The Estate (Jennings Township Romance #2)

Chapter One

The Wedding

Rachel's calm demeanor and upturned mouth gave nothing away, but each step was a test of her patience.

When Trace, the event planner, popped her head into the bridal suite and insisted on speaking with the bride, Rachel quickly stepped in to handle the situation.

Now the woman was vibrating with anxiety, wringing her hands while mumbling about ruined meals and stubborn caterers.

Out of their group, Rachel was clearly the best choice to handle whatever last-minute emergency had erupted.

Having known and worked with Lisa for years, Rachel was very in-tune with her friend’s low tolerance for drama and incompetence. When Trace huffed out another melodramatic sigh, that was all the confirmation Rachel needed. Lisa would smother this woman with a decorative pillow.

Naturally, Lottie was laser-focused on the custom wedding gown she’d created. When she wasn’t ensuring that each piece of lace was appropriately displayed on the dress, she was basking in the arms of her new boyfriend, Adam.

And dear, sweet Alex was moments away from walking down the aisle. Her day should be about marrying the love of her life. Not babysitting temperamental planners and inflexible caterers.

No. Rachel was the obvious choice to handle any issues, but as they made their way through White Hall Estate, Rachel had to wonder if that was really true.

Her recent job transfer to a new team had shaken her confidence.

While she knew any new position required an adjustment period, she couldn’t shake the idea that her new boss was less than happy with her.

And she didn’t know how to rectify that.

Clearing her throat, she pushed those thoughts away. She needed to be focused and in her best problem-solving mode. At least this was a problem she could fix.

Inhaling deeply and giving her hands a shake, she re-focused on the task ahead. The event planner was still on a diatribe.

Ugh. This lady.

She kept complaining about the caterer refusing to cook for the wedding reception, her tone getting higher with each word. Her voice was grating on Rachel’s last nerve, which was saying something. But the more Trace talked, the more Lisa’s pillow approach sounded like a perfect option.

Turning into the foyer, it was evident the reception preparations were in full swing. Stopping outside the ballroom doors, she placed her hand on Trace’s arm, effectively ending the woman’s almost non-stop chatter.

“Trace,” she said in a light tone. “I recognize how busy things are. Why don’t I just go speak to the caterer and get this whole mess figured out? That frees you up to handle the important matters that need your attention.”

“Oh, would you?” Trace replied, her body slumping in relief. “There are just so many details that go into an event like this. You can’t imagine.”

“I’m happy to help,” said Rachel, leaning in to give Trace’s arm a reassuring pat. She straightened and looked over her shoulder. “Is the kitchen down the hallway to the left or right?”

“On the left.”

When Rachel turned back, Trace was already in motion. “Just follow it straight down. You’ll run right into the kitchen!”

Rachel paused, watching the other woman powerwalk away. Guess that was that. Time to get this wedding back on schedule. Rachel sidestepped a worker carrying a stack of chairs, being careful not to run into anyone as she turned into the hallway.

The farther she walked away from the foyer and ballroom, the easier it became to hear the banging of pots and calls for various food items coming from the kitchen.

When someone emerged through the last doorway on the right carrying a tray of glasses, she knew she’d found the destination.

Hurrying the last few steps, she turned to enter and collided with a solid, warm wall of person.

Large hands gripped her elbows, steadying her. Her hands landed on what turned out to be the rather sculpted chest of the man trying to run her down.

“Oh, hey. Sorry about that,” a honeyed baritone voice said. Looking up, she saw the voice was attached to some equally delightful emerald-green eyes.

Rachel tried to get her bearings, but the chaotic kitchen noises, along with the looming nearness of Emerald Eyes, made it hard to gather herself.

“Are you okay?” he inquired.

Flustered, it required a moment for her to respond, all the while cataloging the man’s features. “Yes, I was just…”

“You can’t be back here,” he interrupted, the honeyed inflection of his voice now gruff. “This area is for staff only.”

She didn’t care for his tone change at all, but didn’t respond because she was suddenly very aware of her hands.

Her hands.

Which were touching him.

On his chest.

Dropping her arms, she stepped back, causing him to release her elbows. If his touch left a lingering tingle, she ignored it as Gruff Guy continued.

Gesturing to the left, he said, “If you retrace your steps down the hallway…”

“No,” she attempted to interject, but he talked right over her.

“The ballroom is right off the foyer…”

“I’m here to see the…” she tried again.

“The bathrooms are to the right…”

“I don’t need to use the bathroom!” She exclaimed.

Of course, at that precise moment, the raucous kitchen sounds dulled to a whisper, leaving her voice to echo throughout the room.

Gruff Guy had the audacity to smirk and raise an eyebrow at her. Clenching her jaw, she paused before continuing in a more even tone. “Thank you. But I am not some wayward guest in search of a ladies’ room. I am here to speak with the caterer about this evening’s meal.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am.”

Did he really just call her ma’am? Looking over his brown wavy hair and cleanly shaven face, she would have put them somewhat close to the same age. Perhaps in his mid-thirties. Did he think she rated a ma’am?

“Guests aren’t allowed back here. If you have any food allergies, I’m sure the bride has discussed them with the catering staff. Make certain to mention that to your server and he or she will be sure to…”

“I don’t have an allergy. I’m here to resolve the issue concerning the meal,” she interrupted him. She shouldn’t enjoy the scowl that appeared as she talked over him. He obviously didn’t like a taste of his own medicine.

“There’s nothing wrong with the meal,” he snarled, enunciating each word. “I have no idea where you heard that, but everything is well in hand. Now…”

Rachel breathed in deeply, striving to pull herself back into her calm, problem-solving center. This guy had knocked her sideways from the start, literally.

“There is a problem with the dinner,” she replied, her tone only slightly frosty. “The event planner informed me…”

“Trace,” Gruff Guy growled. He dropped his head, shaking it. “I have got to discuss expectations with her,” he muttered.

“Be that as it may,” Rachel gave a slight nod and continued as pleasantly as she could.

“Trace came to the bridal suite, to let the bride know the caterer has refused to cook for the reception.” She ignored his huff of disgust, adding, “Rather than bother the bride mere moments before she was to walk down the aisle, I’ve come to resolve the situation.

Now, unless you are indeed the caterer, please step aside so that I can get this problem settled. ”

While Rachel considered pushing her way past, a server carrying a tray of glasses approached.

Grasping her elbow again, Gruff Guy maneuvered her out of the kitchen doorway and back into the hall, allowing the server to pass.

While his touch was gentle enough, she disliked being moved farther away from her goal.

She was here to fix things, and by God, that was just what she intended to do.

She stepped back toward the kitchen when Gruff Guy moved in front of her.

“While I’m not the caterer, I can assure you there is no difficulty with the food for today’s event.

Clearly, the kitchen staff has everything under control, so you can rejoin the celebration now. No problem-solving needed, ma’am.”

Rachel had the ridiculous urge to stomp her foot.

If she hadn’t been so frustrated, she would have laughed at the thought.

“Rachel. My name is Rachel,” she spat back.

“And this seems to be getting us nowhere,” she said through gritted teeth.

Normally, she could keep herself cool, calm, and collected.

Her reputation for being able to handle issues or problems in stride was something she worked very hard at.

But Gruff Guy set her teeth on edge. Literally. His dismissive behavior and controlling actions were bringing up memories she wished to forget. Not now and definitely not at a wedding.

“I will need to speak with the manager. Please get him or her for me.”

Gruff Guy sighed heavily, rubbing his forehead. “You can speak to me.”

Her voice ladened with doubt, she asked, “You’re the manager here, Mister…” She waited a beat for him to fill in his last name.

“No, Rachel. You can talk to me. I’m the owner.”

Rachel’s eyes widened. He seemed young to be the owner of a property as large as White Hall Estate. Although, who was she to doubt it? He could very well be the owner. Although it wasn’t often you found an owner working hands-on at an event.

He certainly looked and acted the part. While his suit was a standard dark gray, it looked like a quality garment, well-fitted to his over six-foot frame.

His hair was more closely cut on the sides and the longer top looked slightly messy, as if he’d been running his hands through it.

Overall, he was the picture of a professional man, his attire subdued but appropriate.

Perfect for blending in with guests and moving seamlessly through an event.

“You’re the owner, Mister…” she prompted.

“Cal. You can call me Cal.”

Instead of speaking over her, his answers seemed to get shorter and shorter. She had doubts about which was better.