One More Night
One More Night
Jennifer McKenzie
With this fling… Wedding planner Grace Monroe has her own happily-ever-after all figured out. She even has a five-year plan for getting there. But Owen Ford can't be part of it–no matter how attractive she finds him. Owen isn't the marrying kind. Even if he was, he doesn't have the qualities she's looking for in a husband.But resisting Owen is impossible–and one night of passion isn't nearly enough. Yet expecting more isn't an option, either. Grace needs to end things and get back to her plan. She's looking for Mr. Right, and Owen can only ever be Mr. Right Now…
With this fling...
Wedding planner Grace Monroe has her own happily-ever-after all figured out. She even has a five-year plan for getting there. But Owen Ford can’t be part of it—no matter how attractive she finds him. Owen isn’t the marrying kind. Even if he was, he doesn’t have the qualities she’s looking for in a husband.
But resisting Owen is impossible—and one night of passion isn’t nearly enough. Yet expecting more isn’t an option, either. Grace needs to end things and get back to her plan. She’s looking for Mr. Right, and Owen can only ever be Mr. Right Now...
Owen rattled her.
He didn’t check any—well, okay, he didn’t check many—of the boxes on her future husband list, but Grace still wanted him. But to what end? Was he looking to settle down? In a year? In five years? Did he want kids or a dog? But these weren’t the kinds of questions to ask when they hadn’t even been on a real date. Talk about getting ahead of herself.
Owen leaned forward. “I think we could have some fun together.”
They could. “I’m not looking for fun,” Grace told him. She planned to treat her love life with the same meticulous care that she ran her business. “Dating someone is serious.”
“It’s supposed to be fun, too.” He reached out and placed his large, warm hand over hers. “Tell me you’ll think about it.”
Dear Reader (#u69848c76-d197-5492-8fa9-2ede113db198),
It’s hard to be the middle child, or at least that’s what I learned from The Brady Bunch. For Owen Ford, it’s the struggle to be more than the filling in the sibling sandwich and find his own place and his own space. Lucky for him he’s got Grace Monroe in his corner. Even when she doesn’t want to be.
I hope you’ll enjoy spending a little more time with the Ford family. I know I did.
If you’re curious about the music I played and the actors I pictured while writing the book, visit my website, jennifermckenzie.com (http://jennifermckenzie.com).
Happy reading,
Jennifer McKenzie
One More Night
Jennifer
McKenzie
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
JENNIFER McKENZIE lives in Vancouver, Canada, where it rains. A lot. Which means she gets to purchase many pairs of cute boots without guilt. She spends her days writing emails, text messages, newsletters and books. When she’s not writing, she’s reading or eating chocolate and trying to convince her husband that it’s a health food. He has yet to fall for it. Visit her on the web at jennifermckenzie.com (http://www.jennifermckenzie.com).
This book is for my uncles who have stolen my socks for fun, thrown me like a football for fun and read my books for fun. I won’t name any names...oh, wait. For Brian, Ken, Rick, Dan and Jens.
Contents
Cover (#u68ac6a14-34e8-5280-a3df-e6ff0e73a2a0)
Back Cover Text (#u5dcff6d7-de09-5201-830d-14d57ae8e13f)
Introduction (#ud6aa5813-38bc-5775-ac47-4ae7ce447ee3)
Dear Reader
Title Page (#u80eb917d-183d-5173-b732-dd23e3dbdcef)
About the Author (#ud740c955-2a87-57ff-80ab-42a3e14676cd)
Dedication (#u8d7560d2-faec-5e08-9f98-92b5dd5839c4)
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#u69848c76-d197-5492-8fa9-2ede113db198)
OWEN FORD SAT in Elephants, one of his family’s wine bars, enjoying the cool reprieve from the July afternoon and the opportunity to do nothing. It seemed over the past few months he’d done nothing but work, work, work. And then work some more. He’d recently taken on a larger role in the management of Elephants, trying to show that he was ready for more, ready to add one of the family’s other properties to his responsibilities. But so far, Elephants was where he remained.
Owen had been surprised to find he didn’t actually hate the work. Something that had shocked him as much as everyone else in the family. In fact, as he leaned back against the tufted padding of the booth in the bar he knew and loved, seeing his accomplishments filled him with a sense of pride.
Though it was only three in the afternoon, Elephants was already half full. People who’d slipped out of the office a bit early, summer tourists—anyone looking for a respite from the hot sun. And Owen knew the rest of the seats would fill up in the next hour as people got off work and looked for a little slice of relaxation after a hard day.
Owen knew he wasn’t solely responsible for the bar’s success, but he was part of it. It felt good knowing that his suggestions had been implemented and that they worked. He hoped to introduce similar changes at the other properties owned by the family company, the Ford Group, which included three wine bars and one fine dining establishment, but his older brother, Donovan, had been dragging his feet. Both about setting up a meeting and listening to any of Owen’s suggestions other than those for Elephants.
Owen tried not to take it personally. Donovan was recently engaged and the new owner of a property he planned to turn into a gastro pub, the first in a string that would dot the Vancouver landscape. But Owen had hoped the fact that Donovan was busier than ever would encourage him to put more on Owen’s plate. He’d proven he could handle it with Elephants. And yet, his brother seemed loath to allow further changes.
But he didn’t need to think about that now. At this moment, all he needed to do was order something to eat and something to wash it down with.
He smiled at the pretty server when she swung by to take his order. The old Owen would have done more than smile, would have flirted outrageously with the promise of taking it somewhere later, but the new Owen was an upstanding businessman who had learned to keep a bit of distance between himself and the staff.
Still, that didn’t stop him from responding to her joke with one of his own when she returned with his meal. It was merely being friendly. Owen didn’t want to become a therapist for the employees, but he’d discovered that his innate interest in people created a special bond, one that made them want to please him, want to do well.
The tension in his lower back, put there by all the nights he spent on his feet, slid away when he cracked open the water bottle—he never drank on-site, not even when he was off duty—and sucked down a long sip. Nothing like a cold drink on a hot day to make a man appreciate the good things in life. Owen sat back and sipped again. And then his phone rang.
He sighed loudly when he saw the name on the screen. Donovan. Knowing the call would be work-related, Owen wasn’t comfortable letting it go to voice mail. He was still trying to prove to Donovan that he was serious about this new leaf he’d turned over and refusing to answer the phone would do little to help that, so he forced the irritation down and answered with a polite greeting. “Owen Ford.”
“Owen, I need a favor.”
Of course he did. And wasn’t it just like Donovan to call during his downtime. Owen stifled the thought. It wasn’t as if Donovan didn’t work hard, too, and he couldn’t possibly know that Owen had just sat down to eat. “What’s up?”
“I need you to take a meeting for me. With the wedding planner.”
“What?” Owen pulled his cell phone away from his ear and looked at the screen as though that would somehow explain the ridiculous request. But the screen only stared back at him, giving him the option to mute, switch to speaker mode or other useless choices. He brought the phone back to his ear. “Are you kidding? Where are you?”
“Stuck in Calgary.” Donovan had gone to meet with a possible new supplier, but he was supposed to have been back this morning. “Which is why I’m calling.”
Owen shook his head. He was so not the wedding type. “So call Julia and reschedule.” Julia, Donovan’s fiancée, wouldn’t be happy but that was Donovan’s problem, not his.
“Don’t you think I’ve tried that? I can’t get hold of Julia at home or the restaurant.” Julia was the executive chef of the fine dining restaurant in the Ford Group, which was how she and Donovan had met. “She’s not answering her cell phone.”
“She probably forgot to charge it again.” Owen sighed. Julia rarely answered her phone. He didn’t know why she even had the stupid thing, since it was always either off or dead. “So call the planner and explain the situation.” He had things to do—like eat a juicy burger and spend his afternoon relaxing.
“How well do you think that will go over with Julia?” Owen knew the answer to that, but again not his problem. “Look, if you’ll just do me this one favor, I’ll schedule that meeting to talk about your ideas.”
Owen paused. “Really?” Because he had a lot. All of them winners in his opinion.
“Yes.” Donovan sounded harried now.
“All right. Do I have to fill in on the day of, too? Or will you manage to show up?”
Donovan snorted. “As if. You’re not the marrying kind.”
Owen might have been insulted, except he’d had the same thought not a minute before.
Donovan rattled off directions to the wedding planner’s office, which was within walking distance from the bar, and told Owen to make sure he wasn’t late.
“I’m not going to have to look at color samples or anything, am I? Because I don’t want to get blamed for choosing the wrong shade of pink.”
“No choosing required.” The relief in Donovan’s voice was evident. “And tell Julia that I’m sorry and to charge her phone.”
“Should I kiss her, too?” Owen and Julia had their own friendship beyond her engagement to Donovan. Not that it included kissing, but if Owen was going to be forced to attend a wedding-planning session in his brother’s stead, he was going to take the opportunity to poke at said brother.
“Not if you value your life.”
“I could take you,” Owen said. It was an instinctual response. One borne from years of being the little brother. The second-best brother. “But I value my good looks too much.” And that was instinctual, too. The desire not to fight, but to go along to get along.
Donovan laughed. “I owe you one.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be sure to collect.”
They talked for a few more minutes, Donovan giving him instructions on how to find the wedding planner’s office again as if he’d forgotten already. By the time he hung up, Owen had only a few minutes before he had to leave in order to make it to the meeting on time. He took another long swig of water and mourned that he no longer had enough time for his burger. But the promised discussion with Donovan was worth it. He’d miss a lot of burgers to get the opportunity to show Donovan that he was ready for more responsibility than simply managing Elephants.
He flagged the server and explained that he had to go and to cancel his order, then he tried calling Julia just in case she picked up. The only answer he got was the mechanical voice telling him her inbox was full.
So much for that bright idea. He wiped down the table and left a tip at the bar for the server—just because he owned the place didn’t mean the servers shouldn’t be compensated—then stepped out into the hot July afternoon.
He wasn’t dressed for a meeting of any sort, but decided against going home to change even if he’d had the time. Why should he? This wasn’t his meeting, and he didn’t feel like putting on pants and a dress shirt. He’d have to change later for work, but until then Owen was content to stay in his khaki shorts and Green Lantern T-shirt. They were clean, which would have to be good enough.
The sun beat down on the back of his neck, making little beads of sweat rise up along his hairline. He was glad to reach his destination, the frosted-glass front door adorned with elegant black script. Grace Monroe Weddings.
Classy. Elegant. Boring.
Owen pushed open the door and stepped into the cool, hushed environment. He blinked as his eyes adjusted from the bright sunlight outside, smiled when he saw the young female receptionist at the long glass desk. The carpet was plush, the walls were icy blue and there was a glittery chandelier that provided a low, comforting glow.
“Hi.” He strode forward, hand out. “I’m Owen Ford. I’m here for the Ford-Laurent three o’clock meeting.”
“Of course, Mr. Ford.” The receptionist shook his hand politely. She wore a wide fabric headband in black velvet and a pale gray dress. With her pale blond hair and light-colored eyes, she suited the style of the office. Owen couldn’t help but wonder if that was why she’d been hired. It was almost as though she’d been cast in the role, the perfect front woman. “I’ll let Ms. Monroe know you’re here. Can I get you anything while you wait? Water? Coffee? Tea? A glass of champagne?”
Since Owen hoped to stick around no longer than it took to give Julia Donovan’s regrets, he didn’t see the point. “I’m fine, thanks.”
He took a seat on the dark pink L-shaped sofa that stretched along two walls. It was the wildest thing in the place, which didn’t say much. He drummed his fingers on his knees while the receptionist escaped through a pair of black doors into the back. He hoped Julia would show up before he had to go back there, too.
She didn’t.
“Mr. Ford?” The pretty receptionist reappeared, a small, polite smile on her face. “If you’ll come with me?”
He didn’t see that he had a choice. He pushed himself to his feet and followed her through the doors. The back space was identical to the front. Black-and-white wedding photos lined the hall. Other clients smiling at the camera in long white gowns and black tuxes. He recognized plenty of local sites. The Hycroft mansion, Cecil Green Park House at the University of British Columbia, the VanDusen Botanical Garden. He even recognized a couple of the faces. No one he knew well, but there was an old pal from high school and a liquor distributor for the restaurant. Poor suckers.
Still, he supposed they looked happy enough in the photos and at least he wasn’t the one getting married.
The receptionist showed him into a small boardroom. The table was jet-black and glossy. No sign of fingerprints, cup rings or anything to mar the smooth surface. Padded white chairs circled the table. There was a small sideboard displaying water bottles in neat lines, a small espresso maker, demitasse cups and a china teapot. An assortment of flaky pastries, small side plates and linen napkins sat beside them. “Ms. Monroe will be along in just a moment. Is there anything I can do for you?”
“I’m fine,” he told her again. Or he would be as soon as he got out of here. He still had a low-level fear that he’d somehow be coerced into giving his opinion on fabric or colors or some other wedding detail that he wouldn’t know was a big deal until he gave the wrong opinion. Perhaps Donovan’s delayed flight wasn’t wholly accidental.
“Please help yourself to anything.” The receptionist gestured to the sideboard before clasping her hands in front of her. “We’re a full-service boutique, so just let us know if there’s anything we can do for you.”
“I appreciate it.” Owen remained standing after she left. No point in taking a seat as he’d be on his way soon enough. Instead, he studied the photos displayed on the walls. More locations he recognized, though he let his eyes skitter over those, uninterested in the bouquets and dresses. He stopped on a photo of a couple in front of a pond. It wasn’t flashy. There was no arbor of roses above them or a brick windmill for storied ambience. It was just a pond backed by a forest of tall evergreens. The couple wasn’t wearing the traditional white and black and there wasn’t an explosion of roses in her hand. She wore a casual dress that reached her knees in a floral pattern, while he was in cotton pants and a loose white shirt. They were looking at each other, just a tiny upturn to their lips, as though they were sharing a secret joke. As though they were the only two people there.
Which, Owen supposed, was how it should be.
The click of the door handle interrupted his perusal and he spun, turning on his smile as he did.
“Mr. Ford.” The woman who walked through the door was cool and blonde. She could have been related to the young receptionist. She wore a cream-colored suit and a lilac dress shirt and her pale hair was twisted back, not a strand out of place. Owen suspected no strand would dare to break free of the neat updo. Not if it wanted to live to tell about it. “I’m Grace Monroe.”
He moved to take her proffered hand, expecting it to be as cool and stiff as everything else in this place. Like a marble statue, beautiful to look at and smooth to the touch, but lifeless.
He was wrong.
Her fingers were warm and soft as they wrapped around his. He couldn’t help stroking his thumb across them, appreciating the velvety surface. Her eyes were dark blue, like the sky just before the sun dipped below the horizon. They widened at him again when he smiled.
She pulled her hand free, quickly and crisply, like the way she walked. “Can I offer you a beverage?”
What was it with these people and the offering of beverages? Did he look dehydrated? “No, thank you.” But he did take a moment to secretly drink her in. The smooth lines of her suit, hiding and covering everything beneath. He wondered if her skin beneath was as warm as her hand. He wanted to reach out and touch her again, but she moved away, stepping around him to lay a folder on the glossy table.
He caught the waft of her scent as she passed. The bright pop of grapefruit and the sharpness of mint. Clean and fresh. “Will your fiancée be joining you?” she asked.
“Oh, I’m not the one getting married.” Owen realized she’d misunderstood who he was. A miscommunication from the receptionist. From him. Perhaps he should have been clearer, since he did share the groom’s last name.
“I see.” Her cool eyes landed on him. “Then who would you be?”
“The brother of the groom.” He took a half step toward her just to see if he could get a whiff of her perfume again.
She raised an eyebrow at him. “And you would be here because?”
“Because my brother was unable to make the meeting and he asked if I’d come in his place.” Suddenly, the thought of leaving as soon as he’d arrived didn’t sound quite so appealing. Owen smiled at her. “Perhaps it was fortuitous.”
“How so?”
“Well, if I hadn’t come, then I wouldn’t be able to ask you out.”
“Mr. Ford.” Grace’s eyes went frosty. “This is a place of business and I do not date clients.”
Owen blinked. He’d been rejected before. Not often, but it had happened once or twice. “But I’m not a client. I’m the brother of a client.”
“Close enough.” Her fingers twitched and Owen saw her nails were painted the same pale pink as her lips. She opened her mouth, but whatever she’d been about to say was cut short by a knock at the door.
“Ms. Monroe?” The pretty receptionist entered the room. “Ms. Laurent is here.”
The frosty film in Grace’s eyes disappeared and was replaced by a look of polite welcome. “Thank you, Hayley.” Grace greeted Julia warmly, showing a spirit of effervescence that took Owen by surprise. Not quite the cool Ice Queen she tried to portray. The dichotomy intrigued him. It had been a long time since a woman had intrigued him.
“Owen?” Julia’s brow furrowed when she spotted him standing there. “What are you doing here? Where’s Donovan?”
“His flight was delayed.” Owen glanced at Grace, who was watching him with no hint of that effervescence. “And he couldn’t get in touch with you to let you know. He roped me into coming in his place.”
“Did he?” Julia couldn’t hide her grin. “How much did that cost him?”
“Just his undying gratitude.” Owen included Grace in his cheerful explanation. She didn’t smile back.
“Well—” Julia’s voice drew his attention “—I appreciate you coming, Owen, but don’t feel obligated to hang around. I’m sure you have something else to do.”
Owen continued to look at Grace, who stared at him, a small pout on her lips. Clearly, his leaving would be no skin off her back. “Actually...” He sent her his most charming smile. He’d crack her facade if it killed him. “I think I’ll stay.”
CHAPTER TWO (#u69848c76-d197-5492-8fa9-2ede113db198)
GRACE COULD FEEL irritation and something else burn up the back of her neck and warm her cheeks. This man, this charming, flirty, handsome man in his casual shorts and cartoony T-shirt, with his hair mussed and flip-flops on his feet, unsettled her. She didn’t like being unsettled.
Raised by a pair of unconventional hippies on Salt Spring Island, one of the Gulf Islands off the coast of BC, meant Grace was well aware of how unsettled life could be. It was something she’d fought against her whole life, longing to fit in, to be like the families she saw on TV sitcoms with parents who were married, who set rules for their kids and expected them to work toward well-paid white-collar careers. Instead of scrounging in the dirt on the family’s organic farm and saving her pennies to buy the glossy magazines her mother claimed were rife with material consumerism.
Grace breathed in slowly. The room was an ideal seventy-two degrees, which felt cool in the summer season. She reminded herself that after today she wouldn’t have to put up with Owen Ford again. That this wedding, like all her weddings, would find its rhythm and settle into the detailed and organized plan she’d create for it.
Really, Owen was a good reminder to her and everyone on her team that there was no fraternizing with the clients. Not with the wedding party, the family or the guests.
It was a hard-line policy, but one Grace felt was necessary. Weddings were ripe for sexcapades. Alcohol flowed, bodies pressed against one another on the dance floor, while everyone was groomed and dressed to look their best. And with the cultural overtones that were wrapped up in the idea of a wedding night, sex was on the brain.
Grace expected her staff to rise above all of that, and to ensure her events stayed classy and professional no matter what. Amorous couples were dispatched to conduct their business in private. Grace had personally caught guests going at it in the garden, in the bathroom and in the limo booked to whisk the newlyweds off at the end of the night. In all cases, she’d politely interrupted and suggested the couple in question might prefer to take their activities to a more private location. Like the bank of hotel rooms she always booked for her events.
She had a feeling she’d need a suite of rooms for Owen Ford.
The moment that thought entered her mind, Grace pushed it away. Owen’s personal amusements were none of her business. She was here to plan a wedding, not worry about what kind of problems the brother of the groom might cause. There would be plenty of time to worry about that once the location was selected, the cake ordered and the flowers chosen.
“Let’s discuss basics, Ms. Laurent.”
“Oh, please, call me Julia.”
“Call me Owen.”
Grace forced a polite smile she didn’t feel. “Of course, Julia. Please call me Grace.” She purposely didn’t look at Owen, keeping her attention focused where it should be—on the person getting married. “You said during our initial phone call that you’re thinking about a winter wedding. Did you have a specific date in mind?”
Julia talked about the quiet time in the restaurant industry and how she and her fiancé hoped to take advantage of that. Grace listened with both ears, but kept an eye on Owen. He looked too casual, too comfortable. And who came to a business meeting, even if it wasn’t his business, in shorts and flip-flops? Would it have killed him to put on a pair of pants and some closed-toe shoes?
“So January?” She returned her gaze to Julia. She was going to be an easy bride. Grace could already tell. None of the barely suppressed nerves or the tightly wound personality that some of her brides had.
They discussed a few options. Day or evening. Hotel or private venue. Indoor, outdoor or a mix of both. The number of guests. Their proposed budget made it clear that money wasn’t going to be an issue. No, any difficulties were going to come from availability and desire. Grace flicked another glance at Owen, who hadn’t added much to the discussion. He’d just sat there.
She felt the burn rise back up her cheeks when she saw he was looking at her and closed her leather notebook with a delicate flip. “I think we’ve got a good start.” She started a new book for each wedding she planned, filling the pages with notes and pictures on anything and everything. The wedding party, engagement parties, photographers, the dress, the food, every detail that might arise and plenty that didn’t.
Grace’s business offered full-service wedding-planning services and that meant she handled everything no matter how big or small. Though she’d started her own business just four years ago, she’d been in the industry for nine, honing her skills at larger, more established event-planning companies before branching out on her own. She’d already carved out a niche. The wedding planner for those who wanted style and class, traditional elegance.
She was expensive, but then so were her results. But her clients got what they paid for. Every detail was exquisite, every movement planned and prepared so that the whole day was a magical experience.
“I’ll come up with some prospective plans and send them to you and your fiancé. Perhaps we can schedule another meeting next week to discuss them?” Grace liked to move quickly. Although winter weddings weren’t nearly as popular as summer or spring, the best locations always booked up quickly and often months or years ahead of time. She didn’t want to get caught flat-footed on what was sure to be one of the biggest weddings of the season.
She’d manage the media attention, too. She had contacts at the papers, reporters who would be all too happy to feature a pair of local celebrities and their splashy event. Or she could bar them, keeping photos and attention directed elsewhere to allow the bride and groom privacy.
“And please let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you,” Grace said. She’d learned over the years that keeping in regular contact with her clients was the best way to manage any surprises. This way there were no last-minute bombs dropped that she couldn’t negotiate.
“Absolutely.” Julia stood, pushing her dark hair off her shoulder. “Thank you so much, Grace. I’m really looking forward to this.”
Grace was, too. Not just the wedding day, but the deeper meaning behind it. Grace could always tell which brides were about playing princess and had been planning their wedding since they were six and which were motivated not by the ceremony, but the future it represented.
She smiled, feeling Julia’s happiness wash over her. This was why she did it. To know that she had a hand in creating a happy day that would hopefully lead to a long and happy future. A future she wanted for herself. And one she planned to start working toward now that her business was more secure and didn’t require her to work quite so many extra hours.
“I’ll see you out.” Grace was conscientious about not excluding Owen from the conversation, much as she might like to. She led them down her “hall of fame,” where she displayed the photos from her favorite events, walking slowly, allowing them to pause and study the black-and-white prints. The reaction often gave her a solid base from which to start.
Did the bride halt in front of garden photos or rocky cliffs? Did her eyes widen at the clean lines of a regimented wedding party or the scattered cluster of bodies? The photos often gave the couple ideas, as well. Most times, they specifically referred to a photo or two during their second meeting.
Grace noted Julia’s pauses, the hesitation by the cityscapes. Rooftop patios with the buildings laid out below them. Night shots where the streetlights twinkled in the distance. Good. Very good.
But she didn’t feel quite so good when she glanced at Owen. His eyes were on her rather than the pictures. Grace swallowed and kept her gait steady.
She didn’t expect him to study them. Not exactly. He likely would have no say in the choices made, but she didn’t expect him to gawk at her, either. She longed to fiddle with the cuff of her suit jacket or straighten her skirt, but that would betray the uncertainty writhing within her and she wouldn’t do that.
Instead, she took long, slow breaths, the way she’d learned in her Pilates class. The deep and full inhalation and the complete exhalation. It was meant to cleanse and invigorate and Grace generally found this to be true when she was in class. The long, lean bodies stretched around her, each of them working to reach the same goal. But now, she just felt light-headed.
She was glad when they reached the lobby and the safety it provided with both her new hire, Hayley, and the front door.
“Grace, thank you again.” Julia turned with a warm smile and took Grace’s hands in hers. It didn’t surprise Grace, the extra touching. She made connections with her clients—they were entrusting her with one of the most important days of their lives and a connection was natural. But Julia’s sincerity did.
“It’s a pleasure.” Which was pretty much what she said to all her clients, but this time she meant it. “I’ll be in touch by the end of the week.”
But while Julia moved toward the frosted-glass front door that led out to the sidewalk, Owen didn’t follow. Grace felt her molars clamp together, but she made certain there was no other physical indication of her unsettledness. “Mr. Ford? Is there something I can assist you with?”
“I think I forgot something in the boardroom.”
Grace held her tongue. Waspishly asking what that could possibly be wouldn’t win her any points. Not with him, not with Julia, not with Hayley and not with herself. “Of course. I’ll show you back.”
“You go on ahead, Jules,” Owen said to his sister-in-law with a friendly wave. “And tell Donovan he owes me.”
Julia laughed as she pushed the door open and stepped out into the summer afternoon, but Grace didn’t feel like laughing. Or smiling. Exactly what was he on about now? She knew he hadn’t forgotten anything. He hadn’t been carrying anything when he’d arrived and he’d placed nothing on the table or the chair.
It embarrassed Grace that she knew this with such certainty as it meant she’d been watching him, paying close attention even when she hadn’t wanted to. “Exactly what are we looking for?” she asked as they walked back down the hallway to the boardroom.
He didn’t answer until she pushed open the door and he followed her inside. Grace had always loved her boardroom. The round, shiny table, the padded chairs that had been selected for comfort as well as style, the dove-gray walls and crystal chandelier. It wasn’t large because it didn’t need to be. Grace didn’t have a board of directors and she saw no need for more than eight people to ever be in the room at one time. Any more than that and it meant there were too many voices, too many opinions—usually from everyone other than the couple getting married, which was something she tried to avoid.
But right now, the room felt too compact. Too small. Too full of Owen Ford.
“I didn’t forget anything.”
Grace’s toes curled in the points of her high-heeled shoes. She’d known that, but she hadn’t expected him to come right out with it. No, she’d expected a staged search that would end when he suddenly “remembered” that he hadn’t brought along whatever item he’d pretended to leave behind with him in the first place. She moved across the room to straighten the line of water glasses that were slightly off. “Was there something else, then?”
“Yes.” He moved toward her, all warm intent and male conceit.
Grace felt the unwelcome response of her own body. The tug of heat, the whip of interest and the curiosity that flooded her system. She forced herself to hold her ground, not to back up until she bumped into the wall. There was no need to give him the high ground, moral or otherwise. They were in her space. She was in control. She left the glasses—those could be straightened later—and crossed her arms over her chest, stopping him in his tracks. “What is it you want, Mr. Ford?”
“Well, first, I’d like you to call me Owen.” He grinned, a charming, rakish grin that Grace had little doubt got him what he wanted most of the time. “And second, I’d like you to go out with me.”
She didn’t need time to consider her answer. “No.”
“Is that a no to question one or question two?”
“To both.” She didn’t smile or waver. It would only egg him on and she had a feeling Owen would be a handful without any encouragement.
“Now, why is that?” He took another step forward.
He was crowding her, even though he was too far away to touch. “As I’ve already explained, I don’t fraternize with my clients.”
“I’m not a client.”
Grace didn’t bother to correct him, didn’t want to engage him any more than was absolutely necessary. “Is there anything else, Mr. Ford?”
Owen didn’t say anything, but tilted his head and studied her. Grace felt like a bug under a magnifying glass, which had been a favorite pastime of her brother’s growing up until her mother caught him at it and gave him a lecture on respecting the life of all Earth’s creatures.
But if Owen thought she’d flounder, scrabble away or otherwise panic, he was wrong. She did what those little bugs never had—remained completely still and let him look. She knew she looked presentable and put together. She prided herself on it. Not a hair out of place, with understated and expensive jewelry, and artfully applied makeup. He’d find nothing there.
“I can’t quite figure you out,” he finally said.
“I’m not a puzzle.”
Owen shrugged. “And yet I find you puzzling.”
Grace had no doubt he’d used this line before. But she was made of stronger stuff. He was handsome and clearly comfortable in his own skin, but that was hardly enough. “Then I suppose I’ll just have to remain one of life’s little mysteries. I’ll show you out.”
She moved to step around him. He moved with her, their arms brushing. Grace felt his heat through the thin material of her suit jacket and was glad she’d left it on. “Maybe we could go for coffee,” Owen suggested as she led him out of the boardroom and back into the hallway.
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”
“And why’s that?”
“Mr. Ford.” She leveled a cool look at him as they walked. “As I’ve explained twice, I keep my personal and professional lives separate.”
“I’m not part of your business.”
“You’re in my office as part of a wedding I’ve been hired to plan.” Grace walked a little faster.
“That my brother and sister-in-law hired you for.” He kept up easily, his flip-flops slapping against the soles of his feet. Grace hated the sound, the loud smack disturbing the quiet hush of the space. “I don’t have anything to do with it.”
“You’re family. That makes you a client by association.”
“What about if I file for emancipation? My parents will be devastated, but they’ll understand when they meet you.”
Grace tried not to laugh. She really did, but Owen’s playful nature and silly banter finally got to her. She felt the corners of her mouth curl up. “Fine, Mr. Ford. If you file for emancipation, we’ll go for that coffee.” She pushed open the door that led to the lobby. “Otherwise? I’ll look forward to seeing you at the wedding.”
He followed her into the quiet space, where the only sound was the click of Hayley’s keyboard as she entered files into the system. “I’ll look forward to it, too.”
Grace turned to look at him and felt a pulse of attraction. His dark eyes, dark hair that flopped over his forehead and mischievous grin. Her throat felt dry and she wished she’d taken a glass of water from the boardroom. Oh well. As soon as she got rid of him, she could chug a bottle in the privacy of her office. She was determined to do so immediately. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Ford.”
His fingers, warm and thick, wrapped around hers. Grace felt another shaft of desire, followed by a stern reminder that Owen Ford wasn’t her type even if he hadn’t been off-limits.
She preferred slender, elegant men. Men who wore suits to work and most certainly to business meetings. Men who worked in corner offices, many stories off the ground, and had a closet full of shoes in black and brown. Men who didn’t hold her hand a little too long and didn’t make her feel too warm in her suit.
“The pleasure has been all mine, Ms. Monroe.” He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a dry and gentle peck to the back. “Until then.”
And she certainly didn’t like men who kissed her without asking.
Heart pumping, Grace watched him leave and then spun on her heel and made for the safety of her office and the cooling comfort of a bottle of water or three.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_7efae470-3355-5c8e-b104-78d1bf2549aa)
“I’M AFRAID I must have misheard you.” Owen pretended to tap his ear as though clearing it of water. “You want to repeat that?”
It was Saturday night and Elephants was packed. He was pleased that his initiatives continued to bring people in the door, even if it was in the form of his only sister. Mal merely stared back. “I need you to plan an engagement party for Donovan and Julia.” She said this with a straight face as though it wasn’t the funniest thing in the world.
Since Mal hadn’t been in much of a laughing mood these past few months, Owen did it for her. “Right.”
“I’m not kidding.” Mal pinned him with her patented bratty-kid-sister stare. “Mom and I discussed it.”
“Oh, did you? And what other parts of my life did the two of you plan?” He was only half joking.
“Owen, you’re the best man. Consider it part of your duties.” Owen still wasn’t sure how he’d been roped into being the best man. Sure, he and Donovan were getting along better than they had been a year ago, but they were hardly close. He suspected Julia—who he considered a good friend—and his mother and sister were all conspiring to bring them closer together.
“No, my duty is to plan the bachelor party, ensure Donovan doesn’t freak out last-minute and get cold feet, and make sure I show up on time and in my tux.” And find the sexiest woman at the reception and see if she’d consider going home with him. Though really, that was just being humble. More likely, he’d be the one getting propositioned, which suited him just fine.
Despite her little bomb, Owen was glad to see Mal out on a Saturday night. Since her breakup with her boyfriend a few months ago, she hadn’t been herself. Owen wasn’t sure exactly what had happened, since she wasn’t talking and neither was Travis. Not even when Owen had gone down to Aruba, where Travis now lived, for a visit and asked him point-blank. All either of them would say was that things hadn’t worked out, but Owen noted neither of them had exactly moved on.
“Well, consider the engagement party an added bonus.”
“Bonus for who?” Owen grumbled.
Mal patted him on the shoulder. “For you. Think of it like planning for your own future.”
He snorted again. “I’m not even dating anyone. Kind of a prerequisite.”
“Good. Then you’ll have plenty of free time to plan the engagement party.”
“You know, I think I liked it better when you stayed home on Saturday nights.”
Mal’s hand dropped, as did her head. Owen saw her hands clench in her lap. “You aren’t the only one.”
“Hey.” He reached out and put his arm around her shoulders. He and Mal had always had an easy relationship. Even before she’d started dating one of his closest friends. “I wasn’t serious. You know I love having you here.”
But Mal only sighed.
Owen turned to look at his sister. She’d always been thin, but these days she seemed downright emaciated. Not that he could say anything about it to her. The one time he’d joked that she should eat a sandwich, she’d about taken his head off. Still, despite her extreme thinness, Mal was a good-looking woman. Owen noted the interested glances that were coming her way even if she didn’t. “You okay?”
She sighed again. “Not really, but I don’t want to talk about it.”
She never did. But since Owen wasn’t sure how it would help to force her into discussing the problem, he didn’t push. “If you change your mind...” He left the sentence hanging.
“I know. You, Donovan, Mom and Dad, even Julia the last time I saw her.” Mal sat up, shrugging off his arm. “But I’m fine, really. I’m just adjusting. That’s all.”
Owen didn’t point out that she’d had months to adjust and still hadn’t managed it. If Mal wanted to think she was fooling him, he’d let her. Maybe she’d eventually fool herself and get back to the Mal he knew. “So, how exactly did you and Mom come to the conclusion that I needed to organize the engagement party? Isn’t that something the parents of the groom should do? Or the sister?”
“No.” And some of the tension slid from Mal’s face at the change of subject. At least, the lines around her mouth didn’t look so prominent. “Plus, Mom already tried to pawn it off on me, which is how your name came up.”
“You threw me under the bus.”
“That’s such a cliché. I prefer to think of it as giving you a gift.”
Owen shook his head. “A gift? Please, more like an obligation.” One he didn’t know how to get out of. If Mal and his mother had already joined forces? Game, set and match.
“Oh, I don’t know. Julia mentioned how interested you seemed in the wedding planner.” Mal shot him a smirk.
Owen picked up the water bottle he was drinking from and rolled it back and forth between his palms. He wasn’t embarrassed to have been caught out. He hadn’t exactly been subtle about his appreciation for the cool Grace Monroe. But she’d been pretty clear that even if she found him appealing, nothing would come of it. “I’m not sure what that has to do with anything, but for the record, she wasn’t interested.”
“You didn’t think you’d have to plan the party on your own, did you?” Mal rolled her eyes. “You’d be working with her. Just think—the two of you could join forces. Maybe spend some late nights during the planning stages.”
Owen wasn’t fooled. “Don’t try to distract me. I won’t forget that you used me as a shield.” But he certainly wouldn’t mind the excuse to see Grace—ahem, Ms. Monroe—again. “You don’t care about my dating life. You just don’t want to have to plan it yourself.”
“I see no reason that I can’t care about both things.” And for a moment, with her little smirk and sassy tone, Owen saw the sister he knew. Then it was gone, replaced with something quiet and a little sad. “I know it’s a lot to ask, Owen. But I don’t think I can do it.”
He looked into her eyes to see if she was trying to trick him. Mal would be fully capable of letting a fib trip right off her tongue with no body language to indicate anything but the deepest sincerity, but her eyes always gave her away. A combination of fear, shame and a deep pain stared back at him. Owen felt it in his own stomach.
“It’s just...too close.”
Too close because up until earlier this year, Mal had been the engaged Ford sibling, the one who’d be wedding-planning and holding the ceremony on a beach in Aruba in the near future. But when their father had had his heart attack, everything had changed.
It had changed for all of them. Donovan took over running the company, while Owen began to pay more attention to work instead of treating it like a fun place to hang out in the evening for a few hours and collect a paycheck. But Mal had uprooted her life in Aruba and moved back to Vancouver. Sold her stake in the beach restaurant to Travis and come back to work for the family business.
“Fine. I’ll do it.” Owen huffed out a breath, putting on a show of being put out because he thought Mal needed it. Needed to feel as though things were normal, that her older brother still found her an annoying pest and loved her anyway. They’d all been careful with Mal over the past few months. Doing their best not to upset her, tiptoeing around the question of what had happened between her and Travis because even when it came up indirectly, she got visibly upset. But that clearly wasn’t working and Owen wasn’t about to dump Travis as a friend without cause. “But this means you owe me.”
“I got you alone time with the wedding planner. Consider yourself paid in full.”
“Not enough.” He crossed his arms over his chest and put on his I’m-older-and-know-better-than-you look. “Tell me what’s going on with Travis.”
Mal’s lips pursed and her glare could have melted plastic. Good thing Owen was immune to it, seeing as she’d been using it on him since they were kids. “Nothing is going on.”
Semantics. Owen recognized her answer for the dodge it was, but he wasn’t about to let her use a loophole to get out of this. “Maybe nothing’s going on now, but something happened earlier. Tell me.”
“No.”
“Mal.”
“Drop it, Owen.” And there was sorrow as well as anger in her gaze. “I’m not discussing it.”
Owen drummed his fingers on his water bottle and then shrugged. “Fine. But if you won’t tell me, then I can’t console you with free alcohol and ice cream.”
Mal’s look was withering. “You think I can’t comp myself?”
Owen shrugged again. “I’m the manager here. They do what I say.”
“And you’d tell them not to serve me?” When he nodded, his sister’s eyes narrowed. Owen was glad to see it. At least she wasn’t going to curl up in a ball or slink away the way she would have done a couple of months earlier. Progress. “You’d starve your only sister?”
“I’d do whatever I had to if I thought it would help.”
Her face softened and she reached out to lay a hand on his arm. “I appreciate it, Owen. But I’m okay.”
He wasn’t sure he believed her, but he nodded agreeably. He preferred compromise to conflict. “All right, then. Tell me what I need to know about this party. I’m sure you have some ideas.”
This time, Mal’s smile reached her eyes. “I’m so glad you asked.”
* * *
OWEN CALLED GRACE Sunday morning. A woman like her would spend her Monday morning returning phone calls in order and he hoped to be one of the first. Perhaps he could convince her to go out with him yet. A business meeting. Over lunch. Totally aboveboard.
He was surprised when she answered.
“Grace Monroe.”
But he recovered quickly. “Grace. It’s Owen Ford.”
“Mr. Ford.” He was pretty sure he heard a sigh in her voice, but it was immediately replaced with cool professionalism. “What can I help you with?”
“A party. I need to plan one.”
There was a brief pause. “You’re aware that I specialize in weddings? But I’m happy to send you the names of some other planners in the city who can help. What kind of budget do you have?”
“It’s not for me. An engagement party for Donovan and Julia.” Owen had attended his fair share of parties over the years. More than his fair share and even hosted some. But a couple of blowouts when he’d been in high school, a kegger in his parents’ backyard before he’d told them that he’d officially dropped out of university and a housewarming when he’d bought his apartment that had turned into forty-eight hours of drinks and debauchery weren’t exactly going to cut it. “I’d like to hire you to help.”
Grace exhaled. Owen heard the slow escape of air. “You’ve already hired me, Mr. Ford. I can certainly add the engagement party to the wedding portfolio.”
“No, it’s a surprise.” Another little gem Mal had informed him of once he’d committed to organizing it. He heard the rustling of paper, imagined Grace flipping through a sheaf of them at her desk. “You aren’t at the office, are you?”
“I’m not sure how that concerns you, but yes, I am.”
Owen glanced at the clock. It was only nine in the morning. On a Sunday. He’d been up for an hour and a half, getting a run in before the day got too warm to be comfortable, but most people would still be lounging in bed or treating the worst of their hangovers at a local breakfast café. And Grace was in her office. What a waste on a beautiful weekend morning. “Listen, why don’t I swing by to pick you up. We’ll go for brunch and discuss.”
There was a short pause. Marshaling her resources no doubt. “That’s not necessary, Mr. Ford. Why don’t you tell me what kind of function you have in mind over the phone and I’ll start putting some ideas together that I can send to you.”
“So that I can feel guilty for making you work the entire Sunday? I won’t allow it.” He had a few hours before he needed to go into work himself and he thought spending it with Grace sounded like a fine idea. Better than his original plan, which was to lie on the couch until it was time to leave. The old Owen would have still been in bed, presumably with a gorgeous woman beside him, but since taking on a more involved role, his late nights out with the beautiful people of the city had come to an end. In truth, he didn’t miss it.
While it had been fun for a while—partying all night, sleeping most of the day and then doing it all over again—eventually it had started to bore him. There were only so many times he could see his picture in the paper under a caption proclaiming him one of the city’s most eligible bachelors, only so many times he could get up after only three hours of sleep and pretend that he couldn’t wait to hit the club that night. He’d done it longer than he’d wanted. Partially because he felt obligated to keep up the guise of the playboy Ford. Unlike Donovan and Mal, who’d finished university and then worked in the family offices putting their education to use, he’d dropped out in the middle of his second year and accepted a job as assistant manager at Elephants only because his parents had explained that he’d be cut off financially otherwise. But he’d done as little as possible those first dozen years.
It had gone on for so long that once he realized he’d changed, he didn’t know how to change his situation. His attempts to convince Donovan to give him more responsibility had been met with a steely stare and refusal. It wasn’t until their father’s heart attack that Donovan had been forced to accept Owen’s help. And though there were times that Owen felt overworked and in dire need of a break, he was happier now. He had a reason to get up in the morning, a sense of pride in his life.
But he still liked to have fun.
“Owen—”
He cut Grace off before she could decline again. “It’s just brunch. To discuss work. Or have you eaten already?” She probably had, some dry toast and half a hard-boiled egg with strong tea followed by flossing and the recommended two minutes of teeth-brushing.
She sighed. “Just coffee.”
“Great. Then I won’t take no for an answer. I’ll see you in fifteen.” Which would give him just enough time to shower, throw on some clothes and make the five-minute drive from his condo in Coal Harbor, which overlooked the water and Stanley Park, to her office in Yaletown. On a normal day, Owen would have walked, enjoying the city morning, the way the sun glinted off the buildings and the cool, fresh breeze that swept off the ocean.
But he wasn’t going to give Grace any extra time, any extra opportunity to decline his suggestion.
* * *
SHE SHOULD HAVE turned him down. Grace knew that before she’d even agreed to Owen’s suggestion. But it was a glorious morning and she’d already attended her Pilates class and brunch in the city sounded lovely, even if it was just a work meeting. Which was exactly what she wanted. Nothing more, nothing less.
Still, her heart beat a little faster when she heard the knock on the front door and she rose from the main desk to slide the bolt and let him in. He looked good. Too good. Dressed in dark jeans and a white V-neck tee, he looked every inch the city playboy the blogosphere and papers claimed he was.
Yes, she’d looked him up. Had done a thorough and intensive investigation through internet searches and online newspaper archives. She was merely information-gathering for her wedding portfolio, making sure that she was aware of any possible pitfalls before they could appear. It was simply good management. But the heat warming her cheeks hinted at something else. Something Grace wasn’t quite as comfortable with.
So she pasted on her professional smile, greeted him with a quick air kiss and prepared to step back and gather her purse from the desk drawer. Except Owen pulled her into a loose hug. “It’s good to see you.”
And her pulse jumped before she gathered her composure and stepped out of his embrace. “Yes, well...” She let her sentence drop off, unsure what else to say. She wouldn’t agree that it was good to see him, too, because she wasn’t sure it was. He looked good, that was true enough, but was it actually good to see him? Even if he hadn’t been a client, albeit an indirect one, there was the small matter that he was absolutely not her type. Not even close. And certainly not the kind of man she saw herself settling down with in the future.
Grace strode back to the desk and grabbed her purse, hoping the flames in her cheeks weren’t visible.
“You look good,” Owen noted, leaning against the wall, easily, as though he’d been here a million times and had long since picked out his spot.
She refused to be rattled by the compliment. Since it was a Sunday, a day her office was closed unless she had a meeting scheduled, she’d selected a more casual look than her usual business wear. A racerback sheath dress that reached the tops of her knees in the palest periwinkle and flat gold sandals. Her hair was pulled back into a loose knot and she wore simple gold hoops at her ears and wrist. She did look good, but it was nice that he’d noticed. “Thank you.”
As Grace ushered him out of her office, she wondered again why she had agreed to go out for a meal with him when their time would be much more usefully spent in her boardroom or, better yet, discussing this by email so that she could consider his ideas and then get back to him with a list of possibilities. But she didn’t say anything as they headed down the sidewalk, the morning still cool despite the sun high overhead. It wouldn’t really heat up for a few hours and by then Grace would be back in either her office or her apartment. And it would be good to get some sustenance if she planned to spend the rest of the day working.
She lifted her face to the sun, appreciating the warmth that might disguise any lingering heat in her cheeks. She didn’t often spend time outdoors, a fact that her family—organic farmers—couldn’t understand or value. But then they sort of felt that way about her, too. The one who left home and the business. The one who studied business and commerce in university. The one who stayed on the mainland after graduation and started a business there. A commercial business that, according to her mother, “benefited off the backs of social conventions that no longer had a place in today’s world.”
Grace didn’t agree. She often rebutted her mother’s arguments with some of her own. That marriage created a sort of social stability, provided a cornerstone on which to rest. A minicommunity that spread out to embrace the surrounding areas. But the truth was she liked the romance of it all.
The promise to share a life together, to protect and support each other. Granted her parents had done the same thing without ever getting married. Cedar Matthews and Sparrow Monroe—though they disliked using last names, claiming it supported a patriarchal society—had been together for more than thirty years and fully committed to their family without ever making it official. But it wasn’t the same.
Grace shook the unsettling thoughts away. She was different than her parents, than her younger brother, Sky, who’d always been content to toe the family line, to learn the business of farming, and who, along with his girlfriend, lived in the small guesthouse built beside the main farmhouse where Grace had grown up. And she was okay with that.
They didn’t have to appreciate what she did or recognize the worth of the services she provided. She appreciated herself.
“So, tell me what kind of party you have in mind,” she said as they crossed the street and headed down toward the rows of restaurants and cafés that ringed Yaletown, a popular Vancouver neighborhood. No time like the present to get started.
“Let’s get settled first,” Owen suggested. As though she wasn’t totally unsettled by the mere fact that they were out together.
But Grace kept that insight to herself and nodded as they made their way down the cobblestone sidewalks that were common throughout much of the area. Most restaurants had tables pulled out that were exposed to the sun and already filled with customers eating and drinking.
Owen didn’t stop at any of the ones they passed, continuing down the sloped sidewalks toward False Creek and a view of the water. Grace was content to keep the peace and simply enjoy the silence of companionship. This was the kind of thing she hoped to make a regular part of her life with her future husband—being elegantly dressed for a casual brunch, enjoying a meal of eggs Florentine or seafood crepes while they discussed travel plans, art, music or theater.
Next year, she reminded herself. At the end of the five-year plan when her business was flourishing and she no longer needed to oversee every detail. When she had staff to handle meetings and make certain decisions without coming to her for approval. Then she’d block off some time specifically for finding the right kind of man to marry. She didn’t think it would take longer than a year, eighteen months at most.
She was an attractive woman who kept herself in good shape. She had her own money, a thriving business and a condo in the city. She was a good conversationalist, cultured and well-read. She was, in short, a great catch. Even in a city of great catches, she knew she’d stand out. Just as soon as she put herself out there.
Her eyes darted to Owen. He looked the part, but she knew he wasn’t. According to what she’d uncovered online, he was a regular at the city’s hottest nightclubs and a well-known playboy who rarely showed up to any event with a woman more than once. Not husband material. Not even close.
Owen stopped in front of Gascony, a popular spot for brunch thanks to its location on the water and fabulous food. The place was full even though it was still early for many people, but Owen seemed to know the hostess, who found them a small table for two by a window that looked out at the marina. Grace unfolded the cloth napkin and placed it in her lap.
She left her notebook in her purse, determining that while pulling it out might be useful for remembering everything that was said, it would be considered tacky. Gascony wasn’t the kind of place where people took notes or dictated business deals. As soon as she got back to the office, she’d write down everything she could recall and then follow up with an email to Owen to confirm.
A server came by and filled their water glasses. Owen ordered a pot of coffee and tomato juice, while Grace stuck with the more traditional orange juice. She waited until the drinks arrived and their food orders were taken before returning to the reason for the meeting. “So, about the party.”
Owen smiled. “I wondered how long you’d hold off. I had twenty that you wouldn’t make it to the restaurant.”
“Twenty with whom?”
“With myself.” He offered the cream and sugar to her, but she shook her head. She liked her coffee strong and black. Owen put the small tray near the edge of the table without adding anything to his cup, either. “It was a brilliant bet. I couldn’t lose.”
Grace pressed her lips together so she wouldn’t smile. It didn’t work.
But rather than acknowledge her grin or make another joke, Owen merely smiled back, seemingly content that he’d been able to make it happen. “And for the record, I’ve never planned an engagement party, so I was kind of hoping you’d take the lead.”
She was certainly capable of that. She had more engagement parties under her belt than she could remember. Grace took a sip of her coffee, enjoying the hot sharpness. “Are you sure you should be the one organizing it?” She didn’t mean to be rude, but in her experience, a party was more successful when the organizer had some sort of idea of what they’d like to see occur.
“As it happens, I agree with you.” Owen didn’t lose his relaxed pose. “But the family has decided that it should be my responsibility.” He shrugged.
Grace knew about living up to or not living up to family ideals and demands and didn’t push. “Fair enough. Then let’s talk basics. Time, place, that sort of thing.”
Owen nodded. “Soon, I think. I’d like to take advantage of the summer weather.”
“When? We’ll have to print and send invitations, book the space.” Grace began counting off the multitude of preplanning details that went into throwing a truly great party. “Decide on catering, make sure the bride and groom are available.”
Owen reached out and placed a hand over hers. His fingers were warm when he gave her a gentle squeeze and sent an unanticipated shudder through her. “It’ll work out.”
As it happened, Grace knew that wasn’t the case. Oh, sure, it might seem that way from the outside. That a fantastic party came together naturally and with ease, but that was usually because there was someone like her behind the scenes, making the phone calls, juggling the vendors and putting out fires before they could morph into infernos. If things just “worked out” then she wouldn’t have a career.
She slid her hand out from beneath his and wrapped her fingers around the glass of chilled orange juice instead, allowing the cold and her common sense to seep back into her brain. “It’ll work out because we have a plan in place.” And a contingency plan, as well. But that was her job, not Owen’s. He was simply there to assist in the big picture. She’d be handling the minutiae. “The earliest we can schedule is probably the end of August.” At the surprised lift of Owen’s brow, she clarified. “First we need to select and order invitations. That’ll take a couple of weeks. Then they need to be mailed about a month before the party.”
He blinked.
“And that’s assuming we can book a location. Summer is a popular time. It’s possible nothing will be available.” Or nothing that would fit the type of party Grace expected the engaged couple would appreciate. Though she’d once organized a do that took place on the side of a mountain in a snowstorm, so she suspected she could make something work.
“The location won’t be a problem. We own three wine bars and a restaurant. We’ll use one of them.” He looked at her and Grace felt another shudder. Tinier but still unexpected. “I’ll take you on a tour.”
“Great.” Grace lowered her hands to her lap and curled her fingers into her napkin until the tingle under her skin eased. It really was too bad Owen didn’t tick any of the boxes on her husband list. No office job to let him be home with the future kids when she had a demanding wedding. No long-term relationships in his past, which she took to mean he wouldn’t or couldn’t settle down. And when he wasn’t wearing flip-flops, he was wearing sneakers. She focused on the reason for their meeting. The engagement party. “An evening reception, I assume?”
Owen nodded. “And probably on a Sunday, since Fridays and Saturdays are our peak times. Not that we mind shutting down for something special, but the guests are in the same industry. It’s hard for people to get away on busy nights.”
“Of course.” Grace was impressed he’d thought to mention it. Owen might not seem to be a particularly serious person, but he wasn’t dumb. She mentally upped the percentage of people who were likely to attend from 70 to 80 percent. Although there would still be some who would decline, holding the party on a Sunday meant a prior engagement was unlikely.
“So, what had you in the office bright and early on a Sunday morning?”
“Work.” She had a lot of it and she was grateful. There were many wedding and event planners who barely managed to make enough to pay the rent on their offices, so she wasn’t going to complain about being busy. Of course, she knew it wasn’t a long-term plan. Not only was it an impossible pace to keep up, but she also did have plans for her personal life. Although the money was excellent and it provided her not just the ability to hire more staff, but also the opportunity to have her name and her work on display for other potential clients to enjoy. Grace figured that come the end of summer and her busy season, she could revisit her business plan and make adjustments to get her life in better balance.
Perhaps she could hire another assistant. She could definitely raise her prices. She was good enough at what she did to justify that.
“What else did you do this weekend?”
“Actually, I had a lot of work to catch up on from the week, which is why I was in the office.” She didn’t explain that this had been her life for the past six months. It was both boring and none of his business.
“Well, then it’s a good thing I could convince you to come out for brunch.” Owen’s expression was cheerful, no sign of the admonishment that she’d see from her mother. Her parents understood the value of hard work but not at the expense of her personal life.
Grace nodded slowly. “Yes, it is.” And she wasn’t lying. “What about you?”
“I had to work last night, but I spent yesterday morning hitting some golf balls at the range. Today I went for a run before I called you. I like running in the morning before it gets too hot. And I’ll work tonight.”
So he worked, too, but made some time for himself. Of course, he wasn’t a sole proprietor, nor was he building something from the ground up. He’d taken over a business that was already stable and successful, so really not the same at all. Still, Grace felt a niggle of envy that he seemed to manage both so fluidly. She hoped she’d be able to do the same.
“What do you do when you’re not working?”
It had been so long since she hadn’t worked that Grace wasn’t sure how to answer. She liked gardening, but living in a downtown condo, she was restricted to doing so out of a container. She kept meaning to take advantage of one of the community gardens around the city, joining one close to home where she could avail herself of a larger plot of land to grow something more than herbs and sprawling annuals, but there never seemed to be time. When she was married and had a proper house with a proper backyard, Grace planned to have a full vegetable garden, one where she and the kids could pick ingredients fresh off the vine for that night’s meal. She liked reading, though most nights she fell asleep before she got through a single chapter. She worked out six days a week. Pilates three days and an hour on the elliptical machine the other three. But that was as much for health as for fun.
When she thought about it, it was kind of sad. “I have a patio garden,” she said. “I grew up on a farm, so it’s a way to keep in touch with that.” She wondered why she’d added the last bit. She’d never really thought about it, but she realized after she said it that it was true. She hadn’t followed in the family footsteps, but many of their lessons and beliefs had stuck. Communing with nature, the feel of digging her fingers deep into the dirt below the warm topsoil and into the coolness beneath.
“My mom’s a longtime gardener. And my dad has recently taken it up, too, though I’m not sure my mom always appreciates that.” Owen leaned forward as though to share a secret or private thought. “He took over some of her space and planted vegetables. And now they regularly battle over who actually owns the spot. I think he dug up some peonies to make room for some tomato plants.”
Grace smiled. “I wish him good luck with that.”
“So you’ve met my mother?”
This time she laughed. “I’ve not yet had that pleasure, but peonies are hardy plants and they’re perennials.” When he looked at her blankly, she explained. “They bloom every year and are difficult to get rid of once they’ve rooted. I wouldn’t be surprised if they continue to spring up around the tomato plants.”
Owen laughed. “Dad will love that.”
Grace smiled again. His story reminded her of her own family. Not that her parents ever battled over gardening space, not with twenty acres of land at their disposal, but the idea of working together, of being a team. She felt a small clutch in her stomach. It was a team she didn’t really have a place on.
“I like to run,” Owen offered and Grace was grateful for the distraction. “And golf, though I don’t get out as often as I’d like these days. And I love seeing live music, preferably at one of the smaller, less well-known clubs in the city.”
“I’ve heard,” Grace said, thinking of the photos she’d found of Owen at any number of clubs both well-known and not.
“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow. “Have you been checking up on me? I’m flattered, but you could have just asked. I’ll tell you whatever you like.”
Now she felt embarrassed and a little foolish. Not that she’d done the checking up—that was just good business—but that she’d let down her guard enough to admit it. She changed the subject. “What kind of food were you thinking for the party? Will it be a cocktail reception or a full dinner?”
Again, Owen eyed her closely, seeming to understand that he’d landed on something she’d prefer not to talk about. This time, he didn’t let her off the hook. “Have you been internet-stalking me?”
“No, of course not,” Grace lied without a blink. She didn’t like to lie, but she was good at it. A skill learned when she’d still been a teenager. A thirteen-year-old who only wanted to go to her friend’s house to watch Dawson’s Creek, since there was no TV at her house, so that she could be part of the conversation about who was cuter, Pacey or Dawson, that invariably sprung up at school. She hadn’t had a computer or internet access, either, and the only way she got to listen to music that wasn’t performed by a family member was on an old Walkman one of her friends had given her when that friend had gotten a fancy new Discman for her birthday.
Grace had loved that Walkman. She didn’t care that it wasn’t the latest in technology and that the only tapes she had were those donated by the same friend and her parents, and mainly consisted of ’80s hair bands. It provided an audio oasis. A way for her to shut out the rest of her world and indulge in something normal, in a life closer to the ones she saw on TV at her friends’ houses.
“Oh, re-e-ally?” Owen drew the second word out, clearly finding her lying skills lacking.
She met his gaze head-on. “Do you really think I have nothing better to do than plunk your name into a search engine and see how many hits there are?” Answer: about one million in 0.31 seconds.
“I don’t want to sound like I’m bragging.” His dark eyes twinkled with laughter. “But yes, that’s exactly what I think. Did you like what you found?”
Grace exhaled and sipped her coffee, choosing not to answer. The man certainly didn’t need the ego boost. “I thought this was supposed to be a business meeting.”
“It is, and it’s my business to find out if you’ve been researching me.”
“Why?” Grace put the china cup down on the saucer with a click. “Why would it matter?” Who cared if she’d looked him up or not? It had nothing to do with her ability to plan an engagement party, nor did it answer the questions of what kinds of things should be included.
“Because then I’ll know if you’re likely to agree to go out with me or not.”
Grace shook her head. “We’ve been over this. My answer hasn’t changed.”
Owen tilted his head to the side. His hair was a little long and fell across his forehead. “And yet here you are with me now. On a pseudo date.”
“This is a business meeting.”
“With coffee and food and conversations about our families. I don’t know. Seems kind of date-like to me, don’t you think?”
“No.” Grace adjusted her napkin on her lap, though it hadn’t shifted since she’d first put it there. But she was lying again. Here at a beautiful restaurant with the hushed conversation of other couples around them and the gorgeous view of the water, it did feel like a date.
“I like you,” Owen said.
“You don’t know me.” And she wasn’t going out of her way to change that. Owen Ford was dangerous. Dangerous to her life both professionally and personally.
“I’d like to get to know you.”
Grace ignored the flash of heat under her skin. She wasn’t here to be cajoled and flattered. Not even by a man who made her teeth sweat. “I’d like to talk about the party.”
“We can do both.” Owen leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. Grace hated that she noticed the muscles in them. Probably from swinging a golf club. “You answer a question about yourself and then I’ll answer a question about the party.”
“No, that’s not how this is going to go.” She was sure this had worked for him before. Probably many times in the past, but she was no starry-eyed twenty-year-old awed by his charm and banter. She was almost thirty and she had a job to do. “We’ll discuss your ideas for the party while we enjoy a nice meal and then I’ll return to my office and draw up some plans, which I’ll send to you for review.”
“That doesn’t sound nearly as much fun.”
He was right, but to Grace, it sounded infinitely safer.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_34d0e15a-1cbf-5c40-bdd2-1444dd0da03c)
GRACE EXHALED SLOWLY, pushing thoughts of her date—no, it wasn’t a date—her meeting with Owen out of her mind, and focused on her line budget. Because the breakdown of costs for the engagement party Owen wanted to throw was far more important and interesting than how he’d rocked those dark jeans. Okay, more important, at least. And if she just hurried up and finished the stupid budget, she could work on something else. Something unrelated to Owen Ford and his family.
She fanned her face and checked the numbers on the page again, but her mind wandered back to those jeans and the way his butt looked in them. Dangerous ground. Would have been dangerous even if he was her type, which luckily, he was not.
Grace wasn’t looking for a playboy or a casual relationship. In fact, she wasn’t looking for anything right now. Not with the summer upon her and an absolute flurry of weddings over the next eight weeks. Each one would be given the same amount of attention and care because each couple had trusted her with their special day.
And that’s what she should be thinking about. Not Owen’s butt.
She actually managed to lose herself in the numbers for a couple of hours, making notations and edits. Using what she’d learned from previous weddings to make the next one better.
But when her phone rang, the ringtone an elegant measure of Beethoven that she used for work, her brain snapped to customer-service mode and seated there. Even when she saw the caller was Owen.
“Mr. Ford. How can I help you?”
“I thought we agreed to be on a first-name basis, Grace.”
The way he said her name sent a brief curl of pleasure into her bones. In his mouth, her name wasn’t cool or patrician. It wasn’t formal or chaste. It was soft and sexy. The kind of name a woman slipped on when she wanted to seduce someone.
Grace pushed the pleasure away and focused on business. “Well, then, Owen, what can I do for you?”
“I wanted to set up a time for you to come to the wine bar. See the space and layout, so you can get an idea for it.”
“Great.” She was already pulling up her calendar, which was synced to all her devices. “When were you thinking?”
“How about tonight?”
Grace’s fingers stilled on the keyboard. There was no reason she couldn’t go tonight. She had nothing planned and it would be better to see the space now, so she could start drawing up options immediately. And yet, she didn’t confirm. Because she’d just spent the morning having brunch with him.
“Unless you’ve got a hot date?”
“No.” Now, why had she answered that query immediately? Almost as if she was worried he’d think she was unavailable to go on a hot date with him. Which she was. She cleared her throat. “Tonight would be fine.”
But even as she took down directions on location and time, her mind continued to wander. And every time, it flashed on that hot butt in those hot jeans.
Not. Good.
* * *
OWEN SWIPED A CLOTH along the already clean bar, earning a glare from Stef, the bartender he’d poached from La Petite Bouchée, the restaurant owned and cheffed by his soon-to-be sister-in-law. It hadn’t been an intentional poaching.
He’d needed some extra help for the summer and Stef had wanted the extra hours to help pay for her next semester of schooling. It wasn’t his fault that Stef loved Elephants and working for him so much that she’d asked if she could make the position permanent. And it wasn’t as if he’d left Julia or her restaurant short-staffed. He’d interviewed and found a qualified candidate to replace Stef at the restaurant before getting Julia’s agreement. Not that this stopped her from claiming that he owed her.
But hell. He’d not only attended a wedding-planning session with her, he was going to make sure she had an amazing engagement party, too. And he was going to keep it a surprise. So, really, she owed him.
He swiped the cloth across the bar again, this time earning not only a glare from Stef, but also a comment. “You sure you got everything now?”
“No.” And he wiped again, grinning as he did.
Stef rolled her eyes and plucked the cloth out of his hand, replacing it with a glass of water. “Go,” she told him. “Mingle. I’ll make sure the bar top stays clean.” She would, as well as juggling multiple drink orders, keeping an eye on the customers and prepping the bar for tomorrow.
Owen nodded and began to move around the room, but he kept one eye on the door and when it finally opened and Grace walked in, he smiled.
She looked good. But then, in Owen’s opinion, she always did. Her pale gray jeans were tight and paired with a black T-shirt and a dark blue jacket with white polka dots. Her hair was down, the blond strands spilling over her shoulders, loose and free.
“Miss Monroe. Twice in one weekend. Are you stalking me?”
The pinched look around her mouth softened just as he’d hoped. “If you’ll recall, you issued me a personal invitation. And the preferred honorific is Ms.”
Owen offered his arm, pleased when she barely hesitated before taking it. “Well, Ms. Monroe, let’s start the tour.”
She loosened up a little more as he took her around, pleased to show off the bar and his hard work to improve it. But when he asked her to stay for a drink, she declined.
“I really can’t.”
“Big day of wedding planning tomorrow?” By the way she looked up at him and then looked away, Owen knew that wasn’t it.
“Something like that.”
His natural inclination was to let it go. He’d found the subtle-nudge approach to be usually far more successful than a direct request. But he had a feeling that with Grace, subtlety would get him a whole lot of nothing. “Just one drink. It’s early.”
She checked her watch. “I still have work to do tonight.”
“All work and no play...”
“You sound like my mother.”
“Then she must be a wise woman.” And Grace was wavering. “Have you eaten?”
“Not since brunch.”
And there was his answer. She wanted to stay; he merely had to provide the opportunity. “Then consider this a working dinner. You can try some of the foods. Research for your party.”
She tilted her head to look at him. Her blond hair, free of its sleek knot, fell around her shoulders. Owen would bet money that it would feel as cool and silky as it looked.
“I won’t bite,” he joked and was rewarded with a rosy flush coloring her cheeks.
“Owen—”
He cut her off. “It doesn’t have to be long. I have some pull in the kitchen. You’ll be back working before the sun sets.” Seeing as that was a couple of hours away, he figured it was a safe promise.
“Owen,” she said again. But when he broke out his patented sad face, she capitulated. “No more than an hour.”
“Sixty minutes or less.” Unless he could talk her into changing her mind. It wasn’t exactly a date, but it wasn’t exactly not a date, either.
Or it wasn’t, until they were halfway through their meal and she said, “You realize this is only a business relationship.” Which it clearly wasn’t or she wouldn’t feel the need to clarify.
Owen simply smiled and popped another bite of food in his mouth.
Grace put down her fork, carefully and quietly so that he doubted there would have been a sound even if the bar was dead. “I shouldn’t have stayed.”
He quickly swallowed his mouthful. “Of course you should have. You were hungry and we have food here.”
“You’re my client.”
“This again? I’m not a client. I’m not the one getting married.” And never would be. There was nothing wrong with marriage. For other people. Maybe he’d change his mind someday. But not today.
“Close enough.” She pushed her plate toward the center of the table. “I should go.”
“Stay.” He placed a hand over hers. “Just until you’ve finished eating.”
Grace slid her hand out from under his. “I’m done.” She slid out of the booth. “If there’s anything wedding-or engagement-related, please call me.”
“But, otherwise, lose your number?”
Her smile wasn’t cheerful. “I wouldn’t be that harsh.”
But it was basically what she meant. Owen ignored the disappointment pooling in his veins and slid out of the booth, too. “I’ll walk you out.” Just because she’d told him he didn’t have a chance with her was no excuse not to be a gentleman.
“That’s not necessary.”
“Grace.” And this time there was no underlying teasing in his tone. “I’d like to.”
She nodded and anchored her purse over her shoulder. No chance of her leaving it behind, so he’d have an excuse to call her.
They walked toward the large wooden door. Neither of them spoke until they were outside.
“So.” Grace’s fingers curled around the strap of her shoulder bag. “I guess this is it.”
Owen kept his tone light. He was good at keeping things light. “I’m sure I’ll see you at the party and the wedding.”
She nodded, but didn’t expand on his comment and Owen nodded, too. He was interested in her, attracted to her, but if she didn’t feel the same way, he wasn’t going to throw himself at her.
“And I’ll call you if I have any engagement-party questions.”
“Please do.”
He waited until she was a block away and out of sight before he headed back inside.
The table they’d been at was untouched—no doubt his staff expected them to return and finish the mostly full plates. Owen bussed it himself, letting his hands work while his mind whirred.
Not that he had a whole lot to think about. Grace had made it clear that she preferred to act as though the attraction between them didn’t exist.
“Shot down by the blonde?” Stef asked when he brought the half-filled water glasses to dump at the bar.
Owen noticed Mal sitting at the bar grinning. “I wasn’t shot down.” He thought about that for a moment. “No, you’re right. She totally shot me down.” He was man enough to admit it.
Mal gave him a healthy pat on the shoulder. “Do you need a moment to cry into your water?”
“I might.”
She and Stef shared a snicker.
“I’m glad you can find my humiliation amusing. I may have to swear off women forever.” When neither of them said anything, Owen helped out. “See, this is the part where you both assure me that it’s her issue that has nothing to do with me and that I’m an excellent catch who any woman would be lucky to date.”
Silence.
“Nothing?” he asked. “Seriously? Not even a consolation hug?”
“There, there.” Mal patted him on the back. “Now you know how all those women you loved and left felt.”
“I didn’t love and leave. It was always a mutual decision.”
“Is that what they thought?”
The conversation had taken on a serious tone and Owen was glad when Stef moved to the other end of the bar to check on her customers.
“Of course they did.” Just because there hadn’t been long, drawn-out discussions on the topic didn’t mean they hadn’t been in agreement.
“You sure?” Mal tapped a finger against the side of her glass. Her gaze drifted. “Sometimes you might think you know the other person’s feelings only to realize at the worst possible moment that you were wrong.”
And they were veering again. Owen absorbed her words fully, then asked, “Are we talking about you now?”
Mal sat up, her attention snapping back into place, that raw emotion he’d briefly glimpsed ducking back under a neutral look. “No, I’m simply pointing out that getting shot down might be good for your personal growth.”
“Not that I’m admitting to anything, but I think I’ve done enough growing.” And if Grace wanted to pretend that this sizzle between them wasn’t there, she was certainly within her rights to do so. Didn’t mean he wouldn’t be available should she change her mind, but then he was good like that. Always looking out for the happiness of others.
Owen smiled at his sister. “So what brings you out here tonight? Boredom? Ennui?”
Mal smirked. “You know those words mean the same thing.”
He slid onto a bar stool, keeping one eye out for a patron who might use it instead. “Yes. But one is all fancy and French.”
Mal glanced around. “Someone you’re trying to show off for?”
“Just practicing.”
* * *
GRACE KNEW THE engagement party would go perfectly. At least, on the surface, which was all that mattered.
No one cared if the DJ’s car broke down or if the fish they’d selected for the entrée was unavailable due to a typhoon last week. They didn’t care if there weren’t enough seats for everyone or if there was one lone bathroom for three hundred guests and someone had just thrown up all over it. All they cared was that Grace took care of it.
Her job was as much about minimizing damage on the day of the event as the actual planning. And she took great care to control as many variables as possible. Like her attraction to one Owen Ford.
She’d managed to plan the engagement party, including another visit to Elephants, without running into him. Some people might think her cowardly or even unprofessional by choosing to schedule her visit when she knew he wouldn’t be there. But Grace saw it as taking advantage of opportunities.
She’d been meeting with Julia and Donovan about their wedding and Julia had mentioned that Owen was working at the restaurant all week. Was she supposed to ignore the snippet of information? Purposely delay her visit by a week so that she wouldn’t appear to be avoiding him?
And she wouldn’t avoid him tonight, either. She’d be too busy to chat with all the various jobs and duties she and her team would be attending to, but she wouldn’t avoid him.
She was already at the wine bar, preparing the initial setup even though the party didn’t start for another four hours. Her team of three would arrive in forty-five minutes, but for now it was just Grace and a pair of Elephants staff members prepping for tonight.
Grace was glad for the solitude. Glad Owen wasn’t here to grab her attention and refuse to let go. She hadn’t gotten to bed until almost four in the morning after a wedding the night before. The bride and groom had wanted to party, as had everyone else in attendance, and Grace had been required to negotiate a time extension on the fly while her team checked to make sure the caterers wouldn’t run out of food and drink.
When she’d finally crawled between her clean sheets, she’d been so exhausted that she almost forgot to set her alarm. And when it had gone off at six this morning, she wished she had forgotten. But she had her Pilates class at seven and she never missed that unless she was out of town.
Being tired and having a headache were not good excuses. So she’d slipped into her workout gear, grabbed a bottle of water from her tidy fridge and was warming up in the gym ten minutes before class.
But keeping to her routine didn’t fill her with any sense of clarity or moral satisfaction. She just felt more tired.
She would be glad when tonight’s event was over, though no one would ever know. On the surface, she’d be poised and friendly, her exhaustion hidden beneath a polite veneer.
By the time her team arrived, Grace had moved the tables and chairs into her preferred groupings and downed two bottles of water to keep hydrated.
It had been a warm day and was promising to be an equally warm night. Her thin silk T-shirt was beginning to stick to her back. “Hayley, will you check on the AC, please?”
Nothing would put a damper on a party faster than having guests uncomfortable.
“Right away.” Hayley scampered off to do as she was bid while Grace went over the event plan with the other two members of her team. They all knew the plan, but Grace made a point of holding a quick overview on-site at every event she threw.
While it was usually unnecessary, those rare occasions where they caught something that had been overlooked made it a worthy practice. Hayley returned and Grace doled out jobs so they’d be ready come showtime.
The staff Owen had handpicked for this evening were beginning to trickle in. Grace took a moment to speak to each of them personally, making sure they knew that, while technically this party was for Julia and Donovan, in fact it was for all the Fords, so any problems or issues should come directly to her. All part of the full-service experience she provided.
The staff were cheerful and quick to lend a hand to transform the room into an elegant space. It helped that Elephants had good bones, with its long white bar, dark flooring and sleek furniture.
Grace had chosen to forgo a traditional tabletop flower arrangement, those blooms that sprang up and demanded to be seen. Instead, she’d gone for something a little smaller, a little less typical and a little more Julia and Donovan. She’d found beautiful white birdcages with a white stone bird perched atop and stuffed them with small blue flowers that poked out from between the bars. The effect was cheerful containment on the tables covered in pristine white cloths. She trucked in some fake trees, leafless and dark, and strung them with small fairy lights. She’d created some temporary chandeliers out of wire, wrapped in a feathery material and strung with the same fairy lights. With the lights in the wine bar turned from their usual pinky hue to soft white, the space turned from a hip see-and-be-seen establishment to one of classic elegance with a modern twist.
Grace stepped back from fixing a light string that was drooping instead of artfully swooping and surveyed the room. A swell of pride filled her chest. It was beautiful, yes, but more than that it had a sense of the couple the party was being held for.
While anyone could appreciate that the room was worthy of a photo shoot in a magazine, those who looked closer would spot the attention to detail. The two typical flower arrangements, a bustle of lavender, blue and white by the front door, were set up in trifle bowls. The guestbook on the edge of the gift table was set with a silver Montblanc pen identical to the one Donovan always used. There were other little touches of tradition and style that fit the couple.
“This looks amazing.”
Grace recognized Owen’s voice and blinked before turning, a polite smile already in place. But she felt it waver when she looked into his face. His easy grin and the way he seemed to be checking out her instead of the room. Hadn’t she been clear that nothing could happen between them? “Thank you.”
“How long did this take?” He reached around her to finger the tiny cages on the table, the movement making the small flowers inside rustle.
Grace felt the heat from his arm sink into hers. She took a small step sideways, away from Owen. “I got here around two.”
“Amazing,” he said again, but this time he was definitely looking at her.
Grace felt the heat creep into her cheeks. She knew she didn’t look awful. Even during setup, she was careful to maintain her image. Hair pulled into a tidy ponytail, clean jeans with no rips or loose threads, a simple, black silk T-shirt and ballet flats so she could do any necessary hard labor. But amazing was a bit of a stretch.
“Can I do anything to help?”
“It’s all under control.” She was happy to give the party line. “Your only responsibility is to enjoy yourself.”
“You sure? I am the host. I’ve got the suit and everything.”
And a fine suit it was, cut slim to show off his physique and made out of poplin. The light gray shade set off his dark coloring and he wore it with a plain white dress shirt, the top two buttons left undone.
Grace yanked her gaze away from that small patch of exposed tanned skin. She had no business thinking about that skin, wondering if it would feel warmed by the sun or if it would taste like sugar, rum and mint.
Her eyes fell to his feet and the bright green kicks he wore. The tightness banding her lungs loosened.
This was who Owen Ford was. The kind of man who not only wore bright green kicks, but also wore them with a designer suit. The kind of man who didn’t get serious. Not the kind of man she was looking for at all.
“It’s all handled,” she told Owen, drawing in a calming breath. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get ready.”
* * *
OWEN WATCHED GRACE glide off, noting the way her jeans clung to her long legs. What he wouldn’t give to feel them wrapped around his waist.
“Here.” He blinked when a bar napkin was shoved in his face, then saw his sister grinning. “To wipe the drool from your chin.”
Owen accepted the napkin and dabbed at his chin. “Thanks.”
Mal’s smile widened. It was good to see her laughing. She hadn’t done enough of that lately. “Of course, it’d be better if Grace would quit giving you the brush-off.”
“True.” Owen tucked the napkin in his pocket. “She does like me, though.”
“She has a funny way of showing it.”
“Grace has some funny ideas. Says she can’t get involved with me because I’m a client.”
“Does Donovan know you’re planning to steal his bride and marry her in his place? Tacky, Owen, and just when the two of you were starting to get along.”
Owen snorted because the idea of him marrying anyone was a joke. “Maybe you should tell Grace that and put in a good word for me while you’re at it.”
“No.” Mal seemed to relish turning him down. “I won’t be your wingman.”
“So you just came over here to harass me?”
She nodded. “That and to help you with your drooling issue. You are the host tonight, Owen. Show a little couth.”
“A little—” He started to laugh, long and hard. He’d missed this snarky side of his sister. Even when it was directed at him. For the past few months, she’d been muted, all her color washed away. He threw an arm around her now, wrestled her into a headlock the way he had when they were kids.
“Owen, if you mess up my hair, I’m going to kill you.” But she was laughing, too.
He grabbed a handful of strands and gave a light tug. “How’s that for couth?”
“A poor showing.” Mal extracted herself—but only because he let her—and smoothed her hair. “Very poor. See, Owen, it’s behavior like that that keeps me from acting as your wingman.”
He laughed again. “If I promise not to touch your hair anymore, will you do it?”
“No.” She took a quick step back, hands raised to deflect any further hair-touching.
“What about if I act as your wingman, too?”
Her face fell. Damn. He’d thought she was doing better, was moving past whatever had happened between her and Travis.
“My offer to beat him up still stands,” Owen said. Yes, Travis was one of his best friends, but Mal was his sister.
Mal’s eyes were sad, her voice soft. “No. I appreciate the support, but it’s not necessary. No fighting required.”
Which was good because Travis was a good two inches taller than Owen’s own six foot one and his friend outweighed him by fifty pounds, all of it muscle. So really it would have been less of a physical beating and more of an “I don’t know what happened between you and Mal, but fix it because I promised her I’d beat you up and I’d prefer not to lose a tooth.”
“You sure?” This time when he put his arm around her it was to give her a hug.
“Positive.” But she held on to him a second longer. “Thanks, Owen.”
He watched his sister go, wondering if there was something else he could do to help. But Mal was proud and refused to tell anyone what had happened.
Owen grabbed a bottle of water from behind the bar and cracked it open. Which was why he thought it was better not to get too serious when it came to relationships.
Sure, he could end up like Julia and Donovan or his own parents, but they seemed to be the exceptions to the rule. Most people didn’t last, and wasn’t it better to go into the relationship with that already in mind?
Owen sipped his water and glanced at his sister, who was talking to Stef and smiling. But the cheerful expression didn’t reach her eyes.
Yes, it was definitely better to keep things light and casual. And a hell of a lot less painful.
* * *
GRACE TWITCHED THE HEM of her silvery-gray dress into place, ran a smoothing hand over her hair and slicked on a coat of pale almost-nude lip gloss as she eyed her reflection in the mirror of her compact. It was her standard event-planner uniform. Finished off with sapphire-blue kitten heels and a discreet pair of silver hoops at her ears, she looked cool and elegantly classic.
She knew some planners preferred suits. An exhibition of power and control, a statement that they were in charge and could handle any issue, but she found the same aura could be projected without looking as though she’d come straight from the boardroom. And, in her mind, she really shouldn’t be standing out at all. She and her team should move seamlessly among the crowd, looking like every other guest, just with earpieces.
She fussed with her dress again. Something looked off or maybe it was the twin flags of color on her usually porcelain skin. Grace pressed the back of her hands to the offending warmth on her cheeks, breathing slowly until the rosiness began to fade.
Better. Now she just looked as though she’d gotten a little sun. Which she might have if she didn’t have weddings every weekend.
Not that she was complaining. It was all part of her five-year plan, of which she had one year left to complete. She’d successfully started her own business, had three employees reporting to her, planned at least twenty weddings a year and last year had bought her own condo, a gorgeous one-bedroom with soaring loftlike ceilings on the downtown side of False Creek.
Surrounded by other affluent, educated types, Grace Monroe had come a long way from her roots and was proud of what she’d accomplished, even if her family didn’t understand. They didn’t have to. She was satisfied, which was more important.
She was actually a little ahead of schedule, since she hadn’t planned to buy the condo until next year. But she’d booked a wedding of one of the local hockey players, which had gotten her front-page coverage in not just the newspapers—both in print and online—but local magazines, too. All of that would have seen an increase in her business on its own, but when coupled with the inclusion of the wedding in a national lifestyle magazine that had dedicated an issue to the country’s most popular athletes, well, she’d hired that third assistant and receptionist pretty quickly.
“Grace?” Hayley spoke through her earpiece.
“Coming out.” She’d snagged access to the assistant manager’s office for the night for storage and anything else. Like changing clothes.
Grace locked the door behind her as she left. All her employees had stored their bags and purses inside, plus whatever financial items might be put in the assistant manager’s filing cabinet.
She adjusted her earpiece, eyes scanning the room. “What’s going on, Hayley?”
“The photographer just texted that he’s not coming.”
Small problem when Grace considered what else could go wrong. “Thank you, Hayley. I’ll handle it.”
The photographer was a new one whom she’d used once before and been pleased with his work, but she wouldn’t be using him again if he wasn’t reliable. And he clearly wasn’t. She’d be removing him from her list of contacts immediately.
Luckily, Grace had a solid list of vendors. She called Sherry Sanders, one of her most dependable photographers, and begged her to come for a last-minute gig tonight.
She’d figured the mention of Julia and Donovan’s names would be enough to pique Sherry’s interest, and she was right. Sherry had promised to grab her equipment and get there as soon as possible. Because there was a good chance a picture from the party would end up in one of the provincial papers, a photo credit line that would create an uptick in business. Not to mention, if Julia and Donovan were happy, they’d probably book Sherry for the actual wedding. And no serious photographer would be foolish enough to turn down the opportunity to work what looked to be one of the most talked-about weddings of the year.
By the time Sherry arrived and Grace had issued instructions about the number of family members and other important people in the couple’s lives, their style and general preferences, and made sure her team knew that Sherry was going to be handling all the photography, the wine bar had filled up. Grace recognized many of the guests. The who’s who in the city’s social scene, familiar faces in the papers’ society pages and industry professionals who were often as well-known as their restaurants. They glittered in expensive summer dresses and well-tailored suits. Jewelry and wineglasses shimmered under the lights.
Grace spotted Donovan’s parents and sister across the room. Gus Ford looked a lot like his sons, a blend of Donovan’s stoic seriousness and Owen’s easy smile. He wore a suit as well as they did, too. So clearly, there was no reason for her to get all jittery over the way Owen filled out his suit. It was simply good genetics. Like pheromones. Which Grace chalked up to animal instinct. Something she had overcome, much like her nontraditional childhood.
Evelyn was petite and energetic. Her eyes were bright as she chattered to her husband. Her elegant lilac dress set off her dark hair and complemented the deep indigo tie Gus wore. Grace smiled. She’d never had the opportunity to dress as a couple, except for Halloween, and she’d stopped participating in the costume and candy-consuming ritual when she was ten.
Grace headed over to greet them in person and assure them that they could come to her if they had any questions or concerns.
“I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Grace Monroe.” She held out a hand to the brunette standing with Gus and Evelyn. Even if Mallory hadn’t looked like a taller, sleeker version of her mother, Grace would have known they were related by the way her parents looked at her. A mix of pride and love showered over their lone daughter.
“Mallory Ford.” Her grip was firm, the sign of a woman who lived and succeeded in a man’s world. “This is outstanding. Really. I can’t believe it’s Elephants.”
Grace decided she liked Mallory, or at least liked her taste. She seemed to look beyond the surface to note the effort and time that had gone into making each choice. Her strapless dress was aqua and gathered at one side with a slit that provided a peek of leg. With the wrong accessories or on a shorter, curvier woman, it might have looked trashy. But Mallory, with her hair left down to cascade down her back, simple gold drop earrings and bangle bracelet and matching shoes, looked upscale and luxe. Which Grace imagined she was. “Thank you.”
“I agree.” Evelyn looked around, appreciation clear on her face. “I know it’s our place, and I can recognize so much of it, yet it looks different. Like a version created just for Julia and Donovan.” Which was exactly what Grace had been going for. Evelyn clasped a hand around her husband’s arm. “Isn’t it wonderful, Gus?”
“Better than wonderful.” Gus’s voice was as warm as his eyes. “You’ve done a fantastic job, Ms. Monroe.”
Grace felt the warmth from the pair of them seep into her, like a flower absorbing the heat of the sun. She clasped each of their hands in turn, wrapping them with both of hers. “Please, call me Grace.”
She jumped when she sensed someone move up beside her and the scent of clover with a hint of smoke, like honey by the campfire, surrounded her. She knew that scent. She loved that scent, but wished she didn’t.
“How come you never say that to me?” Grace tried not to stiffen as she turned to look at Owen.
“Owen.” Evelyn seemed delighted to see her son. Grace wished she felt the same. Instead, she was left with a discomfiting heat swirling beneath her skin. Mallory hugged her brother and whispered something in his ear that made him throw back his head and laugh.
Grace felt a bubble of envy and shifted a step away, out of reach. She wasn’t jealous of Mallory, just of the easy relationship she seemed to have with her brother. Grace hadn’t spoken to her own brother in six months. Not since the last time she’d been over to visit the family farm. But then despite the only sixteen-month age gap, she and Sky had never been close. Different priorities, different lives. Sky had decided to stay on the family farm and take over the business with his pregnant girlfriend. While she had done the opposite.
Gus moved to stand beside her by one of the tables. “I like these.” He was admiring the birdcage of flowers, running a thick finger along the cage much as his son had earlier. Grace shoved away the thought of Owen’s hands caressing anything, even a stone bird, but her ears were attuned to the conversation he was having with his mother and sister. And she had to lecture herself not to inhale deeply before his scent drifted away, replaced by lemon cleaning products, the spicy shrimp appetizers being passed around and her own grapefruit-and-mint perfume.
“You’ve done a fine job, Owen. Julia and Donovan are going to love this.” Evelyn laid a hand on her son’s arm. “Really love it.”
“I hope so.” Owen’s tone was cheerful, as though Grace hadn’t just brushed him off. Again. “Grace certainly worked hard enough.”
A curl of pride wound through her. Not that she didn’t believe she deserved the accolades, but it was always nice to be recognized. And then she felt guilty for brushing him off, since he hadn’t been trying anything. Not this time.
She flicked a glance at him. He was looking back. She felt her breath catch, took that deep breath she’d been avoiding and caught a full breath of that smoky sweetness that was all Owen. Her knees wobbled. Or they might have wobbled on a less tightly controlled person. Grace simply locked her knees and turned her full attention to Gus, who was now scarfing down both the spicy shrimp and the slices of warm baguette being served with it, wearing the beatific look of a man on a diet.
“Not too many, love,” Evelyn called.
“I know, I know. I’ll eat some green stuff, too.” But Gus winked at Grace as he grumbled and then leaned forward as though to impart some wisdom. “She’s always pushing me to eat green stuff. But I really only like it when I grow it myself. You didn’t by any chance create a green-free menu?”
Grace laughed at his hopeful look. “I’m afraid not. But since Julia is a French-inspired chef, it’s all been cooked in lots of butter.”
Gus’s eyes lit up as he called over his shoulder to his wife. “I’ll eat some green veggies when they come out, dear.”
Evelyn smiled. “It’s a celebration. Try everything, just don’t overdo it.”
Gus went back to stand with her, the two of them drawing Mallory into a conversation about a guest they wanted her to meet. Owen moved closer to Grace, hovering by her side, not touching, but close enough.
She got another whiff of him and tried to take only shallow breaths. “My dad had a heart attack at the end of last year.” His voice was low in her ear, his breath warm on her neck. “She’s still worried.”
“Of course she is,” Grace murmured. Mallory had excused herself and left Gus and Evelyn standing together, their heads almost touching as they whispered and smiled. Grace had known them for only a couple of minutes and already she could see how in love they were. It would be hard to recover from losing a love like that. Her heart skipped a beat. Of course, she had to find a man she liked enough to go on a second date with—okay, fine, a first date—before she jumped ahead to love and marriage and a lifetime of togetherness. “That must have been hard.”
“It was. For all of us.”
Grace tilted her head to look at him. His mouth was close to hers and she knew she should step back, but she was afraid she’d bump the table. Yeah, right. The table. That was what was holding her in place. “He looks good.” But she didn’t turn her head toward Gus. She was caught in Owen’s gaze.
“He does.” Owen reached out to brush a strand of hair off her neck. Grace felt the sharp buzz of attraction race through her. “He’s doing well.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” And although she hadn’t known Gus Ford even an hour ago as anything more than the founder of the family company and father to Owen and Donovan, she was glad. Grace didn’t always understand her own parents and she knew they didn’t understand her, but despite their sometimes contentious relationship, she loved them and would be devastated if they fell ill.
“Thanks.” Owen brushed the side of her neck again, though Grace was pretty sure that the strand of hair wasn’t there anymore. She knew she should mind, should take that step back, table or not, and remind both Owen and herself that their relationship was strictly business. She didn’t move.
“And how are you handling it?” Her voice was soft.
“Fine. Most of the time.” He shrugged and moved closer. She could feel his body heat radiating through her thick silk dress, could imagine the hard bunch of his muscles beneath that stylish summer suit. “Maybe you want to hug me? Make it all better?”
And just like that the moment dissolved and washed away on the realization that Owen wasn’t serious. Not about anything. Grace took that step away and didn’t bump the table. “Nice try.”
Owen grinned. If he weren’t so charming, he’d be obnoxious. Actually, she bet he could be obnoxious despite that overabundance of charm. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
She could, but she didn’t. Instead, she pretended that one of her employees was calling her through her earpiece and excused herself from the little family grouping, but she risked a glance over her shoulder as she strode away and saw Owen watching her go, a sleepy appreciation in his eyes.
Grace didn’t want to find him appealing. Not with his insouciant manner, his casual attitude toward most things and his bright green sneakers. But she did. She made herself keep walking as a quiet ache unfurled in her chest.
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_268b8954-d9a3-5742-b10f-3b5266c6be7c)
INTERESTING. OWEN WATCHED Grace walk away, that silver dress catching each curve as she moved.
She wasn’t as convinced that their relationship should be strictly platonic as she wanted him to think. And he didn’t need Mal as his wingman.
Owen smiled. No, he was doing just fine on his own. Just fine, indeed.
So fine that he was still grinning like a fool when his lookout texted him that Donovan and Julia had finally arrived. Owen gathered the family by the front door, wanting to give the happy couple a proper greeting.
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Jennifer McKenzie
With this fling… Wedding planner Grace Monroe has her own happily-ever-after all figured out. She even has a five-year plan for getting there. But Owen Ford can't be part of it–no matter how attractive she finds him. Owen isn't the marrying kind. Even if he was, he doesn't have the qualities she's looking for in a husband.But resisting Owen is impossible–and one night of passion isn't nearly enough. Yet expecting more isn't an option, either. Grace needs to end things and get back to her plan. She's looking for Mr. Right, and Owen can only ever be Mr. Right Now…
With this fling...
Wedding planner Grace Monroe has her own happily-ever-after all figured out. She even has a five-year plan for getting there. But Owen Ford can’t be part of it—no matter how attractive she finds him. Owen isn’t the marrying kind. Even if he was, he doesn’t have the qualities she’s looking for in a husband.
But resisting Owen is impossible—and one night of passion isn’t nearly enough. Yet expecting more isn’t an option, either. Grace needs to end things and get back to her plan. She’s looking for Mr. Right, and Owen can only ever be Mr. Right Now...
Owen rattled her.
He didn’t check any—well, okay, he didn’t check many—of the boxes on her future husband list, but Grace still wanted him. But to what end? Was he looking to settle down? In a year? In five years? Did he want kids or a dog? But these weren’t the kinds of questions to ask when they hadn’t even been on a real date. Talk about getting ahead of herself.
Owen leaned forward. “I think we could have some fun together.”
They could. “I’m not looking for fun,” Grace told him. She planned to treat her love life with the same meticulous care that she ran her business. “Dating someone is serious.”
“It’s supposed to be fun, too.” He reached out and placed his large, warm hand over hers. “Tell me you’ll think about it.”
Dear Reader (#u69848c76-d197-5492-8fa9-2ede113db198),
It’s hard to be the middle child, or at least that’s what I learned from The Brady Bunch. For Owen Ford, it’s the struggle to be more than the filling in the sibling sandwich and find his own place and his own space. Lucky for him he’s got Grace Monroe in his corner. Even when she doesn’t want to be.
I hope you’ll enjoy spending a little more time with the Ford family. I know I did.
If you’re curious about the music I played and the actors I pictured while writing the book, visit my website, jennifermckenzie.com (http://jennifermckenzie.com).
Happy reading,
Jennifer McKenzie
One More Night
Jennifer
McKenzie
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
JENNIFER McKENZIE lives in Vancouver, Canada, where it rains. A lot. Which means she gets to purchase many pairs of cute boots without guilt. She spends her days writing emails, text messages, newsletters and books. When she’s not writing, she’s reading or eating chocolate and trying to convince her husband that it’s a health food. He has yet to fall for it. Visit her on the web at jennifermckenzie.com (http://www.jennifermckenzie.com).
This book is for my uncles who have stolen my socks for fun, thrown me like a football for fun and read my books for fun. I won’t name any names...oh, wait. For Brian, Ken, Rick, Dan and Jens.
Contents
Cover (#u68ac6a14-34e8-5280-a3df-e6ff0e73a2a0)
Back Cover Text (#u5dcff6d7-de09-5201-830d-14d57ae8e13f)
Introduction (#ud6aa5813-38bc-5775-ac47-4ae7ce447ee3)
Dear Reader
Title Page (#u80eb917d-183d-5173-b732-dd23e3dbdcef)
About the Author (#ud740c955-2a87-57ff-80ab-42a3e14676cd)
Dedication (#u8d7560d2-faec-5e08-9f98-92b5dd5839c4)
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#u69848c76-d197-5492-8fa9-2ede113db198)
OWEN FORD SAT in Elephants, one of his family’s wine bars, enjoying the cool reprieve from the July afternoon and the opportunity to do nothing. It seemed over the past few months he’d done nothing but work, work, work. And then work some more. He’d recently taken on a larger role in the management of Elephants, trying to show that he was ready for more, ready to add one of the family’s other properties to his responsibilities. But so far, Elephants was where he remained.
Owen had been surprised to find he didn’t actually hate the work. Something that had shocked him as much as everyone else in the family. In fact, as he leaned back against the tufted padding of the booth in the bar he knew and loved, seeing his accomplishments filled him with a sense of pride.
Though it was only three in the afternoon, Elephants was already half full. People who’d slipped out of the office a bit early, summer tourists—anyone looking for a respite from the hot sun. And Owen knew the rest of the seats would fill up in the next hour as people got off work and looked for a little slice of relaxation after a hard day.
Owen knew he wasn’t solely responsible for the bar’s success, but he was part of it. It felt good knowing that his suggestions had been implemented and that they worked. He hoped to introduce similar changes at the other properties owned by the family company, the Ford Group, which included three wine bars and one fine dining establishment, but his older brother, Donovan, had been dragging his feet. Both about setting up a meeting and listening to any of Owen’s suggestions other than those for Elephants.
Owen tried not to take it personally. Donovan was recently engaged and the new owner of a property he planned to turn into a gastro pub, the first in a string that would dot the Vancouver landscape. But Owen had hoped the fact that Donovan was busier than ever would encourage him to put more on Owen’s plate. He’d proven he could handle it with Elephants. And yet, his brother seemed loath to allow further changes.
But he didn’t need to think about that now. At this moment, all he needed to do was order something to eat and something to wash it down with.
He smiled at the pretty server when she swung by to take his order. The old Owen would have done more than smile, would have flirted outrageously with the promise of taking it somewhere later, but the new Owen was an upstanding businessman who had learned to keep a bit of distance between himself and the staff.
Still, that didn’t stop him from responding to her joke with one of his own when she returned with his meal. It was merely being friendly. Owen didn’t want to become a therapist for the employees, but he’d discovered that his innate interest in people created a special bond, one that made them want to please him, want to do well.
The tension in his lower back, put there by all the nights he spent on his feet, slid away when he cracked open the water bottle—he never drank on-site, not even when he was off duty—and sucked down a long sip. Nothing like a cold drink on a hot day to make a man appreciate the good things in life. Owen sat back and sipped again. And then his phone rang.
He sighed loudly when he saw the name on the screen. Donovan. Knowing the call would be work-related, Owen wasn’t comfortable letting it go to voice mail. He was still trying to prove to Donovan that he was serious about this new leaf he’d turned over and refusing to answer the phone would do little to help that, so he forced the irritation down and answered with a polite greeting. “Owen Ford.”
“Owen, I need a favor.”
Of course he did. And wasn’t it just like Donovan to call during his downtime. Owen stifled the thought. It wasn’t as if Donovan didn’t work hard, too, and he couldn’t possibly know that Owen had just sat down to eat. “What’s up?”
“I need you to take a meeting for me. With the wedding planner.”
“What?” Owen pulled his cell phone away from his ear and looked at the screen as though that would somehow explain the ridiculous request. But the screen only stared back at him, giving him the option to mute, switch to speaker mode or other useless choices. He brought the phone back to his ear. “Are you kidding? Where are you?”
“Stuck in Calgary.” Donovan had gone to meet with a possible new supplier, but he was supposed to have been back this morning. “Which is why I’m calling.”
Owen shook his head. He was so not the wedding type. “So call Julia and reschedule.” Julia, Donovan’s fiancée, wouldn’t be happy but that was Donovan’s problem, not his.
“Don’t you think I’ve tried that? I can’t get hold of Julia at home or the restaurant.” Julia was the executive chef of the fine dining restaurant in the Ford Group, which was how she and Donovan had met. “She’s not answering her cell phone.”
“She probably forgot to charge it again.” Owen sighed. Julia rarely answered her phone. He didn’t know why she even had the stupid thing, since it was always either off or dead. “So call the planner and explain the situation.” He had things to do—like eat a juicy burger and spend his afternoon relaxing.
“How well do you think that will go over with Julia?” Owen knew the answer to that, but again not his problem. “Look, if you’ll just do me this one favor, I’ll schedule that meeting to talk about your ideas.”
Owen paused. “Really?” Because he had a lot. All of them winners in his opinion.
“Yes.” Donovan sounded harried now.
“All right. Do I have to fill in on the day of, too? Or will you manage to show up?”
Donovan snorted. “As if. You’re not the marrying kind.”
Owen might have been insulted, except he’d had the same thought not a minute before.
Donovan rattled off directions to the wedding planner’s office, which was within walking distance from the bar, and told Owen to make sure he wasn’t late.
“I’m not going to have to look at color samples or anything, am I? Because I don’t want to get blamed for choosing the wrong shade of pink.”
“No choosing required.” The relief in Donovan’s voice was evident. “And tell Julia that I’m sorry and to charge her phone.”
“Should I kiss her, too?” Owen and Julia had their own friendship beyond her engagement to Donovan. Not that it included kissing, but if Owen was going to be forced to attend a wedding-planning session in his brother’s stead, he was going to take the opportunity to poke at said brother.
“Not if you value your life.”
“I could take you,” Owen said. It was an instinctual response. One borne from years of being the little brother. The second-best brother. “But I value my good looks too much.” And that was instinctual, too. The desire not to fight, but to go along to get along.
Donovan laughed. “I owe you one.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be sure to collect.”
They talked for a few more minutes, Donovan giving him instructions on how to find the wedding planner’s office again as if he’d forgotten already. By the time he hung up, Owen had only a few minutes before he had to leave in order to make it to the meeting on time. He took another long swig of water and mourned that he no longer had enough time for his burger. But the promised discussion with Donovan was worth it. He’d miss a lot of burgers to get the opportunity to show Donovan that he was ready for more responsibility than simply managing Elephants.
He flagged the server and explained that he had to go and to cancel his order, then he tried calling Julia just in case she picked up. The only answer he got was the mechanical voice telling him her inbox was full.
So much for that bright idea. He wiped down the table and left a tip at the bar for the server—just because he owned the place didn’t mean the servers shouldn’t be compensated—then stepped out into the hot July afternoon.
He wasn’t dressed for a meeting of any sort, but decided against going home to change even if he’d had the time. Why should he? This wasn’t his meeting, and he didn’t feel like putting on pants and a dress shirt. He’d have to change later for work, but until then Owen was content to stay in his khaki shorts and Green Lantern T-shirt. They were clean, which would have to be good enough.
The sun beat down on the back of his neck, making little beads of sweat rise up along his hairline. He was glad to reach his destination, the frosted-glass front door adorned with elegant black script. Grace Monroe Weddings.
Classy. Elegant. Boring.
Owen pushed open the door and stepped into the cool, hushed environment. He blinked as his eyes adjusted from the bright sunlight outside, smiled when he saw the young female receptionist at the long glass desk. The carpet was plush, the walls were icy blue and there was a glittery chandelier that provided a low, comforting glow.
“Hi.” He strode forward, hand out. “I’m Owen Ford. I’m here for the Ford-Laurent three o’clock meeting.”
“Of course, Mr. Ford.” The receptionist shook his hand politely. She wore a wide fabric headband in black velvet and a pale gray dress. With her pale blond hair and light-colored eyes, she suited the style of the office. Owen couldn’t help but wonder if that was why she’d been hired. It was almost as though she’d been cast in the role, the perfect front woman. “I’ll let Ms. Monroe know you’re here. Can I get you anything while you wait? Water? Coffee? Tea? A glass of champagne?”
Since Owen hoped to stick around no longer than it took to give Julia Donovan’s regrets, he didn’t see the point. “I’m fine, thanks.”
He took a seat on the dark pink L-shaped sofa that stretched along two walls. It was the wildest thing in the place, which didn’t say much. He drummed his fingers on his knees while the receptionist escaped through a pair of black doors into the back. He hoped Julia would show up before he had to go back there, too.
She didn’t.
“Mr. Ford?” The pretty receptionist reappeared, a small, polite smile on her face. “If you’ll come with me?”
He didn’t see that he had a choice. He pushed himself to his feet and followed her through the doors. The back space was identical to the front. Black-and-white wedding photos lined the hall. Other clients smiling at the camera in long white gowns and black tuxes. He recognized plenty of local sites. The Hycroft mansion, Cecil Green Park House at the University of British Columbia, the VanDusen Botanical Garden. He even recognized a couple of the faces. No one he knew well, but there was an old pal from high school and a liquor distributor for the restaurant. Poor suckers.
Still, he supposed they looked happy enough in the photos and at least he wasn’t the one getting married.
The receptionist showed him into a small boardroom. The table was jet-black and glossy. No sign of fingerprints, cup rings or anything to mar the smooth surface. Padded white chairs circled the table. There was a small sideboard displaying water bottles in neat lines, a small espresso maker, demitasse cups and a china teapot. An assortment of flaky pastries, small side plates and linen napkins sat beside them. “Ms. Monroe will be along in just a moment. Is there anything I can do for you?”
“I’m fine,” he told her again. Or he would be as soon as he got out of here. He still had a low-level fear that he’d somehow be coerced into giving his opinion on fabric or colors or some other wedding detail that he wouldn’t know was a big deal until he gave the wrong opinion. Perhaps Donovan’s delayed flight wasn’t wholly accidental.
“Please help yourself to anything.” The receptionist gestured to the sideboard before clasping her hands in front of her. “We’re a full-service boutique, so just let us know if there’s anything we can do for you.”
“I appreciate it.” Owen remained standing after she left. No point in taking a seat as he’d be on his way soon enough. Instead, he studied the photos displayed on the walls. More locations he recognized, though he let his eyes skitter over those, uninterested in the bouquets and dresses. He stopped on a photo of a couple in front of a pond. It wasn’t flashy. There was no arbor of roses above them or a brick windmill for storied ambience. It was just a pond backed by a forest of tall evergreens. The couple wasn’t wearing the traditional white and black and there wasn’t an explosion of roses in her hand. She wore a casual dress that reached her knees in a floral pattern, while he was in cotton pants and a loose white shirt. They were looking at each other, just a tiny upturn to their lips, as though they were sharing a secret joke. As though they were the only two people there.
Which, Owen supposed, was how it should be.
The click of the door handle interrupted his perusal and he spun, turning on his smile as he did.
“Mr. Ford.” The woman who walked through the door was cool and blonde. She could have been related to the young receptionist. She wore a cream-colored suit and a lilac dress shirt and her pale hair was twisted back, not a strand out of place. Owen suspected no strand would dare to break free of the neat updo. Not if it wanted to live to tell about it. “I’m Grace Monroe.”
He moved to take her proffered hand, expecting it to be as cool and stiff as everything else in this place. Like a marble statue, beautiful to look at and smooth to the touch, but lifeless.
He was wrong.
Her fingers were warm and soft as they wrapped around his. He couldn’t help stroking his thumb across them, appreciating the velvety surface. Her eyes were dark blue, like the sky just before the sun dipped below the horizon. They widened at him again when he smiled.
She pulled her hand free, quickly and crisply, like the way she walked. “Can I offer you a beverage?”
What was it with these people and the offering of beverages? Did he look dehydrated? “No, thank you.” But he did take a moment to secretly drink her in. The smooth lines of her suit, hiding and covering everything beneath. He wondered if her skin beneath was as warm as her hand. He wanted to reach out and touch her again, but she moved away, stepping around him to lay a folder on the glossy table.
He caught the waft of her scent as she passed. The bright pop of grapefruit and the sharpness of mint. Clean and fresh. “Will your fiancée be joining you?” she asked.
“Oh, I’m not the one getting married.” Owen realized she’d misunderstood who he was. A miscommunication from the receptionist. From him. Perhaps he should have been clearer, since he did share the groom’s last name.
“I see.” Her cool eyes landed on him. “Then who would you be?”
“The brother of the groom.” He took a half step toward her just to see if he could get a whiff of her perfume again.
She raised an eyebrow at him. “And you would be here because?”
“Because my brother was unable to make the meeting and he asked if I’d come in his place.” Suddenly, the thought of leaving as soon as he’d arrived didn’t sound quite so appealing. Owen smiled at her. “Perhaps it was fortuitous.”
“How so?”
“Well, if I hadn’t come, then I wouldn’t be able to ask you out.”
“Mr. Ford.” Grace’s eyes went frosty. “This is a place of business and I do not date clients.”
Owen blinked. He’d been rejected before. Not often, but it had happened once or twice. “But I’m not a client. I’m the brother of a client.”
“Close enough.” Her fingers twitched and Owen saw her nails were painted the same pale pink as her lips. She opened her mouth, but whatever she’d been about to say was cut short by a knock at the door.
“Ms. Monroe?” The pretty receptionist entered the room. “Ms. Laurent is here.”
The frosty film in Grace’s eyes disappeared and was replaced by a look of polite welcome. “Thank you, Hayley.” Grace greeted Julia warmly, showing a spirit of effervescence that took Owen by surprise. Not quite the cool Ice Queen she tried to portray. The dichotomy intrigued him. It had been a long time since a woman had intrigued him.
“Owen?” Julia’s brow furrowed when she spotted him standing there. “What are you doing here? Where’s Donovan?”
“His flight was delayed.” Owen glanced at Grace, who was watching him with no hint of that effervescence. “And he couldn’t get in touch with you to let you know. He roped me into coming in his place.”
“Did he?” Julia couldn’t hide her grin. “How much did that cost him?”
“Just his undying gratitude.” Owen included Grace in his cheerful explanation. She didn’t smile back.
“Well—” Julia’s voice drew his attention “—I appreciate you coming, Owen, but don’t feel obligated to hang around. I’m sure you have something else to do.”
Owen continued to look at Grace, who stared at him, a small pout on her lips. Clearly, his leaving would be no skin off her back. “Actually...” He sent her his most charming smile. He’d crack her facade if it killed him. “I think I’ll stay.”
CHAPTER TWO (#u69848c76-d197-5492-8fa9-2ede113db198)
GRACE COULD FEEL irritation and something else burn up the back of her neck and warm her cheeks. This man, this charming, flirty, handsome man in his casual shorts and cartoony T-shirt, with his hair mussed and flip-flops on his feet, unsettled her. She didn’t like being unsettled.
Raised by a pair of unconventional hippies on Salt Spring Island, one of the Gulf Islands off the coast of BC, meant Grace was well aware of how unsettled life could be. It was something she’d fought against her whole life, longing to fit in, to be like the families she saw on TV sitcoms with parents who were married, who set rules for their kids and expected them to work toward well-paid white-collar careers. Instead of scrounging in the dirt on the family’s organic farm and saving her pennies to buy the glossy magazines her mother claimed were rife with material consumerism.
Grace breathed in slowly. The room was an ideal seventy-two degrees, which felt cool in the summer season. She reminded herself that after today she wouldn’t have to put up with Owen Ford again. That this wedding, like all her weddings, would find its rhythm and settle into the detailed and organized plan she’d create for it.
Really, Owen was a good reminder to her and everyone on her team that there was no fraternizing with the clients. Not with the wedding party, the family or the guests.
It was a hard-line policy, but one Grace felt was necessary. Weddings were ripe for sexcapades. Alcohol flowed, bodies pressed against one another on the dance floor, while everyone was groomed and dressed to look their best. And with the cultural overtones that were wrapped up in the idea of a wedding night, sex was on the brain.
Grace expected her staff to rise above all of that, and to ensure her events stayed classy and professional no matter what. Amorous couples were dispatched to conduct their business in private. Grace had personally caught guests going at it in the garden, in the bathroom and in the limo booked to whisk the newlyweds off at the end of the night. In all cases, she’d politely interrupted and suggested the couple in question might prefer to take their activities to a more private location. Like the bank of hotel rooms she always booked for her events.
She had a feeling she’d need a suite of rooms for Owen Ford.
The moment that thought entered her mind, Grace pushed it away. Owen’s personal amusements were none of her business. She was here to plan a wedding, not worry about what kind of problems the brother of the groom might cause. There would be plenty of time to worry about that once the location was selected, the cake ordered and the flowers chosen.
“Let’s discuss basics, Ms. Laurent.”
“Oh, please, call me Julia.”
“Call me Owen.”
Grace forced a polite smile she didn’t feel. “Of course, Julia. Please call me Grace.” She purposely didn’t look at Owen, keeping her attention focused where it should be—on the person getting married. “You said during our initial phone call that you’re thinking about a winter wedding. Did you have a specific date in mind?”
Julia talked about the quiet time in the restaurant industry and how she and her fiancé hoped to take advantage of that. Grace listened with both ears, but kept an eye on Owen. He looked too casual, too comfortable. And who came to a business meeting, even if it wasn’t his business, in shorts and flip-flops? Would it have killed him to put on a pair of pants and some closed-toe shoes?
“So January?” She returned her gaze to Julia. She was going to be an easy bride. Grace could already tell. None of the barely suppressed nerves or the tightly wound personality that some of her brides had.
They discussed a few options. Day or evening. Hotel or private venue. Indoor, outdoor or a mix of both. The number of guests. Their proposed budget made it clear that money wasn’t going to be an issue. No, any difficulties were going to come from availability and desire. Grace flicked another glance at Owen, who hadn’t added much to the discussion. He’d just sat there.
She felt the burn rise back up her cheeks when she saw he was looking at her and closed her leather notebook with a delicate flip. “I think we’ve got a good start.” She started a new book for each wedding she planned, filling the pages with notes and pictures on anything and everything. The wedding party, engagement parties, photographers, the dress, the food, every detail that might arise and plenty that didn’t.
Grace’s business offered full-service wedding-planning services and that meant she handled everything no matter how big or small. Though she’d started her own business just four years ago, she’d been in the industry for nine, honing her skills at larger, more established event-planning companies before branching out on her own. She’d already carved out a niche. The wedding planner for those who wanted style and class, traditional elegance.
She was expensive, but then so were her results. But her clients got what they paid for. Every detail was exquisite, every movement planned and prepared so that the whole day was a magical experience.
“I’ll come up with some prospective plans and send them to you and your fiancé. Perhaps we can schedule another meeting next week to discuss them?” Grace liked to move quickly. Although winter weddings weren’t nearly as popular as summer or spring, the best locations always booked up quickly and often months or years ahead of time. She didn’t want to get caught flat-footed on what was sure to be one of the biggest weddings of the season.
She’d manage the media attention, too. She had contacts at the papers, reporters who would be all too happy to feature a pair of local celebrities and their splashy event. Or she could bar them, keeping photos and attention directed elsewhere to allow the bride and groom privacy.
“And please let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you,” Grace said. She’d learned over the years that keeping in regular contact with her clients was the best way to manage any surprises. This way there were no last-minute bombs dropped that she couldn’t negotiate.
“Absolutely.” Julia stood, pushing her dark hair off her shoulder. “Thank you so much, Grace. I’m really looking forward to this.”
Grace was, too. Not just the wedding day, but the deeper meaning behind it. Grace could always tell which brides were about playing princess and had been planning their wedding since they were six and which were motivated not by the ceremony, but the future it represented.
She smiled, feeling Julia’s happiness wash over her. This was why she did it. To know that she had a hand in creating a happy day that would hopefully lead to a long and happy future. A future she wanted for herself. And one she planned to start working toward now that her business was more secure and didn’t require her to work quite so many extra hours.
“I’ll see you out.” Grace was conscientious about not excluding Owen from the conversation, much as she might like to. She led them down her “hall of fame,” where she displayed the photos from her favorite events, walking slowly, allowing them to pause and study the black-and-white prints. The reaction often gave her a solid base from which to start.
Did the bride halt in front of garden photos or rocky cliffs? Did her eyes widen at the clean lines of a regimented wedding party or the scattered cluster of bodies? The photos often gave the couple ideas, as well. Most times, they specifically referred to a photo or two during their second meeting.
Grace noted Julia’s pauses, the hesitation by the cityscapes. Rooftop patios with the buildings laid out below them. Night shots where the streetlights twinkled in the distance. Good. Very good.
But she didn’t feel quite so good when she glanced at Owen. His eyes were on her rather than the pictures. Grace swallowed and kept her gait steady.
She didn’t expect him to study them. Not exactly. He likely would have no say in the choices made, but she didn’t expect him to gawk at her, either. She longed to fiddle with the cuff of her suit jacket or straighten her skirt, but that would betray the uncertainty writhing within her and she wouldn’t do that.
Instead, she took long, slow breaths, the way she’d learned in her Pilates class. The deep and full inhalation and the complete exhalation. It was meant to cleanse and invigorate and Grace generally found this to be true when she was in class. The long, lean bodies stretched around her, each of them working to reach the same goal. But now, she just felt light-headed.
She was glad when they reached the lobby and the safety it provided with both her new hire, Hayley, and the front door.
“Grace, thank you again.” Julia turned with a warm smile and took Grace’s hands in hers. It didn’t surprise Grace, the extra touching. She made connections with her clients—they were entrusting her with one of the most important days of their lives and a connection was natural. But Julia’s sincerity did.
“It’s a pleasure.” Which was pretty much what she said to all her clients, but this time she meant it. “I’ll be in touch by the end of the week.”
But while Julia moved toward the frosted-glass front door that led out to the sidewalk, Owen didn’t follow. Grace felt her molars clamp together, but she made certain there was no other physical indication of her unsettledness. “Mr. Ford? Is there something I can assist you with?”
“I think I forgot something in the boardroom.”
Grace held her tongue. Waspishly asking what that could possibly be wouldn’t win her any points. Not with him, not with Julia, not with Hayley and not with herself. “Of course. I’ll show you back.”
“You go on ahead, Jules,” Owen said to his sister-in-law with a friendly wave. “And tell Donovan he owes me.”
Julia laughed as she pushed the door open and stepped out into the summer afternoon, but Grace didn’t feel like laughing. Or smiling. Exactly what was he on about now? She knew he hadn’t forgotten anything. He hadn’t been carrying anything when he’d arrived and he’d placed nothing on the table or the chair.
It embarrassed Grace that she knew this with such certainty as it meant she’d been watching him, paying close attention even when she hadn’t wanted to. “Exactly what are we looking for?” she asked as they walked back down the hallway to the boardroom.
He didn’t answer until she pushed open the door and he followed her inside. Grace had always loved her boardroom. The round, shiny table, the padded chairs that had been selected for comfort as well as style, the dove-gray walls and crystal chandelier. It wasn’t large because it didn’t need to be. Grace didn’t have a board of directors and she saw no need for more than eight people to ever be in the room at one time. Any more than that and it meant there were too many voices, too many opinions—usually from everyone other than the couple getting married, which was something she tried to avoid.
But right now, the room felt too compact. Too small. Too full of Owen Ford.
“I didn’t forget anything.”
Grace’s toes curled in the points of her high-heeled shoes. She’d known that, but she hadn’t expected him to come right out with it. No, she’d expected a staged search that would end when he suddenly “remembered” that he hadn’t brought along whatever item he’d pretended to leave behind with him in the first place. She moved across the room to straighten the line of water glasses that were slightly off. “Was there something else, then?”
“Yes.” He moved toward her, all warm intent and male conceit.
Grace felt the unwelcome response of her own body. The tug of heat, the whip of interest and the curiosity that flooded her system. She forced herself to hold her ground, not to back up until she bumped into the wall. There was no need to give him the high ground, moral or otherwise. They were in her space. She was in control. She left the glasses—those could be straightened later—and crossed her arms over her chest, stopping him in his tracks. “What is it you want, Mr. Ford?”
“Well, first, I’d like you to call me Owen.” He grinned, a charming, rakish grin that Grace had little doubt got him what he wanted most of the time. “And second, I’d like you to go out with me.”
She didn’t need time to consider her answer. “No.”
“Is that a no to question one or question two?”
“To both.” She didn’t smile or waver. It would only egg him on and she had a feeling Owen would be a handful without any encouragement.
“Now, why is that?” He took another step forward.
He was crowding her, even though he was too far away to touch. “As I’ve already explained, I don’t fraternize with my clients.”
“I’m not a client.”
Grace didn’t bother to correct him, didn’t want to engage him any more than was absolutely necessary. “Is there anything else, Mr. Ford?”
Owen didn’t say anything, but tilted his head and studied her. Grace felt like a bug under a magnifying glass, which had been a favorite pastime of her brother’s growing up until her mother caught him at it and gave him a lecture on respecting the life of all Earth’s creatures.
But if Owen thought she’d flounder, scrabble away or otherwise panic, he was wrong. She did what those little bugs never had—remained completely still and let him look. She knew she looked presentable and put together. She prided herself on it. Not a hair out of place, with understated and expensive jewelry, and artfully applied makeup. He’d find nothing there.
“I can’t quite figure you out,” he finally said.
“I’m not a puzzle.”
Owen shrugged. “And yet I find you puzzling.”
Grace had no doubt he’d used this line before. But she was made of stronger stuff. He was handsome and clearly comfortable in his own skin, but that was hardly enough. “Then I suppose I’ll just have to remain one of life’s little mysteries. I’ll show you out.”
She moved to step around him. He moved with her, their arms brushing. Grace felt his heat through the thin material of her suit jacket and was glad she’d left it on. “Maybe we could go for coffee,” Owen suggested as she led him out of the boardroom and back into the hallway.
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”
“And why’s that?”
“Mr. Ford.” She leveled a cool look at him as they walked. “As I’ve explained twice, I keep my personal and professional lives separate.”
“I’m not part of your business.”
“You’re in my office as part of a wedding I’ve been hired to plan.” Grace walked a little faster.
“That my brother and sister-in-law hired you for.” He kept up easily, his flip-flops slapping against the soles of his feet. Grace hated the sound, the loud smack disturbing the quiet hush of the space. “I don’t have anything to do with it.”
“You’re family. That makes you a client by association.”
“What about if I file for emancipation? My parents will be devastated, but they’ll understand when they meet you.”
Grace tried not to laugh. She really did, but Owen’s playful nature and silly banter finally got to her. She felt the corners of her mouth curl up. “Fine, Mr. Ford. If you file for emancipation, we’ll go for that coffee.” She pushed open the door that led to the lobby. “Otherwise? I’ll look forward to seeing you at the wedding.”
He followed her into the quiet space, where the only sound was the click of Hayley’s keyboard as she entered files into the system. “I’ll look forward to it, too.”
Grace turned to look at him and felt a pulse of attraction. His dark eyes, dark hair that flopped over his forehead and mischievous grin. Her throat felt dry and she wished she’d taken a glass of water from the boardroom. Oh well. As soon as she got rid of him, she could chug a bottle in the privacy of her office. She was determined to do so immediately. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Ford.”
His fingers, warm and thick, wrapped around hers. Grace felt another shaft of desire, followed by a stern reminder that Owen Ford wasn’t her type even if he hadn’t been off-limits.
She preferred slender, elegant men. Men who wore suits to work and most certainly to business meetings. Men who worked in corner offices, many stories off the ground, and had a closet full of shoes in black and brown. Men who didn’t hold her hand a little too long and didn’t make her feel too warm in her suit.
“The pleasure has been all mine, Ms. Monroe.” He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a dry and gentle peck to the back. “Until then.”
And she certainly didn’t like men who kissed her without asking.
Heart pumping, Grace watched him leave and then spun on her heel and made for the safety of her office and the cooling comfort of a bottle of water or three.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_7efae470-3355-5c8e-b104-78d1bf2549aa)
“I’M AFRAID I must have misheard you.” Owen pretended to tap his ear as though clearing it of water. “You want to repeat that?”
It was Saturday night and Elephants was packed. He was pleased that his initiatives continued to bring people in the door, even if it was in the form of his only sister. Mal merely stared back. “I need you to plan an engagement party for Donovan and Julia.” She said this with a straight face as though it wasn’t the funniest thing in the world.
Since Mal hadn’t been in much of a laughing mood these past few months, Owen did it for her. “Right.”
“I’m not kidding.” Mal pinned him with her patented bratty-kid-sister stare. “Mom and I discussed it.”
“Oh, did you? And what other parts of my life did the two of you plan?” He was only half joking.
“Owen, you’re the best man. Consider it part of your duties.” Owen still wasn’t sure how he’d been roped into being the best man. Sure, he and Donovan were getting along better than they had been a year ago, but they were hardly close. He suspected Julia—who he considered a good friend—and his mother and sister were all conspiring to bring them closer together.
“No, my duty is to plan the bachelor party, ensure Donovan doesn’t freak out last-minute and get cold feet, and make sure I show up on time and in my tux.” And find the sexiest woman at the reception and see if she’d consider going home with him. Though really, that was just being humble. More likely, he’d be the one getting propositioned, which suited him just fine.
Despite her little bomb, Owen was glad to see Mal out on a Saturday night. Since her breakup with her boyfriend a few months ago, she hadn’t been herself. Owen wasn’t sure exactly what had happened, since she wasn’t talking and neither was Travis. Not even when Owen had gone down to Aruba, where Travis now lived, for a visit and asked him point-blank. All either of them would say was that things hadn’t worked out, but Owen noted neither of them had exactly moved on.
“Well, consider the engagement party an added bonus.”
“Bonus for who?” Owen grumbled.
Mal patted him on the shoulder. “For you. Think of it like planning for your own future.”
He snorted again. “I’m not even dating anyone. Kind of a prerequisite.”
“Good. Then you’ll have plenty of free time to plan the engagement party.”
“You know, I think I liked it better when you stayed home on Saturday nights.”
Mal’s hand dropped, as did her head. Owen saw her hands clench in her lap. “You aren’t the only one.”
“Hey.” He reached out and put his arm around her shoulders. He and Mal had always had an easy relationship. Even before she’d started dating one of his closest friends. “I wasn’t serious. You know I love having you here.”
But Mal only sighed.
Owen turned to look at his sister. She’d always been thin, but these days she seemed downright emaciated. Not that he could say anything about it to her. The one time he’d joked that she should eat a sandwich, she’d about taken his head off. Still, despite her extreme thinness, Mal was a good-looking woman. Owen noted the interested glances that were coming her way even if she didn’t. “You okay?”
She sighed again. “Not really, but I don’t want to talk about it.”
She never did. But since Owen wasn’t sure how it would help to force her into discussing the problem, he didn’t push. “If you change your mind...” He left the sentence hanging.
“I know. You, Donovan, Mom and Dad, even Julia the last time I saw her.” Mal sat up, shrugging off his arm. “But I’m fine, really. I’m just adjusting. That’s all.”
Owen didn’t point out that she’d had months to adjust and still hadn’t managed it. If Mal wanted to think she was fooling him, he’d let her. Maybe she’d eventually fool herself and get back to the Mal he knew. “So, how exactly did you and Mom come to the conclusion that I needed to organize the engagement party? Isn’t that something the parents of the groom should do? Or the sister?”
“No.” And some of the tension slid from Mal’s face at the change of subject. At least, the lines around her mouth didn’t look so prominent. “Plus, Mom already tried to pawn it off on me, which is how your name came up.”
“You threw me under the bus.”
“That’s such a cliché. I prefer to think of it as giving you a gift.”
Owen shook his head. “A gift? Please, more like an obligation.” One he didn’t know how to get out of. If Mal and his mother had already joined forces? Game, set and match.
“Oh, I don’t know. Julia mentioned how interested you seemed in the wedding planner.” Mal shot him a smirk.
Owen picked up the water bottle he was drinking from and rolled it back and forth between his palms. He wasn’t embarrassed to have been caught out. He hadn’t exactly been subtle about his appreciation for the cool Grace Monroe. But she’d been pretty clear that even if she found him appealing, nothing would come of it. “I’m not sure what that has to do with anything, but for the record, she wasn’t interested.”
“You didn’t think you’d have to plan the party on your own, did you?” Mal rolled her eyes. “You’d be working with her. Just think—the two of you could join forces. Maybe spend some late nights during the planning stages.”
Owen wasn’t fooled. “Don’t try to distract me. I won’t forget that you used me as a shield.” But he certainly wouldn’t mind the excuse to see Grace—ahem, Ms. Monroe—again. “You don’t care about my dating life. You just don’t want to have to plan it yourself.”
“I see no reason that I can’t care about both things.” And for a moment, with her little smirk and sassy tone, Owen saw the sister he knew. Then it was gone, replaced with something quiet and a little sad. “I know it’s a lot to ask, Owen. But I don’t think I can do it.”
He looked into her eyes to see if she was trying to trick him. Mal would be fully capable of letting a fib trip right off her tongue with no body language to indicate anything but the deepest sincerity, but her eyes always gave her away. A combination of fear, shame and a deep pain stared back at him. Owen felt it in his own stomach.
“It’s just...too close.”
Too close because up until earlier this year, Mal had been the engaged Ford sibling, the one who’d be wedding-planning and holding the ceremony on a beach in Aruba in the near future. But when their father had had his heart attack, everything had changed.
It had changed for all of them. Donovan took over running the company, while Owen began to pay more attention to work instead of treating it like a fun place to hang out in the evening for a few hours and collect a paycheck. But Mal had uprooted her life in Aruba and moved back to Vancouver. Sold her stake in the beach restaurant to Travis and come back to work for the family business.
“Fine. I’ll do it.” Owen huffed out a breath, putting on a show of being put out because he thought Mal needed it. Needed to feel as though things were normal, that her older brother still found her an annoying pest and loved her anyway. They’d all been careful with Mal over the past few months. Doing their best not to upset her, tiptoeing around the question of what had happened between her and Travis because even when it came up indirectly, she got visibly upset. But that clearly wasn’t working and Owen wasn’t about to dump Travis as a friend without cause. “But this means you owe me.”
“I got you alone time with the wedding planner. Consider yourself paid in full.”
“Not enough.” He crossed his arms over his chest and put on his I’m-older-and-know-better-than-you look. “Tell me what’s going on with Travis.”
Mal’s lips pursed and her glare could have melted plastic. Good thing Owen was immune to it, seeing as she’d been using it on him since they were kids. “Nothing is going on.”
Semantics. Owen recognized her answer for the dodge it was, but he wasn’t about to let her use a loophole to get out of this. “Maybe nothing’s going on now, but something happened earlier. Tell me.”
“No.”
“Mal.”
“Drop it, Owen.” And there was sorrow as well as anger in her gaze. “I’m not discussing it.”
Owen drummed his fingers on his water bottle and then shrugged. “Fine. But if you won’t tell me, then I can’t console you with free alcohol and ice cream.”
Mal’s look was withering. “You think I can’t comp myself?”
Owen shrugged again. “I’m the manager here. They do what I say.”
“And you’d tell them not to serve me?” When he nodded, his sister’s eyes narrowed. Owen was glad to see it. At least she wasn’t going to curl up in a ball or slink away the way she would have done a couple of months earlier. Progress. “You’d starve your only sister?”
“I’d do whatever I had to if I thought it would help.”
Her face softened and she reached out to lay a hand on his arm. “I appreciate it, Owen. But I’m okay.”
He wasn’t sure he believed her, but he nodded agreeably. He preferred compromise to conflict. “All right, then. Tell me what I need to know about this party. I’m sure you have some ideas.”
This time, Mal’s smile reached her eyes. “I’m so glad you asked.”
* * *
OWEN CALLED GRACE Sunday morning. A woman like her would spend her Monday morning returning phone calls in order and he hoped to be one of the first. Perhaps he could convince her to go out with him yet. A business meeting. Over lunch. Totally aboveboard.
He was surprised when she answered.
“Grace Monroe.”
But he recovered quickly. “Grace. It’s Owen Ford.”
“Mr. Ford.” He was pretty sure he heard a sigh in her voice, but it was immediately replaced with cool professionalism. “What can I help you with?”
“A party. I need to plan one.”
There was a brief pause. “You’re aware that I specialize in weddings? But I’m happy to send you the names of some other planners in the city who can help. What kind of budget do you have?”
“It’s not for me. An engagement party for Donovan and Julia.” Owen had attended his fair share of parties over the years. More than his fair share and even hosted some. But a couple of blowouts when he’d been in high school, a kegger in his parents’ backyard before he’d told them that he’d officially dropped out of university and a housewarming when he’d bought his apartment that had turned into forty-eight hours of drinks and debauchery weren’t exactly going to cut it. “I’d like to hire you to help.”
Grace exhaled. Owen heard the slow escape of air. “You’ve already hired me, Mr. Ford. I can certainly add the engagement party to the wedding portfolio.”
“No, it’s a surprise.” Another little gem Mal had informed him of once he’d committed to organizing it. He heard the rustling of paper, imagined Grace flipping through a sheaf of them at her desk. “You aren’t at the office, are you?”
“I’m not sure how that concerns you, but yes, I am.”
Owen glanced at the clock. It was only nine in the morning. On a Sunday. He’d been up for an hour and a half, getting a run in before the day got too warm to be comfortable, but most people would still be lounging in bed or treating the worst of their hangovers at a local breakfast café. And Grace was in her office. What a waste on a beautiful weekend morning. “Listen, why don’t I swing by to pick you up. We’ll go for brunch and discuss.”
There was a short pause. Marshaling her resources no doubt. “That’s not necessary, Mr. Ford. Why don’t you tell me what kind of function you have in mind over the phone and I’ll start putting some ideas together that I can send to you.”
“So that I can feel guilty for making you work the entire Sunday? I won’t allow it.” He had a few hours before he needed to go into work himself and he thought spending it with Grace sounded like a fine idea. Better than his original plan, which was to lie on the couch until it was time to leave. The old Owen would have still been in bed, presumably with a gorgeous woman beside him, but since taking on a more involved role, his late nights out with the beautiful people of the city had come to an end. In truth, he didn’t miss it.
While it had been fun for a while—partying all night, sleeping most of the day and then doing it all over again—eventually it had started to bore him. There were only so many times he could see his picture in the paper under a caption proclaiming him one of the city’s most eligible bachelors, only so many times he could get up after only three hours of sleep and pretend that he couldn’t wait to hit the club that night. He’d done it longer than he’d wanted. Partially because he felt obligated to keep up the guise of the playboy Ford. Unlike Donovan and Mal, who’d finished university and then worked in the family offices putting their education to use, he’d dropped out in the middle of his second year and accepted a job as assistant manager at Elephants only because his parents had explained that he’d be cut off financially otherwise. But he’d done as little as possible those first dozen years.
It had gone on for so long that once he realized he’d changed, he didn’t know how to change his situation. His attempts to convince Donovan to give him more responsibility had been met with a steely stare and refusal. It wasn’t until their father’s heart attack that Donovan had been forced to accept Owen’s help. And though there were times that Owen felt overworked and in dire need of a break, he was happier now. He had a reason to get up in the morning, a sense of pride in his life.
But he still liked to have fun.
“Owen—”
He cut Grace off before she could decline again. “It’s just brunch. To discuss work. Or have you eaten already?” She probably had, some dry toast and half a hard-boiled egg with strong tea followed by flossing and the recommended two minutes of teeth-brushing.
She sighed. “Just coffee.”
“Great. Then I won’t take no for an answer. I’ll see you in fifteen.” Which would give him just enough time to shower, throw on some clothes and make the five-minute drive from his condo in Coal Harbor, which overlooked the water and Stanley Park, to her office in Yaletown. On a normal day, Owen would have walked, enjoying the city morning, the way the sun glinted off the buildings and the cool, fresh breeze that swept off the ocean.
But he wasn’t going to give Grace any extra time, any extra opportunity to decline his suggestion.
* * *
SHE SHOULD HAVE turned him down. Grace knew that before she’d even agreed to Owen’s suggestion. But it was a glorious morning and she’d already attended her Pilates class and brunch in the city sounded lovely, even if it was just a work meeting. Which was exactly what she wanted. Nothing more, nothing less.
Still, her heart beat a little faster when she heard the knock on the front door and she rose from the main desk to slide the bolt and let him in. He looked good. Too good. Dressed in dark jeans and a white V-neck tee, he looked every inch the city playboy the blogosphere and papers claimed he was.
Yes, she’d looked him up. Had done a thorough and intensive investigation through internet searches and online newspaper archives. She was merely information-gathering for her wedding portfolio, making sure that she was aware of any possible pitfalls before they could appear. It was simply good management. But the heat warming her cheeks hinted at something else. Something Grace wasn’t quite as comfortable with.
So she pasted on her professional smile, greeted him with a quick air kiss and prepared to step back and gather her purse from the desk drawer. Except Owen pulled her into a loose hug. “It’s good to see you.”
And her pulse jumped before she gathered her composure and stepped out of his embrace. “Yes, well...” She let her sentence drop off, unsure what else to say. She wouldn’t agree that it was good to see him, too, because she wasn’t sure it was. He looked good, that was true enough, but was it actually good to see him? Even if he hadn’t been a client, albeit an indirect one, there was the small matter that he was absolutely not her type. Not even close. And certainly not the kind of man she saw herself settling down with in the future.
Grace strode back to the desk and grabbed her purse, hoping the flames in her cheeks weren’t visible.
“You look good,” Owen noted, leaning against the wall, easily, as though he’d been here a million times and had long since picked out his spot.
She refused to be rattled by the compliment. Since it was a Sunday, a day her office was closed unless she had a meeting scheduled, she’d selected a more casual look than her usual business wear. A racerback sheath dress that reached the tops of her knees in the palest periwinkle and flat gold sandals. Her hair was pulled back into a loose knot and she wore simple gold hoops at her ears and wrist. She did look good, but it was nice that he’d noticed. “Thank you.”
As Grace ushered him out of her office, she wondered again why she had agreed to go out for a meal with him when their time would be much more usefully spent in her boardroom or, better yet, discussing this by email so that she could consider his ideas and then get back to him with a list of possibilities. But she didn’t say anything as they headed down the sidewalk, the morning still cool despite the sun high overhead. It wouldn’t really heat up for a few hours and by then Grace would be back in either her office or her apartment. And it would be good to get some sustenance if she planned to spend the rest of the day working.
She lifted her face to the sun, appreciating the warmth that might disguise any lingering heat in her cheeks. She didn’t often spend time outdoors, a fact that her family—organic farmers—couldn’t understand or value. But then they sort of felt that way about her, too. The one who left home and the business. The one who studied business and commerce in university. The one who stayed on the mainland after graduation and started a business there. A commercial business that, according to her mother, “benefited off the backs of social conventions that no longer had a place in today’s world.”
Grace didn’t agree. She often rebutted her mother’s arguments with some of her own. That marriage created a sort of social stability, provided a cornerstone on which to rest. A minicommunity that spread out to embrace the surrounding areas. But the truth was she liked the romance of it all.
The promise to share a life together, to protect and support each other. Granted her parents had done the same thing without ever getting married. Cedar Matthews and Sparrow Monroe—though they disliked using last names, claiming it supported a patriarchal society—had been together for more than thirty years and fully committed to their family without ever making it official. But it wasn’t the same.
Grace shook the unsettling thoughts away. She was different than her parents, than her younger brother, Sky, who’d always been content to toe the family line, to learn the business of farming, and who, along with his girlfriend, lived in the small guesthouse built beside the main farmhouse where Grace had grown up. And she was okay with that.
They didn’t have to appreciate what she did or recognize the worth of the services she provided. She appreciated herself.
“So, tell me what kind of party you have in mind,” she said as they crossed the street and headed down toward the rows of restaurants and cafés that ringed Yaletown, a popular Vancouver neighborhood. No time like the present to get started.
“Let’s get settled first,” Owen suggested. As though she wasn’t totally unsettled by the mere fact that they were out together.
But Grace kept that insight to herself and nodded as they made their way down the cobblestone sidewalks that were common throughout much of the area. Most restaurants had tables pulled out that were exposed to the sun and already filled with customers eating and drinking.
Owen didn’t stop at any of the ones they passed, continuing down the sloped sidewalks toward False Creek and a view of the water. Grace was content to keep the peace and simply enjoy the silence of companionship. This was the kind of thing she hoped to make a regular part of her life with her future husband—being elegantly dressed for a casual brunch, enjoying a meal of eggs Florentine or seafood crepes while they discussed travel plans, art, music or theater.
Next year, she reminded herself. At the end of the five-year plan when her business was flourishing and she no longer needed to oversee every detail. When she had staff to handle meetings and make certain decisions without coming to her for approval. Then she’d block off some time specifically for finding the right kind of man to marry. She didn’t think it would take longer than a year, eighteen months at most.
She was an attractive woman who kept herself in good shape. She had her own money, a thriving business and a condo in the city. She was a good conversationalist, cultured and well-read. She was, in short, a great catch. Even in a city of great catches, she knew she’d stand out. Just as soon as she put herself out there.
Her eyes darted to Owen. He looked the part, but she knew he wasn’t. According to what she’d uncovered online, he was a regular at the city’s hottest nightclubs and a well-known playboy who rarely showed up to any event with a woman more than once. Not husband material. Not even close.
Owen stopped in front of Gascony, a popular spot for brunch thanks to its location on the water and fabulous food. The place was full even though it was still early for many people, but Owen seemed to know the hostess, who found them a small table for two by a window that looked out at the marina. Grace unfolded the cloth napkin and placed it in her lap.
She left her notebook in her purse, determining that while pulling it out might be useful for remembering everything that was said, it would be considered tacky. Gascony wasn’t the kind of place where people took notes or dictated business deals. As soon as she got back to the office, she’d write down everything she could recall and then follow up with an email to Owen to confirm.
A server came by and filled their water glasses. Owen ordered a pot of coffee and tomato juice, while Grace stuck with the more traditional orange juice. She waited until the drinks arrived and their food orders were taken before returning to the reason for the meeting. “So, about the party.”
Owen smiled. “I wondered how long you’d hold off. I had twenty that you wouldn’t make it to the restaurant.”
“Twenty with whom?”
“With myself.” He offered the cream and sugar to her, but she shook her head. She liked her coffee strong and black. Owen put the small tray near the edge of the table without adding anything to his cup, either. “It was a brilliant bet. I couldn’t lose.”
Grace pressed her lips together so she wouldn’t smile. It didn’t work.
But rather than acknowledge her grin or make another joke, Owen merely smiled back, seemingly content that he’d been able to make it happen. “And for the record, I’ve never planned an engagement party, so I was kind of hoping you’d take the lead.”
She was certainly capable of that. She had more engagement parties under her belt than she could remember. Grace took a sip of her coffee, enjoying the hot sharpness. “Are you sure you should be the one organizing it?” She didn’t mean to be rude, but in her experience, a party was more successful when the organizer had some sort of idea of what they’d like to see occur.
“As it happens, I agree with you.” Owen didn’t lose his relaxed pose. “But the family has decided that it should be my responsibility.” He shrugged.
Grace knew about living up to or not living up to family ideals and demands and didn’t push. “Fair enough. Then let’s talk basics. Time, place, that sort of thing.”
Owen nodded. “Soon, I think. I’d like to take advantage of the summer weather.”
“When? We’ll have to print and send invitations, book the space.” Grace began counting off the multitude of preplanning details that went into throwing a truly great party. “Decide on catering, make sure the bride and groom are available.”
Owen reached out and placed a hand over hers. His fingers were warm when he gave her a gentle squeeze and sent an unanticipated shudder through her. “It’ll work out.”
As it happened, Grace knew that wasn’t the case. Oh, sure, it might seem that way from the outside. That a fantastic party came together naturally and with ease, but that was usually because there was someone like her behind the scenes, making the phone calls, juggling the vendors and putting out fires before they could morph into infernos. If things just “worked out” then she wouldn’t have a career.
She slid her hand out from beneath his and wrapped her fingers around the glass of chilled orange juice instead, allowing the cold and her common sense to seep back into her brain. “It’ll work out because we have a plan in place.” And a contingency plan, as well. But that was her job, not Owen’s. He was simply there to assist in the big picture. She’d be handling the minutiae. “The earliest we can schedule is probably the end of August.” At the surprised lift of Owen’s brow, she clarified. “First we need to select and order invitations. That’ll take a couple of weeks. Then they need to be mailed about a month before the party.”
He blinked.
“And that’s assuming we can book a location. Summer is a popular time. It’s possible nothing will be available.” Or nothing that would fit the type of party Grace expected the engaged couple would appreciate. Though she’d once organized a do that took place on the side of a mountain in a snowstorm, so she suspected she could make something work.
“The location won’t be a problem. We own three wine bars and a restaurant. We’ll use one of them.” He looked at her and Grace felt another shudder. Tinier but still unexpected. “I’ll take you on a tour.”
“Great.” Grace lowered her hands to her lap and curled her fingers into her napkin until the tingle under her skin eased. It really was too bad Owen didn’t tick any of the boxes on her husband list. No office job to let him be home with the future kids when she had a demanding wedding. No long-term relationships in his past, which she took to mean he wouldn’t or couldn’t settle down. And when he wasn’t wearing flip-flops, he was wearing sneakers. She focused on the reason for their meeting. The engagement party. “An evening reception, I assume?”
Owen nodded. “And probably on a Sunday, since Fridays and Saturdays are our peak times. Not that we mind shutting down for something special, but the guests are in the same industry. It’s hard for people to get away on busy nights.”
“Of course.” Grace was impressed he’d thought to mention it. Owen might not seem to be a particularly serious person, but he wasn’t dumb. She mentally upped the percentage of people who were likely to attend from 70 to 80 percent. Although there would still be some who would decline, holding the party on a Sunday meant a prior engagement was unlikely.
“So, what had you in the office bright and early on a Sunday morning?”
“Work.” She had a lot of it and she was grateful. There were many wedding and event planners who barely managed to make enough to pay the rent on their offices, so she wasn’t going to complain about being busy. Of course, she knew it wasn’t a long-term plan. Not only was it an impossible pace to keep up, but she also did have plans for her personal life. Although the money was excellent and it provided her not just the ability to hire more staff, but also the opportunity to have her name and her work on display for other potential clients to enjoy. Grace figured that come the end of summer and her busy season, she could revisit her business plan and make adjustments to get her life in better balance.
Perhaps she could hire another assistant. She could definitely raise her prices. She was good enough at what she did to justify that.
“What else did you do this weekend?”
“Actually, I had a lot of work to catch up on from the week, which is why I was in the office.” She didn’t explain that this had been her life for the past six months. It was both boring and none of his business.
“Well, then it’s a good thing I could convince you to come out for brunch.” Owen’s expression was cheerful, no sign of the admonishment that she’d see from her mother. Her parents understood the value of hard work but not at the expense of her personal life.
Grace nodded slowly. “Yes, it is.” And she wasn’t lying. “What about you?”
“I had to work last night, but I spent yesterday morning hitting some golf balls at the range. Today I went for a run before I called you. I like running in the morning before it gets too hot. And I’ll work tonight.”
So he worked, too, but made some time for himself. Of course, he wasn’t a sole proprietor, nor was he building something from the ground up. He’d taken over a business that was already stable and successful, so really not the same at all. Still, Grace felt a niggle of envy that he seemed to manage both so fluidly. She hoped she’d be able to do the same.
“What do you do when you’re not working?”
It had been so long since she hadn’t worked that Grace wasn’t sure how to answer. She liked gardening, but living in a downtown condo, she was restricted to doing so out of a container. She kept meaning to take advantage of one of the community gardens around the city, joining one close to home where she could avail herself of a larger plot of land to grow something more than herbs and sprawling annuals, but there never seemed to be time. When she was married and had a proper house with a proper backyard, Grace planned to have a full vegetable garden, one where she and the kids could pick ingredients fresh off the vine for that night’s meal. She liked reading, though most nights she fell asleep before she got through a single chapter. She worked out six days a week. Pilates three days and an hour on the elliptical machine the other three. But that was as much for health as for fun.
When she thought about it, it was kind of sad. “I have a patio garden,” she said. “I grew up on a farm, so it’s a way to keep in touch with that.” She wondered why she’d added the last bit. She’d never really thought about it, but she realized after she said it that it was true. She hadn’t followed in the family footsteps, but many of their lessons and beliefs had stuck. Communing with nature, the feel of digging her fingers deep into the dirt below the warm topsoil and into the coolness beneath.
“My mom’s a longtime gardener. And my dad has recently taken it up, too, though I’m not sure my mom always appreciates that.” Owen leaned forward as though to share a secret or private thought. “He took over some of her space and planted vegetables. And now they regularly battle over who actually owns the spot. I think he dug up some peonies to make room for some tomato plants.”
Grace smiled. “I wish him good luck with that.”
“So you’ve met my mother?”
This time she laughed. “I’ve not yet had that pleasure, but peonies are hardy plants and they’re perennials.” When he looked at her blankly, she explained. “They bloom every year and are difficult to get rid of once they’ve rooted. I wouldn’t be surprised if they continue to spring up around the tomato plants.”
Owen laughed. “Dad will love that.”
Grace smiled again. His story reminded her of her own family. Not that her parents ever battled over gardening space, not with twenty acres of land at their disposal, but the idea of working together, of being a team. She felt a small clutch in her stomach. It was a team she didn’t really have a place on.
“I like to run,” Owen offered and Grace was grateful for the distraction. “And golf, though I don’t get out as often as I’d like these days. And I love seeing live music, preferably at one of the smaller, less well-known clubs in the city.”
“I’ve heard,” Grace said, thinking of the photos she’d found of Owen at any number of clubs both well-known and not.
“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow. “Have you been checking up on me? I’m flattered, but you could have just asked. I’ll tell you whatever you like.”
Now she felt embarrassed and a little foolish. Not that she’d done the checking up—that was just good business—but that she’d let down her guard enough to admit it. She changed the subject. “What kind of food were you thinking for the party? Will it be a cocktail reception or a full dinner?”
Again, Owen eyed her closely, seeming to understand that he’d landed on something she’d prefer not to talk about. This time, he didn’t let her off the hook. “Have you been internet-stalking me?”
“No, of course not,” Grace lied without a blink. She didn’t like to lie, but she was good at it. A skill learned when she’d still been a teenager. A thirteen-year-old who only wanted to go to her friend’s house to watch Dawson’s Creek, since there was no TV at her house, so that she could be part of the conversation about who was cuter, Pacey or Dawson, that invariably sprung up at school. She hadn’t had a computer or internet access, either, and the only way she got to listen to music that wasn’t performed by a family member was on an old Walkman one of her friends had given her when that friend had gotten a fancy new Discman for her birthday.
Grace had loved that Walkman. She didn’t care that it wasn’t the latest in technology and that the only tapes she had were those donated by the same friend and her parents, and mainly consisted of ’80s hair bands. It provided an audio oasis. A way for her to shut out the rest of her world and indulge in something normal, in a life closer to the ones she saw on TV at her friends’ houses.
“Oh, re-e-ally?” Owen drew the second word out, clearly finding her lying skills lacking.
She met his gaze head-on. “Do you really think I have nothing better to do than plunk your name into a search engine and see how many hits there are?” Answer: about one million in 0.31 seconds.
“I don’t want to sound like I’m bragging.” His dark eyes twinkled with laughter. “But yes, that’s exactly what I think. Did you like what you found?”
Grace exhaled and sipped her coffee, choosing not to answer. The man certainly didn’t need the ego boost. “I thought this was supposed to be a business meeting.”
“It is, and it’s my business to find out if you’ve been researching me.”
“Why?” Grace put the china cup down on the saucer with a click. “Why would it matter?” Who cared if she’d looked him up or not? It had nothing to do with her ability to plan an engagement party, nor did it answer the questions of what kinds of things should be included.
“Because then I’ll know if you’re likely to agree to go out with me or not.”
Grace shook her head. “We’ve been over this. My answer hasn’t changed.”
Owen tilted his head to the side. His hair was a little long and fell across his forehead. “And yet here you are with me now. On a pseudo date.”
“This is a business meeting.”
“With coffee and food and conversations about our families. I don’t know. Seems kind of date-like to me, don’t you think?”
“No.” Grace adjusted her napkin on her lap, though it hadn’t shifted since she’d first put it there. But she was lying again. Here at a beautiful restaurant with the hushed conversation of other couples around them and the gorgeous view of the water, it did feel like a date.
“I like you,” Owen said.
“You don’t know me.” And she wasn’t going out of her way to change that. Owen Ford was dangerous. Dangerous to her life both professionally and personally.
“I’d like to get to know you.”
Grace ignored the flash of heat under her skin. She wasn’t here to be cajoled and flattered. Not even by a man who made her teeth sweat. “I’d like to talk about the party.”
“We can do both.” Owen leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. Grace hated that she noticed the muscles in them. Probably from swinging a golf club. “You answer a question about yourself and then I’ll answer a question about the party.”
“No, that’s not how this is going to go.” She was sure this had worked for him before. Probably many times in the past, but she was no starry-eyed twenty-year-old awed by his charm and banter. She was almost thirty and she had a job to do. “We’ll discuss your ideas for the party while we enjoy a nice meal and then I’ll return to my office and draw up some plans, which I’ll send to you for review.”
“That doesn’t sound nearly as much fun.”
He was right, but to Grace, it sounded infinitely safer.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_34d0e15a-1cbf-5c40-bdd2-1444dd0da03c)
GRACE EXHALED SLOWLY, pushing thoughts of her date—no, it wasn’t a date—her meeting with Owen out of her mind, and focused on her line budget. Because the breakdown of costs for the engagement party Owen wanted to throw was far more important and interesting than how he’d rocked those dark jeans. Okay, more important, at least. And if she just hurried up and finished the stupid budget, she could work on something else. Something unrelated to Owen Ford and his family.
She fanned her face and checked the numbers on the page again, but her mind wandered back to those jeans and the way his butt looked in them. Dangerous ground. Would have been dangerous even if he was her type, which luckily, he was not.
Grace wasn’t looking for a playboy or a casual relationship. In fact, she wasn’t looking for anything right now. Not with the summer upon her and an absolute flurry of weddings over the next eight weeks. Each one would be given the same amount of attention and care because each couple had trusted her with their special day.
And that’s what she should be thinking about. Not Owen’s butt.
She actually managed to lose herself in the numbers for a couple of hours, making notations and edits. Using what she’d learned from previous weddings to make the next one better.
But when her phone rang, the ringtone an elegant measure of Beethoven that she used for work, her brain snapped to customer-service mode and seated there. Even when she saw the caller was Owen.
“Mr. Ford. How can I help you?”
“I thought we agreed to be on a first-name basis, Grace.”
The way he said her name sent a brief curl of pleasure into her bones. In his mouth, her name wasn’t cool or patrician. It wasn’t formal or chaste. It was soft and sexy. The kind of name a woman slipped on when she wanted to seduce someone.
Grace pushed the pleasure away and focused on business. “Well, then, Owen, what can I do for you?”
“I wanted to set up a time for you to come to the wine bar. See the space and layout, so you can get an idea for it.”
“Great.” She was already pulling up her calendar, which was synced to all her devices. “When were you thinking?”
“How about tonight?”
Grace’s fingers stilled on the keyboard. There was no reason she couldn’t go tonight. She had nothing planned and it would be better to see the space now, so she could start drawing up options immediately. And yet, she didn’t confirm. Because she’d just spent the morning having brunch with him.
“Unless you’ve got a hot date?”
“No.” Now, why had she answered that query immediately? Almost as if she was worried he’d think she was unavailable to go on a hot date with him. Which she was. She cleared her throat. “Tonight would be fine.”
But even as she took down directions on location and time, her mind continued to wander. And every time, it flashed on that hot butt in those hot jeans.
Not. Good.
* * *
OWEN SWIPED A CLOTH along the already clean bar, earning a glare from Stef, the bartender he’d poached from La Petite Bouchée, the restaurant owned and cheffed by his soon-to-be sister-in-law. It hadn’t been an intentional poaching.
He’d needed some extra help for the summer and Stef had wanted the extra hours to help pay for her next semester of schooling. It wasn’t his fault that Stef loved Elephants and working for him so much that she’d asked if she could make the position permanent. And it wasn’t as if he’d left Julia or her restaurant short-staffed. He’d interviewed and found a qualified candidate to replace Stef at the restaurant before getting Julia’s agreement. Not that this stopped her from claiming that he owed her.
But hell. He’d not only attended a wedding-planning session with her, he was going to make sure she had an amazing engagement party, too. And he was going to keep it a surprise. So, really, she owed him.
He swiped the cloth across the bar again, this time earning not only a glare from Stef, but also a comment. “You sure you got everything now?”
“No.” And he wiped again, grinning as he did.
Stef rolled her eyes and plucked the cloth out of his hand, replacing it with a glass of water. “Go,” she told him. “Mingle. I’ll make sure the bar top stays clean.” She would, as well as juggling multiple drink orders, keeping an eye on the customers and prepping the bar for tomorrow.
Owen nodded and began to move around the room, but he kept one eye on the door and when it finally opened and Grace walked in, he smiled.
She looked good. But then, in Owen’s opinion, she always did. Her pale gray jeans were tight and paired with a black T-shirt and a dark blue jacket with white polka dots. Her hair was down, the blond strands spilling over her shoulders, loose and free.
“Miss Monroe. Twice in one weekend. Are you stalking me?”
The pinched look around her mouth softened just as he’d hoped. “If you’ll recall, you issued me a personal invitation. And the preferred honorific is Ms.”
Owen offered his arm, pleased when she barely hesitated before taking it. “Well, Ms. Monroe, let’s start the tour.”
She loosened up a little more as he took her around, pleased to show off the bar and his hard work to improve it. But when he asked her to stay for a drink, she declined.
“I really can’t.”
“Big day of wedding planning tomorrow?” By the way she looked up at him and then looked away, Owen knew that wasn’t it.
“Something like that.”
His natural inclination was to let it go. He’d found the subtle-nudge approach to be usually far more successful than a direct request. But he had a feeling that with Grace, subtlety would get him a whole lot of nothing. “Just one drink. It’s early.”
She checked her watch. “I still have work to do tonight.”
“All work and no play...”
“You sound like my mother.”
“Then she must be a wise woman.” And Grace was wavering. “Have you eaten?”
“Not since brunch.”
And there was his answer. She wanted to stay; he merely had to provide the opportunity. “Then consider this a working dinner. You can try some of the foods. Research for your party.”
She tilted her head to look at him. Her blond hair, free of its sleek knot, fell around her shoulders. Owen would bet money that it would feel as cool and silky as it looked.
“I won’t bite,” he joked and was rewarded with a rosy flush coloring her cheeks.
“Owen—”
He cut her off. “It doesn’t have to be long. I have some pull in the kitchen. You’ll be back working before the sun sets.” Seeing as that was a couple of hours away, he figured it was a safe promise.
“Owen,” she said again. But when he broke out his patented sad face, she capitulated. “No more than an hour.”
“Sixty minutes or less.” Unless he could talk her into changing her mind. It wasn’t exactly a date, but it wasn’t exactly not a date, either.
Or it wasn’t, until they were halfway through their meal and she said, “You realize this is only a business relationship.” Which it clearly wasn’t or she wouldn’t feel the need to clarify.
Owen simply smiled and popped another bite of food in his mouth.
Grace put down her fork, carefully and quietly so that he doubted there would have been a sound even if the bar was dead. “I shouldn’t have stayed.”
He quickly swallowed his mouthful. “Of course you should have. You were hungry and we have food here.”
“You’re my client.”
“This again? I’m not a client. I’m not the one getting married.” And never would be. There was nothing wrong with marriage. For other people. Maybe he’d change his mind someday. But not today.
“Close enough.” She pushed her plate toward the center of the table. “I should go.”
“Stay.” He placed a hand over hers. “Just until you’ve finished eating.”
Grace slid her hand out from under his. “I’m done.” She slid out of the booth. “If there’s anything wedding-or engagement-related, please call me.”
“But, otherwise, lose your number?”
Her smile wasn’t cheerful. “I wouldn’t be that harsh.”
But it was basically what she meant. Owen ignored the disappointment pooling in his veins and slid out of the booth, too. “I’ll walk you out.” Just because she’d told him he didn’t have a chance with her was no excuse not to be a gentleman.
“That’s not necessary.”
“Grace.” And this time there was no underlying teasing in his tone. “I’d like to.”
She nodded and anchored her purse over her shoulder. No chance of her leaving it behind, so he’d have an excuse to call her.
They walked toward the large wooden door. Neither of them spoke until they were outside.
“So.” Grace’s fingers curled around the strap of her shoulder bag. “I guess this is it.”
Owen kept his tone light. He was good at keeping things light. “I’m sure I’ll see you at the party and the wedding.”
She nodded, but didn’t expand on his comment and Owen nodded, too. He was interested in her, attracted to her, but if she didn’t feel the same way, he wasn’t going to throw himself at her.
“And I’ll call you if I have any engagement-party questions.”
“Please do.”
He waited until she was a block away and out of sight before he headed back inside.
The table they’d been at was untouched—no doubt his staff expected them to return and finish the mostly full plates. Owen bussed it himself, letting his hands work while his mind whirred.
Not that he had a whole lot to think about. Grace had made it clear that she preferred to act as though the attraction between them didn’t exist.
“Shot down by the blonde?” Stef asked when he brought the half-filled water glasses to dump at the bar.
Owen noticed Mal sitting at the bar grinning. “I wasn’t shot down.” He thought about that for a moment. “No, you’re right. She totally shot me down.” He was man enough to admit it.
Mal gave him a healthy pat on the shoulder. “Do you need a moment to cry into your water?”
“I might.”
She and Stef shared a snicker.
“I’m glad you can find my humiliation amusing. I may have to swear off women forever.” When neither of them said anything, Owen helped out. “See, this is the part where you both assure me that it’s her issue that has nothing to do with me and that I’m an excellent catch who any woman would be lucky to date.”
Silence.
“Nothing?” he asked. “Seriously? Not even a consolation hug?”
“There, there.” Mal patted him on the back. “Now you know how all those women you loved and left felt.”
“I didn’t love and leave. It was always a mutual decision.”
“Is that what they thought?”
The conversation had taken on a serious tone and Owen was glad when Stef moved to the other end of the bar to check on her customers.
“Of course they did.” Just because there hadn’t been long, drawn-out discussions on the topic didn’t mean they hadn’t been in agreement.
“You sure?” Mal tapped a finger against the side of her glass. Her gaze drifted. “Sometimes you might think you know the other person’s feelings only to realize at the worst possible moment that you were wrong.”
And they were veering again. Owen absorbed her words fully, then asked, “Are we talking about you now?”
Mal sat up, her attention snapping back into place, that raw emotion he’d briefly glimpsed ducking back under a neutral look. “No, I’m simply pointing out that getting shot down might be good for your personal growth.”
“Not that I’m admitting to anything, but I think I’ve done enough growing.” And if Grace wanted to pretend that this sizzle between them wasn’t there, she was certainly within her rights to do so. Didn’t mean he wouldn’t be available should she change her mind, but then he was good like that. Always looking out for the happiness of others.
Owen smiled at his sister. “So what brings you out here tonight? Boredom? Ennui?”
Mal smirked. “You know those words mean the same thing.”
He slid onto a bar stool, keeping one eye out for a patron who might use it instead. “Yes. But one is all fancy and French.”
Mal glanced around. “Someone you’re trying to show off for?”
“Just practicing.”
* * *
GRACE KNEW THE engagement party would go perfectly. At least, on the surface, which was all that mattered.
No one cared if the DJ’s car broke down or if the fish they’d selected for the entrée was unavailable due to a typhoon last week. They didn’t care if there weren’t enough seats for everyone or if there was one lone bathroom for three hundred guests and someone had just thrown up all over it. All they cared was that Grace took care of it.
Her job was as much about minimizing damage on the day of the event as the actual planning. And she took great care to control as many variables as possible. Like her attraction to one Owen Ford.
She’d managed to plan the engagement party, including another visit to Elephants, without running into him. Some people might think her cowardly or even unprofessional by choosing to schedule her visit when she knew he wouldn’t be there. But Grace saw it as taking advantage of opportunities.
She’d been meeting with Julia and Donovan about their wedding and Julia had mentioned that Owen was working at the restaurant all week. Was she supposed to ignore the snippet of information? Purposely delay her visit by a week so that she wouldn’t appear to be avoiding him?
And she wouldn’t avoid him tonight, either. She’d be too busy to chat with all the various jobs and duties she and her team would be attending to, but she wouldn’t avoid him.
She was already at the wine bar, preparing the initial setup even though the party didn’t start for another four hours. Her team of three would arrive in forty-five minutes, but for now it was just Grace and a pair of Elephants staff members prepping for tonight.
Grace was glad for the solitude. Glad Owen wasn’t here to grab her attention and refuse to let go. She hadn’t gotten to bed until almost four in the morning after a wedding the night before. The bride and groom had wanted to party, as had everyone else in attendance, and Grace had been required to negotiate a time extension on the fly while her team checked to make sure the caterers wouldn’t run out of food and drink.
When she’d finally crawled between her clean sheets, she’d been so exhausted that she almost forgot to set her alarm. And when it had gone off at six this morning, she wished she had forgotten. But she had her Pilates class at seven and she never missed that unless she was out of town.
Being tired and having a headache were not good excuses. So she’d slipped into her workout gear, grabbed a bottle of water from her tidy fridge and was warming up in the gym ten minutes before class.
But keeping to her routine didn’t fill her with any sense of clarity or moral satisfaction. She just felt more tired.
She would be glad when tonight’s event was over, though no one would ever know. On the surface, she’d be poised and friendly, her exhaustion hidden beneath a polite veneer.
By the time her team arrived, Grace had moved the tables and chairs into her preferred groupings and downed two bottles of water to keep hydrated.
It had been a warm day and was promising to be an equally warm night. Her thin silk T-shirt was beginning to stick to her back. “Hayley, will you check on the AC, please?”
Nothing would put a damper on a party faster than having guests uncomfortable.
“Right away.” Hayley scampered off to do as she was bid while Grace went over the event plan with the other two members of her team. They all knew the plan, but Grace made a point of holding a quick overview on-site at every event she threw.
While it was usually unnecessary, those rare occasions where they caught something that had been overlooked made it a worthy practice. Hayley returned and Grace doled out jobs so they’d be ready come showtime.
The staff Owen had handpicked for this evening were beginning to trickle in. Grace took a moment to speak to each of them personally, making sure they knew that, while technically this party was for Julia and Donovan, in fact it was for all the Fords, so any problems or issues should come directly to her. All part of the full-service experience she provided.
The staff were cheerful and quick to lend a hand to transform the room into an elegant space. It helped that Elephants had good bones, with its long white bar, dark flooring and sleek furniture.
Grace had chosen to forgo a traditional tabletop flower arrangement, those blooms that sprang up and demanded to be seen. Instead, she’d gone for something a little smaller, a little less typical and a little more Julia and Donovan. She’d found beautiful white birdcages with a white stone bird perched atop and stuffed them with small blue flowers that poked out from between the bars. The effect was cheerful containment on the tables covered in pristine white cloths. She trucked in some fake trees, leafless and dark, and strung them with small fairy lights. She’d created some temporary chandeliers out of wire, wrapped in a feathery material and strung with the same fairy lights. With the lights in the wine bar turned from their usual pinky hue to soft white, the space turned from a hip see-and-be-seen establishment to one of classic elegance with a modern twist.
Grace stepped back from fixing a light string that was drooping instead of artfully swooping and surveyed the room. A swell of pride filled her chest. It was beautiful, yes, but more than that it had a sense of the couple the party was being held for.
While anyone could appreciate that the room was worthy of a photo shoot in a magazine, those who looked closer would spot the attention to detail. The two typical flower arrangements, a bustle of lavender, blue and white by the front door, were set up in trifle bowls. The guestbook on the edge of the gift table was set with a silver Montblanc pen identical to the one Donovan always used. There were other little touches of tradition and style that fit the couple.
“This looks amazing.”
Grace recognized Owen’s voice and blinked before turning, a polite smile already in place. But she felt it waver when she looked into his face. His easy grin and the way he seemed to be checking out her instead of the room. Hadn’t she been clear that nothing could happen between them? “Thank you.”
“How long did this take?” He reached around her to finger the tiny cages on the table, the movement making the small flowers inside rustle.
Grace felt the heat from his arm sink into hers. She took a small step sideways, away from Owen. “I got here around two.”
“Amazing,” he said again, but this time he was definitely looking at her.
Grace felt the heat creep into her cheeks. She knew she didn’t look awful. Even during setup, she was careful to maintain her image. Hair pulled into a tidy ponytail, clean jeans with no rips or loose threads, a simple, black silk T-shirt and ballet flats so she could do any necessary hard labor. But amazing was a bit of a stretch.
“Can I do anything to help?”
“It’s all under control.” She was happy to give the party line. “Your only responsibility is to enjoy yourself.”
“You sure? I am the host. I’ve got the suit and everything.”
And a fine suit it was, cut slim to show off his physique and made out of poplin. The light gray shade set off his dark coloring and he wore it with a plain white dress shirt, the top two buttons left undone.
Grace yanked her gaze away from that small patch of exposed tanned skin. She had no business thinking about that skin, wondering if it would feel warmed by the sun or if it would taste like sugar, rum and mint.
Her eyes fell to his feet and the bright green kicks he wore. The tightness banding her lungs loosened.
This was who Owen Ford was. The kind of man who not only wore bright green kicks, but also wore them with a designer suit. The kind of man who didn’t get serious. Not the kind of man she was looking for at all.
“It’s all handled,” she told Owen, drawing in a calming breath. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get ready.”
* * *
OWEN WATCHED GRACE glide off, noting the way her jeans clung to her long legs. What he wouldn’t give to feel them wrapped around his waist.
“Here.” He blinked when a bar napkin was shoved in his face, then saw his sister grinning. “To wipe the drool from your chin.”
Owen accepted the napkin and dabbed at his chin. “Thanks.”
Mal’s smile widened. It was good to see her laughing. She hadn’t done enough of that lately. “Of course, it’d be better if Grace would quit giving you the brush-off.”
“True.” Owen tucked the napkin in his pocket. “She does like me, though.”
“She has a funny way of showing it.”
“Grace has some funny ideas. Says she can’t get involved with me because I’m a client.”
“Does Donovan know you’re planning to steal his bride and marry her in his place? Tacky, Owen, and just when the two of you were starting to get along.”
Owen snorted because the idea of him marrying anyone was a joke. “Maybe you should tell Grace that and put in a good word for me while you’re at it.”
“No.” Mal seemed to relish turning him down. “I won’t be your wingman.”
“So you just came over here to harass me?”
She nodded. “That and to help you with your drooling issue. You are the host tonight, Owen. Show a little couth.”
“A little—” He started to laugh, long and hard. He’d missed this snarky side of his sister. Even when it was directed at him. For the past few months, she’d been muted, all her color washed away. He threw an arm around her now, wrestled her into a headlock the way he had when they were kids.
“Owen, if you mess up my hair, I’m going to kill you.” But she was laughing, too.
He grabbed a handful of strands and gave a light tug. “How’s that for couth?”
“A poor showing.” Mal extracted herself—but only because he let her—and smoothed her hair. “Very poor. See, Owen, it’s behavior like that that keeps me from acting as your wingman.”
He laughed again. “If I promise not to touch your hair anymore, will you do it?”
“No.” She took a quick step back, hands raised to deflect any further hair-touching.
“What about if I act as your wingman, too?”
Her face fell. Damn. He’d thought she was doing better, was moving past whatever had happened between her and Travis.
“My offer to beat him up still stands,” Owen said. Yes, Travis was one of his best friends, but Mal was his sister.
Mal’s eyes were sad, her voice soft. “No. I appreciate the support, but it’s not necessary. No fighting required.”
Which was good because Travis was a good two inches taller than Owen’s own six foot one and his friend outweighed him by fifty pounds, all of it muscle. So really it would have been less of a physical beating and more of an “I don’t know what happened between you and Mal, but fix it because I promised her I’d beat you up and I’d prefer not to lose a tooth.”
“You sure?” This time when he put his arm around her it was to give her a hug.
“Positive.” But she held on to him a second longer. “Thanks, Owen.”
He watched his sister go, wondering if there was something else he could do to help. But Mal was proud and refused to tell anyone what had happened.
Owen grabbed a bottle of water from behind the bar and cracked it open. Which was why he thought it was better not to get too serious when it came to relationships.
Sure, he could end up like Julia and Donovan or his own parents, but they seemed to be the exceptions to the rule. Most people didn’t last, and wasn’t it better to go into the relationship with that already in mind?
Owen sipped his water and glanced at his sister, who was talking to Stef and smiling. But the cheerful expression didn’t reach her eyes.
Yes, it was definitely better to keep things light and casual. And a hell of a lot less painful.
* * *
GRACE TWITCHED THE HEM of her silvery-gray dress into place, ran a smoothing hand over her hair and slicked on a coat of pale almost-nude lip gloss as she eyed her reflection in the mirror of her compact. It was her standard event-planner uniform. Finished off with sapphire-blue kitten heels and a discreet pair of silver hoops at her ears, she looked cool and elegantly classic.
She knew some planners preferred suits. An exhibition of power and control, a statement that they were in charge and could handle any issue, but she found the same aura could be projected without looking as though she’d come straight from the boardroom. And, in her mind, she really shouldn’t be standing out at all. She and her team should move seamlessly among the crowd, looking like every other guest, just with earpieces.
She fussed with her dress again. Something looked off or maybe it was the twin flags of color on her usually porcelain skin. Grace pressed the back of her hands to the offending warmth on her cheeks, breathing slowly until the rosiness began to fade.
Better. Now she just looked as though she’d gotten a little sun. Which she might have if she didn’t have weddings every weekend.
Not that she was complaining. It was all part of her five-year plan, of which she had one year left to complete. She’d successfully started her own business, had three employees reporting to her, planned at least twenty weddings a year and last year had bought her own condo, a gorgeous one-bedroom with soaring loftlike ceilings on the downtown side of False Creek.
Surrounded by other affluent, educated types, Grace Monroe had come a long way from her roots and was proud of what she’d accomplished, even if her family didn’t understand. They didn’t have to. She was satisfied, which was more important.
She was actually a little ahead of schedule, since she hadn’t planned to buy the condo until next year. But she’d booked a wedding of one of the local hockey players, which had gotten her front-page coverage in not just the newspapers—both in print and online—but local magazines, too. All of that would have seen an increase in her business on its own, but when coupled with the inclusion of the wedding in a national lifestyle magazine that had dedicated an issue to the country’s most popular athletes, well, she’d hired that third assistant and receptionist pretty quickly.
“Grace?” Hayley spoke through her earpiece.
“Coming out.” She’d snagged access to the assistant manager’s office for the night for storage and anything else. Like changing clothes.
Grace locked the door behind her as she left. All her employees had stored their bags and purses inside, plus whatever financial items might be put in the assistant manager’s filing cabinet.
She adjusted her earpiece, eyes scanning the room. “What’s going on, Hayley?”
“The photographer just texted that he’s not coming.”
Small problem when Grace considered what else could go wrong. “Thank you, Hayley. I’ll handle it.”
The photographer was a new one whom she’d used once before and been pleased with his work, but she wouldn’t be using him again if he wasn’t reliable. And he clearly wasn’t. She’d be removing him from her list of contacts immediately.
Luckily, Grace had a solid list of vendors. She called Sherry Sanders, one of her most dependable photographers, and begged her to come for a last-minute gig tonight.
She’d figured the mention of Julia and Donovan’s names would be enough to pique Sherry’s interest, and she was right. Sherry had promised to grab her equipment and get there as soon as possible. Because there was a good chance a picture from the party would end up in one of the provincial papers, a photo credit line that would create an uptick in business. Not to mention, if Julia and Donovan were happy, they’d probably book Sherry for the actual wedding. And no serious photographer would be foolish enough to turn down the opportunity to work what looked to be one of the most talked-about weddings of the year.
By the time Sherry arrived and Grace had issued instructions about the number of family members and other important people in the couple’s lives, their style and general preferences, and made sure her team knew that Sherry was going to be handling all the photography, the wine bar had filled up. Grace recognized many of the guests. The who’s who in the city’s social scene, familiar faces in the papers’ society pages and industry professionals who were often as well-known as their restaurants. They glittered in expensive summer dresses and well-tailored suits. Jewelry and wineglasses shimmered under the lights.
Grace spotted Donovan’s parents and sister across the room. Gus Ford looked a lot like his sons, a blend of Donovan’s stoic seriousness and Owen’s easy smile. He wore a suit as well as they did, too. So clearly, there was no reason for her to get all jittery over the way Owen filled out his suit. It was simply good genetics. Like pheromones. Which Grace chalked up to animal instinct. Something she had overcome, much like her nontraditional childhood.
Evelyn was petite and energetic. Her eyes were bright as she chattered to her husband. Her elegant lilac dress set off her dark hair and complemented the deep indigo tie Gus wore. Grace smiled. She’d never had the opportunity to dress as a couple, except for Halloween, and she’d stopped participating in the costume and candy-consuming ritual when she was ten.
Grace headed over to greet them in person and assure them that they could come to her if they had any questions or concerns.
“I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Grace Monroe.” She held out a hand to the brunette standing with Gus and Evelyn. Even if Mallory hadn’t looked like a taller, sleeker version of her mother, Grace would have known they were related by the way her parents looked at her. A mix of pride and love showered over their lone daughter.
“Mallory Ford.” Her grip was firm, the sign of a woman who lived and succeeded in a man’s world. “This is outstanding. Really. I can’t believe it’s Elephants.”
Grace decided she liked Mallory, or at least liked her taste. She seemed to look beyond the surface to note the effort and time that had gone into making each choice. Her strapless dress was aqua and gathered at one side with a slit that provided a peek of leg. With the wrong accessories or on a shorter, curvier woman, it might have looked trashy. But Mallory, with her hair left down to cascade down her back, simple gold drop earrings and bangle bracelet and matching shoes, looked upscale and luxe. Which Grace imagined she was. “Thank you.”
“I agree.” Evelyn looked around, appreciation clear on her face. “I know it’s our place, and I can recognize so much of it, yet it looks different. Like a version created just for Julia and Donovan.” Which was exactly what Grace had been going for. Evelyn clasped a hand around her husband’s arm. “Isn’t it wonderful, Gus?”
“Better than wonderful.” Gus’s voice was as warm as his eyes. “You’ve done a fantastic job, Ms. Monroe.”
Grace felt the warmth from the pair of them seep into her, like a flower absorbing the heat of the sun. She clasped each of their hands in turn, wrapping them with both of hers. “Please, call me Grace.”
She jumped when she sensed someone move up beside her and the scent of clover with a hint of smoke, like honey by the campfire, surrounded her. She knew that scent. She loved that scent, but wished she didn’t.
“How come you never say that to me?” Grace tried not to stiffen as she turned to look at Owen.
“Owen.” Evelyn seemed delighted to see her son. Grace wished she felt the same. Instead, she was left with a discomfiting heat swirling beneath her skin. Mallory hugged her brother and whispered something in his ear that made him throw back his head and laugh.
Grace felt a bubble of envy and shifted a step away, out of reach. She wasn’t jealous of Mallory, just of the easy relationship she seemed to have with her brother. Grace hadn’t spoken to her own brother in six months. Not since the last time she’d been over to visit the family farm. But then despite the only sixteen-month age gap, she and Sky had never been close. Different priorities, different lives. Sky had decided to stay on the family farm and take over the business with his pregnant girlfriend. While she had done the opposite.
Gus moved to stand beside her by one of the tables. “I like these.” He was admiring the birdcage of flowers, running a thick finger along the cage much as his son had earlier. Grace shoved away the thought of Owen’s hands caressing anything, even a stone bird, but her ears were attuned to the conversation he was having with his mother and sister. And she had to lecture herself not to inhale deeply before his scent drifted away, replaced by lemon cleaning products, the spicy shrimp appetizers being passed around and her own grapefruit-and-mint perfume.
“You’ve done a fine job, Owen. Julia and Donovan are going to love this.” Evelyn laid a hand on her son’s arm. “Really love it.”
“I hope so.” Owen’s tone was cheerful, as though Grace hadn’t just brushed him off. Again. “Grace certainly worked hard enough.”
A curl of pride wound through her. Not that she didn’t believe she deserved the accolades, but it was always nice to be recognized. And then she felt guilty for brushing him off, since he hadn’t been trying anything. Not this time.
She flicked a glance at him. He was looking back. She felt her breath catch, took that deep breath she’d been avoiding and caught a full breath of that smoky sweetness that was all Owen. Her knees wobbled. Or they might have wobbled on a less tightly controlled person. Grace simply locked her knees and turned her full attention to Gus, who was now scarfing down both the spicy shrimp and the slices of warm baguette being served with it, wearing the beatific look of a man on a diet.
“Not too many, love,” Evelyn called.
“I know, I know. I’ll eat some green stuff, too.” But Gus winked at Grace as he grumbled and then leaned forward as though to impart some wisdom. “She’s always pushing me to eat green stuff. But I really only like it when I grow it myself. You didn’t by any chance create a green-free menu?”
Grace laughed at his hopeful look. “I’m afraid not. But since Julia is a French-inspired chef, it’s all been cooked in lots of butter.”
Gus’s eyes lit up as he called over his shoulder to his wife. “I’ll eat some green veggies when they come out, dear.”
Evelyn smiled. “It’s a celebration. Try everything, just don’t overdo it.”
Gus went back to stand with her, the two of them drawing Mallory into a conversation about a guest they wanted her to meet. Owen moved closer to Grace, hovering by her side, not touching, but close enough.
She got another whiff of him and tried to take only shallow breaths. “My dad had a heart attack at the end of last year.” His voice was low in her ear, his breath warm on her neck. “She’s still worried.”
“Of course she is,” Grace murmured. Mallory had excused herself and left Gus and Evelyn standing together, their heads almost touching as they whispered and smiled. Grace had known them for only a couple of minutes and already she could see how in love they were. It would be hard to recover from losing a love like that. Her heart skipped a beat. Of course, she had to find a man she liked enough to go on a second date with—okay, fine, a first date—before she jumped ahead to love and marriage and a lifetime of togetherness. “That must have been hard.”
“It was. For all of us.”
Grace tilted her head to look at him. His mouth was close to hers and she knew she should step back, but she was afraid she’d bump the table. Yeah, right. The table. That was what was holding her in place. “He looks good.” But she didn’t turn her head toward Gus. She was caught in Owen’s gaze.
“He does.” Owen reached out to brush a strand of hair off her neck. Grace felt the sharp buzz of attraction race through her. “He’s doing well.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” And although she hadn’t known Gus Ford even an hour ago as anything more than the founder of the family company and father to Owen and Donovan, she was glad. Grace didn’t always understand her own parents and she knew they didn’t understand her, but despite their sometimes contentious relationship, she loved them and would be devastated if they fell ill.
“Thanks.” Owen brushed the side of her neck again, though Grace was pretty sure that the strand of hair wasn’t there anymore. She knew she should mind, should take that step back, table or not, and remind both Owen and herself that their relationship was strictly business. She didn’t move.
“And how are you handling it?” Her voice was soft.
“Fine. Most of the time.” He shrugged and moved closer. She could feel his body heat radiating through her thick silk dress, could imagine the hard bunch of his muscles beneath that stylish summer suit. “Maybe you want to hug me? Make it all better?”
And just like that the moment dissolved and washed away on the realization that Owen wasn’t serious. Not about anything. Grace took that step away and didn’t bump the table. “Nice try.”
Owen grinned. If he weren’t so charming, he’d be obnoxious. Actually, she bet he could be obnoxious despite that overabundance of charm. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
She could, but she didn’t. Instead, she pretended that one of her employees was calling her through her earpiece and excused herself from the little family grouping, but she risked a glance over her shoulder as she strode away and saw Owen watching her go, a sleepy appreciation in his eyes.
Grace didn’t want to find him appealing. Not with his insouciant manner, his casual attitude toward most things and his bright green sneakers. But she did. She made herself keep walking as a quiet ache unfurled in her chest.
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_268b8954-d9a3-5742-b10f-3b5266c6be7c)
INTERESTING. OWEN WATCHED Grace walk away, that silver dress catching each curve as she moved.
She wasn’t as convinced that their relationship should be strictly platonic as she wanted him to think. And he didn’t need Mal as his wingman.
Owen smiled. No, he was doing just fine on his own. Just fine, indeed.
So fine that he was still grinning like a fool when his lookout texted him that Donovan and Julia had finally arrived. Owen gathered the family by the front door, wanting to give the happy couple a proper greeting.
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Jennifer McKenzie
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: With this fling… Wedding planner Grace Monroe has her own happily-ever-after all figured out. She even has a five-year plan for getting there. But Owen Ford can′t be part of it–no matter how attractive she finds him. Owen isn′t the marrying kind. Even if he was, he doesn′t have the qualities she′s looking for in a husband.But resisting Owen is impossible–and one night of passion isn′t nearly enough. Yet expecting more isn′t an option, either. Grace needs to end things and get back to her plan. She′s looking for Mr. Right, and Owen can only ever be Mr. Right Now…