His eyes narrowed. “It’s going to drive me crazy trying to figure this out.”
Please, god. Don’t let him figure it out.
Henry’s phone rang and Veronica shot him a withering look. “Sorry, honey, this is the call I’ve been waiting for.” He apologized and stepped away, but I could hear him chatting from the other side of the room.
“Yeah… it’s completely okay,” he said into the phone. “Veronica and I are meeting with a wedding planner, Luna Faye.” I watched Henry stiffen as he listened to whoever was on the other side of the call. “That’s it! I thought I recognized her.” Henry turned, and his narrowed eyes landed on me.
Damn. Damn. And double damn.
I got busy showing more flower arrangement ideas to Veronica, but I already knew what was coming next.
“You’re her,” he spat, stepping between me and his future bride as if needing to protect her from me. “Luna Anderson, right? Fuck it. I don’t believe it.”
“Henry! Language. You know how I hate vulgarity. Consider our future children.”
He grabbed Veronica’s hand. “I’m not letting her organize our wedding.” The pointing commenced, and I bowed my head and squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for the verbal bullets to explode across my chest. My stomach sank.
“Here we go again,” I whispered, unable to help myself.
“What is going on, Henry?” Veronica wrung her hands together, in complete distress as Henry continued to be inappropriate in my receiving room. “You’re embarrassing me.”
“She’s the witch who ended Thorn Edwards’ career. Star fucking catcher until she got her claws into him,” Henry growled. “She’s the Runaway Bride. I knew I should’ve checked deeper into the reviews of the wedding planner you selected. Ever heard of Yelp? If I bring it up right now, I bet this bitch has a negative star rating.”
I opened my eyes and exhaled. No matter what, I would not cry. My tears of pain had dried up months ago.
“Miss Faye, I’m sorry for my fiancé’s–”
“Yeah, she dyed her hair trying to trick people, just like she tricked him.”
I lifted my fingers to my natural color, the color I’d gone back to after I left Thorn. You’d look so much hotter as a blonde, he’d said until I’d caved and brightened it. It was one of the first things I did after I’d crawled out of my cave of fear. Going back to my true self.
“Henry, I–”
“We’re leaving,” Henry said and grabbed the underside of Veronica’s arm. He wrenched her from the sofa. “I’m not gonna sit here and take advice from a two-bit whore. According to Thorn, she’s fucked everyone from Brainerd to Albert Lea.”
I clenched my jaw and didn’t reply. This had happened to me with almost every couple I’d seen in the last year. Maybe it’d never end. I’d be the Runaway Bride wedding planner who’d ruined Thorn’s career for the rest of my life.
I shrank in on myself.
“Let’s go.” Henry dragged his fiancée from the room. “She cheated on him. She cheated on the Thorn Edwards multiple times. And because of her, the Twins lost their bid for their fourth World Series. You should move out of the state, season wrecker. Better yet, move out of the country. Or Earth.”
Silence fell. I stared at the half-eaten slice of cake and the untouched coffee. The good stuff from Lund’s I’d wasted on them.
The front door slammed. Yelling sounded outside – Veronica demanding answers, no doubt. A car started, and the Porsche screamed off down the street, past the front windows of the meeting room.
The tick-tock of the grandfather clock against the wall reverberated through my soul.
Out of money. Out of time. Out of luck, and for sure, out of love and hope.
Chapter 2: Corban
I opened the door to the Twins’ locker room at Target Field and scanned the room. Fucking carnage. My assistant appeared at my elbow as if he’d materialized out of thin air. Jeffrey’s expedience was the only thing that had gone right today. Besides his penchant for extreme organization, I just plain liked the kid.
“I called as soon as I saw it,” Jeffrey whispered, his eyes dancing around the room with a seeming inability to focus. “I don’t understand how this happened, Mr. Drake, I swear. The instructions were clear.”
“Where is she?” I asked and halted on the blue carpet, patterned with interlocking circles in navy and sky. Three tan leather couches sat in the center of the room, around a low coffee table. The players’ cubbies were empty, as were the black leather armchairs in front of them.
Everything would look normal to a visitor off the street, unless they were fans of the Twins.
“I don’t believe it,” I muttered.
Three carts stood a foot from my position, loaded with the gourmet cuisine my company, Unique Corporation, had produced through a first-rate local caterer. As head of Global Marketing, I’d been chasing the Twins, and their private concession stand needs ever since the groundbreaking of Target Stadium. The catering needs were as unique as the field itself, and I’d used that in my pitch to the team’s front office execs, bringing it home by promising that Unique would be just that.
I’d finally nailed them down for a single event as a test project. If we passed this with flying colors, we’d land the entire account, a multi-million-dollar deal. One that would make my career. Shoot me straight to the top. With a flawless execution, I’d finally get that promotion to VP of Product Branding with the Twins as our main account. Visions of a corner office with floor to ceiling windows and my own mini bar danced in my head.
Until Jeffrey pointed a finger in the direction of the catering carts and snarled, his lip curling over his bleached teeth.
Not only had the caterer flubbed the proposed Maine crab cake entrees one of the players had specifically requested, she’d somehow managed – fuck, I couldn’t even handle thinking about it. She’d managed to decorate the tables, the carts, and the serving station with every piece of Milwaukee Brewers merchandise available in the Tristate area.
I was born and raised in St. Paul, and that meant I’d grown up supporting the one and only baseball team. Our freaking awesome boys of summer. Like most athletic and energetic kids, I’d fantasized about becoming one of them, but a fastball off the glove of a powerful eighth-grade pitcher that landed straight on my nose had cleaned me of that desire. Even though the plastic surgeon had fixed it to the best of his ability, I still had a slight dent only visible under fluorescent light. To my dad’s dismay, I’d never played again, content to watch from the safety of the sidelines. These days, my athletic pursuits involved the golf course and pick-up basketball at the gym.
“She’ll be here in a minute, Mr. Drake,” Jeffrey said and hovered in place like an oversized fly, his glasses perched precariously on the end of his nose. I didn’t want to swat the guy, but man, I could murder a session at the gym right now. It would have to wait for later while I tried to pick up the remaining pieces of my career.
I’d have to book in a week’s worth of time with the punching bag to kill this frustration.
Not only did the Brewers’ merch look unsightly as fuck, but it offended me right down to the roots of my Minnesotan soul. Fuck the Brewers. Their starters couldn’t pitch their way out of paper bag.
I straightened my suit jacket and kept my cool, checking my watch. I had to fire the caterer and find another one who’d be able to organize the carts for the team before their game with the Yankees. It was crunch time, but I got the feeling I was the one being compressed into a human accordion.
The door to the locker room opened, and Jolene thumped into the room, the caterer’s wedges denting the damn carpet. She halted beside the first cart and looked down at it. She grimaced at the Brewers logo on the front of one of the glasses.
“Jolene,” I said.
She swallowed and met my gaze, looking like I’d just asked her for the carcass of her first-born. She brushed her hair back and tucked it behind her ear. “Mr. Drake.”
“
What’s going on here?” I asked, even though it was damn clear what the fuck was going on here. She’d slacked off. She’d put my account with the Twins in jeopardy with her blatant lack of attention to detail. “Where are the Maine crab cakes, and why for the love of all that is holy, did you order Brewers merchandise?”
“It was a simple mistake, Mr. Drake,” she said and snapped her mouth shut.
Simple mistake? Maybe you should take a job as Teddy Bridgewater’s assistant, and you can decorate his office in green and gold, bitch!
“Start talking,” I growled as I pictured Teddy standing in the midst of a Green Bay Packers themed room. Even though my heart begged me to cut her some slack, I couldn’t see any viable excuse for such a bone-headed move. I’d spent the start of my corporate career trampling on people on the rung below me and hating it. I wasn’t an asshole, and I hated firing people, but if I had to do it to keep things running smoothly, that was what I’d do. My career came first.
“My crab supplier backed out. They couldn’t get the shipment to me in time,” Jolene said. “Obviously, we couldn’t serve nothing. I had to improvise. Men love red meat so I thought the Prime Rib would be our best bet after the supplier issue.”
Forgivable if she’d contacted me beforehand and asked for an alternative dish for the plethora of treats we’d planned on serving to our boys in pinstripes.
“And this?” I picked up a napkin and flashed the Brewers logo at her.
“It was a mix-up with the uh, mlbshoporama.com website. They apparently have some new customer service reps working on large accounts. I, uh, that’s all. Just a mix-up. Look, I can get more of the stuff for this weekend if I pay to have it express shipped. You just gotta give me–”
“No,” I said and dropped the napkin to the carpet. “Take your merchandise and the mock up menu and get it all out of here. Everything.”
The panic was evident in her eyes. “Mr. Drake, it was an innocent mistake.”
I raised my chin. “Out, Miss Laverne,” I said, keeping my voice low so I wouldn’t scream. “This isn’t acceptable. I like you, but I can’t look past this. It’s too important to Unique to leave anything to chance.”
She scrambled to escape the room, but her face didn’t contain a hint of remorse. She hadn’t apologized once, and instead of real solutions, she’d presented excuses. Her bizarre behavior reeked of sabotage. But who? One of my lazy but still jealous colleagues?
“Shit,” I said and checked my Breitling. “I’m late. Jeffrey, would you make sure this gets cleaned up and placed in the recycling bin, please? Better yet, pack it up and ship it to the Children’s Hospital of Milwaukee as an anonymous donation. I don’t want to see any of this stuff again. It makes me want to hurl.”
“Yes, sir,” Jeffrey said and hurried after our fired caterer to get straight to work removing the offensive swag.
I had about twenty minutes to get to my buddy’s house for lunch. Since both of us had been so damn busy with our budding careers, we hadn’t taken the time to catch up. I’d already canceled on him once this month, and guilt was riding me hard and fast.
I’d just gotten back from an extended trip to Japan. And boy, I’d had enough Miso soup and sushi to last me a damn lifetime. I had a good old-fashioned hankering for something uniquely Minnesotan. Pan-seared walleye.
I made tracks out of the locker room and the ass end of Target Field and got into a waiting town car. My chauffeur took the address, and I sat back for the ride. I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed for deliverance from the corporate devils and gods who hovered above me, their lips pursed and their evil eyes sparkling with mirth.
I’d fucked up.
Sure, Jolene had fucked up, but I’d done it by extension. This was my account, and I alone was responsible for everything that happened under my watch. I should have had Jeffrey check up on the order. Inspect the invoices with his eagle eye. But I’d just trusted her like some rookie intern. Jeffrey had done the background checks, and I’d just gotten off the plane when I’d taken this on. I’d rushed it.
I was used to pressure though. The jet lag must’ve clouded my mind. Or maybe, I’d been working too hard and too long.
“Chin up, asshole,” I muttered.
“We’re here, sir,” the chauffeur said.
I opened my eyes and hustled out of the car. “Thanks, Lou. Take the rest of the day off. I’ll catch a cab back to the office, all right?”
“All right. Thanks, Mr. Drake.”
“Aw, Lou, for the thousandth time, just call me Corban. Corby if you like. No, I’m kidding on that one. Don’t call me Corby. You’ll sound just like my big brother, and the last time he called me that, he dipped my head in the toilet for breaking his Nintendo 64.”
Lou grinned at me and tipped his hat. The car took off, and I rushed up the front stairs to the sprawling home in front of me. The guys wouldn’t have believed me if I told them my best friend lived middle class and worked at an estate agency. They were stuck-up pricks. I enjoyed the good life, but I was just as comfortable downing a Big Mac in my flip-flops as I was eating filet at Murray’s in a designer suit.
I rapped on the front door.
“He’s here,” Larissa yelled from inside the house.
“Hell, yeah. He’s here!” Ross replied. The lock snapped back, and the door swung inward. “There he is.”
“Bro!” I tugged him into a bear hug.
We’d gone to college together, pledged the same fraternity, and man, he was like a second brother to me. Some days, I loved him even more than my annoying sibling.
“Bro,” Ross said and rammed his palm on the back of my suit jacket.
“Bro alert.” Larissa stood in the hall, beautiful as always and decked out in an apron. She rolled barefoot. Whenever I had the chance to visit them, I’d find them both like this. Happy, in love, and down to earth, chilled people. All at once, every ounce of anxious energy left my body.
“Man, it’s good to see you two again. And today of all days,” I said and pulled back from the man hug. I swept past my buddy and pecked Larissa on the cheek. “Damn, it smells good in here. What’s cookin’, good lookin’?”
“Hey, lay off the wife, you old perv,” Ross said and clapped the door shut. “She’s mine. Find your own. If you can.”
“I made burgers and fries,” Larissa announced. “I know it sounds bland–”
“Are you kidding? I’m a huge fan of red meat.” Anything to wipe the taste of raw salmon from my memory right along with missing crab cakes.
We bustled through to the kitchen, and I plonked down at the small square table in its center. “You won’t even believe the story I’m about to tell you.”
“Rough day?” Ross asked and sat down across from me, pulling the tab on a can of beer and handing me my own.
“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll get everything,” Larissa said, her lips pursed into an oval shape. She landed a hand on one saucy hip.
My buddy lurched forward to help out, and his wife burst out laughing.
“I’m kidding,” she said. “You’re so easy.” She bumped him with her hip and sauntered over to the counter where three plates had been laid out. “I know you and Corban haven’t had a chance to catch up in ages. This is guy’s night, and I’ll be the willing third wheel.”
“Got you on a tight leash there, bud?” I asked.
“You have no idea,” Ross replied and winked at his girl. “But why the rough day? What’s going on?”
I ran all ten fingers through my hair. “I’ve got a major screw up on my hands. I’m supplying the Minnesota Twins with gourmet food for a fundraising event. I get this down pat, and I get the promotion. The one I’ve been gunning for over the past three years. International flights and all that shit.”
“That’s great,” Larissa said and placed a plate in front of me, loaded with food. She slid one into place in front of Ross next.
“Yeah, so what’s the problem?” Ross asked.
“Well, the caterer I hired t
o do the damn thing outfitted the locker room in Brewers’ paraphernalia. The only reason I’m not strung up in center field with a noose around my neck is because Jeffrey caught it before it could go viral.”
“No shit.”
“No shit.” I snarled down at my burger, imagining it was the caterer’s face as I took a huge bite. I chewed hard and fast. “Needless to say, I need someone to handle this for me, but I don’t have any idea where to start.” I gobbled a fry and sighed. “I’m fucked, basically. Any good caterer is booked years in advance. This is a shit storm of epic proportions. I can basically kiss my ass and my corner office goodbye.”
Larissa sat down and put a plate in front of herself. “No, I don’t think so. I might have the solution.”
“What do you mean?”
Ross and Larissa exchanged a glance. He slurped down some soda from a glass. She chewed on the end of a fry.
“Wanna walk me out of the dark?” I asked.
Ross gave an incremental nod.
“One of my very good friends is an event planner, Luna Faye. She’s exceptional. On top of that, she’s a trained chef and very well connected in the event planning space. She’d be able to help you out.”
“Before the charity event?”
“That’s right.” Larissa held up a finger. “Hold on a second. Let me get my phone, and I’ll call her.” She pushed back from the table, then rushed from the kitchen, apron strings trailing in the air behind her.
“This Luna woman is that good?” I asked.
“She’s the best,” Ross replied. “Seriously, you can trust our opinion on this. She organized our wedding. Larissa still talks about how it was an exercise in sheer perfection.” He winked and then bussed me on the shoulder with his fist. “Of course, mainly, she was referring to the perfection of the groom.”
“You’re a dipshit,” I said. I’d been out of town at the time they married, and I swear Ross still hadn’t forgiven me for it. Now, I almost wished I’d been there for the dollar dance and the tossing of the garter so I’d know for sure that this Luna woman could remove the sling from my aching ass cheeks.
Wasted Vows Page 3
