by Meg Maguire
Lindsey sighed, a happy noise. “It’s so much more fun dealing with other people’s social lives. Like all the fun of baking and eating a cake, with none of the cleanup to worry about.”
Jenna snorted. “Oh, we’ll have plenty of cleanup before long. Plenty of ‘Why did you set me up with that loser?’”
Lindsey made a face. “Yeah, true. Except we’ll be unnaturally perfect at all this. The only dating agency in the history of forever with a one hundred percent client satisfaction rate.”
“I admire your delusion,” Jenna said, laughing. “And sharing it might just get me through tomorrow’s party.”
* * *
AT TEN TO TWO ON SATURDAY AFTERNOON, Jenna spotted Tina strolling past the office windows and her nerves rose from a steady simmer to a rolling boil. No time to even smooth her hair, she set aside one of her many lists and got to her feet.
“Jenna!” Tina beamed a broad smile around the office, seeming to approve of the changes Jenna had made since she’d been here for the official inspection. “Foyer looks fantastic. I even sat in the chairs. Very comfortable. I might suggest a watercooler, though.”
Lindsey waved from her chair and wheeled it forward. “Hi, I’m Lindsey Tuttle. Jenna’s assistant-slash-future-matchmaker.”
“Yes, Lindsey the wedding planner.” Tina’s shake looked as crisp and professional as her gleaming bun. “Lovely to meet you. Jenna’s been absolutely aglow with your hire. Welcome to Spark.”
“Thank you. And for the foyer, I was thinking maybe we could set up a little table with one of those fancy one-cup coffeemakers.”
“That sounds like a great idea,” Tina said.
“Lindsey’s full of those,” Jenna said. “So here’s the office.” Lindsey gestured cheesily like a boat-show model. “It’s not done, clearly, but all the furniture’s in. I’ve been trying to figure out what color to paint the walls, since we’ve got to appeal to men and women.”
Tina aimed an appraising eye around the room. “I’d suggest something dark. Soothing. A dark slate, to offset the pine?”
Jenna made a note. “We’ll get swatches next week, once everything’s calmed down.”
“I’ll bet you’re looking forward to the party wrapping.”
“I’m excited for the mixer itself. But yeah. I’m ready to meet my clients.”
“And start meddling in their love lives,” Lindsey interjected, rubbing her palms together.
The party had them both keyed up, and the anticipation was finally overshadowing Jenna’s trepidation regarding her own love life. At least temporarily.
Tina took a seat in the guest chair. Her wedding ring was formidable, big enough to make up for the fact that the other two thirds of the party organizers were commitment experts in theory only.
“So, tell me more about how everything’s been for you two so far.”
Lindsey made coffee while they chatted, Tina assuring them that all their concerns were totally normal, and giving them great advice for how to approach the partygoers.
Finally Jenna glanced at the clock, surprised to find it was nearly three. “We better head out. The staff are expecting us in a half hour. Did you want to come, Tina, or do you need to get settled in your hotel...?”
“Lucky for me, that is my hotel. And I drove up, so if you can tell me where to go, I’ll take us over.”
“Perfect, thank you.”
Just as Jenna was locking the office behind them, loud snatches of a debate rose from the gym stairs.
Nobody bleeding, nobody bleeding.
She recognized Mercer’s voice a moment later, then he and Rich came into view, dressed in street clothes, looking fairly nonthreatening, except perhaps for Mercer’s scrambled nose and the prominent white bandage on Rich’s temple. They were deep in conversation, the volume clearly evidence of enthusiasm, not anger.
“Definitely some potential,” Mercer was saying.
Rich let loose a long, low whistle. “That kid with the glasses?”
Mercer nodded. “Justin. Yeah.”
“What?” Jenna asked as they approached the women.
“We had a kids’ clinic this afternoon,” he explained. “Just got out.”
“He could be good,” Rich said to Mercer.
“I know. Damn good.” He turned back to Jenna with a quick wave to Lindsey and Tina. “Everything all set for the party?”
“Yes, thanks. Guys, this is Tina Maxwell. The franchise standards overseer. Tina, this is Mercer Rowley—”
They shook.
“And Rich Estrada.”
“Pleasure,” Rich said smoothly.
“Mercer and Rich run my late father’s gym,” Jenna said, making a snap decision to not mention that she and Mercer were involved. Things were complicated enough as it was.
Tina’s smile tightened.
“They know,” Jenna added softly. “That it’s closing.”
“I see. Well, nice to meet you, gentlemen.”
Jenna felt she really ought to mention that these were also the guys who’d be filling in as security that evening, but judging from Tina’s expression, she decided it might be best to spring that on her later, once it was too late for plans to be changed.
“Well,” Jenna said awkwardly. “We better head over.”
“See you later,” Mercer said.
Jenna ushered the women toward the exit before Tina had a chance to learn just how soon “later” actually was.
13
MERCER WASN’T SURE about this plan.
He shuttled hangers around, debating what to wear. Maybe he ought to just back out on his agreement to play bouncer. Rich’s idea, so no surprise it was a reckless one.
But he’d said yes. And he wanted to help Jenna. And fine, he was dying of curiosity about what a matchmaking mixer might look like and, more to the point, what sorts of eligible men she’d be so intimately—if professionally—involved with day in and day out at her new job. But as much as he wanted to know, he also thought maybe it was best if he didn’t. Just like he’d never make Jenna come to a fight with him, knowing she’d cringe and gasp her way through it. He’d have to be nice to that Tina woman all night, acting as though she wasn’t the one who’d brought the ax down on the gym.
But no point fighting it—if Jenna needed him, he’d be there. Loyalty knew no logic or pride, and what he felt for Jenna went far beyond loyalty. It had to be love. Nothing made a man this stupid except love. Hell, just ask Monty Wilinski.
He selected a plain black collared shirt and his gray all-purpose wedding-slash-funeral-slash-rare-press-appearance slacks, praying he remembered how to use an iron. Or where he’d last left his ironing board.
This scary, raw hurt in his heart and craziness in his head were the reasons he’d never been in a rush to get serious with anyone. Care about somebody enough and suddenly you quit acting logically. It was probably a good thing that their romance had an expiration date. It’d hurt to say goodbye to her, but at least life would go back to feeling simple, and he’d once again know the lay of his priorities.
He found the ironing board in the pantry and managed to press his shirt and pants without burning them. He dressed, feeling funny in these clothes. As requested, he’d gone casual for Monty’s ash-scattering at the waterfront, then everyone had spent the evening eating roast beef sandwiches and drinking too much vodka in the gym, watching the hours-long DVD Monty and Mercer had put together of his all-time favorite fights. That had been a party. A party with a lot of sloppy, drunken, manly crying in the wee hours, but a celebration nonetheless. He felt more dressed for a wake now, a kickoff of the slow dismantling of Wilinski’s Fight Academy...
Jesus, when had he gotten so mopey? He ordered himself to quit thinking so hard about everything. Like that ever did anybody any good. He must have caught it from Jenna.
He heard the door open and called, “I’m in my room.”
“Cool. I have to get dressed,” she called back.
After ten minutes she app
eared in his doorway, just as he was lacing the dress shoes he’d unearthed at the bottom of his closet.
“Oh,” she said. “Well, you look very handsome.”
He stood to check that he’d gotten all the buttons, then tucked his shirt into his pants. He stretched his arms, the fit feeling a bit tight in the shoulders. “Jeez, I’ve let myself go since I last wore this. I must have bought it when I was in training.”
She laughed. “Oh yes, you’re a real tub, Mr. Zero Percent Body Fat.”
He opened the closet door wide to take a look in the full-length mirror. “I don’t need a tie, right?”
“No. You might get mistaken for a waiter if you wear one. You still okay with this?”
He nodded, eyes on his reflection as he checked the results of his ironing. “Yeah. No problem. How about you? How you feeling?”
“Terrified. And excited.”
“Sounds like a healthy mix.”
He sensed her nodding in his periphery, and finally turned to look at her. “Oh. Damn.”
She looked beautiful. Perfect. Her dress was short, but not too short, sexy but not too sexy, deep red with a tan pattern, vines or leaves or something.
“You look... What’s the professional version of ‘hot’?”
She laughed, glancing down at her dress. “I was going for cocktail casual.”
“Well, you look wicked hot. You’re going to steal all your lady-clients’ prospects.”
“Gosh, I hope not. But thank you. You look awfully hot yourself.”
“Big improvement on my usual style, I’m sure.”
She smiled. “I quite like you dressed to fight, with your arms showing.... But it’s definitely best you keep covered up. Those muscles may keep any tipsy people from getting rowdy, but they’ll also ruin my female clients’ focus.”
He shrugged the compliment away. “It’s Rich you ought to be worried about.”
“Yes, we’ll see how that goes. Maybe I’ll just shove Lindsey in front of him every few minutes as bait.”
“I’ll tell him if he’s getting too...too like Rich with anyone,” Mercer promised.
“You weren’t...? It didn’t hurt your feelings that I didn’t introduce you as my, you know, boyfriend to Tina earlier?”
He shook his head. “Only girls worry about that kind of stuff. Plus she looked constipated enough trying to figure out how to be polite to me and Rich. No need to make her head explode. Save that for tonight when she realizes we’re working security.”
“Okay. As long as I didn’t make you feel...I dunno.”
He smiled. “I dunno, either. So don’t give it another thought. I’m ready if you want a ride over.”
“If you’re sure.” She glanced at his alarm clock. “You’ll be stuck standing around a lot.”
“Same as I’d be doing here.”
She crooked her elbow and Mercer linked it with his. This was how it might’ve felt if they’d been together long enough to attend a wedding as a couple. Mercer shut off the apartment lights behind them, hand on her lower back the entire trip down the stairs and out to the car.
* * *
JENNA WISHED SHE could hold Mercer’s hand on the short ride to the waterfront hotel, but sadly his old sedan was a stick, and Boston driving involved constant shifting.
She stole glances at him in the streetlight, trying to remember a time when his face had been that of a stranger’s, when his unusual features had intimidated her, instead of endearing her as they did now. Trying to remember a time when she’d pictured her dream guy as clean-cut handsome, with a nice car and an impressive income, a master’s in something. How foolish she’d been, to think those things factored into manhood.
She was proud to cross through the upscale lobby with him, arm in arm with the most wonderful man she’d ever met. And the last man whose heart she’d have chosen to break, had she gone into all this knowing what she did now about him, about her father, about the gym her neighbors—and indeed Jenna—had been so quick to condemn.
Lindsey had brought her party clothes and makeup with her, volunteering to get changed at the hotel so she could keep the decorating and organizing under control. By the time Jenna and Mercer arrived in the function room, all that was missing were guests and music. Jenna waved at Lindsey, who’d changed into a skirt and sweater and boots, the outfit keeping her more firmly on the professional side of the fence than Jenna’s choice.
“Did I dress too much for a party?” she asked Mercer.
“It is a party.”
“But I’m working.”
He laughed. “You’re also giving an introduction speech, during which I imagine you’ll mention that you own the business.”
“Yeah, true.”
“So don’t panic. You look like a woman who knows how to attend a cocktail party and get respectful attention from men.”
“Right. Good.”
Lindsey finished talking to the man behind the DJ’s table and crossed the hardwood floor. “Hey, guys. You look great, Jenna. You too, Mercer.”
“Hey yourself,” Jenna said. “You’ve been busy since I ditched you to change.”
“Yup. Oh and I found that clipboard and the name badges. They were hiding under a spare tablecloth.”
Jenna sighed her relief. “Excellent. I’m going to be on door duty to start, so I can introduce myself as people arrive. Then I’ll ask you to take over when Tina and I are doing the welcome spiel.”
“No problem.”
Lindsey led them around to ask Jenna’s opinion on table placements, lighting, decorations. Mercer seemed to take everything in with detached interest, gaze darting with the scouting precision of a fighter—or, for this evening, a security guard.
“Looks great,” he finally said.
“Really? To a guy, even?”
“Sure. Not too girlie, not too schmoozy. Not too stuffy, like an office party. It’s nice. Kind of relaxing, with the lights all dimmed. Gives it that bar-feel, makes a guy feel like he’s on the prowl. Or whatever the non-seedy word for prowling is.”
Lindsey grinned. “That must be good, right?”
“What time is it now?” Jenna asked, digging for her phone. “Oh God, it’s six.” Only an hour until showtime.
“I better go down to the lobby,” Mercer said. “I’m meeting Rich there to chat with somebody from the hotel’s personnel about emergency procedures.”
Jenna stood on her tiptoes to accept Mercer’s kiss. “See you soon.”
“Don’t forget to breathe,” he whispered, and headed for the door.
“When’s Tina coming back?” Lindsey asked. “Oh—never mind.”
Jenna turned in time to see Mercer holding the door for Tina, who’d gone to her room to change into a simple-but-chic gray skirt suit. If she recognized Mercer from their introduction that afternoon, she didn’t show it. She crossed the floor and clasped her hands, beaming as if it were Jenna’s wedding day.
“Ladies,” she said warmly. “One hour till game time.”
“If it makes sense to you,” Jenna said, “I thought I’d do the greeting-people-and-handing-out-name-tags thing until maybe seven-thirty, give people time to trickle in, then we can do the welcome speeches?”
“Sounds perfect,” Tina said. “Wonderful centerpieces, by the way. Great icebreakers.”
“The cards were Lindsey’s stroke of genius,” Jenna said.
Lindsey dismissed the credit with a wave. “Oh—that’s my bartender,” she said, glancing across the room. “I mean, the guy I always hire when he’s free, not my personal bartender. I’ll get him set up and introduced to the waiters.”
She disappeared, leaving Jenna and Tina to look around the space. Jenna wondered if this was how a bride felt, gazing around her reception hall, hoping her guests would have a good time.... Well, a bit different, since her romance wasn’t at the center of the festivities. A sad thought dragged her down. This evening, and indeed this business, could mark the start of any number of people’s love stories,
but it was kicking off the demise of her own affair.
Tina patted her arm. “Don’t worry. Just have fun.”
“Yes, thank you. I’m sure I will.”
Jenna puttered for a half hour, making sure everything was as it should be. She lit the candles on the tables and windowsills, annoyed the DJ by jogging to every corner of the room and double-checking the speaker volume. Mercer and Rich entered at twenty to seven. With the exception of the freshly stitched gash beside his eye, Rich looked as if he belonged at a GQ cover shoot in his black slacks and a dark, pressed shirt pinned with the promised security badge. A dark purple shirt, Jenna noted. Lindsey swept over, digging in her purse. Jenna approached as she began to dab foundation on Rich’s cut.
“It’ll help,” Lindsey insisted.
He raised an eyebrow, wrecking her touch-up. “You’re practically albino—it’ll look ridiculous.”
“It’ll blend. It’s better than a flesh wound. There.” She snapped her compact closed.
“What’s the flirtation policy?” Rich asked Jenna, with a whip-fast glance at Lindsey.
“Flirting is fine,” Jenna said. “It’s a flirty event. Feel free to make my female clients feel charming and attractive. Just, you know...”
“Don’t poach,” Mercer said.
Jenna nodded. “Flirt and flatter, but do please steer them toward the actual attendees.”
Rich nodded. “Will do.”
“One of us will loiter by the door to start, while you’re signing people in,” Mercer said. “Then once the party’s under way, Rich and I will probably just wander, looking for trouble, asking the bartender if anybody’s been making themselves too familiar.” He glanced around the room as Lindsey fussed with the dimmer. “Though I’ll be shocked if you wind up needing us. If anything, you’ll need chaperones. This whole room’s like one big invitation to make out.”
“Especially those booth things,” Rich said, pointing to the three half-curtained alcoves along one wall, each with wrap-around cushioned benches and candlelit tables.
