by Zoe York
This just keeps getting better and better.
She nearly said yes. For two long seconds, Piper considered asking Myles if he’d be her plus one. She doubted he’d say no and, God knew, his company would make the wedding less of a misery for her. But then her family would know about him. And he’d know about her family. Neither of those things seemed likely to lead to a desire for him to spend more time with her. Better to suck it up and admit the truth.
“No ma’am, I don’t.”
“Oh, that’s a shame.”
Piper called on all her acting chops to keep her smile fixed in place and set in polite rather than feral lines.
Carrie Jo’s Aunt Rae spoke up. “I could set you up with Forest Langford. He’s getting out again since his divorce.”
“What about Quincy Blackmon?” Libby Newsom, the maid of honor, suggested.
Piper lifted a hand to stop the commentary and offers of pity dates. “No, really, it’s all right. I avoided having a plus one on purpose.”
They all stared at her as if she’d sprouted a second head.
“I just thought I could be of more help if I wasn’t having to entertain a date. There’s so much to manage, after all.” A blatant lie, but it effectively turned the tide of pity.
“Well, isn’t that just the sweetest thing?” Jolene declared. “Since you’re…unencumbered, can I get you to—”
As Jolene took advantage of Piper’s slip up to pile on additional wedding duties, all Piper could do was grin and bear it.
Three more days. Three more days and this insanity is over.
Chapter 2
“I’VE BEEN OVER THE contracts with a fine-toothed comb.” Tucker McGee, attorney and sometimes community theater actor, sat back in his chair, an expression of regret on his face. “You’re up shit creek, man.”
Myles dropped his face into his hands. “I was afraid of that.”
In the wake of Mr. Bondurant’s departure, he’d flat out lied to his staff that everything was fine, then closeted himself in his office, working his ass off until day’s end, and waiting until they’d all left to pull out the original contract to pore over it himself into the wee hours. He’d spent the last two days searching, in vain, for some other answer. Finding none, he’d brought them to his buddy to look over, hoping for some kind of miracle. No such luck.
“If you’d been my client when this whole deal went down, I’d never have let you sign this. Did you even read the whole thing?”
Myles bristled. “Yeah, I read it. But the possibility seemed so remote, it felt like it was worth the risk.”
“Why?”
“I couldn’t get a traditional bank loan large enough to fully buy out the paper. And the investor seemed perfectly happy to let me do my thing for the first year, once I explained my business plan. I never dreamed he’d want to pull out before the year was even up.”
“That’s the shitty thing about the law. It doesn’t leave room for assumptions.”
“But it makes no sense. He knows I can’t buy him out. He’s seen the quarterly reports. If he takes the paper in exchange, he’s left with something he’s already seeing as a poor investment.”
“Which he could then turn around and sell,” Tucker pointed out.
“Good luck with that. Do you know how long the paper sat on the market before I came along? Newspapers around the country are folding left and right. There aren’t many people crazy enough to take it on. Probably fewer who could make it work. Selling isn’t likely to make him back what he’s put into it.”
“You could counter with a new offer that gives the investor more oversight into the running of things. Feeling more in control of things might pacify him, if he’s concerned about levels of profit and loss. If he agreed, it might get you a stay of execution.”
Myles shoved up from the chair and began to pace around Tucker’s office. “No. I’m not taking orders from some yahoo who knows nothing about the newspaper business.”
“Well, at this point, you either come up with the money to buy out the investor or forfeit controlling rights to the paper—which could put you in a position of being replaced entirely and having no say in things at all.”
Hello rock. Meet hard place.
How the hell had he gotten himself into this mess?
That was a stupid question. He knew exactly how he’d gotten into this mess.
Veteran Newspaperman Forfeits Paper Due To Risky Investment.
He’d wanted to come home to Mississippi on his own terms, do his own thing, rather than finally joining the family business as had always been expected. He’d been so damned cocky about his odds of success turning The Observer around and dragging it into the twenty-first century, he’d agreed to less than favorable terms. And now if he didn’t figure something out, he and his tiny staff would be paying the price.
The potential answer is staring you in the face, dumbass.
But that would mean taking Tucker fully into his confidence, something he hadn’t done with anybody in Wishful since he’d moved here last September.
Is keeping that secret worth losing the business you’ve been killing yourself to build?
“There may possibly be a third option.” Myles pulled another set of documents from his messenger bag. “Before he died, my grandfather set up a trust in my name. The terms are such that I’ve never had access to it up to this point, but my grandmother is executor. If I can convince her that this is a worthwhile cause, maybe she can override one of his stipulations.”
Tucker took the copy of the trust and began reading through it. Other than a slight lift of brows, he showed no reaction to the contents. Myles made a note to remember that if he ever sat across from Tucker at a poker table.
“Well, that’s one of the more unusual stipulations I’ve ever seen in a trust. Did he ever tell you why he tied this to you being married?”
“Apparently a man isn’t truly settled down and stable without a wife. I meet the rest of the criteria. I’m of age. Can my grandmother overrule the marriage clause?”
Tucker shook his head. “She couldn’t change that even if she wanted to. This thing is iron clad. It’s marriage or nothing.” He paused. “Although—”
“What?”
“There’s no stipulation about divorce nullifying access once it’s granted. Feel like a trip to Vegas?” Tucker grinned.
Myles snorted. “Some lunatic woman from a casino? Yeah, I can just imagine how my family would react if I brought someone like that home. I’m already the black sheep of the family. I’d just as soon not be completely disowned.”
“Well, then, that leaves you with needing to find the money, either via other investors or fund-raising. I suggest you go talk to Norah about that. Hail Marys are kind of her specialty.”
“No.” Bringing in the city planner meant the whole thing likely became public knowledge. Myles didn’t so much care what the good citizens of Wishful thought about the financial situation of the paper, but he’d be damned if he’d give his father the satisfaction of knowing he’d been right. Warrick Stewart would delight in having the ammunition to take pot shots at Myles on every occasion.
“So, what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know yet. But I’ve got forty-three days to figure it out.” He took the contracts back from Tucker and shoved them into his bag. “Thanks for meeting with me on a Saturday to go over this. I’m sure you had better things to do.”
“Yeah, the commute downstairs was a real bitch,” Tucker joked. “You wanna come up for a beer? Watch the game? The Rebs are taking on Duke in about half an hour.”
“Nah, my bracket’s already busted.” He wasn’t in the mood for March Madness just now, even if his alma mater was doing well in the tournament.
“Offer stands if you change your mind.”
Setting out from Tucker’s office, Myles headed across the town green. He loved his adopted hometown. He loved living in a place where almost everyone knew his face, his name. Where he got a life
story along with a cup of coffee. And where people still valued other people, putting them above the bottom line. He’d needed that change after years of anonymous living in cities across the country, slowly watching the evolution of journalism into the toy of corporate giants who’d forgotten that true journalism held people as its beating heart. No way was he about to give that up.
Myles hadn’t realized he was heading for the fountain until he stopped in front of it. The heart of town, the huge marble fountain dated almost all the way back to the Civil War. Fed from nearby Hope Springs, it allegedly had the power to grant wishes. Norah’s entire rural tourism campaign centered around the legend. Every light pole on Main Street flew the same banner: Welcome to Wishful, Where Hope Springs Eternal.
More apt to be cynical than not, Myles had to admit, the idea was appealing. Who couldn’t use a little more hope in their lives? God knew he needed some just now.
Digging in his pocket, he pulled out a quarter.
Dear Universe, I wish for a way to save the newspaper.
With a flick of his thumb, he launched the coin into the air. It flipped, end over end, flashing faintly in the moonlight before it struck the surface of the water with a soft plunk.
Well, that’s it then.
The phone in his pocket buzzed with an incoming text.
He pulled it out, grinning when he saw it was Piper. She was about the only thing that could make him smile right now.
Save me.
Myles thumbed a reply. Where are you?
Piper: The Spring House for my cousin’s wedding reception. They’re Baptist, so no booze to numb the pain of boredom.
Myles: That’s tragic.
Piper: So are these bridesmaid dresses. Bile isn’t exactly a flattering color.
Myles: You’re kidding.
Piper: Wish I was. Shit. I’ve been made. Gotta go answer the call of duty. But after tonight, I’m free. See you soon!
Shoving the phone back in his pocket, he changed directions and headed for his car. He might not know how to save the paper yet, but he could certainly save this damsel in distress.
Not bringing her own car was a serious mistake. Piper realized that just about the time the groom’s handsy Uncle Eddie tried to get acquainted with her ass. For the second time. Despite the lack of alcohol being provided at the reception, he’d snuck in a flask and was sufficiently drunk that the sharp heel she jabbed “accidentally” into his foot didn’t even make him flinch. One of Richard’s brothers noticed and hauled Eddie off before Piper had to get more forceful.
She’d hoped, desperately, that the reception would wind down early and the bride and groom would do the whole bouquet toss and be eager to get on with the honeymoon. Instead, they seemed intent on dancing the night away in a last-ditch opportunity to party with all their closest friends. At least most of her duties as bridesmaid had been discharged. Short of post-reception clean up, she was free to enjoy herself. What a crock. Between dodging her relatives and friends of the family who seemed intent on asking every possible inappropriate question, from her relationship status to the state of her eggs—not in need of being cryogenically frozen, thank you very much—and trying to keep away from Uncle Eddie and others like him, she was bored out of her mind and desperate to escape. If the Spring House hadn’t been a full ten miles from town proper, she’d have considered walking.
Ducking behind a ficus tree, she glanced around to make sure nobody was looking before tugging her phone out of the bodice of her dress. Not exactly the ideal place to carry it, but it wasn’t as if these bilious monstrosities had pockets. Still no text back from Myles. Damn. She’d been hoping he’d entertain her a little.
Two strong hands slid over her hips from behind.
Before Piper could jam her elbow back into Eddie’s gut, a voice whispered in her ear, “What’s a pretty thing like you doing in a dress like this?”
Myles.
Her heart began to thud with excitement. “Does a line like that usually work for you?”
“Isn’t that how it’s supposed to work at wedding receptions? You come crash hoping to get a bridesmaid out of her dress?”
“You wouldn’t have to work too hard to talk me out of this one. But I demand pajamas as a replacement.”
“That can be arranged.” Myles pressed a kiss on the exposed skin of her nape.
Piper shivered and turned to face him, hating it when his hands fell away. “What are you doing here?”
“You asked for a rescue. I’m at your service, milady.” He sketched a courtly bow, his mop of dark hair flopping into his eyes. Had he even had a cut since the show?
“Seriously?”
“I figured you were ready to get out of here. But if you want to make out in the coat closet, I’m good with that, too. I passed it on the way in. As I recall, you have a fondness for small, enclosed spaces.”
“I did not drag you into that prop closet to make out,” she reminded him.
“Such a waste. So how ’bout it? You want to make a break for it?”
She bit her lip, wondering if she’d even be missed and calculating exactly how much hell she’d catch if she was.
“I’ve got a surprise for you back at my place,” he coaxed.
“Is that a euphemism?”
His laughter skated over her skin. God she’d missed the sound of it these last three months. “Only if you want it to be. But I can promise you quiet and jammies and stove-top popcorn if you don’t. Or we can go out, if you’d rather. But I figured you’d had enough of people tonight.”
He was right. The whole scenario sounded like heaven.
“Let’s get out of here.”
After retrieving her purse, they snuck out via the veranda doors and circled around to where he’d parked his car. The cool air felt wonderful on her heated skin after the press of bodies inside. The moment she was buckled into the front seat, she slid her heels off and flexed her poor, abused toes. “God, that feels so good. I’ve been in these things since eleven this morning.”
Myles shot her an incredulous look. “What time was the wedding?”
“Four. You guys have no idea how easy you have it. On the bride’s side, there’s all this pre-wedding stuff. Manis and pedis. Hair appointments. Last minute dress alterations because the bride put on unexpected weight. All the attendant freak out associated with that. Then pictures—but none of the joint pictures because it won’t do for the bride and groom to see each other ahead of time. Then the waiting and the nerves and the bride puking. Calming her down. Getting some ginger ale and crackers in her. Checking on guests, locating the missing guest book. Locating the attendant who’s supposed to make sure all the guests actually sign the guest book. It’s been a...production. So much freaking drama. All the groom’s side has to do is show up, put on a tux, and go.”
“Jesus. I’ll throw in a foot massage with the popcorn.”
“You are a god among men, Myles Stewart.” Piper dropped her head back against the seat.
“It’s been mentioned once or twice. I’m guessing you are not one of those women into the big, fancy, invite-everyone-you-know kind of wedding?”
“I don’t know why people don’t just save the hassle and the expense and elope. Then have a big party for family and friends to celebrate when you get back. Seems simpler.”
“Probably because various family members would be disappointed at the lack of pageantry.”
She snorted. “Screw them. Marriage should be about the two people getting married and what they want. It’s not about anyone else.”
“Hear hear.”
“Don’t tell my mother. I’ve disappointed her enough by staying single until I’m nearly thirty.”
“Oh, she and my grandmother can form a support group.”
“I’m pretty sure that might be one of the most terrifying thoughts I’ve had in years.”
“You’re right,” he said. “They’d be terrors together. New plan: Keep them as far apart as possible.”
&n
bsp; “Deal.”
“I’ve missed the hell out of you, Piper.”
“Back atcha.” She smiled at him. “I nearly broke down and called you at least two dozen times.”
He reached across the center console to tangle his fingers with hers. His expressive face was sober as he looked over. “Did anything change for you during that cooling off period?”
“Yes.” He started to pull away, but she tightened her grip. “I got confirmation that this...thing between us has nothing to do with the roles we played on stage. Which is exactly what I wanted to know.”
“Good. Because I’m just as crazy about you now as I was in December.” His admission made her giddy. The kind of champagne bubble excitement she hadn’t felt since she got her first kiss from Robert Hudson in Meet Me in Saint Louis.
She flexed her hand so she could trace a thumb around his palm. “I’m glad you waited around for me. A lot of guys wouldn’t have.”
“A lot of guys are dumbasses. Their loss.”
They rode in comfortable silence back to his house. He pulled into the garage and put the door down. By the time she wedged her aching feet back into the heels, he’d skirted around the front of the car and opened her door. It felt just a little glamorous to take his hand and be helped out. Just a little reckless to be tugged up against his body, frissons of heat and awareness racing along her nerves.
He stepped back and let them into the house. “Now, let’s get you out of that travesty of a dress.”
Piper’s pulse leapt with anticipation, but Myles didn’t pull her into his arms. Instead, he released her hand and strode down the hall. Unsure what else to do, she followed. The bedroom was too minimalist to be his—no knickknacks scattered over the dresser or nightstand. She knew him well enough to know that he always had something readily available to occupy his hands.
He opened a bureau drawer. “What is it with women? It’s like y’all save up every infraction against each other and unleash the revenge in the form of the most hideous possible bridesmaids dresses. What’d you do to your cousin?”
