Special Delivery (Always Satisfied Book 5)

by Lauren Blakely

  Her green eyes seem to twinkle, maybe with surprise. “You did?”

  I nod, owning it. “Didn’t expect that, did you?”

  She purses her lips, then shakes her head, like she’s reining in a smile. “Really? But still, you don’t have to compare me to top athletes.”

  “Why not? You’re top in your field. And want to know what else I learned when I looked you up?”

  “Maybe . . .?”

  I point at her, at this gorgeous, confident, kind woman standing beneath a string of icicle lights on a New York street corner. “Your clients love you. The things they’ve said about you in reviews are terrific. You should be proud of what you’ve built.”

  Her smile is as wide as the city block, as bright as the Christmas lights in the shop window. “Thank you. I’m completely flattered.”

  “I was impressed.” As we resume our pace, I rattle off more of what her clients said online. “I cannot even begin to express how happy I am that we hired Quinn. That was one. She’s thorough, organized, calm, and an utter delight. And another said, The party was amazing, thanks to Quinn. Also, she’s naturally festive.”

  “I can’t believe you found all that,” she says softly. A faint blush sneaks across her cheeks as we turn onto the next block.

  “Am I embarrassing you?”

  She shakes her head, her eyes widening. “No. It’s just sort of . . . unexpected. I don’t think I’ve ever been complimented on my business by someone—”

  She cuts herself off, and I’m not sure how she was planning on finishing that sentence, but I’m sure of what I want her to say—by someone I’m interested in.

  That’s the problem.

  Try as I might to deny and resist, I want her to feel the same unexpected attraction to me as I do to her.

  I want her to grab my shirt, meet my gaze with fire in her eyes, and say, You know what, Vaughn? You’re great, and I’d like you to take me home tonight and make sure I’m nowhere this year but on the naughty list.

  And I’d reply, Consider it done.

  Then on Monday, I’d give her brother a courtesy heads-up. That’s how you do these things. If you date your business partner’s sister, you let him know.

  But that’s not what’s happening.

  Instead, I return to the topic of work, hoping it will return the focus to the reason we’re here. “How did you wind up in event planning? Is it because—wild guess—you like to plan?”

  She shakes her head. “I like making people happy. Parties and gatherings usually do that. That’s what I love—I want to bring the feel-good factor to the lives of others.”

  That doesn’t help my situation. Because her answer makes my heart thump. I like it too much. “You’re the opposite of a process server, then. You bring good news.”

  She laughs deeply, reaching for my arm again. “I suppose if I really wanted to deliver happiness, I should have been a stork.”

  Now I crack up. “That’s a good gig, I’ll bet.”

  When we reach the swank restaurant, we focus on the mission and check out a private room in the back. The decor is sleek and modern, a vivid contrast to the last place.

  She sweeps her hand to showcase the room, once again in planner mode. “It’s simple but elegant. And if you want a holiday theme, we can set up a few small trees and decorate them, or simply hang wreaths and other seasonal decor on the wall. Also, since you mentioned fun drinks and food, I think you’ll like this idea I have. What if we did a hot chocolate bar and a cookie-decorating station? You said you want your clients to be able to bring their kids and family. This space is ideal for it.”

  I mime an explosion with my fingers. “Stop. That’s too perfect.”

  Her smile ignites. “You like it?”

  I tap my chest. “Well, for me. We can do the hot chocolate bar solely for me. Forget about the clients.”

  “Got a little sweet tooth?”

  I hold up a thumb and forefinger. “Just a tiny one.”

  “Then I insist on the hot chocolate bar.”

  “Insist. Please.”

  She points to the far wall. “Right there. I can see it now.”

  “What I see is a hot chocolate taste-test in my future.”

  She nudges me with her elbow. “Shh. That’s on tomorrow night’s agenda.”

  Tomorrow night.

  My ears perk up. Hell, everything perks up. Are we having a tomorrow night?

  But now isn’t the time to ask. She turns around, taking in the spacious room. “I bet the acoustics here are good too. Imagine how Nat King Cole would sound crooning ‘The Christmas Song.’”

  “You can’t go wrong with chestnuts roasting on an open fire.”

  A happy sigh falls from her lips. “But I also love ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.’ Even though that song is kind of sad. Confession: I play that year-round when I’m feeling blue.”

  “What happened the last time you played it?” I ask, curious what would get this cheery woman down.

  She waves a hand, dismissing it. “Oh, it was nothing. Not worth mentioning.”

  Crossing my arms, I go all gruff badass. “Nope. It’s not nothing. Who is he and should I kick his ass now or later?” I mean it as a joke, but I hate the thought of some guy hurting her. Despise it, in fact. “Did someone hurt you?”

  She swallows and looks away briefly, then back at me. “My ex, when he left me to get back with his first wife. But it was a year ago, and I’ve been focused on business since then. I don’t think about him, and I’m not sad anymore.”

  “Good,” I say emphatically, stepping closer to her. “Because he doesn’t deserve you.”

  She lifts her chin, eyeing me curiously. “Why do you say that?”

  “Any man who’d walk away from you doesn’t deserve you.”

  She licks her lips then says softly, “Thank you. That’s kind of you to say.”

  “I’m not saying it just to be nice. I’m saying it because it’s true.” I don’t know how I’ve gotten here, so close to telling her I think she’s fantastic, especially since I have no idea whether she’s on the same page as me.

  But something about Quinn—hell, everything about her—just does it for me.

  Her humor, her honesty, her bright outlook.

  And another thing about her—us—that works for me is our chemistry. We seem to have a certain connection. It’s come on quickly and taken me by surprise.

  I should hit stop but instead I open up and take a dive into the ex waters. “I haven’t played a sad song since things ended with my ex either.”

  She narrows her eyes and raises her fists. “Want me to go pull her hair and scratch her eyes out?”

  I laugh, loving the tigress in her. “Nah, it’s all for the best. I’m happier without her. Things ended months ago. She was more interested in my wallet than me.”

  Her lip curls and she issues a disgusted ugh. “She’s the one missing out.”

  There’s a glimmer there of something that perhaps I was seeking after all—the hint that this is a two-way street.

  “I’ve been all about work since then too. And I’m better off without her.”

  “I’m better off without him,” she seconds, a smile teasing at her lips.

  We echo each other even in talking about our pasts. This feels all too right—the honesty, the openness, the admissions.

  “Then there’s no need to play a sad song,” I add, “even though that’s a damn good tune.”

  She leans a little closer, her shoulder brushing mine. “It is a good song. But it’s no ‘Frosty the Snowman.’” Her laugh is a little flirty, and hell, do I like that sound.

  “You can’t go wrong with Frosty,” I say as she reaches for her phone and taps a few buttons, then the opening notes of the tune begin to play.

  “It’s official. We’re playing only happy tunes at the party, we’re getting a Skee-Ball machine decked out in holly, and we’re having a hot chocolate bar.”

  She grabs my arm, squeezing
it, and all I can think is Oh, this is what we’re doing? We’re already touching each other? Merry Christmas to me.

  “I love literally everything about that. But we have one more place to check out.” She wags an admonishing finger at me. “Don’t think you can cut the night short.”

  I gaze into her lovely green eyes, pretty sure that I’m already a goner for her. “The last thing I want to do is to call it a night before we have to.”

  “Then don’t,” she whispers.

  I’m hanging on to resistance by a thread, and a part of me doesn’t care why I was resisting in the first place.

  We leave, and I have a feeling I do have her number now, and I want to keep it. The question is, what the hell am I going to do about that?

  7

  Vaughn

  What am I going to do? The immediate answer is go.

  As in, go to the third location.

  We snag an Uber to take us to the Upper East Side. I open the door to the black Lexus, and as she slides in ahead of me, I’d like to say my gaze doesn’t linger on her skirt, or her legs, or her boots.

  But that’d be a lie.

  I can’t take my eyes off her.

  I can’t stop wondering how she smells, what kind of sounds she’d make if I touched her, if her hair would be as soft in my hands as I imagine.

  “One more place,” she tells me, sounding a bit wistful, as if she doesn’t want the night to end. “Maybe the third time’s a charm.”

  “I’d say the first two have been pretty damn charming.”

  “You sure know how to make an event planner feel like a rock star. I’ve never had a client who liked all the places I’d scoped out.”

  “First time for everything,” I say as the car lurches down the street. “But what’s your prediction, Miss Loves-to-Plan? Do you think the last one will shock, awe, and wow us?”

  She taps my thigh. This woman is quite handsy, and I love it. “It only has to wow you.”

  “No way. I want you to be impressed. You’re the expert. So, what do you think? Will this be the winner?”

  She draws a deep breath, teasing as she says, “I don’t know. Maybe I was taking you to two mediocre places, wanting to blow you away with this last one.”

  I narrow my eyes. “Ooh, so you’re a tricky event planner.”

  “Of course. I used the old super-sneaky save-the-best-for-last trick.”

  “That is so sly. Maybe I need to get you a spandex T-shirt with an S logo for Christmas.”

  Her lips curve into a sneaky grin. “I’ll peek under the tree.”

  “Just act surprised, then.”

  “I can definitely do that,” she says, looking oh so satisfied. Then her tone turns questioning. “Vaughn . . .?”

  “Yeah?”

  Her voice is earnest, a little vulnerable, even. “Here’s the funny thing. My brother said you’re pretty easygoing, and I never entirely believe it when someone says that. But you are. And it’s funny because I always thought of you as pretty intense when you played football.”

  This catches my attention. “You watched me play?” I can’t help a warm glow of pride. I was damn good on the field, and I like knowing this incredible woman enjoyed my games.

  She shoots me a look. “Uh, yeah. Hello. Big-time football fan here. And I might have played a little fantasy football back in the day.”

  “I was your lucky charm, right?” I ask with a wink.

  “No, I traded you,” she deadpans.

  I groan and clutch my heart where she just stabbed me. “Oh, the anguish. I’m utterly devastated.”

  Laughing, she nudges my elbow. “Just kidding. Actually, I picked you up for a small amount, and you were definitely an outperformer.”

  I blow on my fingernails then buff them on my chest. “It’s always good to exceed expectations.”

  “Right? I’d rather surprise people than disappoint them.”

  “And you said you hated surprises.”

  “I hate being surprised,” she explains. “I love surprising others.”

  “I’ll make a mental note to always give you an unmissable heads-up about everything.”

  “Yes, please do that. But don’t distract me—we were talking about you. I remember you having this intensity when you played. You were like a tiger, ready to pounce,” she says as the car pulls up at our destination.

  We step out and head toward the entrance of a trendy boutique hotel.

  “Honestly, that’s one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said to me,” I tell her. She glances curiously at me as we walk. “The pouncing thing. That’s truly what I aimed to do every time I was on the field.”

  “Do you wish you still played?”

  I sigh heavily, a small pang in my heart. “For a few seconds when I think about it.”

  “Like now? Because I can see it in your eyes.” She stops in front of me, gesturing to my face. “There’s a hint of sadness.”

  “Hey now, I’m not a sad guy.”

  “I know that. I can tell already. But it’s also okay if you miss something you loved madly.”

  “You don’t devote two decades of your life to something if you don’t love it deep in your bones.” My emotions are close to the surface as I say it, but then I hold up my hand and give a moving on wave. “Most of the time, I’m simply happy I was able to do it at all. And I love, absolutely love, what I do now, especially since I’ll be tasked with expanding the agency into Florida. I’m opening the Miami offices early next year.”

  “That’s fantastic. That’s such an important area to be in, with so many pro athletes in Florida.”

  “Exactly, plus my sisters are there, and my mom and dad. To say I’m excited about this next phase of my career would be an understatement.”

  She hums thoughtfully as we resume walking. “So, you reinvented yourself, and you’re good with it.”

  “Exactly. I loved playing, but the ACL tear also gave me a chance to find something else I love doing. I’m lucky that way. I can’t change things, so why wallow in regret? I’m simply glad I was able to play pro ball for the three years I did. It’s a career most people just dream of having.”

  We reach the lobby doors and I open one for her. “That’s such a refreshing attitude,” she says as she goes in and I follow.

  I shrug. “It’s the only thing we can control. How we see things. How we respond. So, I choose to have a good attitude. And that’s what makes me tick,” I wrap up as we walk past the concierge. She nods hello to someone she must know well, but we continue on. “What about you, Miss Party Planner? What makes you tick, besides exhaustive research and meticulous planning?”

  “What makes me happy in my job, you mean?”

  “Just life in general. What’s your jam?”

  She mulls over the question, and a little smile quirks up the corner of her lips. “I do love people. Getting to know them, talking to them. I love music and sports and concerts. I like to look up the set list in advance so I know what order the band will play their songs.”

  I pretend to be shocked. “Wait. The Quinn picture is coming together. You peek at presents and you want to know what’s coming next in a set list. I bet you look up the endings of movies too.”

  As we stroll down the hallway, she shoots me a side-eye, like the answer is obvious. “Of course I do.”

  “If I took you to see a comedian, would you watch their videos on YouTube beforehand?”

  It sounds like I’ve asked her on a date, I realize. And I’m suddenly aware, too, that I should. Not just hypothetically. But an actual date.

  Besides, I take off for Florida in less than two months. Maybe I can pull off an entanglement with limits. Like a cheat day on a diet. Then I’ll return to the regimen after the binge.

  “Of course,” she answers as I marinate on that possibility.

  “And it wouldn’t bother you to know the jokes in advance?”

  “God, no. I’d love it.” Her nose crinkles adorably. “Is that weird?”

>   “No, it’s kind of cute.” It is and she is, and I should not enjoy this so much.

  But I do.

  And I don’t want our time together to end, so I entertain the cheat day option even more.

  She flashes me a smile, one that makes my blood heat. This woman. She is weaving her way under my skin and into my head in record time.

  We reach the event room, and as soon as we step inside, I hold out a hand. “Stop.”

  She spins and meets my eyes, a question in hers. “What is it?”

  “It’s perfect. You are on the take,” I accuse playfully.

  She wiggles her brows. “Guilty as charged.” But then she clasps her hands together. “Do you really like it?”

  I look around, taking in the room. I’m not an expert, but it feels like the perfect venue. The size is ideal, and the brick walls seem warm and welcoming. Plus, it’s pre-decorated with blue-and-white lights and a couple of wreaths. It feels like our firm—classy, fun, and never ostentatious.

  “I do. And I dig that it’s decorated.”

  “Is there anything better than Christmas decorations?”

  I let out a long, low whistle. “As long as they don’t go up in July.”

  “Wait. Is there a secret Christmas past you’re hiding from me?” she asks, her tone drenched in curiosity.

  I set a hand on her arm and take a deep breath. “We’re going to need a drink for this conversation.”

  “Then I’d say it’s time for cocktails, since I don’t want to call it a night yet.”

  And I might be falling.

  Oh hell, who am I kidding?

  I’m falling so damn fast.

  8

  Quinn

  We head for the hotel bar, snagging a quiet booth in the corner where we park ourselves on a royal-blue cushioned couch and order.

  After the waitress brings two vodka tonics, Vaughn takes a deep breath then runs his hands through his dark hair. “All right. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Are you ready?”

  I nearly bounce on the cushion. I’m dying to know. “Tell me, tell me, tell me.”