One More Night. Jennifer McKenzie

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СКАЧАТЬ pink as her lips. She opened her mouth, but whatever she’d been about to say was cut short by a knock at the door.

      “Ms. Monroe?” The pretty receptionist entered the room. “Ms. Laurent is here.”

      The frosty film in Grace’s eyes disappeared and was replaced by a look of polite welcome. “Thank you, Hayley.” Grace greeted Julia warmly, showing a spirit of effervescence that took Owen by surprise. Not quite the cool Ice Queen she tried to portray. The dichotomy intrigued him. It had been a long time since a woman had intrigued him.

      “Owen?” Julia’s brow furrowed when she spotted him standing there. “What are you doing here? Where’s Donovan?”

      “His flight was delayed.” Owen glanced at Grace, who was watching him with no hint of that effervescence. “And he couldn’t get in touch with you to let you know. He roped me into coming in his place.”

      “Did he?” Julia couldn’t hide her grin. “How much did that cost him?”

      “Just his undying gratitude.” Owen included Grace in his cheerful explanation. She didn’t smile back.

      “Well—” Julia’s voice drew his attention “—I appreciate you coming, Owen, but don’t feel obligated to hang around. I’m sure you have something else to do.”

      Owen continued to look at Grace, who stared at him, a small pout on her lips. Clearly, his leaving would be no skin off her back. “Actually...” He sent her his most charming smile. He’d crack her facade if it killed him. “I think I’ll stay.”

       CHAPTER TWO

      GRACE COULD FEEL irritation and something else burn up the back of her neck and warm her cheeks. This man, this charming, flirty, handsome man in his casual shorts and cartoony T-shirt, with his hair mussed and flip-flops on his feet, unsettled her. She didn’t like being unsettled.

      Raised by a pair of unconventional hippies on Salt Spring Island, one of the Gulf Islands off the coast of BC, meant Grace was well aware of how unsettled life could be. It was something she’d fought against her whole life, longing to fit in, to be like the families she saw on TV sitcoms with parents who were married, who set rules for their kids and expected them to work toward well-paid white-collar careers. Instead of scrounging in the dirt on the family’s organic farm and saving her pennies to buy the glossy magazines her mother claimed were rife with material consumerism.

      Grace breathed in slowly. The room was an ideal seventy-two degrees, which felt cool in the summer season. She reminded herself that after today she wouldn’t have to put up with Owen Ford again. That this wedding, like all her weddings, would find its rhythm and settle into the detailed and organized plan she’d create for it.

      Really, Owen was a good reminder to her and everyone on her team that there was no fraternizing with the clients. Not with the wedding party, the family or the guests.

      It was a hard-line policy, but one Grace felt was necessary. Weddings were ripe for sexcapades. Alcohol flowed, bodies pressed against one another on the dance floor, while everyone was groomed and dressed to look their best. And with the cultural overtones that were wrapped up in the idea of a wedding night, sex was on the brain.

      Grace expected her staff to rise above all of that, and to ensure her events stayed classy and professional no matter what. Amorous couples were dispatched to conduct their business in private. Grace had personally caught guests going at it in the garden, in the bathroom and in the limo booked to whisk the newlyweds off at the end of the night. In all cases, she’d politely interrupted and suggested the couple in question might prefer to take their activities to a more private location. Like the bank of hotel rooms she always booked for her events.

      She had a feeling she’d need a suite of rooms for Owen Ford.

      The moment that thought entered her mind, Grace pushed it away. Owen’s personal amusements were none of her business. She was here to plan a wedding, not worry about what kind of problems the brother of the groom might cause. There would be plenty of time to worry about that once the location was selected, the cake ordered and the flowers chosen.

      “Let’s discuss basics, Ms. Laurent.”

      “Oh, please, call me Julia.”

      “Call me Owen.”

      Grace forced a polite smile she didn’t feel. “Of course, Julia. Please call me Grace.” She purposely didn’t look at Owen, keeping her attention focused where it should be—on the person getting married. “You said during our initial phone call that you’re thinking about a winter wedding. Did you have a specific date in mind?”

      Julia talked about the quiet time in the restaurant industry and how she and her fiancé hoped to take advantage of that. Grace listened with both ears, but kept an eye on Owen. He looked too casual, too comfortable. And who came to a business meeting, even if it wasn’t his business, in shorts and flip-flops? Would it have killed him to put on a pair of pants and some closed-toe shoes?

      “So January?” She returned her gaze to Julia. She was going to be an easy bride. Grace could already tell. None of the barely suppressed nerves or the tightly wound personality that some of her brides had.

      They discussed a few options. Day or evening. Hotel or private venue. Indoor, outdoor or a mix of both. The number of guests. Their proposed budget made it clear that money wasn’t going to be an issue. No, any difficulties were going to come from availability and desire. Grace flicked another glance at Owen, who hadn’t added much to the discussion. He’d just sat there.

      She felt the burn rise back up her cheeks when she saw he was looking at her and closed her leather notebook with a delicate flip. “I think we’ve got a good start.” She started a new book for each wedding she planned, filling the pages with notes and pictures on anything and everything. The wedding party, engagement parties, photographers, the dress, the food, every detail that might arise and plenty that didn’t.

      Grace’s business offered full-service wedding-planning services and that meant she handled everything no matter how big or small. Though she’d started her own business just four years ago, she’d been in the industry for nine, honing her skills at larger, more established event-planning companies before branching out on her own. She’d already carved out a niche. The wedding planner for those who wanted style and class, traditional elegance.

      She was expensive, but then so were her results. But her clients got what they paid for. Every detail was exquisite, every movement planned and prepared so that the whole day was a magical experience.

      “I’ll come up with some prospective plans and send them to you and your fiancé. Perhaps we can schedule another meeting next week to discuss them?” Grace liked to move quickly. Although winter weddings weren’t nearly as popular as summer or spring, the best locations always booked up quickly and often months or years ahead of time. She didn’t want to get caught flat-footed on what was sure to be one of the biggest weddings of the season.

      She’d manage the media attention, too. She had contacts at the papers, reporters who would be all too happy to feature a pair of local celebrities and their splashy event. Or she could bar them, keeping photos and attention directed elsewhere to allow the bride and groom privacy.

      “And please let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you,” Grace said. She’d learned over the years that keeping in regular contact with her clients СКАЧАТЬ