by Hope Ramsay
Courtney eventually arrived, wearing a turquoise sundress of almost the same color blue as her eyes. The scooped neck displayed a sweet, soft cleavage that jiggled a tiny bit with every step she took on her high-heeled sandals as she came down the promenade. Her dark, unbound hair feathered back from her face as she walked with the confident, hips-forward stride of a runway model.
She was built like a brick outhouse, and Matt wanted to explore every inch of that incredible body. But getting her naked was going to be a challenge. She’d had so much experience fending off guys that she knew every trick in the male book of seduction. It was one of those ironies that a woman built for sex had chosen to become an ice maiden.
She sat down at the table and gave him a coy, knowing smile, as if she expected him to say something predictable. He was too smart for that. He needed to surprise her or he’d never make any headway.
So he decided not to play her at all. He’d simply be honest with her. And in that vein, he said, “You look gorgeous tonight. Did you pick that dress because it’s the same color as your eyes?”
She cocked her head and gave him a look. This was not the look of a woman who was buying what he was selling. “Do you always use that line?” she asked.
“It wasn’t a line. I’m trying to be honest and sincere with you.”
That earned him a laugh that lit a couple of tiny blue flames in her eyes. “Are you capable of being honest and sincere?”
“I’m always honest.”
“Really?”
He leaned forward, making extended eye contact. “I’m not here to break your heart. I’m here to buy you dinner, have a few laughs, get to know you better, and hook up with you if you’re interested. If you’re not interested, that’s okay too.”
She blinked. Score one for his side.
She recovered quickly and shot him a killer smile complete with adorable dimples. “I’m not hooking up with you. But dinner sounds good.”
She picked up the menu and studied it with an air of nonchalance that was about as phony as a three-dollar bill. He didn’t call her on it though. He simply sat back, took a sip of his beer, and enjoyed the view.
A moment later, the waitress came by. He fully expected Courtney to order a Manhattan, but she surprised him by asking for a beer and a cheeseburger.
He liked that. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone out with a woman who’d ordered a cheeseburger. It was a shame the way so many women obsessed about their diets and their hips sizes. Courtney wasn’t a skinny little thing. She had round hips and a tiny waist and that rack, which was enough to distract any straight guy. In fact, Courtney’s cleavage had been scoring looks right and left, which she completely ignored. He wondered if she even realized that she was the object of anyone’s admiration.
When the waitress took away her menu, he leaned in again. “So, how does someone become a wedding planner? I mean, did you study that in college, or did you get one of those useless degrees like a BA in English?”
She gave him another quelling look, which he richly deserved. But then he’d asked the obnoxious question precisely to elicit that response. She was beautiful when she glared like that. And he was a lot like the boy in the back row who couldn’t resist pulling the pigtails of the girl sitting in front of him. He found both joy and a weird kind of excitement in teasing Courtney.
“I’ve got a master’s of science in nursing. I’m a registered nurse.”
“No way? How did you go from nursing to wedding planning?”
“I burned out on nursing two years ago at about the same time Willow bought Eagle Hill Manor. I helped Willow plan Jeff and Melissa Talbert’s wedding and discovered I had a knack. When she offered me a job, I jumped at it. It can be stressful, and there are bittersweet moments, like that day Brandon left Laurie at the altar, but on balance, there are more good days than bad, and that’s more than I can say about working at the hospital.
“How about you? Did you want to study law, or was it one of those things you had to do in order to get your Lyndon family man card?”
He laughed. “Lyndon family man card?”
She shrugged, dimpling again. “As near as I can tell, the only male Lyndon without a law degree is your brother Daniel. And didn’t he go to law school for a couple of years too?”
“Yeah, he did. But you’re not counting Jeff. He doesn’t have a law degree, and I don’t think he ever went to law school.”
“Yes, but Jeff has refused to take the Lyndon last name, so he doesn’t count. He doesn’t need a Lyndon man card.”
“Okay, I can see your point.”
“So lawyering is your dream job, huh?” Courtney asked.
Wow, she wasn’t going to let this go. Should he change the subject? He wanted to, but he jettisoned the idea. She’d call him on it if he tried to deflect. So he continued being honest. “Funny you should ask that,” he said.
“Funny why?” she asked.
“Look, if you really want to know, I’m the one with the useless degree—a BA in political science. And when I expressed the desire to go into public policy or government affairs, my dad and my uncle Mark convinced me that I needed a law degree. So off I went to the University of Virginia, where I managed, barely, to get through the experience. When I graduated, Dad wanted me to join the family firm, but I decided that practicing law wasn’t for me. So I got a job working for Heartland Industries as a legislative representative.”
“What the hell is that?”
“It’s what they call an entry-level lobbyist. I became an expert in international trade policy because Heartland exports a shit-ton of tractors and other large farm implements. It was a fun job but it didn’t pay all that well, if you really want to know. I lived in a house with five roommates, all of whom were slobs.”
“Ah, so you’ve grown up and decided that lawyers make more money, huh?”
He shrugged. “No. Heartland closed its DC office and I lost my job. So I came back here and joined the family business, so to speak. I’m doing pro bono work for the moment.”
“Pro bono work? Really? You must be working with Arwen, then.”
He nodded.
“So tell me about some of your cases.”
She seemed genuinely interested, which sort of blew his mind. Usually his dates were interested in talking about stupid YouTube videos or whatever was trending on Twitter or Facebook. Courtney didn’t strike him as the kind of woman who wasted time on stupid social media. She was interesting. And interested in him. And beautiful to look at too.
Maybe he should thank Brandon for the bet. Whether he got her into bed or not, this evening was turning out better than expected.
Courtney glanced at her watch, surprised to discover that dinner with Matt had lasted more than an hour and a half. The warm, late-May sun had slipped behind the building, casting Winchester’s old town into twilight shadow, where trees permanently wrapped in white Christmas lights provided a festive, midsummer atmosphere.
Matt’s choice of the Union Jack had surprised Courtney because it wasn’t a very romantic restaurant. There were no white tablecloths here, no fancy sauces or high-priced menu items, although you could get bangers and mash if you were so inclined.
Hook-up Artists like Matt Lyndon operated under a set of rules that almost never varied. A Hook-up Artist would make a move on a woman, and once he confirmed her interest, he’d go for the dinner invitation. If she said yes, he would always interpret that as a prelude to sex. He’d pick the most expensive restaurant he could afford and then proceed to spend way more money than was absolutely necessary in order to make his date think he valued her.
Then he would mess with his date’s mind. He’d pick the one thing she felt most insecure about and compliment it. He might sneak in a few pet names like “darling” or “sweetheart” or “baby.” He’d ask questions and give all the appearance of being genuinely interested, but the next morning, after he’d left her bed, she’d suddenly come to her senses and realize that n
one of his questions had been about her. Not really. They’d been about surface stuff like her favorite color or recording artist.
Matt Lyndon had done none of those things. He’d invited her out to a moderately priced burger joint, had not used one term of endearment, and had spent a lot of time exposing his own insecurities with a great deal of good humor.
Right at the moment, they were sharing a piece of apple pie, and he was regaling her with a story about his experience arguing in a moot court competition.
“So, after giving my less-than-articulate oral argument,” Matt said with an adorable smile, “I returned to my seat while my co-counsel wrapped up our case. Unfortunately, one of the casters on my chair had mysteriously come out of its slot, and when I leaned back, I was unceremoniously dumped on my ass.”
He paused a moment to polish off the last bite of pie. “Needless to say, we didn’t win that moot court competition, and I had to endure a lecture from Judge Chapman about decorum, which I’m sure my father heard about, since the moot court judge is a law school buddy of his.” Matt sighed deeply and mournfully. “So you can imagine how I’m feeling at the moment about the prospect of having to argue anything before the Twenty-Sixth Judicial Circuit of Virginia, where Chapman is still a judge.”
“You’ll be fine,” she said, and really meant it.
“Yeah, I hope. To tell you the truth, I only went out for moot court competition because I knew I would never make Law Review, unlike my dear cousins, David and Andrew, who preceded me at UVA.”
He leaned forward, bracing his head on his fists. “Tell me, Courtney, did you ever take a pratfall in front of someone you wanted to impress?”
Damn. Matt Lyndon had game. He was pretending to be the Nice Guy Not, all interested in getting to know her insecurities while simultaneously telling her stories that showed him to be a humble guy with a sense of humor. She wasn’t fooled. She made a note of the judge’s name. She had a connection to that judge that Matt probably didn’t even realize. As for his question, she sure wasn’t going to expose any weaknesses that he could use against her at some future time.
Her most embarrassing moments had occurred in high school. And since she was probably ten years older than Matt and they’d gone to different high schools, she felt no need to expose her own stupidity for his enjoyment. Maybe if he were genuinely interested in her instead of trying to win a bet, she might reveal the nightmare of her teen years. But Matthew Lyndon didn’t need to hear about the geek girl she’d once been.
And besides, although she truly had enjoyed this dinner, she could never forget the way Matt had encouraged Brandon to go out cruising for women after dumping Laurie at the altar. So Courtney refused to be fooled by that easy Lyndon charm or those dark espresso eyes that reflected the twinkle lights at her.
The waitress came by and asked if they wanted another round. Courtney shook her head. “No. I need to be going. Just a couple of checks. We’re splitting the bill.”
“Um, no—”
“We’re splitting the check,” Courtney said a little more emphatically. She may have given him Nana’s evil eye at the same time just to punctuate the point. He squirmed for a moment, clearly outside of his comfort zone. A Hook-up Artist always paid the bill. It was his way of justifying the sex. As if a dinner was payment for access or something.
The waitress hurried away, and he leaned back in his chair, his brown-eyed gaze running over her from waist to head and back again, pausing at her breasts. The look was hungry, and damned if it didn’t unleash a torrent of hormones that made her nipples harden. She didn’t dare look down to see if they showed through the fabric of her dress. She wouldn’t give him that much satisfaction. Also, she had to continue the pretense that she had no interest when it came to his abilities in the bedroom.
Was he a Casanova or a Don Juan? Was he a man who loved making love or was he a complete libertine?
No, no, no. She didn’t need to satisfy her curiosity. She had accepted his invitation only in order to lead him on a merry chase. How long would he pursue her? A hundred dollars didn’t seem like enough of an inducement to make Matt work too hard. But then his bet with Brandon had to be about more than money. Brandon wanted revenge for the damage done to his Camaro, and Matt was one of Brandon’s good friends.
She could do this. In fact, right this minute, she was thoroughly enjoying the surprised and uncomfortable look on Matt Lyndon’s face. Confusing the crap out of him was going to be fun.
Chapter Three
Allison Chapman, one of Courtney’s brides, came in for a consultation on Thursday afternoon. They met in Eagle Hill Manor’s dining room to sample hors d’oeuvres for the wedding’s reception, which was scheduled for the third Saturday in June.
Every bride wanted a one-of-a-kind wedding, but some brides wanted more than that. Allison Chapman, the fiancée of a hedge fund manager and the daughter of a state circuit court judge, was one of those brides.
A Who’s Who of Virginia’s elite would be attending her reception, including Supreme Court justices, members of the state assembly, and a couple of US congressional representatives.
Money was no object because Erik, Allison’s fiancé, had more money than God. But money alone wasn’t enough because Allison wanted an assurance that her wedding would be absolutely perfect. But no wedding ever was. Something always happened at the last minute that required a workaround or a compromise. Given the inevitability of some small change in plans, Courtney fully expected Allison to have a gigantic meltdown on her wedding morning. Brides who obsessed over every small detail usually burned themselves out and never truly enjoyed their special day.
Courtney had given up trying to get brides like Allison to delegate some of the work. Instead she waited in the wings, providing advice and then swooping in to save the day when the inevitable meltdown occurred. “They also serve who only stand and wait” was one of Courtney’s favorite mottoes.
Today, Allison was in her element, passing judgment on the canapés while Antonin, Eagle Hill Manor’s chef, stood by surreptitiously rolling his eyes. Courtney made copious notes on her computer tablet—notes that Antonin would probably ignore on the day of the wedding.
“I think that will do it,” Allison said, nodding at Antonin and giving him a surprisingly sweet smile.
Antonin returned to his kitchen, where no doubt, he’d drop a giant expletive bomb. But only in French because his sous chef was a devout Baptist who frowned on profanity. Sometimes Courtney wished she could curse in another language.
She turned off her tablet and plastered the sweetest smile on her face. “I was wondering if I could ask you a question that has nothing to do with the wedding.”
Allison, an attorney at one of DC’s many law firms, gave her a probing stare. “About what?”
Courtney dropped her voice into a semi-whisper. “Well, to tell you the truth, it’s about this guy I know who told me he argued a case in moot court where your father was presiding. And I’m just trying to see if what he told me is true.”
“Well, Daddy does preside over moot court competitions. Who is this guy? And why are you so curious?”
“He told me a funny story, and I didn’t believe it. Something about him falling out of the chair and embarrassing himself.”
Allison’s jaw dropped, but not in a good way. Her expression was more horrified consternation than delighted surprise. “Oh my God, Matt Lyndon? You know him? Really?”
There was something snotty in Allison’s response. As if Courtney wasn’t important enough or pretty enough or something enough to actually know Matt Lyndon. Allison was a terrible snob, and Courtney truly disliked the woman.
“Yes, I know Matt. And you do too, apparently.”
Allison nodded.
“And the story he told was true?”
“Yes. It was true. And he was a total ass about it.”
“In what way?”
Allison picked up the glass of ice water on the table and took several long swallow
s, the pause clearly an attempt to calm herself. What was up with that? Had Matthew broken Allison’s heart? Maybe.
“He accused Daddy of sabotaging his chair,” Allison said in a slightly sneering tone.
“In court?” Moot court or not, Courtney didn’t think accusing judges was a smart thing to do.
Allison shook her head. “No, afterward. Look, Courtney, you should know that Matt and I went to high school together. And we were both at UVA for a while, and…”
Allison looked away and drummed her fingers on the table for a moment. Courtney found it difficult to read the emotion on her face. Was it annoyance, anger, sadness? “Matt Lyndon and I hooked up briefly in college,” she finally said in a hushed tone.
Oh. Yeah. Now Courtney understood. Allison was another one of Matt’s victims. Courtney didn’t like Allison much, but she felt a certain solidarity with her. She covered the bride-to-be’s restless fingers with her hand and gave a squeeze. “I understand.”
Allison pulled her hand away. “How could you understand?”
Courtney didn’t know what to make of Allison’s surprised tone. Maybe she just didn’t want to revisit the past, which was understandable mere weeks before her wedding.
“Believe me, I do understand. And you don’t have to worry about him anymore. I’ve got a plan for him.”
“What? What kind of plan?” Allison seemed truly agitated.
“It’s still evolving at the moment. But trust me, when I’m done with him he won’t know what hit him.”
Later that day, Courtney and her assistant, Amy, strolled into Willow’s office on Eagle Hill Manor’s third floor, where once a bevy of servants had lived, back when the house had been home to a wealthy family. The servants’ quarters were spartan, so the office space was small and cramped. But Willow’s office had a gorgeous antique desk, which her husband had given her as a gift on their wedding day. The desk gave Willow’s office a certain kind of formality that was lacking in the space Amy and Courtney shared.
