Regrets Only (Sequel to The Marriage Pact)

by Pullen, M. J.

  “I have not haved too much,” slurred Suzanne. “You’ve haved too much.”

  “I haven’t had anything, actually,” corrected Marci.

  “See? So I have to drink for both of us. That’s the tradition.”

  Rebecca snorted. “The tradition? What tradition?”

  “The ‘I humiliated myself in front of a major superstar and can never go out in public after tonight’ tradition,” Suzanne said. She followed this with a dreamy contemplation of the ceiling at the bar. “I wonder if I’ll be happy living in Fiji. Or is it Fuji?”

  “I think Fuji’s a camera, hon,” Beth said, patting her hand. “Let’s get you hydrated, okay?” She signaled to the waiter for water.

  “Did he actually fire you?” Rebecca asked.

  “No, but he will, obviously,” Suzanne said. “Actually he’ll probably have Yvette fire me—I’ve never actually met him in person. God, I’m dreading that conversation. That woman sounds like a deranged chipmunk when she’s upset. I’d—”

  “What I want to know,” Beth interrupted, patting Suzanne again in apology, and turning to the group significantly, “is why isn’t Marci drinking?”

  “Don’t be silly,” Suzanne said, “of course she is. That’s a Coke and…”

  “Coke,” Marci finished. Even in the dim lighting of the bar, Suzanne could tell she was blushing.

  “Spill it, Marcella,” Beth said.

  “Well,” Marci said slowly, “we hadn’t planned to tell anyone yet, but—”

  “I knew it!” Beth squealed. Beth never squealed. “You’re pregnant!”

  Marci scarcely had time to nod before Beth had jumped up and run around the table to her, almost tackling her in an embrace. “I’m only ten weeks,” Marci was saying to Suzanne and Rebecca over Beth’s bouncing shoulder. “We just told our families this week.”

  The announcement should have made her happy, but it felt as though someone had kicked Suzanne in the chest. She plastered on a happy face. Marci addressed the group but gave Suzanne an apologetic look as she reiterated, “Like I said, we hadn’t planned to tell yet, so if you guys could keep it to yourselves, that would be great. I haven’t even been able to tell Nicole and Ravi yet.”

  Beth, meanwhile, seemed oblivious of any tension. “So who is your OB? Where are you going to deliver? Have you thought about names yet? Are you going natural? Oh! I have so many books you can borrow!”

  For the next half hour, Suzanne stared into her water glass and listened to Beth and Marci get lost in their own little world of impending motherhood. She tried to sober up, to insert appropriate remarks into the pregnancy conversation, and to put the incident with Dylan Burke out of her mind. She failed at all three endeavors.

  She glanced over at Rebecca once or twice and thought their expressions must be pretty similar. Rebecca’s feelings about Jake, right or wrong, were no secret but she seemed to have rallied in the last year or two and made a genuine effort to win back Marci’s friendship.

  Tonight, Suzanne observed, it was obvious Rebecca’s feelings for Jake had not lessened—at least if her current disposition was any indication. Suzanne did not feel sympathy, exactly; she was still royally pissed about how Rebecca had treated Marci during that horrible time. But as she watched Rebecca trying to muster the same dubious smile she herself wore, it occurred to her that other people’s happy moments were sometimes a very sad place to be.

  #

  The next day, her head throbbed like she’d been hit by a truck and her stomach turned every time she thought about food. She’d basically told country music’s biggest star, not to mention one of her most famous client to date, that his family was a bunch of idiots. This was big.

  Suzanne and Chad spent the day reviewing the contracts she’d signed with Yvette and all the vendors, to make sure they couldn’t legally ditch her for another event planner and leave her stuck with all the commitments. It seemed okay from what she read, but that was only a tiny piece of the problem. An offended client could ruin her reputation in Atlanta forever.

  The situation had been so upsetting that Suzanne had even resorted to calling her mother to ask for advice, which she hadn’t done in a decade. She’d been pleasantly surprised by her mother’s noncritical support. “Everything is fixable, sweetie. Just smile and show them what you’re made of.” This might be owing, in part, to the fact that her mother hadn’t the faintest idea who Dylan Burke was or what a big deal it was.

  Finally, nearly thirty hours after her unintended conversation with Dylan Burke, Yvette had called back.

  “So you heard what happened?” Suzanne asked nervously.

  “Yes,” Yvette replied coldly. “I happened to come back in the room for the tail end of the conversation. We were at the beginning of an all-day meeting with the promoters and I had stepped out to use the ladies’ room.”

  “Yvette, I’m so embarrassed, I—”

  “You should be,” she said, the squeaky edge returning to her voice. “When we hired you, I assured Mr. Burke that you were the epitome of discretion. Your comments and behavior reflect on me as much as they do you.”

  “Of course. I understand. I’m so sorry. I wish I knew what to say.” Suzanne hated dealing with women in situations like this. With a man, she could have turned up the flirty, feigned helplessness and she would soon have forgiveness. And, more often than not, a date for the evening. She wondered idly what the chances were that Yvette was a lesbian.

  “Well, I’ll be honest, Suzanne, I seriously considered contracting with Events by Emma to finish out the benefit.”

  “Of course.”

  “But, given our short timeline, I think the benefit will be better if we keep our current team intact. That’s the best thing for the museum, don’t you think?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “And naturally you understand that I’m doing you an enormous favor by keeping you on…”

  “Yes, and I’m so grateful.” Uh oh.

  “So I would really appreciate a favor in return.”

  “Sure, Yvette, anything.”

  “Well, Mr. Burke, as you know, is a big Atlanta Braves fan.”

  “Of course,” Suzanne said. Pretty much everyone in the Southeast was a Braves fan, except those transplants who had brought fierce loyalties from other cities when they arrived.

  “Well, he’s decided to come in from Los Angeles a few days before the benefit to meet with a few old friends. They’d like to go to the game on Wednesday evening. I believe it’s the opening series.”

  “It is. But I think I can arrange it,” she said, scribbling a note to Chad to call their contact at the stadium. Suzanne knew the stadium would be crowded during the first week of hometown baseball, but for Dylan Burke, she was sure she could get some decent seats. “How many tickets?”

  “About twenty-five.”

  “Wow,” Suzanne said carefully. Calling in every favor she was owed probably couldn’t swing her twenty-five good tickets, especially not together.

  “They’ll need a box, of course. Catered with an open bar. And a chartered bus to take them to Mr. Burke’s lake home in Tennessee afterward.”

  “Oh, Yvette, I’d love to help, but—”

  “Great. I’ll send you the details via fax.” Click.

  Suzanne held the phone to her ear numbly for a few minutes after Yvette hung up, trying to process everything. Under normal circumstances, Suzanne could throw a party in a box at Turner Field in her sleep. But with barely a week to plan, two days before her biggest event of the year, and with everyone in the city chomping at the bit to get back into the baseball season? She flashed a desperate look at Chad, who closed his laptop with a snap and whisked himself to her desk.

  “What do we need to do?”

  “Get out the Rolodex. We need a miracle.”

  They spent the next three hours combing through Suzanne’s extensive contact list, begging and even threatening everyone they could reach. Even Chad had to cash in a favor with an old boyfriend who
waited tables at Fat Matt’s Rib Shack, persuading them to cater at the stadium. “I might have hinted that he’d get to meet Dylan,” he told her. “I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

  Suzanne tossed him a grateful smile as she dialed yet another of her corporate clients, looking for someone who could give up a box.

  Eventually, she found him.

  Barry Consuelo was the vice president of human resources at CleanMark appliances, who employed about 4,000 people fifty miles west of the city. Suzanne had planned CleanMark’s corporate retreats for years, and Barry was her primary contact. She knew they had a box at Turner Field for entertaining big clients and as a reward for the highest-performing middle managers. She also knew that Barry desperately wanted to sleep with her.

  “Hi, Barry—how are you, honey?”

  “Suzie Q! Is it time for retreat planning already? You’re getting an early start.”

  “Oh, no, sweetie. We’ve got weeks before we have to start on that. But I do have some really exciting ideas for y’all. I know you’re going to love it. Chad and I have been talking about CleanMark nonstop.”

  Chad rolled his eyes dramatically and she threw a pencil at him. She swiveled her chair around to avoid his eyes. “In the meantime, I need the world’s biggest favor and you might be the only one who can help me.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yes, I have a very high-profile client, and I wish I could tell you who it is, who needs a box at the TED Wednesday night.”

  “Ah…” Barry sounded disappointed.

  “Of course I’d make it up to you,” she threw in hurriedly, before he could give her a reason why not. “We’ll take twenty percent off your planning fee for the retreat this year. Think how that will save your professional development budget.”

  “Hm. There is a conference in California I would like to go to, I guess…”

  “See? Perfect! If anyone deserves to go to California, it’s you, Barry. You can bring me a bottle of wine to thank me.”

  “I thought I was giving you the box at Turner Field to thank you,” he said, a little snarky.

  “Oh, right,” she trilled innocently. “Well, I guess we’ll have to share the bottle of wine, then.”

  “Yeah?” His voice had a little smile in it now. “Well, I guess that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. We’d better make it two bottles, though, because my coworkers are going to be pretty pissed that the box is not available that night.”

  “Barry, you’re the best. Thank you so much. Chad will stop by tomorrow to pick up the tickets.”

  “Not you?”

  “Oh, sweetie, I can’t. But let’s have coffee in a couple of weeks to get started on the retreat.”

  He sighed. “Okay, Suzie. No problem.”

  When she swiveled the chair back around, Chad was shaking his head. “You’re shameless.”

  “I know,” she said, letting her forehead hit the desk dramatically. “I know. This benefit had better be worth it.”

  Chapter 4

  The following Wednesday afternoon she made her way to the stadium early, wanting to avoid rush hour traffic and to make sure everything was in place well in advance. She was exhausted from all the last-minute details for the big event, but it was getting to the point at which there was very little left to do until the day itself. Normally around this time, she took an evening to herself and dragged Marci out for massages and pedicures. Then she’d shut off her cell phone, have a glass of wine, and watch an old movie to get her mind off the stress of the event and start fresh the next day.

  Tonight, however, she was going to be hanging around awkwardly at a baseball game with a major celebrity who she’d offended and twenty-four of his closest friends whom she had never met. Suzanne never minded a little schmoozing—it was part of her job—but ass-kissing was something else entirely. She vowed to go, get everything set up, make sure it ran smoothly, and then leave after the third inning.

  She parked in one of the premier lots, near an exit, calling her stadium contact Meredith to get her in before the gates officially opened. Meredith met her at the south gate, and they made their way through the deserted mini-city that was Turner Field, up the escalators to the CleanMark box. A quick double-check to see that everything was in order, and then Suzanne followed Meredith to her office. She signed an outside vendor agreement on behalf of Fat Matt’s and reviewed the beverage orders for the open bar while Meredith chatted easily about her boyfriend and how much she hoped he was going to propose soon.

  Suzanne tried to listen and hoped her “mmm-hmm’s” didn’t sound too distracted. She hoped Chad remembered to confirm with the florist and to order the credit card machine for the auction.

  “…and it’s not like I’m one of those girly-girls who has just always been dying to get married. Look at me—I’m a total tomboy and I work in sports.”

  It took Suzanne a moment to realize Meredith was fishing for reassurance. “Oh, no, you’re not a tomboy, you’re gorgeous!” Gorgeous might be pushing it, she thought. Meredith had a pretty face but was at least thirty pounds overweight and constantly wore polo shirts with khakis.

  “Oh, thanks,” Meredith said, obviously gratified. “Gregory says the same thing, but you never know with your significant other whether they are being honest or just kind.”

  “No, no, sweetie,” Suzanne said. “Gregory is most definitely right.”

  Meredith blushed. “So do you think you’ll be available, if he does ask me?”

  “For what?”

  “The wedding? You are an event planner, right?”

  “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. I know your wedding would be the most fun to plan, but I just don’t do weddings.”

  “Why not?”

  “I just don’t. It’s a lot of things. The hours, the family drama. Working every weekend. You know.”

  “But weddings are so romantic, don’t you think?”

  “Sure.” Of course. What kind of monster doesn’t like weddings? If you don’t like weddings they take away your Girl Card or something, right? Suzanne looked closely at the vendor contract, pretending to be confused by something there.

  “I bet you’re going to be the most beautiful bride when you get married,” Meredith said, rather dreamily. “I mean, you’re so pretty and always so…put together. I’m sure your wedding will be flawless.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that,” Suzanne said. “I actually have never really wanted to get married.”

  Meredith seemed shocked. “I thought you had a boyfriend or something?”

  Suzanne snorted, remembering how she’d slunk out of Rick’s hotel room the other night. “Not exactly…” She flipped a page she’d already read and pretended to look for a pen. She desperately wanted to change the subject, but was having trouble thinking of a work-related question to which it wasn’t obvious she already knew the answer.

  When she looked up, however, Meredith was looking at her with an intense sort of concern. “Suzanne, I’m sorry. I just assumed—I didn’t know.”

  It was as if she’d just told Meredith she had a terminal illness or something. Her voice cracked a bit as she answered, “It’s okay.” To her utter surprise, her eyes were filling with tears. What the hell?

  She stood and straightened her skirt. “Well, I’d better go check in with Chad before all those boys start showing up. Can I connect my laptop to the Internet from the box?”

  “Of course,” Meredith said with genuine, kind eyes. Suzanne wanted to punch her just a little bit.

  #

  By the time Dylan Burke entered the box, the game was in its second inning. The box was already almost at capacity, because in addition to the twenty-something friends for which Suzanne had planned, there were about the same number of attractive young girls she couldn’t believe it hadn’t occurred to her would also be there. They were slurping down margaritas like water, and the Fat Matt’s staff had already had to call back to the restaurant for more barbecue. She was pretty
sure she owed that restaurant about a zillion favors by now.

  Dylan sauntered in with three additional girls in tow, fished a beer from one of the icy tubs, and made his way directly to Suzanne, reaching out to shake her hand. Considering she was in the corner of the box farthest from the door, she found this impressive.

  “It’s certainly my pleasure, Mr. Burke. How’d you know it was me?” She tried to say this with an ingratiating, saucy smile, but their first conversation was burned on her brain and made her too nervous to flirt.

  “I have my ways,” Dylan said, looking her over, smiling.

  Suzanne reddened. “I guess I’m the only girl here not dressed for the game.” She had originally planned to wear a khaki skirt and red cotton blouse with her Braves cap and cute earrings—standard uniform for events she planned at the stadium. But considering how she’d gotten off on the wrong foot with Dylan, and on the off chance Yvette would be in attendance, she decided to play it more conservatively with a gray pencil skirt, white blouse, and black pumps. No one was going to add “unprofessional dress” to her list of transgressions.

  Dylan smiled at her three-inch heels. “Well, there is that. But I was just thinking you are the only one not having fun.”

  “I’m having a great time, Mr. Burke. And about the other day, please accept my most sincere—”

  He dismissed her apology with a wave of his hand, turning slightly toward the field. She was losing him. She touched his arm lightly with her fingers and leaned microscopically forward, so that her cleavage was almost visible from his vantage point.

  “Well, I just want you to know that I am usually the soul of discretion with all my clients,” she said, making her voice just the tiniest bit husky and drizzling the Southern accent like warm butter. “This week has been exceptional.”

  “Really, forget it,” he said to her blouse. “I know my family’s not what you’d call traditional.”

  “No,” she conceded, ignoring his leer. “I guess they’re not.”

  He redirected his gaze, after a minute, back to her eyes. He seemed to assess her, his youthful green eyes sparkling with surprising intelligence. Suzanne couldn’t tell what conclusions he was drawing about her, but his mouth curved up just for a split second. “Anyway,” he said louder than before, drawing the nearby partygoers into their conversation. “What you need to do is loosen up a bit. Enjoy the game. I realize it’s not squash or water polo or whatever you high-society types enjoy down at the country club, but it is America’s pastime.”