Always the Designer, Never the Bride Page 10

  "Russell?" Kim cried when she saw him. "What are you doing here?"

  "Hey, Kimmy," he said, scooting into the booth before the girl on the end had a chance to give him room.

  "You know Audrey?" she asked, somewhat shrill.

  The confused glances as she tried to put it together made Audrey feel oddly vindicated.

  "Oh, yeah. When Kit-Kat told me they were coming over to see you, I had to throw myself in. Who're all your mates here?"

  Audrey wanted to laugh out loud at the way Russell looked from one to the other, that big innocent grin on his handsome face, only partially masking the mischief in his eyes.

  "Oh. Well." Kim looked around, then tilted her head slightly. "This is Maddie and Joe, Carrie Anne Russo. And this is Weston LaMont."

  Audrey bristled. Had she heard that right?

  "I'm sorry," she said, stepping up to the table. "Did you say Weston LaMont? The designer?"

  "I did tell you I'd be meeting with him while I'm here." Kim flashed a very white smile that didn't quite reach her dark eyes. "Wes, this is Audrey Regan, her assistant Kat, and I guess you recognize Russell Walker."

  LaMont's spiked black hair shimmered bluish as he tipped his head and grinned. "Audrey Regan," he repeated, and he tapped the leather seat next to him in the booth. "Come sit down."

  "Well, actually, Kim asked me to come and meet with her—" She chuckled at the realization and added, "I'm not entirely sure why, now that I see you here too."

  "Kimmy," Russell chided. "Are you playing a game of musical designers? Not too cool, hey?"

  "Looks more like Designer Fight Club," LaMont cracked. "Is that it? You want to put us in the ring and see who's the last one standing?"

  "It is my wedding dress, Wes," Kim replied in a strange form of baby talk. "I have to make sure it's perfection, don't I?"

  "And you determine that by pitting them against each other at two in the morning?" Kat exclaimed.

  "Kat," Audrey said softly.

  "No!" And with that, Audrey's calm, level-headed assistant lost it. Her head, that is. "Are you kidding me with this? How many hoops do you want her to jump through for you, Kim? You told me on the phone—"

  "Kat."

  "—that you'd had a change of heart, that you wanted to talk it over with Audrey."

  "Well, that's not entirely untrue," Kim defended. "But it took you so long to call me back that, while I was waiting, I called Wes. He was here at Opera, and so I hopped in a cab and—"

  Audrey caught Russell's eye, and she locked in on him for a moment. "Are you going to drive me back to The Tanglewood?"

  "You bet," he answered, and he hopped to his feet. "Let's bounce, Kit-Kat."

  With one arm looped through Audrey's and the other through Kat's, Russell led them away from the table.

  "Audrey, come on," Kim sang from behind them, and it set Audrey's teeth to grinding.

  "I'm sorry, Ms. Regan, but your credit card was declined."

  Audrey felt something heavy drop through her until it thudded at the bottom of her stomach. "Okay," she said, producing another one and sliding it toward him. "Try this one?"

  He did, and the expression on his face ignited a churning, warbling panic within her.

  "That one too?" she asked him, and the clerk nodded. "I . . . don't know how that's . . . possible. I . . ." Humiliated, she dropped her warm face. "All right. I . . . I'm . . . sorry."

  "Sorry for what?"

  Audrey spun around to find Emma standing behind her at the desk. She didn't have a clue what to say, and her heart began to race so fast that the hum of it filled her ears.

  "Is there a problem here?" Emma asked.

  The man behind the desk looked to Audrey for clarification.

  "Carly asked me to stay a few more days, but—"

  "Oh, right. Sherilyn mentioned a small party to cut the wedding cake since they missed out on their reception."

  "Right."

  "That's so great that you can stick around. I know it will mean the world to Carly."

  "Well," Audrey began, and she looked away with a sigh. "I'm sort of short on funds these days, and . . . well . . ."

  Emma looked at the man behind the desk, and he nodded at the credit card in his hand.

  ". . . I'm afraid I just don't have the funds available to do it."

  "Ohh." Emma was silent for a moment before reaching over and squeezing Audrey's hand. "Listen, this is an unexpected expense. I get that. Don't worry about a thing. Roger, will you comp the rest of Ms. Regan's stay, please?"

  He didn't even hesitate. "Of course," he replied, and he set Audrey's credit card on the glossy counter with a click.

  "Emma, no, I can't ask you—"

  "You didn't. I offered."

  "But what about Jackson?"

  "I have some pull with the owner of the hotel," she said with a grin. "It's not a problem."

  Audrey heaved a ragged sigh. "Thank you. I'll repay it as soon as I can."

  "You know what you can do to repay it, Audrey? Come somewhere with me and Sherilyn. Kat's coming. You join us too, okay?"

  "Join you where?"

  Emma smiled. "Just change into some comfy clothes— something you can move around in—and meet me here in the lobby in about half an hour. Are you in?"

  How could she refuse? Audrey nodded.

  "Oh, and Emma? Could we keep this between us?"

  "Absolutely. I'll see you in a bit?"

  "Yes."

  After Emma had gone, Audrey returned her worthless credit cards to her wallet and thanked the clerk behind the desk. Wondering what Emma had in mind, she headed back upstairs to change clothes.

  Less than an hour later: "Are you kidding me with this?"

  "What do you mean?" Sherilyn asked. "I'm telling you, you'll feel so much better after a really strong workout."

  "Have we met?" Audrey muttered.

  "I know, I know. The first time Emma dragged me to her kickboxing class, I thought the same thing. But before you could say Kick butt and take names!, I was really into it."

  Sherilyn, Emma, and Kat stood before a line of punching bags, feet apart, gloved hands raised, while Fee sat sprawled on a sofa angled into the corner of the room. Working on a ragged fingernail with a torn emery board, she paid little attention to them until Emma smacked her gloves together and exclaimed, "Fiona. A little punching music, if you please?"

  Fee flicked the switch on the boom box propped beside the couch, and the room swelled with music she'd never heard before. The chorus seemed to repeat something again and again, and Audrey strained to make it out.

  "Bryan Duncan?" Kat asked Emma. "I love him."

  "Yep." Emma turned to Audrey and smiled. "The song is called 'Yes I Will.' And it restores the will to fight like nothing else can."

  Kat laughed, but Audrey remained glazed by the scene before her.

  Sherilyn tightened the gloves on Audrey's hands and smacked them with her own. "Just watch Emma and me," she told Audrey, and she nodded at Kat. "Dive in whenever you're ready."

  Emma and Sherilyn raised their gloves. Sherilyn stretched her head down to one shoulder and then the other, and on the same note of music they stepped into a sort of practiced choreography.

  Punch-jab-kick, punch-jab-kick.

  By the second verse of the song, Kat stepped right into line and joined them, leaving Audrey standing on the edge of the activity like a lost cat. She glanced at Fee, who stared at her over the bridge of dark angular glasses.

  "Dude," she said over the music. "You may as well just surrender to the wave. It's a twelve-footer."

  Audrey considered it for a moment before Kat chimed in. "C'mon, Audrey! It's fun. You'll feel better, you really will."

  "That's what you said about whole grains," she replied. Looking back to Fee, she added, "It's all fun and games until that third day."

  Fee popped with laughter, tossing her head back against the sofa cushion.

  "Well, you can't discount the importance of fiber in your d
iet," Kat defended, and she jabbed at the bag in front of her twice before landing a flying kick against it.

  "Okay, okay," Audrey said with a laugh. "I surrender."

  Stepping into line with the others, she began to throw halfhearted punches into the air between her and the bag.

  But despite her best efforts to remain uninvolved, ten minutes later, to the tune of Aretha Franklin's "Respect," Audrey wailed on the bag before her, punching and kicking the stuffing out of every one of the problems she'd been carrying on the other side of the gym door a short time earlier.

  Kim Renfroe and the dangling carrot of the wedding gown that could have saved her suffering design career. Punch-jab-kick.

  Weston LaMont, gawking at her from Kim's private table at Opera, all pompous and successful in the glare of her beaming failure as a designer. Punch-jab-kick.

  Kat. Poor Kat. The soon-to-be unemployed light of her professional life. Punch-jab-kick.

  And J. R.

  She jabbed and punched at his ridiculous crooked smile and glistening blue eyes . . . those muscular tattooed arms . . . his thick waves of shaggy hair . . . and that sometimes-shadow of a beard . . .

  With one hard kick that knocked her straight to the floor on her behind, Audrey dented the fender of his infuriating, lingering kiss; the one that still felt hot on her lips, even now; the one that, without his own restraint, might nearly have done her in.

  "Are you all right?" Sherilyn asked, standing over her. "Audrey?"

  "I'm fine," she lied. "Just great. Let's go again."

  Top Five Fabrics

  For Your Bridal Gown

  1. Silk is the most sought-after and beloved fabric for a

  bridal gown; it is also the most expensive. There are

  various textures of silk, such as raw, Gazar and Mikado.

  2. Chiffon is sheer and delicate, often with a soft sheen to

  it. Because of its transparent appearance, chiffon is often

  used for skirt overlays and sheer sleeves.

  3. Crepe is a lightweight fabric, not unlike silk;

  however, it is usually slightly crinkled.

  4. Organza resembles a blend of the delicate texture of

  chiffon and the stiffer appearance of tulle. It is ideal

  for full skirts, fitted bodices, and overlays.

  5. Tulle is known as the stuff ballerinas are made of.

  A fine netting made of silk or rayon, tulle makes a

  beautiful skirt overlay or bridal veil.

  7

  Carly leaned over Devon and kissed his forehead before tugging on the blanket and pulling it up to his chin. J. R. couldn't help thinking that, if her care for getting Devon settled at home was any indication, the woman was going to be a great mother one day.

  "What can I get you?" she asked her tired husband. "Water? Juice? How about some hot tea?"

  "Yoo-hoo?" he teased.

  "Okay," she replied, and she turned immediately toward the door.

  "Wait a minute. We have Yoo-hoo in the house?"

  "I got some just in case you asked."

  Devon shook his head as Carly hurried from the bedroom, and J. R. plopped to the edge of the bed.

  "Am I the luckiest guy you've ever met?" Devon said with a chuckle. "I have no idea what I ever did to deserve someone like her."

  "Me neither."

  "Hey!" his brother laughed, smacking J. R. on the arm, then moaning from the pull of it.

  "Sit back and relax or you'll be back at the hospital before you can finish your Yoo-hoo."

  Devon leaned back against the wall of pillows behind him and sighed.

  "So when do you report to Albany, in light of this new development?" J. R. asked.

  "Well, that's in question. Things are a little dicey in the Middle East right now."

  "No."

  "Yeah, 'fraid so. I'll be recovering here for another two weeks, and then it looks like I may be redeployed instead of staying stateside."

  "Have you told Carly?"

  "Not yet. I want to hold off until I know for sure in a couple of days."

  J. R.'s heart began to beat against his Adam's apple. He hadn't realized the degree to which he'd taken comfort in knowing Devon would be assigned to the cushy safety of Albany, Georgia, for a while. But now—

  "Don't let on, bro. Okay?"

  J. R. shook his head. "Nah. Course not."

  Carly stepped into the room and handed them each a frosty cold bottle before she set a paper towel and four chocolate chip cookies on the nightstand.

  Three parts Perfect Wife, and one part Nurturing Mother.

  Just what Devon never knew he needed.

  J. R.'s cell phone buzzed, and he pulled it out of the pocket of his dark brown shirt and glanced at the screen.

  "What's up, Russell?"

  "Hey, mate. Just happened on news about the place to be tonight. You in?"

  "Depends."

  "Birthday party for The Man."

  "Jackson?"

  "Yeah. It's at his sister's digs. Everyone who's anyone will be there."

  "You mean Kat's going to be there," he deduced. "Are we invited? Or are you just planning one of your social coups?"

  "Nah, I got me some manners, you bloke. Sherilyn texted me an invite for the both of us. You in or out?"

  "In. What time?"

  "Meet up with you around seven."

  "Good."

  "Oh, and it's a surprise, so don't blow it."

  "Gotcha."

  The moment he disconnected the call, Devon asked him, "What am I missing out on?"

  "Birthday deal."

  "Oh, that's right," Carly said as she entered with a folded blanket in her arms. "Jackson's surprise party."

  "Are we going?" Devon asked with a grin, and the glare from Carly set him back. "Are you going?"

  "I have my hands full here," she said as she laid the blanket across the corner of the bed. "I'll have to miss it. Besides, Sherilyn is my Tanglewood connection. I don't really know Emma and Jackson much at all."

  "Emma and Sherilyn are like you and Audrey," J. R. observed.

  "Still," she replied with a smile. "I have a better offer here at home."

  "Him?" J. R. teased. "A better offer? Marriage has stripped you of your good judgment."

  "Don't be hateful," she returned, and she dropped to the bed beside Devon. "This is all the party I need."

  "A drugged-up Marine with a hole in his gut," Devon summarized.

  "MY drugged-up Marine," she reminded him, placing a peck on his cheek before she told J. R., "Give Jackson our best."

  "Will do," he said.

  "And if Audrey is there—"

  "Audrey?"

  Settle down, you idiot. It's just a name.

  "Yes, I thought she might be there."

  "Oh. Yeah?"

  Trying too hard.

  "Maybe. If she is, ask her to call me later? I've been trying to reach her about the reception."

  "What reception?" Devon asked first.

  "Well," she sighed. "Emma saved the wedding cake, and we're going to plan something really small and simple once you're feeling up to it. I asked Audrey to stick around for a few days to see if she can be there."

  "A few days?" J. R. interjected. "Do you think you'll be out of bed that soon?"

  "Dunno. Enough to eat some cake? Maybe."

  Audrey's staying in town a little longer.

  "I'll talk to her. Ask her to call you."

  "Good, thanks. And have fun tonight."

  J. R. grabbed his helmet and keys from the table by the front door, mid-stride.

  The ride over to The Tanglewood was fraught with traffic, but his own thoughts were considerably louder than the rev of motors and the honk of horns. Despite the recurrences of Audrey on the fringe of his thoughts, he kept coming back to what Devon had confided about possibly heading back to the Middle East, and it wrenched his gut each time the realization crashed again. If the idea hit him in such a profound way, he wondered how Ca
rly would take the news.

  "Hey, you!" Sherilyn greeted him with a hug when she saw him crossing the lobby. "What are you doing here? How's Devon?"

  Shrugging back the truth, he pushed a smile to his face. "He's got some healing to do. But Carly's on the case."

  "They're a great couple."

  "Yep, they are."

  "So what are you doing at The Tanglewood?"

  "I want to give them some privacy. I was hoping I could get a good rate and crash here for a couple of days."

  "I think I can help with that."

  Sherilyn grinned at him and linked her arm through his, closing the gap between them and the front desk.

  "Hey, Rog," she said to the guy behind the desk. "Do we have availability for tonight?"

  Roger nodded and tapped at the computer, examining the screen.

  "How about we give Mr. Hunt a discounted rate, if there's one available." She poked his side with her elbow. "He's the brother of the groom who ended up in the emergency room. He's going to hang around for a few days to help them out."

  "Three nights?" Roger asked him. "Four?"

  "Why don't we start with three. It could be more. I just don't know yet."

  "Yes, sir."

  Sherilyn propped one elbow on the counter as Roger firmed up the details of the reservation. "So, J. R."

  The hair on the back of his neck shimmied. "So, Sherilyn."

  "You and Audrey."

  "What about us?" He casually took his card from the clerk and tucked it into his wallet.

  "Is there a love connection going on there?" She tossed her red hair and grinned at him like a gorgeous Cheshire cat.

  "Why do you ask?"

  "I've heard some scuttlebutt," she told him. "Just wondering if there's any truth to it. You know. Inquiring minds and all that."

  "She's a beautiful girl," he stated carefully.

  "Yes. She is."

  "And she seems very sweet."

  "Very."

  J. R. tapped her arm several times before turning away.

  "Hey," she said. "Are you coming to Jackson's party tonight?"

  "Possibly."

  "Possibly? Russell said absolutely."

  "Then why did you ask?"