Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
W hoever created La Villa s elevator music should have their ASCAP card revoked. How could someone turn the Pussycat Dolls I Don t Need a Man into a lullaby?
It didn t take much to make her sleepy these days. She loved planning weddings, but the highs and lows were getting to her. Evie had accepted her offer. Burned out on bridezillas, she d welcomed the opportunity to help Mary with the car business. So Mary had spent all day Monday training her on the inventory and rental systems. It was only last night that she d had time to narrow a selection of invitations for Teagan and Twyla s wedding.
She d devoted this morning to Cierra s wedding and cake tasting. Although she d laughed until her stomach ached at watching Cierra s and Sawyer s overblown reactions to each bite of cake, the sugar crash and headache that followed made it difficult for her to focus on the walkthrough of the reception venue with the aerialist. When she d stumbled over nothing in the grassy area where her friend Saanvi planned to set up her aerial rig, Saanvi had asked Mary if she was okay. Of course, she d nodded and said she was fine.
She had to be fine. She had a third wedding to wrangle. And it was only a month away.
She d worked on her binder for the Richardson wedding between customers on the weekend and during her lunch break Monday, but it wasn t as complete as she wanted it to be. And she didn t have time to get organized tonight since she had to drive. Thank goodness it was a sixtieth birthday and not a bachelor party like the ones Michael and Rafe were handling. She hoped they d end the night before 2 A.M., but the last time she d driven a group of mature ladies, they d stayed out until sunrise.
Five minutes rest would help.
She leaned against the mirrored wall of the elevator as it ascended toward Alex s office and let her eyes close for a second.
She opened them again when someone bumped her hand, sending shooting pain from her crooked finger up her arm. The jolt of adrenaline popped her eyes open. Dammit, she d missed her stop, and the elevator had returned to the ground floor. Thirty-three, please, she said to the man in full-body gold makeup standing next to the panel. He looked like the copy of Michaelangelo s David downstairs except for his teeny tiny gold Speedo. He nodded and pressed the button.
She gripped her tote bag with the heavy binder as the elevator rose. She couldn t be off her game on the call with Rochelle and Rohaan. To ensure their wedding went perfectly—and earn her new, tripled fee—she couldn t afford to make any mistakes.
This time, she got off on the correct floor. The receptionist pointed her to the corner of the building, and she hurried to the impressive-looking pair of dark wood doors. A woman with gorgeous brown skin and white hair smiled at her from a desk just outside the doors.
She rose. You must be Miss Forza. I m Yasmin.
Please, call me Mary. And I m sorry I cut it so close.
It s fine. Go right in, and I ll connect the call.
Mary pushed open the heavy door. It closed silently behind her, and she stepped onto the thick rug. Alex s office was almost as large as her entire house, ten times bigger than her tiny office at Forza Elite Motors. What would she do with all this space? She wouldn t have to keep her growing collection of ribbons, tulle, and favor bags in her guest room closet, that s what.
Unlike the public areas downstairs with their Renaissance-style paintings, Alex s office was decorated in a simple, contemporary style. A giant wall-mounted video screen overlooked a long conference table on one side. On the other side was an expensive-looking seating area under a watercolor of red roses. Fresh peonies spilled from a vase on the coffee table. She inhaled their fragrance.
Alex leaned a hip against his desk and stared out the enormous window with a view of the Strip and its cluster of hotels. In the daylight, they looked sun-bleached and ordinary, letting the hazy purple mountains behind them steal the show.
Mary couldn t see his face, but his back was more relaxed than she remembered seeing it since high school. Well before graduation. What did he see out his window that soothed him?
Although she could have watched him and speculated forever, the call with Rochelle was set to start in just a couple of minutes. When she cleared her throat, he turned and smiled.
Mary. Thank you for coming. He stepped around the desk, buttoning his blue sport coat. He looked handsome and well-rested, like always. There were no dark shadows under his eyes.
Mary stopped herself from patting at the concealer caked under hers. Of course. I m looking forward to earning my tripled fee.
He chuckled, but she could tell he didn t believe her. They both knew she d caved because of the way he d reached for her hand and said, I need you, Mary. She d been powerless to resist the plea in his bottomless brown eyes.
She was a sucker, and she hated herself for it. Someday, she d be able to say no to him.
Today wasn t that day.
As he approached, his cologne wafted into her nostrils. Vanilla, with something spicy. And a flowery note, too, but that could ve been the peonies. Despite the afternoon sunlight streaming through the window, standing beside him was like walking through a garden at night, brushing against soft leaves and silky petals.
His hand landed lightly on her back, and he gestured at the conference table with the other. We can take the call there.
His hand felt…nice. Warm. Solid. Like the friend she used to rely on. She let him guide her to the conference table. He pulled out one of the cushy leather chairs, and she sank into its cloudlike softness.
Can I get you anything? A drink? he asked.
The phone on the conference table trilled.
No, thank you. Sorry I was almost late.
It s no problem, he said. You re right on time. He pressed a button on the phone. Hello, Rochelle. And is Rohaan there, too?
We re both here, a low voice rumbled through the speakerphone.
Hi, Alex, Rochelle said. Is Mary with you?
I m here, Mary said. Hi, Rochelle. And it s nice to meet you, Rohaan. She pulled the binder from her satchel, wincing when her pinky finger twinged. Let s get started. First, we ll confirm your date. It s the last Saturday in July, right? July 26th?
Wow, that seems really close, Rochelle said. We re a little over a month away. Are you sure you can pull it off in time?
Mary circled the date on the fact sheet, then smiled at Alex. Of course. We ve got the hotel owner right here. There s nothing he won t do to ensure everything is in place for your special day.
Absolutely, Alex said. And Mary will handle anything La Villa doesn t already have.
Okay, next up is the number of guests. Rochelle, you said about five hundred? Mary held her pen above the figure on the sheet.
That s what I was thinking, with all of Daddy s business contacts, Rochelle said, plus our families. How many of your family do you think will travel, babe?
It s not far from LA to Vegas, Rohaan rumbled.
You could charter a bus, Mary said.
They were silent. Had they never ridden a bus?
She added, Or reserve a car on the train?
You could charter a plane, Alex said.
Yes, Rochelle said. Don t you know someone who runs a charter service, babe?
While Rochelle and Rohaan discussed the merits and drawbacks of offering their guests air transportation, Mary let her eyelids close for a moment. She couldn t imagine the cost of flying over a hundred people from LA to Vegas. Or having five hundred people to invite to her wedding.
The Forza family was scattered. Her grandparents were long gone, though she had some cousins somewhere near Chicago and some others up in San Francisco. They d never been close. She had friends at church and plenty of business acquaintances, but she didn t need them to be part of her wedding. She d need only her brothers, Gabe s fiancée, and her groom to make the day perfect. There was a perfectly serviceable room at the courthouse where she d have a brief, fuss-free ceremony, then they d go to her favorite Italian restaurant and stuff themselves with pasta and braciole. Tiramisu was even more delicious than wedding cake.
The honeymoon, though? That s where she d spend her money. If they couldn t afford to get away, they d get a room at the Bellagio and pretend they d gone to Italy. They d lounge by the pool, then wander through the gardens, and have a romantic dinner on the terrace. At night, they d make love while they watched the fountain show from their hotel room window. She and her groom would fondly remember the romantic getaway years later as they rocked on her front porch, hand in hand.
Something hot and smooth nudged her hand, and she flicked her eyes open. Alex nodded at the cup of coffee he d set in front of her.
Crap, had she fallen asleep, dreaming of her own wedding, and missed what Rochelle and Rohaan said about theirs? She opened her mouth to apologize, but Alex laid a finger across his lips. Rochelle and Rohaan were still debating whether their guests would appreciate the convenience of a chartered flight or prefer to make their own ways to Vegas.
She sighed and mouthed, Thank you, as she lifted the porcelain cup printed with La Villa s crest to her lips. It was just how she liked it, the coffee strong and lightened with a touch of cream, no sugar. An almond biscotti perched on the saucer. She dunked it into her coffee, then bit into the crunchy cookie as she half-listened to the bride and groom.
What if we work with a travel agent instead? Mary asked. Alex looked up from his phone. That way, your guests could make their own schedules, but your travel agent could track when everyone is coming in. I know someone great who s local.
That could work, Rohaan said.
Before Mary could make a note of the decision, Rochelle said, But wouldn t it be easier if everyone came on the same flight? Then we could charter some party buses from the airport to La Villa. They were off again. Though Rochelle and Rohaan seemed to really listen to each other and want to reach an agreement they could both live with.
Alex sighed and cracked a knuckle. It rocketed her back to their high-school days, when he had to run through the knuckles on both hands before every test. He said it helped when he was stressed. What did he have to be stressed about? All the planning was on Mary.
When he glanced at his phone, it clicked. This meeting was taking him away from his regular work, which was probably frustrating. Too freaking bad, Alex. He d dragged her into this. She should be back at her office helping Evie and her brothers and working on her two other weddings. He could suck it up and be here with her.
Huh. Which was exactly what he was doing. Why did he care so much about this wedding? Sure, it was big, and it would make La Villa a lot of money. But couldn t he have sent what s-his-name, Evie s assistant? Joey. That s who should be here, not Alex.
While the couple continued to debate charter flights, she rolled back her chair and stood. The caffeine and sugar were helping, but moving would keep her awake. She wandered to the seating area and sniffed the flower arrangement. Heavenly. Peonies always made her think of weddings. She wondered if Alex knew they were said to bring financial success and happiness to newlyweds.
She meandered to his desk. It was solid, with a thick slab of wood on the top and a front that went all the way to the floor. Mahogany, if she wasn t mistaken. She trailed a finger across its smooth, clutter-free surface. Alex must keep his keyboard and papers in the drawers on the other side. A flat-screen monitor stood in one corner and a pair of paper trays occupied the other side, currently empty.
There was exactly one framed photo on the desk. She picked it up. She remembered Alex s mother from high school and church events long ago. Mary hadn t seen her in years, not since her father s funeral. From the photo, she guessed why. Mrs. Villa looked wafer thin, her skin practically translucent. Her hair and clothes were gorgeous, like always. But her smile was crooked, only one side turning up.
Mary knew Alex s father had died while she was still in college, and she looked around for a photo of him, but there was none. Ditto for photos of Alex himself or any of the women he d dated over the years. Gently, she set the photo back in its place. It must mean a lot to him.
So, a chartered flight, then, Rochelle said.
Mary returned to the conference table. Okay. Rohaan, I ll note that you ll set that up with your contact. Next on the list is invitations. Did you like the samples I sent?
I liked the simple ones, Rochelle said, but Rohaan liked the more traditional ones, so we ll go with those.
Are you sure? Mary asked. I can look for something you re both happy with.
No, I m good, Rochelle said. There are other things I care more about.
Perfect. I ll order the invitations. Once you send me the guest list, I ll get them hand-addressed and in the mail. Next on the list is the reception music. Yesterday, I sent you demos from three bands that are available that night. Did you get a chance to listen to them?
As they worked through her list, Alex sat with his elbows on his knees, tapping on his phone. Good thing this wasn t a video call.
While the couple debated salmon versus shellfish, Mary heard a soft pop. Alex was at it again, staring at the carpet, cracking his knuckles. Laying a hand over his, she mouthed the word, Stop.
But what did she want to stop? The tingles that raced up her arm and lodged in her heart to reignite the ones still left over from his touch on her back? Or the unexpected fire in his eyes when he looked up at her?
He covered her hand with his and murmured her name, his mouth kicking up into a devilish smile on the last syllable. Had he rolled his chair closer? Suddenly, he was in her space. The scent of vanilla enveloped her. His smile showed off his lips, pink and smooth with a slight luster to them. His top lip had a sharp bow in the center. If she leaned forward just a tiny bit, she could kiss it.
Mary?
She blinked and slipped her hand out from between Alex s. Sorry, Rochelle. Could you repeat that?
I asked if you thought potatoes or pasta would go better with the salmon.
Mary stared at the speakerphone, a much safer place to look than the light brown rings around Alex s pupils. Potatoes, definitely. With five hundred people, keeping them warm during the service will be much easier. And there are so many variations. Maybe fingerlings with garlic and dill?
After they d scheduled a tasting for the following weekend when the couple would be back in Vegas, Mary summarized the decisions they d made and outlined the next steps.
As Alex disconnected the call, she stood. I guess I ll see you?—
Just a minute, he said. I have an idea.
An idea? Her heart thudded in her chest. Must be the caffeine. She rubbed her blouse over her breastbone. Let s hear it.
I think this wedding could use a little more pizazz.
Pizazz. She crossed her arms. I think with a month to plan it and a semi-secret baby on the way, we ve got enough drama.
His lips quirked up on one side. Someone I know always says, Why get married in Vegas if you re not all-in on the razzle-dazzle?
She squared her stance. Because this is where Rochelle s family lives. She s looking for a simple, elegant wedding. Not one of your three-ring circuses with gold-painted David s in G-strings serving signature cocktails. Remember, I m the wedding planner. You re just the venue. You promised me no interference.
It was only an idea. He tilted his head. Are you okay?
From the scratch in her throat, she could tell she d gone shrill in shooting down his razzle-dazzle. Sorry, yes. I m a little run-down. And I should go. She lifted the heavy binder and shoved it into her bag. I m driving tonight.
Mary.
She couldn t help but meet his gaze, dark and dangerous. His smile was gone, replaced by a tight press of his lips.
Stop looking at his lips!
Yes? Looking into his eyes was also a mistake. They tugged her in like a whirlpool.
You re not driving tonight.
Of course I am. She sucked in cool air through her nose. She was back on solid ground. He wasn t intentionally smoldering at her. He was bossing her around. Again. I run a business, same as you. Sometimes you must power through.
Believe me, I understand powering through. But you re not safe to drive now, much less at 4 A.M. Can t Rafe or Michael do it?
They re also driving. And none of our part-timers can do it on a Tuesday night. So it s down to me.
I ll do it, he said, his jaw like granite.
You? she scoffed. You don t have a taxi license.
I used to. It was one of my jobs after high school.
Wait, what? A job? Hadn t he inherited his father s white-collar business like the prince he was?
Before she could ask, he continued, If you re worried, you can ride with me. But you re not driving in that condition. In fact, I ll drive you home.
She lifted her chin. My car s here. I ll drive myself home. But… Even if he no longer held a taxi license, he had to be more alert than she was. I will let you drive tonight. Meet me at the shop at six.
I ll pick you up from your house at 5:45.
She huffed, Fine, and heaved her bag to her shoulder.
If you brought a laptop or tablet to meetings, you wouldn t have to lug this binder around. He straightened the strap on her shoulder.
Noted for when I can afford a laptop or tablet. And quit nagging me, or I ll change my mind about tonight. She zipped the bag closed.
His hand landed on her lower back, not a press but a gentle support as she moved toward the door. Wait, how was she supposed to storm out of here, her pride intact, while he was melting her with the soft touch of his palm?
She stole a glance at him. His gaze was directed at the door, and despite the soothing weight of his hand on her back, it was intense, like he could burn through it with sheer force of will.
She never wanted to be what he glared at like that.
Or did she?