by Meg Maguire
He smiled. “I dunno, either. So don’t give it another thought. I’m ready if you want a ride over.”
“If you’re sure.” She glanced at his alarm clock. “You’ll be stuck standing around a lot.”
“Same as I’d be doing here.”
She crooked her elbow and Mercer linked it with his. This was how it might’ve felt if they’d been together long enough to attend a wedding as a couple. Mercer shut off the apartment lights behind them, hand on her lower back the entire trip down the stairs and out to the car.
* * *
JENNA WISHED SHE could hold Mercer’s hand on the short ride to the waterfront hotel, but sadly his old sedan was a stick, and Boston driving involved constant shifting.
She stole glances at him in the streetlight, trying to remember a time when his face had been that of a stranger’s, when his unusual features had intimidated her, instead of endearing her as they did now. Trying to remember a time when she’d pictured her dream guy as clean-cut handsome, with a nice car and an impressive income, a master’s in something. How foolish she’d been, to think those things factored into manhood.
She was proud to cross through the upscale lobby with him, arm in arm with the most wonderful man she’d ever met. And the last man whose heart she’d have chosen to break, had she gone into all this knowing what she did now about him, about her father, about the gym her neighbors—and indeed Jenna—had been so quick to condemn.
Lindsey had brought her party clothes and makeup with her, volunteering to get changed at the hotel so she could keep the decorating and organizing under control. By the time Jenna and Mercer arrived in the function room, all that was missing were guests and music. Jenna waved at Lindsey, who’d changed into a skirt and sweater and boots, the outfit keeping her more firmly on the professional side of the fence than Jenna’s choice.
“Did I dress too much for a party?” she asked Mercer.
“It is a party.”
“But I’m working.”
He laughed. “You’re also giving an introduction speech, during which I imagine you’ll mention that you own the business.”
“Yeah, true.”
“So don’t panic. You look like a woman who knows how to attend a cocktail party and get respectful attention from men.”
“Right. Good.”
Lindsey finished talking to the man behind the DJ’s table and crossed the hardwood floor. “Hey, guys. You look great, Jenna. You too, Mercer.”
“Hey yourself,” Jenna said. “You’ve been busy since I ditched you to change.”
“Yup. Oh and I found that clipboard and the name badges. They were hiding under a spare tablecloth.”
Jenna sighed her relief. “Excellent. I’m going to be on door duty to start, so I can introduce myself as people arrive. Then I’ll ask you to take over when Tina and I are doing the welcome spiel.”
“No problem.”
Lindsey led them around to ask Jenna’s opinion on table placements, lighting, decorations. Mercer seemed to take everything in with detached interest, gaze darting with the scouting precision of a fighter—or, for this evening, a security guard.
“Looks great,” he finally said.
“Really? To a guy, even?”
“Sure. Not too girlie, not too schmoozy. Not too stuffy, like an office party. It’s nice. Kind of relaxing, with the lights all dimmed. Gives it that bar-feel, makes a guy feel like he’s on the prowl. Or whatever the non-seedy word for prowling is.”
Lindsey grinned. “That must be good, right?”
“What time is it now?” Jenna asked, digging for her phone. “Oh God, it’s six.” Only an hour until showtime.
“I better go down to the lobby,” Mercer said. “I’m meeting Rich there to chat with somebody from the hotel’s personnel about emergency procedures.”
Jenna stood on her tiptoes to accept Mercer’s kiss. “See you soon.”
“Don’t forget to breathe,” he whispered, and headed for the door.
“When’s Tina coming back?” Lindsey asked. “Oh—never mind.”
Jenna turned in time to see Mercer holding the door for Tina, who’d gone to her room to change into a simple-but-chic gray skirt suit. If she recognized Mercer from their introduction that afternoon, she didn’t show it. She crossed the floor and clasped her hands, beaming as if it were Jenna’s wedding day.
“Ladies,” she said warmly. “One hour till game time.”
“If it makes sense to you,” Jenna said, “I thought I’d do the greeting-people-and-handing-out-name-tags thing until maybe seven-thirty, give people time to trickle in, then we can do the welcome speeches?”
“Sounds perfect,” Tina said. “Wonderful centerpieces, by the way. Great icebreakers.”
“The cards were Lindsey’s stroke of genius,” Jenna said.
Lindsey dismissed the credit with a wave. “Oh—that’s my bartender,” she said, glancing across the room. “I mean, the guy I always hire when he’s free, not my personal bartender. I’ll get him set up and introduced to the waiters.”
She disappeared, leaving Jenna and Tina to look around the space. Jenna wondered if this was how a bride felt, gazing around her reception hall, hoping her guests would have a good time.... Well, a bit different, since her romance wasn’t at the center of the festivities. A sad thought dragged her down. This evening, and indeed this business, could mark the start of any number of people’s love stories, but it was kicking off the demise of her own affair.
Tina patted her arm. “Don’t worry. Just have fun.”
“Yes, thank you. I’m sure I will.”
Jenna puttered for a half hour, making sure everything was as it should be. She lit the candles on the tables and windowsills, annoyed the DJ by jogging to every corner of the room and double-checking the speaker volume. Mercer and Rich entered at twenty to seven. With the exception of the freshly stitched gash beside his eye, Rich looked as if he belonged at a GQ cover shoot in his black slacks and a dark, pressed shirt pinned with the promised security badge. A dark purple shirt, Jenna noted. Lindsey swept over, digging in her purse. Jenna approached as she began to dab foundation on Rich’s cut.
“It’ll help,” Lindsey insisted.
He raised an eyebrow, wrecking her touch-up. “You’re practically albino—it’ll look ridiculous.”
“It’ll blend. It’s better than a flesh wound. There.” She snapped her compact closed.
“What’s the flirtation policy?” Rich asked Jenna, with a whip-fast glance at Lindsey.
“Flirting is fine,” Jenna said. “It’s a flirty event. Feel free to make my female clients feel charming and attractive. Just, you know...”
“Don’t poach,” Mercer said.
Jenna nodded. “Flirt and flatter, but do please steer them toward the actual attendees.”
Rich nodded. “Will do.”
“One of us will loiter by the door to start, while you’re signing people in,” Mercer said. “Then once the party’s under way, Rich and I will probably just wander, looking for trouble, asking the bartender if anybody’s been making themselves too familiar.” He glanced around the room as Lindsey fussed with the dimmer. “Though I’ll be shocked if you wind up needing us. If anything, you’ll need chaperones. This whole room’s like one big invitation to make out.”
“Especially those booth things,” Rich said, pointing to the three half-curtained alcoves along one wall, each with wrap-around cushioned benches and candlelit tables.
“That’s why I picked this room,” Jenna said. “Thought they’d be perfect if people hit it off and wanted a quiet place to talk.”
“And exchange numbers,” Rich said. “Or fluids.”
She rolled her eyes. “The curtains don’t close all the way. And if a few people swap numbers without actually signing
up for the service, they’ll still associate Spark with this party. Leaving them with a great impression of the business and the other clients is the most important thing.”
“Jenna, I think your first guests are here,” Mercer said.
“What? Oh God.” She looked to the door and he was right—three women had arrived, dressed to mingle, and were looking around the room. Jenna hurried over.
“Hello! Are you ladies here for the Spark mixer?”
They were, and Jenna found their names on her list and their tags. “You’re our first arrivals, so feel free to grab a glass of something and enjoy the atmosphere. We’re recommending a two-drink maximum, just so you’re aware.”
She ushered them into the room then dashed to the DJ’s table to get the music going. And all at once, it was a party.
At least half the guests arrived on time, and Jenna and Tina manned the door, getting everyone’s names checked off and tags handed out. Jenna panicked for the first ten minutes, as the women streaming through the door vastly outnumbered the men. But the guys began showing up soon enough. As predicted, they were lousy at following RSVP directions and several had brought along buddies, so the gender balance was quickly evening out. Luckily, Jenna’s list included the names of everyone she’d invited, not only those who’d confirmed.
A sharp-dressed man arrived solo, and she scanned the list for his name.
“I’m sorry, Todd, I’m not seeing you on here.” She frowned her apology.
“I heard from a friend about the party.”
“Oh, well, it’s invitation-only.” Not just to make Spark seem more exclusive, but to keep numbers manageable and discourage crashers. “Is your friend here? What’s his or her name? As long as they’ll vouch for you, that’ll be fine—”
“I thought I’d surprise her, actually.”
Something in his voice made Jenna uneasy, but Tina swept in.
“I’m sure it’s fine to make an exception, just this once.” Tina’s tone made it plain that a guy as good-looking and nicely dressed as this one was welcome to party-crash. “I think Lindsey packed some blank name tags.”
“She did, yes. Sorry.” Jenna found him a tag and wrote his name in silver to match the other guests. “Welcome, Todd. Enjoy the party.”
More and more guests arrived, and soon the chatter and laughter was drowning out the music, just as Jenna had hoped it might. Lindsey interrupted at seven-thirty, taking over greeting duties so Jenna and Tina could do the welcome at a podium set up in front of the DJ’s station.
Heart hammering, Jenna waited for the music to fade, then turned on the microphone.
“Welcome,” she said, pleased when a few people replied with friendly good-evenings. “Thank you all so much for coming tonight to help us kick off the grand opening of the Boston branch of Spark, the Northeast’s leading traditional matchmaking service.”
She waited for the polite applause, smiling out at all the faces. Everyone looked as hopeful and eager as she felt.
“I’ll keep it short and sweet. My name is Jenna Wilinski, and I’m the owner and head matchmaker for Spark: Boston. This is Tina Maxwell, one of the original founders of Spark and my benevolent boss, and the lovely young woman in the red sweater now standing by the door is another matchmaker, Lindsey Tuttle. If you have questions about the service, feel free to ask any of us. We can also help get you signed up, and if you choose to do so tonight, your first month’s membership will be fifty percent off.”
Murmurs of intrigue—music to Jenna’s ears.
“But basically, we just want you to enjoy a drink or two on us, meet some great local singles and have fun. So, welcome!” She beamed out a final smile and handed the mic to Tina. Jenna didn’t absorb much of what Tina said. She was high on adrenaline, thrilled by all the people who’d turned out, hoping to find romance tonight. Best job in the world.
Before long Tina’s opening remarks were wrapped and the music started back up, the scariest bit of the evening suddenly over.
“You did wonderfully,” Tina said as they made their way through the crowd, introducing themselves to guests and answering membership questions.
“I was afraid I’d start stammering, but that was fun. Like making a wedding toast.”
Jenna smiled at Mercer as their paths crossed. He wrecked his stoic act to give her a smile and thumbs-up.
“Thanks,” she mouthed.
“He looks so familiar to me,” Tina said.
Jenna kept her lips zipped. It didn’t bother her one bit if Tina didn’t recognize Mercer all dressed up. They continued to circulate, then Tina went to relieve Lindsey of door duties so she could enjoy mingling as well.
After a half hour of pleasant chatting, a sound jerked Jenna’s head to the side—the high, shallow pitch of fear.
“Oh my God, it’s Todd,” a petite woman said to her friend.
“Shit. How did he know you’d be here?”
“Facebook, probably.”
“Oh, Rachel.”
“Did he see me yet? God, I have to go.”
“Excuse me,” Jenna said, butting in. “Is something the matter?”
“It’s my psycho ex,” the woman named Rachel said, pointing to the well-dressed, uninvited man Tina had allowed in. He was chatting to a woman at a table near the entrance, but his gaze was unmistakably drawn in Rachel’s direction every few seconds. “He must have seen online that I’d be here.”
“Is he dangerous?” Jenna asked, an easy, cool calm dropping over her to quiet her nerves.
“Not dangerous,” Rachel said. “But he’s pushy and controlling and he’ll make a scene if he sees me talking to any— Oh God, I just made eye contact with him.”
“Don’t panic. I’ll take care of it.” Jenna managed to catch Mercer’s gaze and drew him over.
He met her a few paces from Rachel and her friend. “What’s going on?”
“There’s a man here who’s upsetting one of these women. Her ex-boyfriend. Of the apparently psycho variety. Would you stay with her, make her feel safe, offer to call her a cab and escort her out if she’s afraid? She’s the one in the polka-dot dress.”
He looked over Jenna’s shoulder and nodded. “Sure. What about the guy?”
“I’m on it. I’m going to smooth things over if I can, but Rich is by the door if the guy won’t leave without a fight.”
“Be careful.”
She touched his shoulder. “I will. Thank you.”
She crossed the floor, staring right at Todd, filled with assertiveness for her mission. Rich was nearby, and the change in his posture indicated he knew something was amiss. He gave her a look and she shot one back, telling him to stay on the alert.
“Excuse me,” she said to the woman Todd was talking to. “I’m Jenna, the owner of Spark: Boston?” There were cursory introductions then Jenna said, “Would you forgive me if I stole Todd away from you for just a moment?”
The woman politely wandered off and Jenna dropped her charming act.
“There’s a woman here who’s very upset that you’ve come.”
Todd sighed, utter petulance. “She’s such a drama queen. We dated, we broke up, and she just can’t get over that.”
“She’s not the one who conned her way into her ex’s plans, so I’m not entirely believing your side of things,” Jenna said. “But your being here is making her uncomfortable, so I’m going to ask you to leave.”
“This is a public event,” he said, and his breath suggested he hadn’t adhered to the drink maximum.
“No, this is a private event,” Jenna said. “Invitation-only. And she was invited, not you.”
“Well, she invited me, then,” he said, pointing at Tina across the room.
“And I own this business and I’m uninviting you. You’re upsetting my guest and I�
��m politely asking you to leave.”
“And I’m politely declining.”
“Then I’m going to have you politely removed by security.” She jerked her head and Rich walked over.
“Problem?”
“I was invited,” the guy said. He tapped his drink to his name badge, splashing himself with his martini. “You can’t make me leave.”
“Bet you I can,” Rich said, crossing his arms.
“Professional, please,” Jenna whispered.
“I assure you I can,” Rich corrected in a studious tone.
“Go ahead and try, Rent-a-Cop.”
Rich blinked and Jenna cringed. Bad enough he was here as a favor to her. Now he was getting insulted by a drunk and not even getting paid for it.
“I’m a black belt,” the drunk guy went on.
Rich grinned. “Are you, then?”
Jenna felt panic setting in. She needed the levelheaded mercenary, not the hot-blooded one. “Rich, switch places with Mercer.”
He gave her a look, his parade clearly rained on.
“Now.”
He shot the guy a sneer and left to fetch Mercer.
“So,” Jenna said, stalling. “You know one of my other guests?”
“Oh yeah, I know that bitch. And trust me, you don’t want her in your little dating club. She’s a heartless slut!” He shouted the final two words and Jenna felt spittle fleck her face. Her blood came to a boil. Nobody wrecked her party and upset her guests.
“Okay. That’s enough. Get out right now, or I’ll call the police.”
Mercer arrived, face stony.
“This man needs to be escorted off the premises,” Jenna told him. “And if he gives you any trouble on the way down, have hotel security detain him and call the police.”
“What?” Todd said, feigning outrageous indignation.
“You heard her,” Mercer said, taking the guy by the upper arm.
He thrashed out Mercer’s grip, his drink splashing across Jenna’s dress. Charming.
“Rachel,” he yelled. “Rachel!”
He seemed poised to make a run for his ex, but Mercer grabbed his wrist and twisted his arm up behind his back.
