,” Rupert said knowingly. “So you are there. Excellent.”

  “She quit?” he asked, his heart racing into an irregular rhythm. His mouth went dry. Sweet Jesus…She couldn’t have. What on earth would possess her to—Philip raked a hand over his face. “Tell me everything,” he demanded. “Everything that you know.”

  “I would have told you a lot sooner if you’d answered the damned phone. I take it you haven’t talked her, then?”

  “No,” Philip admitted, ashamed.

  “You beautiful fool!” Rupert snapped. “Why the hell not?”

  “Just tell me why she quit,” Philip demanded. “Please.”

  “She quit because she said she didn’t appreciate Spencer’s tactics, said it reminded her of her former boss. Her agent has already issued a check for the buyout on the remaining time on her contract.” He paused. “She’s finished with them.”

  And out of a job, because he’d refused to work with her. Guilt settled over him like a heavy blanket and his stomach rolled.

  “It never occurred to me that you wouldn’t call her,” Rupert said. “I thought you knew she was no Sophie.”

  He had. He’d merely forgotten it at a crucial moment.

  Philip swore. “I can’t believe she did that,” he said, still flabbergasted. Admittedly, he’d thought Spencer was a high-handed bastard, but he’d never entertained quitting or buying out his contract.

  Philip harrumphed with disgust. And he’d once thought she’d sold out.

  “I realize that I may not be the best agent, Philip, and I’m certain there have been times when I’ve given you faulty advice. But I know this—Carrie Robbins is the girl for you, and you’re the biggest nitwit in the northern hemisphere if you don’t go fix this.”

  He was right, Philip thought, every cell in his body belatedly infusing with determination.

  It was time to be a man—the man for her, if she’d still have him.

  15

  “OH, MY GOSH,” Frankie whispered reverently. “Look at her,” she said. Her eyes misted with tears. “Oh, Zora, she’s beautiful.”

  The tired but still gorgeous new mother slid a finger over her newborn daughter’s downy red head. “We think so,” she said softly.

  Tate’s eyes were slightly red-rimmed, but if you asked him he’d deny that seeing his wife bring their baby into the world had brought him to tears. Allergies, no doubt would get the blame. He presently lay curled up on the bed next to his wife, already on guard in his role as the protector of their family.

  The sight of them made Carrie’s eyes mist with tears. Gad, she felt like all she’d done today was cry. She’d cried over Philip, cried for Frankie, and was now crying for Zora and their new baby.

  Predictably, within five minutes of being in the car on the way to the hospital, April had started grilling her about Philip. Or more specifically, what had happened with Philip. Carrie had related the whole sordid tale and by the end of her spiel, she’d been sobbing. Why couldn’t anything ever go right for her? she’d wondered. Why did everything have to be so damned hard?

  While April had thought Philip had made a stupid mistake, she didn’t think it was time to write him off completely. Men didn’t think like women, she’d said, and sometimes it took them a little longer to come to the same conclusion a woman would reach in less than a quarter of the time. According to her, they were linear thinkers when it came to almost every matter, except those of an emotional nature.

  Since she’d imparted all of this with an air of firsthand experience, Carrie was almost inclined to believe her, but at this point, she was honestly too mentally and emotionally exhausted to think about it anymore.

  As for Spencer and his threat, April had wholeheartedly agreed that Carrie should have quit. Having another boss like Martin was on her life’s-too-short list. She didn’t have any idea what she’d do now, but she knew that whatever it was would be better than being beholden to another asshole. Something would come along. It always did. In the meantime she’d rat-holed enough money to see her through for a little while.

  “Well,” Frankie said, still clad in her wedding dress. “What are we naming our new CHiC?”

  Zora smiled and looked up at her husband. “You can do the honors,” she said.

  Tate cleared his throat. “Ladies, meet Caroline Francesca Dawn.”

  April cocked her head, Frankie’s brow puckered in slight confusion and a bubble of joy burst in Carrie’s chest.

  “For her honorary aunts,” Zora explained. “She’s named for all of you.”

  Frankie gasped and April’s hand darted to her throat. “Thank you,” April breathed. “I—I’m honored. I didn’t know you even remembered my middle name.”

  “I didn’t,” Zora confessed. She grinned. “Your husband
told me.”

  Frankie darted a curious look at Carrie. “You’re a Caroline?” she asked.

  “I am.”

  “You don’t look like a Caroline.”

  “I know,” Carrie told her. “That’s why I shortened it.”

  Ben moved in behind April and wrapped his arms around her waist. She leaned instinctively against him, her face wreathed in a contented smile. “That’s an awfully big name for such a tiny little girl,” he re marked.

  Zora gazed lovingly at her new baby. “I’m not worried. She’s gonna have the personality to pull it off.”

  Carrie grinned. She didn’t doubt that for a moment. “We should go,” she finally said. “It’s late and new parents need their rest.”

  Frankie let go a sigh. “She’s right.” She glanced at her watch, then darted a look at her new husband over her shoulder. “If we hurry we can still make our flight.”

  “Go, go,” Zora shooed. “Don’t miss your plane.”

  After much hugging and more tears and promises to visit the next day, the five of them finally wandered out into the hall. Carrie, April and Ben were in the middle of wishing Frankie and Ross a happy honeymoon when the back of Carrie’s neck prickled with awareness.

  Frankie’s shrewd gaze darted over Carrie’s shoulder. “Were you expecting your Brit?” she asked.

  Her belly did a backflip and her pulse began to pound so hard she felt slightly faint. “No.”

  “Well, he’s here.”

  Evidently feeling protective, April scooted in closer to her and darted a mutinous haughty glare at Philip. “Do you want me to run him off?” she asked.

  Ben and Ross shared a look. “Do we need to kick someone’s ass?” Ben wanted to know.

  “Ha. CHiCs do their own ass-kickin’,” Frankie told them. “I don’t know what he did, babe, but go yank a knot in it for him,” she said in threatening carrying tones. “You’ll feel better.”

  “Carrie?” Philip finally asked. “C-could I have a word please?” he asked tentatively.