Guys and Godmothers

by Candice Gilmer

  Cupid rolled his eyes and waved a hand. “You fairies and your rules…”

  “Just try us,” Ewan added.

  “You cause us enough grief with your own playing. Stay out of the affairs of the fairies, Cupid.” Andres flew a little closer to the god. “You walk a very thin line with us.”

  “You fairies have no sense of fun.”

  “Fun is not changing human free will,” Christy said, hands on her hips.

  “But that is just it, isn’t it, my dear? Your influence is almost the same as mine. Almost.” And with a wave of his hand, he disappeared.

  Ohh, she could just…just…

  She grimaced. “How much longer until retirement?”

  Her husband wrapped his arm around her. “As soon as you get this case worked out, then we’re done.”

  She glanced down at her charge, who headed back to sit with his friends. “It cannot take too much longer.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Monday

  Stephanie stared at herself in the car visor mirror, compact in hand, making sure she was perfect. She tipped her face this way and that, checking for the newest attack of pimples—the fallout from the Dove chocolate bender she went on all weekend.

  Some people have benders with booze or drugs; she used chocolate. And the evidence usually appeared all over her face—big, red monstrosities with their own time zone. One had come up last night, on her chin of all places, and she did the usual stuff—tea bags, a little red-eye-remover drops, and after she carefully tapped on concealer this morning, it was almost camouflaged.

  Fortunately, no more had erupted yet. Of course, it was still early. She’d probably have one burst through during her meeting. That would not be good, not at all.

  Stephanie shuddered. Looking at the pimple reminded her of what caused the Dove chocolate bender, and she didn’t want to think about that.

  Not as though she could avoid Roark forever. Sitting here in her car would not make the meeting with him go away.

  Still, getting anywhere near him right now seemed like a bad idea. From the number of texts she got over the weekend, with everything including concern and irritation, this would not be pretty.

  She let out a sigh, grabbed a tube of lipstick from her purse, and touched up her lips.

  Just as she was about to get out of the car, her cell phone rang.

  “Lord,” she muttered. “Hi, Mom.”

  “Oh, Miss High and Mighty finally answers the phone.”

  She rolled her eyes. Not who she wanted to deal with today. Not right now, anyway. “Sorry, Mom, I’ve been busy.”

  “Too busy to call your mother?”

  Yes. “Listen, I promise, I’ll call you later. I have a meeting right now with a client and Roark, so I really need to—”

  “I don’t know why you have anything to do with that snobby rich boy. You know nothing good will ever come of it.”

  “Mom, please.” Stephanie pinched the bridge of her nose.

  “I have told you and told you, those rich men don’t want anything from the working class like you except—”

  “Mom, Roark’s not like that.”

  “So you say. Yet I know how it works. The rich expect us to be their damn servants, and I will not allow you to waste your time bending over backwards for him.”

  “Mom, please, it’s just business. He’s a good man, and he has a company, just like I do. It’s professional favors. That’s all.”

  “Oh my God, you’re sleeping with him.”

  Stephanie’s cheeks turned red. “Mother.”

  “You are—I can tell. Oh, my stupid, dumb daughter. It’s like she never hears me! I swear! Girl, if you don’t get away from him, he’ll just eat you alive, like any other rich guy. When he’s done, you’re gone. This isn’t a fairytale.”

  “I know, Mother. I know.”

  “Heed my words, child. Stay away from him.” And her mother hung up, probably cursing Stephanie up one end and down the other.

  She rubbed her temples. “I’m trying, Mom. I really am.” She closed the visor and grabbed her purse. As she climbed out of her car, she took a moment to shrug off her mother’s mean words.

  This is a job. Time to work.

  Her client, Maggie, was waiting near the door, and grinned as Stephanie got out.

  “I wondered if you were going to—oh my goodness!” Maggie slapped her hand over her mouth, staring right at Steph’s huge zit.

  So much for it not being noticeable.

  “I indulged over the weekend,” she said with a grin. Leaning a little closer, she whispered. “Time of the month.”

  “Ahh.” Maggie nodded. “Chocolate?”

  “Dove chocolate.”

  “I have that problem too. I’ve sworn off the stuff until after the wedding.”

  Stephanie laughed. “Good luck. Don’t worry, though. I have an awesome skin lady we can call if there’s an emergency.” She reached up, her finger just grazing the pimple. “In fact, I may be calling her myself.”

  Maggie glanced at her watch. “We’re still a little early.”

  Stephanie let out a breath, her hand trembling as she grabbed the door. She hoped her client didn’t notice. “I am sure Roark is already here.”

  They stepped inside, and Steph immediately felt calmer as the soft scents of the store filled her nose.

  Maybe I need to buy a box of this stuff and put it in Mom’s house. Maybe it’ll calm her down a bit.

  Maggie started browsing, checking out different bottles near the front, sniffing samples and gesturing to Stephanie to join her. She did, and the two went over different choices for the wedding party.

  “Will they have enough time to do gift baskets?” Maggie asked. “It’s only two weeks until the wedding.”

  “Sure,” Stephanie replied. “The staff here is amazing. They’ll put together some great things for your wedding party.”

  “Well, can they get them to me early? I’d like to see them before, you know. Make sure they’re right…”

  “We can get them ready whenever you’d like,” Roark said, appearing on the other side of Maggie, though his gaze landed squarely on Stephanie.

  “Maggie, this is Roark, the proprietor of the store.”

  Roark shook her hand, smiled, and spoke kindly to Maggie, then escorted them back to the small client meeting-slash-conference room, which really wasn’t any larger than a walk-in closet. Roark and Glenda had done their best to make it homey, with a small table, chairs and a little coffee and tea service stand.

  And for the first time, Stephanie felt claustrophobic. Probably had a lot to do with Roark—a glance here, a gaze there, just past Maggie, and his eyes had the dark look in them, the one that was now far too familiar.

  Maggie took a seat and the meeting began. While Maggie tried samples and looked over the brochures for the gift baskets she wanted, Roark would glance at Stephanie. Even engaged her in minor conversation about this and that. The kind of conversation Steph could do on autopilot. She had to, because looking too long at Roark caused pain.

  Not physical, but it might have well been.

  God, I need chocolate.

  She tried focusing on the sample bottles, but she caught herself staring at his hands. So she tried to look at the gift basket sets, and she’d catch herself staring at the way he moved around the small space—graceful and still masculine, a smooth confidence she’d only seen a handful of times among men. Her knee started bobbing under the table, and she couldn’t wait to get out of there.

  Being this close to him was too much—far too intimate for her liking. Maggie had to get done soon.

  While it seemed like eternity, it really wasn’t terribly long until Maggie found the perfect options for her wedding party. All in all, she ordered fifteen baskets.

  The entire time, Roark
treated the client like a lady, asking her questions about her wedding—details most men wouldn’t care about at all—and smiling at her answers, offering minor tweaks to make the wedding even better.

  Stephanie could almost check off each question as he asked them—she’d heard every one so many times.

  “So how come you are so knowledgeable about weddings, Roark?” Maggie asked.

  He nodded to Stephanie. “I’ve been to a quite a few of them, with her.” He leaned a little closer. “I’m her stand-in date.”

  Maggie laughed. “So you probably could put on a wedding yourself, if you had to.”

  “Oh no, I leave the planning to the experts.”

  He looked at Stephanie, a perfect smile on his face, and Stephanie merely offered her business smile.

  “Thank you, Roark. That is why we’re here, and not at some lotion store in the mall. You are very good at your job, too.”

  He grinned back, and continued speaking to Maggie in that way of his, and Maggie glowed with the attention. Still, the tension between her and Roark mounted, and Stephanie could practically feel him all around her—like he was magic or something, pushing all her buttons and putting her on edge.

  This totally wasn’t acceptable.

  She grimaced.

  “Is something wrong?” Maggie asked, glancing at Stephanie.

  “What?”

  Maggie leaned closer. “Is he overcharging me or something?”

  Stephanie looked at the piece of paper in front of Maggie, pulling her thoughts back into the game, and smiled. “No, of course not.”

  “So what is the matter, Stephanie?” Roark asked, his voice, and direct question hitting her like a brick.

  “Yes, you haven’t said much,” Maggie replied.

  “I apologize. Things on my mind I cannot seem to get away from.” She laid her hand on her client’s. “You seem to have everything under control.” She didn’t look at Roark.

  That was still a bit too…

  Yeah.

  So not going there.

  “Well, I just… This is okay, isn’t it? I have got everyone, right?” Maggie asked.

  Stephanie looked over the list. “I think… Did you want sets for the mothers?”

  “No, I have something else for them.”

  “Then I think you’re set,” Stephanie said. “Shall we be off, then?”

  “Sure,” Maggie said. She began talking about her fitting, and several other little things she had to do for the day, and started out of the room.

  Stephanie followed, nodding as she fled after her client.

  Or would have fled if Roark hadn’t grabbed her arm. “Stephanie, a word?”

  Maggie stopped. “Is everything okay?”

  “I needed to speak to her about another client,” Roark said to Maggie.

  “Of course, Roark,” Stephanie said, adapting the best fake smile she could manage. “Maggie, I’ll call you tomorrow and see where we are, all right?”

  “Sure, see you later. Nice to meet you, Roark. I’m very excited about the baskets!” And the future bride darted out of the shop.

  Steph glared at Roark as soon as Maggie was gone. “What is your problem?”

  He didn’t let her say more. Instead, led her back to the small room they’d just been in and closed the door.

  And proceeded to lock it.

  Stephanie gulped as she crossed the space, trying to remain cool and collected. She put the little table between them. “What client did you want to speak about?”

  “Why aren’t you answering my calls?”

  “What calls?”

  He raised his eyebrow, arms crossed over his chest.

  “I’ve been busy.” She picked up one of the scent bottles and sniffed it. The strong woodsy aroma hit her hard. She grimaced, because, of course, it was the cologne Roark wore.

  Just her luck. Thursday night’s activities returned to the forefront of her mind. Just smelling the cologne was enough to bring every sensation back, full force.

  “There is busy and there is avoiding.”

  She set the bottle down with a thunk, frustrated and ready to run. “Listen, Thursday was fun. Albeit a rough ride to get there, but fun in the end. But that’s all it was, Roark. Fun.”

  His brow furrowed. “You cannot possibly mean that.”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact I do,” she said, steeling herself. She knew this was coming, and she’d been mentally preparing for the battle. At least she’d tried to for the last few days.

  Didn’t mean it actually worked.

  She had to do it this way—get his thoughts away from anything romantic. They would never work—she knew that. He just needed to get it through his thick skull.

  “Do I really mean that little to you?” His voice was soft, yet it felt like an arrow piercing her straight in the chest.

  “You are one of my closest friends. But we’re not supposed to be together like that. You know that. Deep down, I know you do. We just won’t work.”

  “Why are you so certain?”

  “Because I know how these things go. You’re just… I don’t know why you’re so convinced we should be together, but believe me, you don’t want me. Not really. You are just lonely. One of your old friends got married. It happens. I’m telling you, this isn’t real.”

  “What isn’t real?”

  “What this is you think you have for me. It’s just a passing phase. It’ll be gone in a week. Trust me.”

  He took a few steps toward her. “It won’t be. This isn’t something passing, Stephanie. I’m in love with you!”

  The words hit her so hard she stumbled, falling backward into the sample cart. And in a flash, Roark was next to her, helping her get her footing.

  “I’m fine. I’m fine.” She pushed away from him. “And you don’t love me,” she said as she straightened her clothes.

  “How do you know what I feel?”

  “Because love doesn’t hurt!” Stephanie barged across the room. She tried to open the door, but couldn’t—the lock held firm.

  “Stephanie, talk to me.” Roark was next to her, hand on the doorknob.

  “Look, it was fun.” She glanced at his face. “It didn’t mean anything. It was just a thing. A release. Friends with benefits, okay? Don’t take it for more than that.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Then you’re mistaken.” She flipped the lock and took off out of the room. She even made it out of the parking lot before she started crying.

  And that was another damn thing.

  She’d cried more over Roark than she did when she got divorced.

  What the hell was that all about?

  Chapter Seventeen

  Monday Night

  God he was a fool.

  Roark was the biggest, asinine fool in the world.

  He grimaced at his beer. It was his third. Maybe his fifth. He didn’t know. Or care. And he chose to ignore the three empty shot glasses sitting next to his latest beer.

  He wanted to kick his own ass. Only geniuses like him would spit out the l-word to a woman who didn’t want him.

  He’d fallen hard for Steph, and never saw how calloused and cold she was. She’d always been firm and businesslike, even a little jaded, but he didn’t realize—he didn’t expect her to not have the same type of feelings for him.

  They were friends. He’d thought maybe she’d had some caring for him beyond friendship. Hell, he didn’t know he had more for her before the wedding, but it just hit him like a bolt of lightning. He couldn’t articulate it at first, but he should have known the symptoms—he’d fallen hard for the wedding planner.

  Evidently his heart made a mistake.

  He finished off his latest beer and waved at the bartender—Stu, at the other end. He was ready for another. The bar, a
lmost as long as the room, wasn’t very full on Mondays. Some guys were watching basketball, and while Roark tried to pay attention, he couldn’t. All he could think about was what an asshat he’d been—not only for falling so hard, but for falling for someone who obviously didn’t care about him.

  He must have been wrong when he thought he felt a connection between them the other night. He swore it was real, a true meeting of the minds with the bodies. It had felt so…so…

  Yeah. That.

  He picked a piece of stale popcorn out of the complimentary basket sitting on the bar, and flicked the uncooked kernels around as he did.

  “So what do you feel like now?” a female voice asked him.

  Roark stared at a blonde—like almost white-blonde—who had the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. The kind that could see into his soul. He shook his head, pushing back the odd thought.

  People didn’t really see into anyone’s soul. Right?

  Still, he couldn’t look away. She was pretty, probably early thirties, dressed simply in a glittery top and jean skirt. She wasn’t bad on the eyes, but he couldn’t bring himself to even try to flirt. Regardless, there was something different about her, the way she held herself, it was…

  God, he’d had a lot to drink tonight. He couldn’t think straight.

  “Hey, don’t get excited. I’m married.” She held up her hand, showing off a gold band on her finger.

  “Bonny good for you,” Roark muttered, finally pulling his gaze away, and attempting to get the last few drops of his beer out of his glass.

  “And now you’re English?”

  “Now,” Roark said, “I’m drunk. And nooobody gives a shit.”

  “I do.”

  “Whatever. You came for tips, and you won’t get any if you don’t bring me another.” He waved his empty beer in the air.

  She rolled her eyes and got out a glass. “So what’s her name?”

  Roark watched her pour all kinds of liquor in. What the heck was she making? He wanted a beer. Not whatever that concoction was. The smell of each liquor hit him and he tried not to wince. “What?”

  “The name of the girl who has you so upset?”