Best Laid Plans (Dearly Beloved)

by James, Silver

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Praise for Silver James’ Writings

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  Best Laid Plans

  by

  Silver James

  Dearly Beloved Series

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Best Laid Plans

  COPYRIGHT © 2013 by Silver James

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

  Cover Art by Tina Lynn Stout

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Last Rose of Summer Edition, 2013

  Digital ISBN 978-1-61217-761-8

  Dearly Beloved Series

  Published in the United States of America

  Praise for Silver James’ Writings

  “This story should be a hit with anyone looking for a fast-paced love story. It provides just the right touch of romance to make it a pleasure to read. If you are in the mood for a quick love story with a happy ending, FAIRY TALES CAN COME TRUE is for you.”

  ~Two Lips Reviews (4 Lips)

  ~*~

  PROMISES, PROMISES: “This is a spicy little read that definitely fills that need if you are wanting a quick romantic fix. I would highly recommend this short story to anyone looking for a contemporary read with a little kick to it.”

  ~Long and Short Reviews (4 Books)

  ~*~

  FAERIE FATE: “If you love time travel, you will definitely enjoy traveling with Ciaran and Becca.”

  ~Bitten by Books (5 Tombstones)

  ~*~

  “This wonderful, magical story has plenty of action, political and international intrigue, FBI interference, loyalty and betrayal popping up in unexpected places, and I loved every word of FAERIE FIRE!”

  ~Bitten By Books (5 Tombstones)

  ~*~

  “Silver James does a wonderful job of blending old world and new, enchantment and reality. This story rocks and rolls until the very last page! I highly recommend FAERIE FOOL!”

  ~Karin Tabke aka Harlow, best-selling author

  Dedication

  For Greg—even after 30 years, I still remember

  our wedding like it was yesterday.

  You gave me a happy ever after of my very own,

  a daughter to be proud of,

  and your steadfast belief in me makes it possible

  for the characters who live in my imagination

  to come alive in the stories I write.

  Chapter 1

  Never, in twenty-plus years of wedding planning, had Claire Vitale considered advising the bride and groom to elope. Not once. Until now. She’d faced down her share of mothers-of-the-bride, but this time it was the bride’s father who had her chugging liquid antacid like champagne. Claire was pretty sure her expression mirrored the look of horror plastered on the bride-to-be’s face.

  “You want me to wear a what?” The bride’s voice rose two full octaves.

  “Now, Laurel.” Nicholas Grant looked ready to steamroll over his daughter’s protests.

  Claire stepped into the breach since Laurel didn’t have a mother to stand up for her. “Mr. Grant, I think you should consider your daughter’s wishes. This is her wedding.”

  Gray eyes pinned her to the spot and she was once again reminded why the name Nicholas Grant was feared in boardrooms across the country. Though he was a formidable opponent, she had only to glance at the tears pooling in Laurel’s eyes to straighten up to her full height—all five feet three inches of it—prepared to do battle.

  “This is a business decision, Ms. Vitale. As Mr. Yuzuki and his associates will be attending, it will be beneficial to present them with a traditional Japanese wedding.”

  Laurel burst into tears and fled the room while Claire simply stared at the man across the dining room table. Elopement sounded better and better. A destination wedding—for the bride, groom, and maybe their attendants. At this point, she was considering reimbursing her fee to Laurel to help pay for it. She was simply appalled at the man’s apparent lack of consideration. Claire’s cheeks radiated heat as her temper flared.

  “A business decision? A business decision?” She inhaled and clenched her hands into fists to help steady her voice. “No, Mr. Grant. This is most definitely not going to be a business decision. This is your daughter’s wedding. Her special day—the one little girls dream about their whole lives. You have meddled, pushed, and bullied Laurel to the point I wouldn’t be surprised if she called off the whole wretched affair.”

  Her dander was up now and she stalked around the table to confront him. “You have changed her plans five times now, Mr. Grant. You’ve changed the venue, the menu, the dress, and the bridesmaids. You didn’t like the band. You didn’t like any of the six caterers we previously contracted. Not once have you considered what Laurel wants.”

  “What Laurel wants is irrel—”

  “Do. Not. Go. There.” She bit off each word. Claire stabbed her index finger into his chest for emphasis, surprised it didn’t bounce off his stiffly starched Egyptian cotton dress shirt. “Laurel is your only child—your daughter. She’s a wonderful young woman who happens to want a fairy tale wedding, not a business merger.”

  Claire paused for breath, noting his eyes had gone battleship gray. Well, that was certainly fitting under the circumstances.

  “Who are you to presume to speak to me like this?”

  She poked him again. “I am the wedding planner. I am the one—the only one apparently—concerned with ensuring Laurel has a wonderful wedding. Dealing with the groom’s mother has been a piece of cake compared to what I’ve put up with from you.”

  “I hired you. I can fire you.”

  “Really? You went there? Honestly, Mr. Grant, do you want to play that card?” She tilted her chin up almost daring him to carry through with his threat. She stared. He stared back. And blinked first.

  Claire resisted the urge to fist pump. “Your daughter hired me for my expertise, Mr. Grant. She is my client. You may ultimately sign the checks, but I work for her. I want to be very clear on that.”

  He opened his mouth but then snapped his jaw shut before any words spilled out.

  Claire inhaled and stepped back so she didn’t get a crick in her neck from glaring up at him. He was too tall for her own good. And handsome, if she’d let herself think about it. In his early fifties, his dark hair was laced with a few silver streaks that made him look distinguished. Suntanned, athletic, tall. Very tall.

  She made a note to start wearing high heels—very high heels—around him. Height had its advantages and since she was vertically challenged, she needed every advantage she could command. She waited to see if he’d speak. He didn’t.

  He turned on his heel and marched out. Moments later, his voice barked from somewhere deeper in the huge house. “My o
ffice, Ms. Vitale. Now.”

  “Ha. He wants to confront me on his own turf.” She rearranged two of the place settings on the magnificent dining room table. She and Laurel had been choosing the china for the bridal dinner when Mr. Grant interrupted them with his pronouncement.

  Taking her time in order to plan what she would say to him, she scooped up the stack of gift cards sitting on a silver tray and slid them into her planner. She would record them later as a reminder for Laurel to write thank you notes. She stopped at the Georgian side table in the entry hall and rearranged the vase of fresh flowers commanding the center of its marble top.

  Then she considered stopping by the kitchen to ask for a cold drink. Or coffee. Yes, coffee would be better. It would take longer to fix.

  ****

  “Sometime today, Ms. Vitale.” Nick’s sarcastic tone brooked no argument. He used it effectively on all his subordinates, especially the tardy ones.

  She appeared at the door to his office. His inner sanctum wasn’t the luxurious study of some dilettante. He often worked from home, given his world-wide holdings. Computers, faxes, phones—these were the decorations of his Spartan space, and that’s just the way he wanted it.

  Ms. Vitale braced her shoulder against the door jamb, one hand on her hip. “You barked?”

  Nick stared. He didn’t quite know what to do with her. She amused him. Frustrated him. And made him wonder what she’d look like if he took the pins out of that old-maid bun to allow her hair to tumble about her shoulders.

  She arched a brow and managed to look down her pert little nose at him. Considering their height difference, that was a feat. He waved a negligent hand toward the chair parked haphazardly in front of his desk. “Sit.”

  “I am not your dog, Mr. Grant.”

  “Obviously not, Ms. Vitale. My dog obeys my commands.”

  The corners of her eyes crinkled as she fought the smile threatening to break her poker face. “I’m afraid I flunked obedience school.”

  Since she made no move to take the chair he indicated, Nick settled on the front edge of his desk, leaned back a little, and folded his arms across his chest. “You interest me, Ms. Vitale.” She blinked. Score one for him. “Not many people stand up to me.”

  Something that sounded suspiciously like a snort escaped from her but she still didn’t speak. “For a woman who had a great deal to say a few minutes ago, you are strangely silent now. Marshalling your courage to beard me in my den?”

  “Beard you in your den? Please tell me you didn’t just say that. What century did you grow up in?” She pushed off the door jamb and advanced on him.

  He noted with curiosity that his heart rate increased and certain parts of his anatomy stirred with interest.

  Stopping directly in front of him, she fisted both hands on her hips, which did interesting things to the neckline of her blouse. “Ahem. Eyes up here, buster.”

  Rather than show his guilt, he trailed his gaze down, taking in her lush figure before meeting her eye-to-eye. “Buster? And you talk about my use of archaic language?”

  Her full lips curled into a parody of a smile—one that didn’t come close to reaching her eyes. He would not want to meet her across a boardroom table. Her reputation as a tough negotiator was well-deserved.

  “What do you want, Mr. Grant? I still need to calm Laurel down and get her to make a decision on the china for the reception dinner.” She glanced at her watch. “And I have an appointment with the florist in an hour.”

  “Laurel will calm down in her own good time. I would prefer the Royal Doulton Platinum, but Laurel would pick the Doulton Gold Ribbon. Call the florist to reschedule. I’m paying the man enough he can make time for you another day.”

  “Mr. Grant—”

  “Nick.”

  Her mouth gaped open. Score another point for him. He’d surprised her. But then he’d surprised himself as well. This conversation wasn’t going the direction he’d intended. She inhaled deeply and he felt the effect of that rise of her breasts directly below his belt.

  “Mr. Grant.”

  “Nick, or if you prefer something a little more formal, Nicholas. I must warn you, though. My mother is the only woman who calls me that.”

  “I just bet.” She muttered the words under her breath, but he heard them.

  “May I call you…” His voice trailed off as he tried to remember her first name.

  “Claire. And no. You may not. This is a business relationship, Mr. Grant.”

  “Oh? And here I thought you didn’t believe in mergers and business, Claire.”

  “I prefer you call me by my last name, Mr. Grant.”

  “Fine. Then Vitale it is.”

  She huffed out an exasperated breath and he braced in case she whipped out her index finger again. That thing was positively lethal. “What is it that you want, Mr. Grant?”

  “I want you to have a seat, Vitale, and have a conversation with me.”

  “That’s Ms. Vitale to you.”

  “Are you afraid to sit down, Ms. Vitale?” Color stained her cheeks and Nick decided he liked the effect. He hadn’t teased a woman in a very long time—especially one who wasn’t afraid to tell him no.

  She hummed something that sounded familiar as she sank onto the chair, leaned back, and gracefully crossed her left leg over her right at the knees. And lovely legs they were. In fact her figure had curves in all the right places. He’d never understood his colleagues’ obsession with stick-thin trophy wives half their ages. Women were like wine—better savored when they’d aged and mellowed to full-bodied flavor.

  He shifted slightly to cover the growing tightness in his trousers. He cleared his throat to cover his amusement as he identified the song she’d been humming—“Who’s Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf.”

  Claire glanced at her watch and then stared at him. “I should start charging you by the hour.”

  Nick coughed to hide his thoughts, which had most definitely taken a turn south. To cover, he turned and rifled through the papers on his desk. He found the bill he’d been searching for and read it over. He glanced at her over the top of the page. “It might be cheaper.”

  She offered a frosty smile. “Good thing I have an iron-clad contract then.” Once again, she stared at her watch, the gesture pointed. “Again, what is it you want, Mr. Grant?”

  You. In my bed. I want to feel your lips as I kiss them. His thoughts tumbled straight to places he’d dammed up years ago. “All of you.”

  Claire’s mouth gaped. “All of me?” She cleared her throat. “Excuse me? You didn’t just say that, did you?”

  “I did, yes. I want to hire you. Full time. Turn your other clients over to your assistant. Or to another firm. I don’t really care. I want your entire attention focused on this wedding—on my daughter.”

  ****

  Claire stared at Nick Grant and reined in her imagination. He didn’t want her. He only wanted her expertise.

  If that meant Laurel got the wedding of her dreams, it would be worth it. Her other contracts were still in the early stages. Heidi, her most efficient assistant, could manage with minimal input from her.

  A part of her brain cautioned her to take time to consider all the implications. Her sexy bits were shouting and jumping up and down, determined to shush the logical part. The idea of spending more time with Nick—Mr. Grant, she reminded herself—was far more appealing than it should be. And she worried she was making a deal with the devil. Business—it was all business. Yeah, right.

  Chapter 2

  Heidi stared, her look of horror speaking louder than any words. “You what?”

  “I negotiated a new contract with Nicholas Grant. I’m going to concentrate exclusively on his daughter’s wedding.”

  “But…but…we have other contracts. Ten, in fact.”

  “I’m aware of that. And they’re all still in the planning phase. You are more than capable of handling things until after Laurel’s nuptials.”

  Claire smirked. “Here. Ma
ke a copy of this, return a notarized copy to Mr. Grant, and file the original.” She waited, her grin growing broader as Heidi’s eyes widened at the bottom line.

  “Is that a typo?”

  She shook her head. “Nope. I negotiated for two more zeros on our fee.”

  “Holy snickerdoodles, boss!”

  “And caviar to go on top.”

  “Ewwww.” They laughed and shared a sense of relief and accomplishment as they clinked coffee mugs.

  Claire dialed each of her current clients to assure them that she would be available for any emergencies but that Heidi did all the preliminary footwork anyway. After returning some other phone calls, she settled back in her desk chair and thought about what she’d done.

  “So what’s going on, boss?” Heidi pulled up another chair and waited with an expectant expression.

  Claire did her best to look perplexed. “Not sure what you mean, hon.”

  Heidi rolled her eyes. “You don’t ever go exclusive. I know Laurel is a sweet girl and her father has more money than Midas but…”

  “But what?”

  “Don’t go trying to look all innocent on me, Claire Vitale. I know you too well.” She waggled a finger. “You’re blushing.”

  Claire fanned her face with the top file on her desk. “I am not. It’s a power surge.”

  “Ha! Baloney. You are way past menopause, missy.” Heidi continued to stare at her. “It may be hormones, but not the kind you’re blaming it on.” She tilted her head like a curious robin and then her eyes widened. “Oh. My. Gosh. It’s him! You have a thing for Mr. Grant.”

  “I do not. Never. Unh-uh. No way.”

  Heidi laughed and clapped her hands together. “Yes way! You’re crushing on Laurel’s dad.”

  “Am not.”

  “Are too.”

  “I am a professional, Heidi. I do not get emotionally involved with clients. Or their parents!”

  “Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

  “Shush. And get out of here. One of us has to get some work done today.”

  Heidi left, still laughing and teasing her.

  Claire leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. Yup. She was dancing with the devil and if she wasn’t careful, he’d own her soul. At the moment, though—picturing him all sexy and handsome leaning against his desk—she almost hyperventilated. She didn’t have to work very hard to conjure up the image.