Chapter 5
WILLOW
I’m back at the office on Monday morning, working hard not to let the memory of Friday night distract me from everything I need to get done before the day is over.
It’s quite the mission, I’ll admit, considering I’d spent most of the night letting Cole take me in every possible way while his brothers watched and occasionally intervened to give me another orgasm.
It was decadent. It was wonderful. And I’m still so deliciously sore, I can barely sit still or stop grinning like the beast they turned me into.
“Will?” Jamie’s voice breaks through my haze.
“Crap, sorry,” I reply, shifting my focus back to the task at hand, the to-do list for Terrence and Katrina’s wedding. Terrence feels so far away to me now, barely a memory, somebody I used to know, definitely not the man I was going to marry. “Where were we?”
“We were going over the planning and preparation stages,” Jamie says. “At least, that’s where I was. I don’t know where you were, though. You must still be stuck in Friday night.”
I pause and lean back in my chair, trying hard not to smile.
Jamie laughs. “I knew it. You four hit it off and then some, didn’t you?”
“And then some,” I sheepishly admit.
“I was waiting for you to say something. Please note that I didn’t badger you in any way.”
“Oh, it’s definitely noted,” I reply. “I’m still wrapping my head around it, truth be told.
The Morgan brothers… They’re unique. I mean, handsome features and fortunes aside, they’re so attentive, so gentlemanly, so courteous and charming, funny, and at the same time, so dirty-minded and decadent. I had a hard time keeping up.”
Jamie gives me a broad smile. “Yet here you sit.”
“Here I sit, looking forward to more,” I admit. “They’re intense, all-consuming. When I’m with them, you could ask me about Terrence, and I’d probably need a minute to remember who that was.”
“Of course, there’s no comparison. Terrence is a prick, darling. The Morgan men, well, the whole city knows they’re M-E-N,” Jamie says and laughs.
I smile, once again remembering Friday before shaking my head to clear it. “But we have work to do, you’re right. I’ll try to stay on task, I promise.”
Jamie points at a checkmark on the list. “Relax. The contracts are signed, and the caterer options and supplier lists are approved by her royal bitchiness.” I snicker at his nickname for Sheila.
“I was on the phone all weekend with them, and we should be getting some menu proposals via email before the end of business today.”
“What about the bar and the cocktail menus?”
“Also pending. I reached out to The Mixologist and Studio Framboise for this. They’re two of Terrence and Katrina’s favorite cocktail bars, apparently.
We’re negotiating the mixologists’ fees and an approved list of drinks, and other supplies they need.
They’ll probably do a crystal winter theme, so champagne, ice sculptures, and all that fancy crap. ”
“The Thornwood Estate’s ballroom fits about a thousand people, according to Sheila,” I say, going over the next item on our list. “We need to do a site visit, get some measurements, and all that. We should bring Steve with us.”
“Steve’s got his hands full with the Nutcracker on Broadway this winter,” Jamie sighs. He sounds disappointed, and I am, too.
“Damn. Steve was our go-to guy on decorations.”
“He’s not our only go-to guy. I left a message for Karl. Remember him?”
“He helped us with the Halloween-themed wedding for that Connecticut couple,” I say. “I remember him. He was good, He delivered on time, he didn’t skimp on the materials, and he didn’t cost us a fortune either. Great call, Jamie.”
“Here’s hoping he’ll reach out by the end of the day, otherwise—”
“Otherwise, I’ll talk to Sally over at the New York Ballet Company. They had a brilliant production designer who worked with them last season, a freelancer. He might be available. Either way, we need production design checked off the list.”
Jamie nods and makes a couple of notes next to that particular item, then moves on to the next. The further down the list we go, the more we realize we still have to get done. However, with a miracle or two, we might be able to pull it off.
But I’ve yet to spot any miracles on the horizons.
The hours go by, and my mind wanders back to Cole, Asher, and Toby in between phone calls and last-minute emails to some of the city’s most highly rated florists.
It’s a crazy stretch, but I think Sheila knew I’d be able to handle it on such short notice.
She wouldn’t have taken the risk, if she didn’t.
I also know she’s using this opportunity to hurt me eventually. I just wish I knew what her endgame was.
My phone pings; it’s Cole.
How’s the wedding planning coming along?
Shaping up slowly but surely. On the phone and emails all day. My eyes hurt. How’s business over at Morgan Enterprises? I reply, allowing myself a smile as I notice Toby and Asher are typing messages of their own in our group chat.
As usual. Keeping the business ethos alive. We just salvaged a credit union. It’s being absorbed as one of our subsidiaries, Cole texts.
Detroit is finally picking up slack in the automotive industry, Asher says, referring to his own independent company, not under the Morgan name. We’re opening a plant there in February. I just signed the contracts.
That’s amazing! Congratulations! I reply.
I’m elbow deep in grease, Toby chimes in. Not that I envy my brothers or anything. Just felt the need to point that out.
I laugh lightly. Toby has a way of lightening any mood, and the fact that he turned his passion into a thriving business model only makes me like him more.
Who’s that Hog for? Cole asks him.
Some bigwig over at Stanley. You might know the guy, Curtis Shaw.
That idiot? What is this, a midlife crisis buy? Cole shoots back.
Call it natural selection. I’ll still cash the check, Toby replies.
I set the phone down. I’m glad I can tune into our little group chat once in a while for stress relief.
We don’t always answer right away, but when we do, it’s like we’re picking up where we left off.
There’s no pressure, no obligation. Terrence used to throw a fit if I didn’t respond quickly—probably because he was a professional slacker while I was busy running my business.
The more I look back, the more reasons I find to dislike him.
My phone pings again.
Tonight, my place, Cole says. The townhouse on 44th. I’ll have a driver pick you up, Willow.
What’s happening tonight? I ask, though I think I already know.
You’ll find out when you get here.
I giggle and put the phone down again, then focus on a half-written email to the New York Ballet Company. I know I’ll get a quick reply, and I hope it’ll be a positive one.
From the copy of Thornwood’s blueprint that Sheila emailed over, I noticed that the gigantic hall is oval-shaped, a recent modification, with faux -plaster walls from about twenty years ago that Mrs. Morgan requested.
I’ve gone over photos of previous events that took place there, and I’ve got a pretty good idea of what we’re dealing with.
It’ll be beautiful, that much I’m sure of.
Another ping. I laugh lightly, expecting a funny line from Toby or some saucy remark from Asher, whose wonderfully dirty mind works 24/7 solely to entice me. But it’s not any of the Morgan brothers.
The number is blocked, but I open it.
Stay away from the Morgan brothers or pay the price.
I drop the phone on my desk, startling Jamie as he walks back into my office.
“Whoa,” he says. “What’s wrong?”
“Read that…” I manage and hand him the phone.
I look out the window. It seems quiet on my side of the city.
Traffic flows smoothly below. People the size of ants rush left and right.
Across the street, I catch glimpses of the neighboring offices.
I see folks in smart shirts and dark slacks, carrying their laptops from one work station to another.
It all looks normal, but there are eyes watching me, even if I can’t see them.
“Who the hell sent this?” Jamie asks, downright outraged.
“I honestly don’t know. But someone has my personal number, and they’re using it to threaten me.”
Jamie sits on the edge of the desk; his brow furrowed with concern. “Someone who knows about you and the Morgan men.”
“We were at the cabaret show on Friday. Maybe someone saw us there. Maybe they recognized Cole, Asher, and Toby. I have no idea. It’s weird.”
“It’s also worrying. We’ve got enough to deal with. You should alert the police, Will.”
I give Jamie a confused look. “They’re not going to do anything about it. It barely qualifies as a cybercrime.”
“Tell the brothers, then.”
“No,” I reply and shake my head. “No way.”
“Why not?”
“Because we’ve got this good thing going. It’s the one good thing to come out of this whole disaster with Terrence, because we both know the wedding itself will be a nightmare, and because it’s just a text message.”
Jamie gives me a pleading look. “Now isn’t the time for you to turn into a warrior queen.”
“I’m not being a… whatever. I’m just thinking clearly. If the messages continue, if at any given moment, I feel unsafe, I will definitely tell the guys, and I will call the police. But until then, it’s just a text. It could be nothing, just some jealous chick trying to get a rise out of me.”
Doubt lingers in the back of my mind, but I stick to my guns.
That message could be a fluke. I may never get another one.
And if I do, I’ll do something about it.
In the meantime, we’ve got bigger and richer fish to fry.
Jamie nods like he sort of agrees and holds up his iPad for me to read one of the emails he got a few minutes ago.
“Fantastic. The Mixologist has agreed to handle the bar, and they also sent a preliminary menu with a winter theme. Damn, they’re fast. No wonder they’re so popular,” I conclude.
By the end of the day, we’ve got a couple more confirmations and meetings set up for the next day. The planning stage is moving along nicely, and I can only hope we’ll keep the momentum going until we deliver the dream winter wonderland wedding for my ex and his bride.
As I step out of the office building and into the dark limo Cole sent to pick me up, I instinctively look both ways.
Wondering.
Looking for those eyes.
But there’s nothing, just winter darkness, people heading home, red taillights on cars leaving the city, an me on my way to another hot date with the Morgan brothers.