by KyAnn Waters
That would change, now, however. The more the reality of his grandfather’s condition sunk in, the more Trent realized how much family meant to him—to both of them. Once they were married, Lindsey had agreed to take a couple years off to have a child right away. She knew how much children meant to Trent, how he wanted to prove to his grandfather that they were a happy—growing—family.
“Okay, Granddad, the party will go on. But the instant I think the celebration is too much for you, you’re coming back up here to bed—even if I have to carry you upstairs myself.”
His grandfather snorted and the tension Trent hadn’t realized had tightened his shoulders loosened. The last thing his grandfather needed was to dwell on the past and what he’d lost.
Trent wiled away the rest of the afternoon with his grandfather. After a game of chess, they had an early dinner in his room. With all the commotion happening downstairs, he didn’t want to aggravate his grandfather’s condition.
After their empty plates were taken away, Annie approached the bedside.
“Leave me alone,” James bristled. “I’m spending time with my grandson.”
“He can stay, but you need your medication.”
“You need your rest.” Trent stood. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Even he could admit he was excited for tomorrow, to finally introduce his grandfather to Lindsey. Tomorrow he’d no longer just be Trent Weston, billionaire businessman. Tomorrow, he would be an engaged man…a family man.
Chapter Four
Cassie dropped into the chair in the kitchen’s small office and listened to the fifth ring of her call to PK Wait Staff. The hired crew was nearly an hour late. Her team, along with the four extra staffers she’d hired, were busy setting up tables, moving furniture for better traffic flow and overseeing the kitchen setup. But she would need the extra staff to wait on the guests once the party filled up.
The phone picked up and a voice said, “Thank you for calling PK Wait Staff.”
“May I speak with Ms. Denton?” Cassie said before she realized the voice was a recording.
“We’re sorry. Office hours are 8:00 AM to 6:00 PM. Please call during normal business hours or leave a message and we’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”
What? Cassie pulled the phone from her ear and looked at the number she’d dialed. Yep, she recognized the number. It was the cell phone she’d called when she booked directly with the owner of PK Wait Staff, Brenda Denton.
Cassie ended the call and vaulted from the chair. Two minutes later, she knocked on Meg’s open door and entered as Meg shifted her gaze from one of the monitors to her.
“Hey, Cassie—” Her smile dropped off. “Uh oh, what’s up?”
“Ten of the wait staff I hired haven’t shown up.”
“What?”
Cassie nodded. “PK Wait Staff was supposed to send them.”
“Is it possible they’re late?” Meg asked.
“All ten?” Cassie said. “Can I see the work order from Gallagher Event Planning?”
“Of course.” Meg shuffled through papers. “Damn,” she muttered. A glint appeared in her eye. She handed the paper to Cassie.
Gallagher Event Planning had also contracted with PK. “They aren’t coming,” Cassie said. “The only explanation is sabotage. This is my fault. I should have checked.”
“This is business,” Meg said through tight lips. “Brenda and Teri need to get over it. Don’t screw the chef on the counter and you won’t lose your job.” Meg stood, rounded her desk, and began pacing. “When Trent finds out he’s going to be furious.”
Cassie had entered nuclear meltdown. “Don’t they realize this is suicide?”
Meg shook her head. “I can’t imagine that Gallagher could pay PK enough to make sabotaging us worthwhile. We have a contract with PK, not to mention, to wrong a man like Trent Weston, well, as you said, it’s suicide.”
“Brenda Denton didn’t strike me as underhanded,” Cassie said. She considered herself a savvy businesswoman. How in God’s name had she been caught off guard like this? “I’m usually a good judge of character.”
“I haven’t worked with PK before,” Meg said. “I don’t know Ms. Denton.” She blew out a breath. “Guests will be arriving within the hour. How will we possibly replace ten people on such short notice?”
“I’d feel most comfortable if I had all ten,” Cassie said. “But we really only need an additional six.”
“What?”
Cassie nodded. “I have begged, borrowed and stolen every favor I was owed to make sure things went off without a hitch—which is to say, I always overcompensate. I hired four more wait staff from another company.”
“Cassie!” Meg cried. “You’re a genius.”
“A genius would have hired ten more wait staff,” Cassie said. “We’re still six short.”
“That’s not so bad,” Meg said.
“It’s not as bad as being ten short, but it’s not good. Do you have anyone who can work as servers tonight?”
“Mr. Weston hires only the best people. I can round up some help. And I’ll call my sister, Tess. She’s home from college on break. I know she’d love to help. She planned to be here for the party anyway.”
“They just have to be able to carry a tray,” Cassie said. “And we need server attire. Black dress pants and a starched white dress shirt. Bow ties for the men. Is that possible?”
Meg grinned. “Absolutely. Both Trent and his grandfather have a wardrobe that would be the envy of every red-blooded woman.”
Cassie held up two fingers and crossed them. “Here’s hoping nothing else goes wrong.”
Meg grinned. “What could possibly go wrong?”
Cassie ended the third call she’d made to PK Wait Staff in the last half hour and set her phone on the desk in her small office. She was out of time. Guests had begun to arrive. At least all was not lost. Meg had come through with the additional help. Two women who worked in housekeeping would help with serving. They were young, pretty and well-coordinated. And although not his usual task, a man named Sam who worked under Henry would step up as wait staff. He’d be a little late. As parking valet, he’d only be able to assist with serving after the initial rush of arrivals slowed. Cassie felt confident they could handle the party, but she wanted like hell to get Brenda Denton on the phone and give the woman a piece of her mind.
A shadow fell across her desk and she looked over her shoulder. The delivery guy who had helped put away the fish yesterday stood in the doorway. What was this guy doing here—and wearing black dress slacks, a white starched shirt, and bow tie?
Duh! This must be Sam who worked under Henry. Sheesh, he cleaned up good, damn good—gorgeous good. He’d shaved—that was almost a shame—and the formal clothes fit him to perfection.
She rose and faced him. “You should have told me you didn’t work for Calhoun.”
Amusement appeared in his eyes. “If you recall I did tell you that wasn’t my job.”
“Oh, well, thanks for helping out.” Cassie started toward him. “You’re just in time.”
Surprise flickered in his eyes. “I am?” His deep voice caught her off guard. Not just his deep voice, she realized, the sensual note. Sensual note? Was she nuts? Was he flirting with her? She was having none of that.
‘Your earring.” He pointed at her left ear.
“What?” Cassie touched her ear.
“Hold up, the stud is about to fall out.”
Cassie froze when he took a step toward her. His fingers, warm and firm, gently grasped her ear lobe. A fission of awareness zipped down her back and she was relieved when he seemed not to notice. His eyes remained fastened on her ear as he gently pressed the diamond stud more firmly into the backing. She’d put her hair in a soft chignon that rested on the back of her neck, exposing the flesh, and she was sure she could feel his warm breath on her skin. If anyone saw them—
His hands fell away and he stepped back into the doorway. “You might
want to have that checked by a jeweler. The backing should fit more snugly. A Teresa Merced, if I’m not mistaken. It would be a shame to lose such a beautiful stud.”
He was right. But what did a valet/waiter know about fine jewelry?
“You okay?” he asked.
Cassie broke from her thoughts. “Yes. Guests have begun to arrive. Are you ready?”
He glanced down at his attire. “Just about.”
“You look great. Perfect, in fact. Come on, I have canapés that need to be served.” Dinner wouldn’t be served for another hour. Drinks and hors d’œuvres would keep the quests nibbling and socializing until then.
Cassie motioned past him. “I need you this way.” Instead of stepping out of the doorway, he turned his large frame sideways and she caught the faint scent of cologne, spicy with a hint of musk, as she brushed past.
“Are you coming?” she called without looking back.
She reached the end of the short hallway and turned left, away from the bustling kitchen, then made another left into a small room. Half a dozen oblong stainless steel stations were laden with various hors d’œuvres on silver trays. Cassie did a quick calculation and picked up a tray of salmon and cucumber twists. She turned to find Sam standing behind her. Cassie rocked backwards. The tray tipped precariously and for a horrible instant she thought she and the tray were going to crash to the floor. But Sam seized her with one hand, and the edge of the tray with the other, and steadied them both. His large hand was strong on her waist, exerting just enough pressure to make her tummy flutter.
Cassie froze for an uncertain instant, then took a step away from him. His grip loosened and his fingers grazed her hip as she moved out of his reach. “Thanks,” she said. “But you might consider not standing so close next time.”
He didn’t reply, and she realized they were both still holding the tray. She extended the tray toward him and he took it.
Cassie pointed to the door to their left. “Out that door and to your left.”
“My apologies,” he said, and she wondered if he mocked her.
Tray balanced in his right hand, he strode to the door. He pushed through the swinging door and she glimpsed his expert lift of the tray to shoulder level.
Cassie released a sigh. The stress of the party had her nerves thrumming. No way would she let a server as hot as the spice in her cayenne cheese canapés, smelling like sex and seduction, drive her to distraction. That’s how Teri Gallagher got herself fired. Cassie understood the allure. Ace was six-foot-one, all masculine muscle and energy. But damn, she knew Sam had been staring at her ass as she preceded him. She’d tripped over her own feet and nearly fallen with a tray of hors d'oeuvres. Was this a test? Did Mr. Weston set up all his employees to fall from grace?
***
Trent skirted the wall and took four steps toward the open bar.
“Trent,” a familiar voice called.
He turned to face Celina Young. She was one of three people in the world he considered family—and that included his extended family.
Her eyes fixed on the tray of canapés he balanced in his right hand, then came back to his face. “Hankering for your old high school days?” she asked.
“We’re short of help in the kitchen,” he said.
She laughed. “And you’re pitching in.”
“Why not?”
He started to set the tray on the bar, but she said, “Hold on there, I’m hungry.”
He held the tray as she took two canapés, then set the tray on the bar.
“Can I get you a drink?” the barkeeper asked.
“Nothing for me.” He looked at Celina. “Anything for you?”
“No thanks. I’m on the wagon.”
“On the wagon—you mean you’re—”
She nodded. “Confirmed with the doctor yesterday. Three months pregnant.”
“And I’m just now hearing the news?”
She lifted her shoulders in a careless shrug, but he noticed the emotion buried beneath the casual action. “We wanted to be sure,” she said.
Trent drew her into a hug. “You’re going to make a wonderful mother,” he said, and couldn’t halt a pang of sadness at the possibility that his grandfather might live to see Celina’s baby born, but not Lindsey’s. He drew back. “Is Greg excited?”
She laughed. “He’d better be.”
That sounded like Celina.
“Am I overdressed for the party?” She nodded at his shirt.
Trent looked down, then realized she was referring to his missing jacket. He shook his head. “Phillip is doing a final press job on my jacket.”
“Ah,” she intoned. “Things weren’t up to snuff for your valet.”
“Very few things are up to snuff for Phillip.”
She laughed. “He’s a gem and you wouldn’t make it a day without him.”
“No,” Trent agreed, “I wouldn’t. But I’d better get back up there.” He glanced at his watch. Seven twenty-five. “Granddad agreed to come down at seven thirty. I have to walk down with him.”
Celina’s expression sobered. “How is he?”
“As long as he doesn’t overexert himself, you’d never know he was sick.” But appearances were deceiving. Stage IV heart failure was a walking time bomb. “Dinner is supposed to be served at eight-thirty. Help me keep an eye on him, will you? He won’t listen to reason.”
Celina nodded, and he knew what she was thinking: getting his grandfather to slow down, way down, was like applying failed brakes on a runaway freight train.
Trent kissed her cheek and squeezed her arm. “I’ll see you in a bit.”
She smiled and he started back toward the kitchen, intending to cut through to the rear stairs, then thought better of it and veered right. He didn’t want to get waylaid by Cassandra Adams again. Trent ducked into the hallway, strode the few paces to the staircase and started up. Twice, Ms. Adams had mistaken him for the help. The first time she’d simply been too busy for him to correct her. And, truth was, he’d been impressed with the way she handled the lobster tails. He liked a woman with backbone. Just not when she was intent upon ordering him around. Trent gave orders. He wasn’t used to taking them.
He wouldn’t have to worry about anything getting past the woman—including the party coming up ten servers short. She’d handled the situation well, right down to recruiting the boss, even if it was by accident. The second time, he should have told her who he was, but it was too damned funny, and it had been too long since anything had made him laugh.
Trent reached the third floor and strode along the open hallway. When he reached the right turn that led to his grandfather’s bedroom, he stopped and stepped toward the stone balcony that overlooked the ballroom on the floor below. As far as he could tell, most of the guests had arrived. Lindsey hadn’t arrived yet. But that came as no surprise. She loved to make an entrance.
Trent turned from the balcony and headed down the hallway. He reached his room first. His coat hung on the wardrobe valet looking no different than it had when Phillip insisted Trent not appear in public wearing such a disheveled coat. Trent swung the coat over his shoulders and was out the door as he slid his second arm into the sleeve. The tiny thump of the velvet box that contained Lindsey’s ring made him smile. Even at a private party in their own home, Phillip thought of everything. He’d put Trent’s cell phone in his pocket.
Trent entered his grandfather’s room to find him sitting in the wingback chair near the window, dressed in dinner slacks and white shirt. His jacket lay on the bed.
Trent nodded at Annie as he closed the door. She sat in her corner chair, a book open on one knee. “How are you doing, Annie?”
“Just fine, Trent. You and your grandfather look smashing.”
He smiled. “Thanks.” He’d met Annie ten years ago when his grandfather broke his leg skiing. By the time her two-month employment ended, she’d become a friend. An hour after they’d gotten his grandfather’s latest prognosis, Trent got on the phone with Anni
e and begged her to attend him for the remainder of his grandfather’s life. She agreed and Trent gave thanks every day for her presence. He felt certain that no one would have been able to handle his grandfather like she did.
“You sure you’re not too tired for this party?” he asked as he crossed the room to the bed. Trent wished like hell his grandfather would stay in his room and play cards with Annie. Trent didn’t like the drawn look at the corners of his eyes.
“Give me any trouble and I’ll take you over my knee,” his grandfather said.
Trent sat on the ottoman in front of his grandfather’s chair. “You look tired.”
He snorted. “I’m always tired.” His expression softened. “But I’m all right.” He stood and Trent stood with him, taking his arm. “Help me on with my jacket.”
Trent picked up the jacket and caught sight of the Wall Street Journal that had lain hidden under the jacket. Reading the Journal from cover to cover was one of Granddad’s greatest pleasures. A lump formed in Trent’s throat. How long would he be able to do something as simple as read his paper? As long as he wanted, Trent decided. He made a mental note to ask Annie if she would read to him in bed, if that’s what it came to.
Trent lifted the coat and held it up while his grandfather slid his right, then his left arm in. Trent pulled the coat up over his shoulders and his grandfather rolled his shoulders as Trent had seen him do more times than he could remember. The jacket settled over him like a second skin.
His grandfather turned and clapped him on the back. “You ready to introduce me to your girl?”
Trent was surprised to realize that he was ready. Ready to introduce his grandfather to Lindsey, ready to marry her, to have children. He was ready to have a life outside the boardroom. Sadness tightened his chest. Why had it taken his grandfather’s illness to bring him to this realization? He’d met Lindsey only eight months ago, but she was a perfect partner for him. She understood his schedule and the importance of his work. She also wanted more than her career. She’d made it clear she was ready to leave the spotlight of Hollywood for the seclusion of Brettonwood.
