'Til Death Do Us Part

by Eliza Daly

  “How about pigeon pie?”

  Lucy’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “He’s bulimic?”

  “No, it says he’ll do anything for his pseudo family.”

  “How he sleeps says a lot about him. If it’s on his side, his back—”

  “As if I’m going to be able to figure out how he sleeps.”

  “Better yet,” Lucy waggled her brows suggestively, “how he doesn’t sleep.”

  “I’m trying to find this man a wife, not become another name in his little black book. Although he probably doesn’t have a little black book since he never dates a woman more than once. No need to keep names on file. Besides, I doubt he would let me in his house.”

  “Of course he’ll let you in.”

  “This guy doesn’t let anyone in.”

  Suddenly, Cassidy would break down his front door to catch a glimpse inside his personal life. For professional reasons, of course, not because she cared about his 1,000-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets.

  • • •

  Alex Carson’s office was located in a high-rise building downtown, just blocks from Ryan’s office, yet décor-wise the two places were worlds apart. Unlike Ryan’s sterile and unwelcoming environment, Alex’s invited clients to sink into one of the comfy cream-colored chairs and forget their legal worries, while gazing at the seafoam-green walls displaying paintings of calm oceans and beach scenes. It almost made Cassidy forget she only had twenty-and-a-half days to find Ryan’s fiancée and book wedding vendors. Narrowing down the specifics, like flowers and menus, should be left up to Ryan’s future wife. However, if the woman was agreeing to a divorce before they even married, would she really give a rip about the wedding ceremony?

  “We’re doing a fifteen-second trailer at the end of the brewery’s commercial in two days announcing Ryan’s search for a wife.”

  “Commercial? Will it only run locally or nationwide?”

  “Nationwide.”

  Talk about being in over her head. She focused on the faint gurgling sound of the tranquility fountain in the corner, taking a calming breath.

  “We’ll have the website up and running when the commercial airs with Ryan. Would you be able to compile the preliminary application by then?”

  Cassidy nodded faintly.

  “I’ll draft the other required forms, like the background check and confidentiality agreement, which will only be completed by the final round of women. I’m assuming you’ll have several rounds of finalists in narrowing it down to the top three contestants?”

  Cassidy frowned. “Contestants? Kind of an odd way to refer to Ryan’s potential fiancées, isn’t it? Sounds like they’re competing on some game show.”

  Alex’s blue eyes filled with curiosity, narrowing behind his gold wire frames. “It is a game show. The Dating Game. I assumed Ryan went over that with you.”

  “Ah, no, he left out that minor detail. That’s ridiculous. A game show is no better than a reality TV show, which gives romance and marriage a stigma. If the couples do marry, they don’t stay together. Please tell me this show doesn’t have to be televised.”

  He nodded. “And in front of a live audience. It was Aggie’s favorite game show. She was actually a contestant on it in the early seventies.”

  “This will take away any credibility of his marriage.”

  And it meant she had to find three perfect matches, not just one. Ryan would still choose the least perfect one even though the staff had to approve the woman.

  Alex gave her a palms up but looked in agreement. “Aggie stipulated it in her will.”

  “If Aggie wanted Ryan to find true love, why would she turn his quest for a wife into some farce? No wonder he’s not taking it seriously and plans to divorce his bride.”

  Alex’s gaze pierced her with the intensity of an interrogation lamp. “He intends to divorce her?”

  Ryan hadn’t let Alex in on his little secret, but he’d told her? Wouldn’t Alex be drawing up the prenup? Even more so, wasn’t Alex his best friend? It certainly wasn’t her place to tell him his friend was a jerk. And, actually, Ryan hadn’t admitted to planning on a divorce, but he had inferred it.

  “He’s marrying her for his inheritance, so I merely assumed once her role was fulfilled, he’d want a divorce. I don’t know.” Plastering on her best clueless look, she tucked a stray strand of hair behind an ear.

  Appearing convinced, Alex relaxed back in his chair. His easy-going attitude was reflected in his attire: a dark gray suit with a pink oxford and pink-and-gray tie.

  She let out a sigh. “There isn’t any way of getting around this whole dating game? It obviously didn’t lead to wedding bells for Aggie.”

  “She loved being in the spotlight, unlike Ryan.”

  “So why is she forcing him into it?”

  “She tried for years to get him to be more of a public figure. She said the media wouldn’t let him rest until he opened up. Guess this was her last attempt. Believe me, I respect Ryan’s need for privacy, but I have no choice in the matter. Speaking of which.” He handed her a confidentiality agreement.

  Cassidy spent the next fifteen minutes deciphering the agreement’s legal mumbo jumbo, which could have been condensed into one concise sentence: Keep your yap shut. She signed on the dotted line.

  “I respect your right for privacy also,” he said. “But I have to ask why you left your previous position at To Have and To Hold. From what I saw at Aggie’s funeral, you were quite good at your job.”

  Seems while she’d been attempting to research Ryan, Alex had researched her. Since he had more resources at his disposal than Google, he probably knew her favorite lipstick shade was Flaming Fuchsia. She should have known he’d do a background check. So why did she feel her privacy was being violated? It was no different from her delving into Ryan’s life.

  Except, it was her life.

  “This didn’t seem to be an issue when I was planning Aggie’s funeral.”

  “You’re about to marry off one of the country’s most eligible bachelors. This is going to attract a lot of national media attention. You’ll be in the spotlight along with Ryan, and open to scrutiny. The media can be ruthless. Ask Ryan.”

  True. The headlines would read:

  Corrupt former wedding planner Cassidy Baldwin just might be the death of Ryan Mitchell’s quest for a fiancée.

  She could feel the $50,000 matchmaking fee, and the chance to regain her reputation, slipping through her fingers.

  “I spoke with Ken Winston, and his answers were vague, which made me . . . curious.”

  At least the owner had kept his word and wasn’t bad-mouthing her. That had been part of the deal when she’d “agreed” to leave quietly. Not that publicly making noise over being unjustly fired would have done her any good. It was a small industry. Nobody would hire her. She reluctantly recounted the scandal’s sordid details, including that Nick, her ex- fiancé and the owner’s son, had believed his guilty sister over Cassidy.

  Alex looked convinced, his eyes filling with compassion. “Actually, it’s probably better we don’t reveal your identity until you find Ryan a fiancée. Along with the media, you’d have every unmarried woman stalking you. You’d spend all your time dodging them rather than doing your job.”

  “As well as dodging local businesses that would kill for a chance to be involved with the wedding.” And if Cassidy failed to find Ryan a relationship that would last, she didn’t want people to know she’d been the matchmaker. She’d have to forget about providing the service in connection with her wedding planning company. A niche business that would definitely make her the most in-demand planner in the city. And knowing a couple wasn’t doomed for divorce before they got married, thanks to her, would be refreshing.

  “Any woman who approaches Ryan will also be disqualified.”

  “How’s Ryan going to feel about my past?”

  “I don’t plan on telling him. He’s paranoid enough about negative media attention. He doesn’t need to wor
ry about this.”

  “But if my identity remains a secret, there won’t be any media attention.”

  Alex straightened in his chair. “Ryan has spent his entire life avoiding or troubleshooting one scandal after another. He won’t take the chance of becoming involved in one he didn’t have anything to do with. He’ll fire you first.”

  Cassidy swallowed hard. “So why don’t you want to fire me?”

  “If I hired a promotional company, they’d consider this just another job. I believe you honestly care about finding Ryan a woman he really loves.” He smiled. “You’re a romantic, same as Aggie was.”

  Everyone assuming she was a hopeless romantic was good for business, but being stereotyped was getting a bit annoying.

  “She’d have liked you a lot. You’ve got that same ‘don’t take any crap attitude’ as she did.”

  Having such a loyal friend had to say something for Ryan. Against her better judgment—that lawyers were shifty characters—she trusted Alex.

  “Here’s your advance.” He handed her a check for ten grand.

  She stifled a squeal of excitement tucking it into her purse. “Thanks.” She needed to get her bridal expo booth booked stat.

  “Just let me know when any deposits are due and how much. And I’ll sign the contracts.”

  “I’m holding space at Villa Luna. Will forward the contract within the next day. Maybe we could do lunch soon. I really need some insight into Ryan if I’m going to find him a perfect match.”

  “Sure. I plan on helping you any way I can. Believe me, nobody would like to see Ryan settle down more than me. He pretty much gave up on women after Serena.”

  “Serena?” Cassidy asked as the door opened.

  “What about Serena?” Ryan asked, walking in.

  His gaze darted from Alex to Cassidy, his intense blue eyes locking on hers. A flutter in her chest caused her breath to catch in her throat.

  Why did this arrogant womanizer make her feel this way?

  Because he made every heterosexual woman in the city feel this way. It was merely a normal reaction. However, unlike any she’d ever experienced before.

  • • •

  “Serena is irrelevant to finding me a wife,” Ryan said.

  After two years, the mere mention of that woman’s name still caused his back to stiffen. Yet his muscles relaxed as he watched Cassidy nibble at her lower lip, and he imagined what her lips tasted like. Regardless of her beauty, she was nosy as hell. Like Serena, she would undoubtedly stop at nothing to get close to him and his family secrets.

  Alex’s assistant popped her head in, requesting his presence in the reception area. He excused himself.

  Cassidy stood, straightening her petite form, preparing to stand her ground. “I need to know what type of woman convinced you to give up your playboy ways, even if just temporarily.”

  That would be the woman who tried to slap a paternity suit on him, not Serena. Nothing like a DNA test to put things in perspective. Having a child, with a woman he didn’t love to boot, would have negated his purpose for avoiding steady relationships in the first place. Responsibility. He already had enough responsibility with Aggie and the staff. Yet that wake-up call had made him realize it was better to be responsible for a woman he cared about than one he didn’t. And then along came Serena. Someone he’d thought he cared about. Now, he was back to avoiding relationships and sex—for the most part.

  “Past relationships are relevant to knowing the type of women you like,” Cassidy said.

  “I don’t like Serena.”

  “Knowing what type of women you don’t like is just as important.”

  “I already told you, I don’t like nosy women. I want a career-driven woman who works in finance.” At least he might get a business relationship out of this whole deal.

  “And you like an aisle seat and seafood, which will be a big help if the woman is a flight attendant. You hate seagulls using your window as a toilet, yet you eat pigeon pie.” Her gaze narrowed. “Maybe that’s why you eat pigeon pie. Some sort of revenge.” Her emerald-colored eyes studied him with interest. “An underlying hatred of birds. So, I need to make sure the woman doesn’t have a pet bird, or she might come home and find it flambéing in a bottle of cabernet.”

  “I wouldn’t flambé pigeon in wine. It’s a waste of a bottle of wine. Besides, wine isn’t flammable.”

  “Aha. I never said her bird was a pigeon. See, you don’t like pigeons.”

  Her bizarre deductive reasoning made it hard not to smile, but he managed, not wanting to encourage her. “So I don’t like pigeons. Go ahead, shoot them all. Who cares?”

  She gasped in horror, a mortified look on her face. “Mourning doves belong to the pigeon family. You’d shoot a mourning dove? Wisconsin’s symbol of peace?”

  “Yet it’s legal to shoot one,” he countered.

  “Legal doesn’t make it right.”

  “I wouldn’t shoot a mourning dove.”

  Her expression relaxed slightly.

  “I don’t hunt.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Surprised you wouldn’t, since they’re also a symbol of fidelity. Mating for life is a concept you undoubtedly don’t comprehend.”

  “If your mate dies, you shouldn’t have to spend the rest of your life alone.”

  “If a mourning dove’s mate dies, it finds a new mate.”

  “Must be a high homicide rate among mourning doves.”

  She glared at him. “More like suicide rate.”

  Another five minutes and this woman would have him lobbying for the protection of some stupid-ass bird he despised. He didn’t know if he wanted to kiss her or beat his head against a wall. She was definitely a worthy adversary. Too bad they weren’t on the same side.

  “How’d you become such a bird expert?”

  “I’ve released doves at numerous weddings.”

  “Exactly how many of those couples are still mating for life?”

  Her defeated expression told him not many.

  He agreed, the high divorce rate sucked, but it was a reality.

  Chapter Seven

  Cassidy marched across the parking structure connected to Alex’s office building. Ryan would never take finding a wife seriously. Why waste the next three weeks finding this guy’s soul mate when he didn’t deserve one? Why not marry him off to any woman who agreed in advance to a divorce?

  Because if it got out that she’d knowingly planned a marriage doomed for divorce, it’d be worse for her reputation than the stupid scandal. Not to mention, she could kiss the whole matchmaker plan good-bye.

  She approached her Beamer, and the Thompson Funeral Home ad on the driver’s door gloated in victory.

  She’d find Ryan the perfect match or die trying.

  Next month, the funeral home ads would be replaced with ones for her new wedding planning company: An Affair to Remember. The name conjured up visions of the classic romance movie with Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr. Of an era when the divorce rate probably hadn’t hit the double digits. When people did anything for true love, including getting run down by a taxi.

  She unlocked the car door and slid onto the seat, welcoming the refreshingly cool leather against her bare legs. Although it was only in the mid-seventies, the humidity had to be nearing 100 percent. All the styling products in the world couldn’t tame her hair, so she had no choice but to wear it up. She opened the sunroof and rolled down the window, preferring the fresh, fall-scented air to that of stale, dry air conditioning.

  “Fly Me to the Moon” sang out from inside her briefcase. She answered her phone.

  “Leprechaun here. Got yer pot ’o gold,” the mysterious voice on the other end whispered, but there was no mistaking the strong Irish accent.

  “Fiona?”

  “Nay, leprechaun. Never know who might be listening.”

  Pot o’ gold must be the code name for Aggie’s photos. Good to know Cassidy wasn’t the only one taking this matter seriously.

  S
he arrived at the mansion to find the wrought iron gate open, so she drove in and parked. Charlie was dressed in navy Bermuda shorts, socks clad in Birkenstock sandals, and a red Hawaiian print shirt. He was polishing a three-wheeled wooden rickshaw cycle, ornately painted in rich jewel tones of emerald, ruby, sapphire, and gold.

  “This is beautiful.” Cassidy admired the red embroidered silk lining the inside of the passenger seat hood.

  “Aggie picked it up in Bangladesh.”

  A souvenir for the average tourist visiting Bangladesh was probably some spices.

  “What she paid for it likely fed the guy’s family for a lifetime. She hoped so anyway.” He brushed a hand affectionately over the beaded seat, a reminiscent look in his eyes.

  She placed a soothing hand on his shoulder. “She was an incredible woman.”

  His face brightened with admiration. “Certainly was.”

  “It looks like it should be in a museum. Is it just for show?”

  “Heck no. I take the neighborhood kids for rides in it. They get a real kick out of it. Would you like to go for one?” His gray eyes gazed eagerly at her. She hated to disappoint him, but she really didn’t have the time.

  “I’ll have to take a rain check. Sorry.”

  Unlikely she’d have the opportunity to cruise the streets of Bangladesh anytime soon. While growing up, family vacations consisted of visits to Chicago museums, which were educational and could be done in a day. Taking time off was a foreign concept to her parents. Luckily, her grandparents had included her in several of their RV vacations. How many people could say they’d seen the country’s largest pumpkin patch and a house with stained glass windows made entirely of pieces of bottles?

  “Anytime. Just let me know.” He slid the chauffeur’s cap back on his head, revealing a thin tuft of gray hair, and wiped his brow with his shirt sleeve. “Go on in. Fiona, er,” he rolled his eyes, “I mean, leprechaun is waiting for you.”

  Cassidy walked up the brick path toward the massive stone mansion. At the corner of the house, Hector was on his hands and knees, patting the dirt around a batch of freshly planted plastic tulips.