Best Laid Plans, Robyn Kelly [read e books online free txt] 📗
- Author: Robyn Kelly
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Bryan and Monica arrive together. He’s as tall as Jackson, but leaner. He has more of a runner’s build compared to Jackson’s solid, imposing body.
“We only have to be here until seven-thirty, right?” His tone tells me he thinks that’s an eternity.
“That’s for your guests. This will probably go until eight.”
He looks crestfallen. “That’s two hours.”
I hope Bryan’s impatience doesn’t make Jackson suspicious. “I know. It will fly by, believe me. And remember, it’s a secret.”
I look to Monica, imploringly. Monica is even prettier than her pictures, and standing next to Bryan, you can see what a cute couple they make. She has a solid, dependable vibe about her. Monica will make sure they get where they are supposed to be, and Bryan will make sure they have fun when they get there. Hopefully, she can keep him distracted.
She places her hand on his arm. “You haven’t told me about Italy. I’ve always wanted to go.”
“Really?” His tone clearly communicates he doesn’t understand why anyone would want to visit. I sigh. I bet the Hunter men don’t have one romantic bone between the two of them.
Suddenly a silence descends on the room. My back is to the door—not that I need to turn around. “Jackson must have arrived.”
Bryan tilts his head as he stares at me. Now I truly see the resemblance to a show dog. When Bryan does it, I want to smile. When Jackson does it, I want to hide.
I turn and see Jackson standing next to an older woman. She is petite and pretty, and as uncomfortable as I am. She must be his mother. As I look at her, and then look at Jackson towering over her, my first thought is I hope she didn’t have natural childbirth.
Jackson watches me approach, and there is a dark, brooding look in his eyes. Did I do something wrong? If he doesn’t like this, he’s going to hate the party later. His hand goes to the small of my back as he introduces me. His mother’s name is Margaret, but she insists I call her Marge. Jackson’s fingers lightly press and dance against the back of my dress. It’s distracting and confusing—and I enjoy it a little too much.
My policy has always been to act like the help and not like a guest. I welcome them and offer to take their coats. The sooner I can get away from this man, the better. As I attempt to exit gracefully, Bryan and Monica approach and block my path. There are kisses and hugs all around—all around Jackson, because he doesn’t join in. Marge clearly knows Monica. Bryan introduces her to his brother.
This is my chance to make a getaway. I wheel my way around Bryan, and come face-to-face with Kyle. I almost didn’t recognize him with his clothes on. He presses his tray of appetizers toward the group, cutting off my escape route.
Bryan looks at the selection. “What are these?”
I asked the caterer if they could add a quail appetizer at the last minute. I knew it was hopeless, but I had to try. I picked one I thought had the best potential to pass for quail and told the chef to lie. Desperate times call for desperate measures.
Kyle’s eyes lock on me. His expression clearly communicates that he hasn’t forgiven me for whatever happened between him and Lois last week. “Quail, I’ve been told.”
Jackson notices the look on Kyle’s face and takes the first one. He bites into it, chewing ever so slowly. “Quail, huh?”
“Mmmm.” That’s a nice, non-committal sound. It’s not a yes, and it’s not a no. It’s just an Mmmm.
I can tell Jackson isn’t fooled. “It tastes like chicken.”
I put on my best smile. “That’s what I’ve always heard. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to check on dinner.” Exit, stage right.
Dinner is a pleasant affair. The caterers are perfect and the presentation is delightful. Everyone enjoys themselves. Well, everyone except the birthday boy. I can tell he’s just waiting for it to be over. Thankfully, Monica is wonderful—taking his hand, keeping him distracted.
I head back to the kitchen. I missed breakfast and lunch (thanks to the quail infestation). Hopefully I can get something to eat for dinner, but first I need to sit down for a minute. I’ve been on my feet all day, going nonstop. I pull one of the extra banquet chairs off the stack and collapse. I think about slipping out of my shoes when the kitchen door swings open, and Jackson enters. There’s no rest for the wicked, so I start to stand.
“Don’t get up. You look tired.”
“Weary. I look weary. Never tell a woman she looks tired.” I think he’s going to hover over me but he actually kneels so we are at eye level.
“People don’t often correct me.”
“That’s a pity. You’ve probably missed a lot of valuable lessons.” My filter is off. I need to remember that he’s the client.
“I can think of a few lessons I’d like to give you. Lessons in being honest, being grateful, being submissive.”
Submissive? Me? The nerve of this man. “The best teachers learn from their students. And from my point of view, I just got the most eligible bachelor in San Francisco down on one knee.”
Jackson gives me a smile. A very dangerous smile. “That’s because I plan on using the other knee to bend you over and spank that pretty little ass of yours.”
Is he serious? “As I remember, you’re the one who said no kink.”
Before he can react, the servers bring the dinner plates into the kitchen, and we are clearly in their way. Jackson rises and offers me his hand. Reluctantly, I take it and stand.
“That was an excellent dinner. I’m glad to know you didn’t spend all that money.” And at that moment, the walls start to shake.
No matter how I try to manage things—how many checklists, how much research, and all the disaster recovery plans I imagine in my head—there is always something I forget. This time it was soundproofing. The DJ’s subwoofer blasts a bass line with such force it makes the walls vibrate.
“What is that?” Jackson exclaims.
“That’s the rest of your money.” I head out into the dining room and see Bryan’s eyes twinkling like Christmas lights.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we have dancing and dessert in the church.”
I walk the twenty guests through the courtyard and into the rear church entrance. It’s not quite eight o’clock, but based on the number of people on the dance floor, none of Bryan’s one hundred and twenty-eight other friends are fashionably late.
I text Robert and in a few seconds, the beam from a spotlight in the choir loft swings to and fro near the entrance, searching for Bryan. Since the lighting guy doesn’t know who Bryan is, I’m supposed to stand next to him, and when the light finds me, pull him into the spot. That plan has one serious flaw, and his name is Jackson.
I’m standing next to Bryan, waiting for the spotlight to land, and suddenly I’m not. How I got halfway across the room at the speed of sound is beyond me. All I know is that Jackson has both of his hands pinning both of my arms, so I’m not getting away.
“Um, Jackson. You need to let me go. I’m working right now.”
“I don’t remember asking for this,” he growls.
“You wanted as little involvement as possible,” I say defensively. “Now, I need to find Bryan.”
“You shouldn’t argue with me when you wear that dress.”
He is standing so close I can breathe him in. I never believed in pheromones until now. He smells like expensive shampoo and a hard day at the office. Maybe it’s because I haven’t eaten, but he smells delicious.
He raises an eyebrow. Sometimes I think that man can read my mind.
“You asked me to wear this dress. Now let me go or you won’t like what’s about to happen.”
His eyes narrow. “And you really shouldn’t threaten me…in…that…dress!”
They say bad things happen in threes. The three things that happened at that moment were Jackson’s lips crash-landed on mine, the spotlight guy finally found me, and the DJ announced, “Let’s hear it for the birthday booooyyyyyyy!”
While the crowd cheers, Jackson jumps back from me, cursing.
I’m madder than I should be, especially with a client. “I told you that you wouldn’t like it. Now keep your back to the spotlight and let me fix this.” I signal to the lighting guy to follow me. While the crowd whistles and laughs, I scurry back to the place where I last saw Bryan.
Thankfully he hasn’t moved. With my best Vanna White gesture, I point to him, and the DJ follows my lead, announcing, “Sorry, folks. That was just the opening act. Here’s the star of the show: the birthday boy, Bryaaannnnn!”
Bryan’s friends explode with applause and cheers as they surround him. I push my way through the onslaught, feeling like a salmon swimming upstream. I need to sit down, so I head for the little room behind the altar.
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