by Holly Jacobs
"B. Mark Jameson." Mark took his hand.
There was a moment when Morgan expected a television sitcom type pissing war over whose grip was harder. But they let go in an almost civilized amount of time.
Almost.
"I just came to see if you'd like to do an early dinner." Conner cast a sideways glance at Mark. "Business. We need to talk about Friday's wedding."
"I came to ask the same question. And just like you, I thought we could combine business with pleasure. I'm buying the Chair and Dish Rental."
"You want to buy the store," Morgan corrected, stepping between them. "My mother hasn't decided whether she's keeping things status quo, expanding—which is what Conner's so graciously helping me research—or selling, which is what you're helping me explore."
Both men stared at each other, then looked expectantly at Morgan. "As for dinner. . ." She desperately tried to think of some Solomonlike solution.
She studied them. Conner in his white T-shirt and jeans, Mark in his designer suit. Both were good-looking. . .okay, beyond good-looking. They were—
"Morgan?" Mark said, nudging her from her thoughts.
"I. . ." She didn't know what to say and was relieved when the phone rang.
"Pardon me a moment. I've been waiting for a call about my flight to San Diego on Tuesday." She found the phone under a mass of packing foam from the computer components. "Hello?"
"Morgan, it's me, Nikki." Morgan didn't reply. She couldn't have. Nikki didn't take a breath, but just rushed on. "I was wondering if you'd like to go out? I have passes to—"
Salvation. Morgan didn't care what Nikki had in mind, she just knew that she had a way out of the dual invitations. She didn't wait for Nikki to finish. "Yes," she stated.
"Don't you want to know more about what?"
"No. Just the place and time."
Nikki blurted out the address. "Be there in an hour?"
"Great. Bye."
Morgan turned around and faced the two men, who were chatting semi-politely. "Sorry, guys. I appreciate both invitations, but I have plans. That was my friend Nikki, just firming them up. So, if you don't mind. . ." She started ushering them both toward the front of the shop. "I have to get home and get ready."
"Maybe I can have a raincheck? We do have a lot of business to discuss." Mark eyed Conner.
"We do as well," Conner added.
"Yes to both of you. I leave on Tuesday, but I hope to have all my recommendations for Mom ready by then, so yes, I do need to talk to both of you. But for right now, I have to run. A friend and I have big plans."
Morgan watched as, once outside, the two men turned and walked away in opposite directions.
"Problems?" Sunny asked.
"I don't know." It suddenly hit her that she'd said yes to Nikki without knowing what she'd agree to. "I hope not."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
E.J., with friends like Nikki, who needs enemies? Actually, you could say, with friends like Nikki, who needs a probation officer? The answer would be me.
FOUR HOURS LATER, MORGAN WAS sitting in the passenger seat of her mother's car.
They'd been riding in silence for the last few minutes—minutes that felt like hours.
The atmosphere was thick and heavy as Morgan waited, steeling herself for a well-deserved lecture. "Are you going to say anything?"
"Did you. . ."
Here it was—her mother's big lecture. It was bound to be a good one. To be honest, Morgan deserved nothing less than a lengthy tongue-lashing. She leaned closer to her mother's side of the car, almost anticipating the diatribe that was bound to come.
". . .have a good time?"
"That's it? That's my lecture? Did I have a good time?" Morgan knew her mom had never been conventional. But she'd had to leave her own date in order to pick up her daughter from the police station, and all she could ask was if Morgan had a good time?
"Well, what's the point of a good exploit if you don't enjoy it?" Annabelle asked in her most reasonable tone.
"I didn't plan for this evening to turn into an exploit. When Nikki called and asked me out, I had two crazy men in my office, which is the only reason I jumped at her offer to go to a party. I should have been suspicious when she said Tessa had declined the invitation, but she pinned an ID tag on my dress and maneuvered me into the reception hall before I got out more than a quick hello. I just figured her invitation had something to do with her working at the paper. And I'll admit, the party didn't seem too bad—well, up until the point that the real owners of those IDs showed up and made a stink."
"But you had a good time before that." It was a statement, not a question.
"Mom, I was held for questioning by the police. This is your turn to lecture me. Tell me how irresponsible I was, how much trouble I could have gotten into if it wasn't for Nikki's fast talking."
"Honey, I've never had to lecture you because you do such a great job of it on your own. You worry, you agonize, you angst. You nitpick everything, wondering what you could have done differently, what you could have done better. You've never needed my help at berating yourself. You're a pro."
"Maybe this time I need some outside criticism. I mean, I crashed another party—this one at the Pittsburgh Regional Security Conference. Law enforcement from all over the area were there for a three-day seminar. They seemed to take offense that the security for their security meeting was so easily compromised. I think they'd have preferred that it had been for some nefarious reason instead of two women trolling for dates."
"But Nikki talked to that nice officer and explained the situation. Not only are you off the hook, but she's got a date."
"But—"
"Morgan, you can't worry about what might have happened. You just have to deal with what is. And the reality is this was nothing. Nikki got a date, you're on your way home with me. By the way, why didn't you get a date?"
"I wasn't looking for a date. I have too many men in my life as it is. Conner and Mark are both interested. And Marvin wants to de-ex himself, but being in San Diego, he's the least of my man problems."
"Morgan, honey, a woman can never have too many men." Annabelle tsked. "I thought I'd taught you better than that."
Despite her best intentions, Morgan chuckled. But the flash of humor didn't last long. She sighed. "I'm such a mess. I feel as if I'm standing on the brink of something, but I'm not sure what. Mark and Conner, Conner and Mark?"
"Enjoy the moment with each and trust that it will all come out right in the end."
"I guess, in the end, it doesn't matter. I have one more wedding with Conner this weekend. And I started doing some digging on Mark's company on my own, as well as studying his proposal. I should have some solid information and suggestions for you next week before I leave. Hopefully, I'll come back from my trip with a new job, and all this worry will be over."
"That's what you want? To go back to San Diego?"
"Of course it's what I want. It's what I've been working and planning for."
"But is it what you really want or what you think you want? There's a difference."
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
"SO, HOW WAS YOUR NIGHT out with your friend?" Conner asked Morgan by way of a salutation two evenings later at the Ross and Antoske wedding.
"I'd rather not talk about it." Her expression said what she didn't—that it hadn't gone well.
"Oh. And that Mark? Did you two ever get together and discuss him buying the store?"
Grilling Morgan about her dinner with another guy wasn't how Conner intended to start the evening.
No, he'd planned to play it cool, as if seeing Morgan with another man hadn't fazed him in the least.
And of course, it hadn't.
After all, they'd both agreed that getting serious wasn't in the cards for either of them. It just wouldn't be practical.
Practical and cool. Those were his watchwords.
Yet the moment Morgan climbed into his car, the words he hadn't been going to say popped out. He migh
t have groaned over how juvenile the question sounded if she wasn't sitting there, looking at him as if he'd grown horns.
He forced his focus back onto the road.
"Pardon?" she finally said.
He flipped on his turn signal and changed lanes, not that there was any need, but simply because it gave him something to do. "I just wondered how your meeting went with that guy who wants to buy your mother's business."
What he really wanted to ask was just what kind of business she had with Mark, but there was no way to do that and not sound jealous. And, of course, he wasn't jealous.
Time to change the subject. "Speaking of business, an old friend called with a lead for me."
"That's great. You must be so excited. I know I am about these interviews in San Diego next week," she said, then started rhapsodizing about the city itself, about southern California and the life she had there.
Conner listened, but realized she hadn't answered his question about that Mark guy. And maybe by not answering she was giving him an answer, after all.
ALL THE WAY TO THE RECEPTION Morgan continued to give her best Pollyanna impersonation about her trip to San Diego, yet she felt anything but upbeat and optimistic. Conner's news about a job lead disturbed her. Sure, she was happy for him, but she didn't want their time to draw to a close just yet.
To be honest, she'd been in a funky mood ever since she and her mother parted company the other night. Her mom's question about whether she really wanted to go back to San Diego or just thought she did rankled.
Everything rankled.
Her mother's crashing private parties and other events rankled, not to mention Annabelle’s newfound sage sayings.
Morgan almost getting arrested, but not getting a date, rankled.
Not wanting a date with anyone except Conner rankled.
Best not forget her newfound indecisiveness—it definitely rankled. That wasn't like her. Not like her at all. Morgan always had a plan.
She realized she was scratching her neck. The tag on her shirt was rubbing it raw, and she added it to her list of aggravations, along with the fact that today's bride had dressed her bridesmaids in gowns even worse than the pink monstrosity Morgan had been forced to wear. And the fact that that bothered her was puzzling. After all, she wasn't wearing one of the puce dresses. But in the interest of bridesmaids throughout the world, she was put out. She understood brides wanted to outshine everyone, even their closest friends and relatives, but still, there was outshining and then there was just being sadistic.
The pink dress had been a case of the bride wanting to shine.
These puce ones were sadistic, and looking at them just intensified Morgan's dark mood. After all, itchy tags and sadistic brides were much easier to think about than all the other things that kept flitting through her mind.
This particular funk and its accompanying list were getting her nowhere fast. She had to get down to business. So, what other items could OCDR stock to rent or to sell?
They were well into the reception and she already had a rather impressive collection of items to check into.
The long white runner the bride walked down. Could they rent them? How difficult would the upkeep and cleaning be? Would there be a large enough profit margin?
The bride and groom's cake servers, the special champagne glasses. And though this reception was in a hall, what about a few tents? Pavilions?
Her mind was racing as she passed out disposable cameras, stopping every so often to jot down more notes.
Making a list, especially a long one, lightened her mood from black to a dark shade of gray. Morgan managed to offer a small smile to one of the puce-wearing bridesmaids as she tucked the list in her bag.
That tentative, rankleless smile died instantly as she spotted her mom entering the room. Morgan hurried toward her. "Annabelle?"
"Now, honey," her mother said quickly, her words tumbling over each other. "I didn't expect to see you here."
"I'm sure you didn't." Her mother couldn't help but hear the censure in her voice.
"But, sweetie, I'm not crashing. Scout's honor." She held up four fingers, which wasn't even close to the correct gesture, as she continued her hasty explanation. "There was a small accident and they needed another case of plates. It was on my way, so I just brought them myself."
Morgan noted her mother wasn't dressed in party clothes. Instead, she had on a long, buttoned trench coat, with trousers and black polished boots peeking out at the bottom.
"Where are you on your way to?" Morgan asked.
"Oh, just a little to-do."
"What kind of little to-do? Where are you going tonight, Mom?"
Conner came up behind her. "Why, Mrs. Miller, how nice to see you again."
"Conner, it's lovely seeing you as well. And now that I've delivered the plates, I have to run. Have a great time, you two. Don't do anything I wouldn't do." She looked at Conner and added, "That leaves you a lot of leeway, son." With a wink and a small wave, she hurried out.
Morgan wanted to melt into the floor, and was about to apologize when Conner started to laugh. "She's a riot."
"I don't know about that. She's more apt to cause a riot."
"You're her daughter. Children are supposed to be embarrassed by their parents."
"What about yours?" she asked. "You've never mentioned them."
He grew serious then, maybe a bit wistful. "They're both gone now. Your mother reminds me of my father. He was larger than life, always laughing. He thought of each day as a big adventure. My mother was quieter, but she always had a smile. They used to joke that Dad took her flying and she grounded him. They were that different, but they complemented each other. He was a salesman, she was a college professor. They came from very different backgrounds, but sort of balanced each other."
He gave his head a small shake. "Enough of that. I've got to get back to work."
"What do you need me to help with?"
"It's a smaller wedding, so there's not nearly as much to do. Take some time and work on your list. I've seen you scribbling."
"Thanks."
She found a quiet corner and worked for quite a while, until suddenly a light flashed in front of her. She looked up and there was another flash.
"Hey," she protested. "I hate having my picture taken."
"Just needed to finish off this roll before we left."
"We're done already?" she asked. "I got so busy with my list that I wasn't much help."
"No problem. We'll be ready to go in a few minutes."
The bride came over and started talking to Conner. Morgan waited patiently, considering the invitation she was sure would come. And with an almost forgotten sense of decisiveness, she knew she'd say yes.
Decision made, she even managed a smile for the sadistic bride as she left.
"So, are you ready?" Conner asked. "I'll drop you off at home."
Oh, he was going to be subtle. They'd pull up in front of her house and he'd say, in his most manly voice, So, how do you feel about mind-blowing sex?
She had her answer already.
THREE HOURS LATER, MORGAN WASN'T just in a funky mood, it had sunk lower to a dark one. And any mood lower than funky required an everything-but-the-kitchen-sink sundae to get her out of it. She'd picked up the supplies after Conner dropped her off with no mention of sex, mind-blowing or otherwise. Just a chaste kiss and a brief goodnight.
To be fair, he'd been excited about a phone call from a friend urging him to get his résumé and portfolio together and send it out first thing Monday morning.
"I really do understand," she told Gilligan, who watched her assemble the sundae with interest gleaming in his eyes. "But he didn't even get out to walk me to the door. He was probably afraid I'd pull him in and make him have sex with me, and we wouldn't want that, would we?"
She topped off the marshmallow, M&Ms, chocolate sauce and strawberry ice cream mound with half a container of whipping cream.
Then she sat down on the stool and
took a bite.
Annabelle burst in the back door without knocking. She eyed the bowl of ice cream, then studied Morgan with an uncharacteristic intensity. "Man troubles?"
Morgan didn't answer. She just took another bite.
"Well, I have a little problem I had hoped my daughter would help me with. And since she's home on a Friday night eating ice cream with the dog, she's obviously free to assist me."
"What now? And where were you going tonight?"
"I'll preface by saying that I didn't do anything illegal. I didn't even technically crash."
"Another reception?"
Annabelle snorted. "No. Of course not. There was a dearth of unattached men my age at receptions, remember?"
"Dearth?"
"Look it up."
"I know what it means, but it's not a word you normally use. . . ." Morgan stopped. "You're trying to get me off track. What happened?"
"I went to the science fiction convention that's in town." She opened her trench coat to reveal a spandex jumpsuit. "First Lieutenant Annabelle Miller for the star ship Expatriate. You see, I was recruited. There are weekly meetings and I'm in charge of refreshments this week. I don't know how to get out of it. Not one of those boys is older than thirty. I'm many things, but I'm not a cradle robber."
Morgan wanted to be stern. Truly. But she couldn't quite manage it. She laughed. "Oh, Mom. Only you."
"Well, not necessarily only me. That's what I wanted to talk to you about. You see, my ensign, Charlie, is single and I thought that maybe you might like to come to our Monday night meeting. I know they'd be thrilled to have you visit. Maybe even join the crew."
Morgan had always liked science fiction shows, but she'd never felt the slightest urge to join an imaginary crew. And she definitely didn't want a uniform. "I don't think so."
"Oh, come on, don't be such a fuddy-duddy. Charlie and I are fixing each other up. He's bringing his dad and I'm bringing—"
"Someone other than me." Morgan switched tracks. "I mean, it wouldn't do to go out with Charlie and discover we might be able to have a relationship. It wouldn't be fair to either of us. I'm going home soon, remember?"
