The Wedding Party. Robyn Carr

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      For Sharon Buchholtz Lampert,

       for all the years.

      Contents

      Prologue

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter Sixteen

      Epilogue

      Prologue

      Charlene Dugan started her day as usual—single. Not just unmarried, but autonomous, independent, free. She was forty-five, in excellent health and shape, attractive, successful in the practice of family law, the single mother of a grown daughter, the single daughter of a widowed mother, the significant other of a handsome, charming man and devotedly nonmarried.

      Though she had been with Dennis for five years, they did not live together. They each had their own homes and liked things as they were. Well, perhaps Charlene was a tad more committed to remaining uncommitted; Dennis had proposed a couple of times. But she had been married once, only long enough to produce one daughter, Stephanie, who was now twenty-five, and she had not been even slightly tempted to marry again in the twenty-four years since. She was content. Satisfied. Fulfilled, even.

      On this ordinary unmarried day there were events that, taken singularly—no pun intended—were quite manageable. But when combined, they so rocked Charlene’s world that by day’s end she was not only ready to consider marriage, she was inclined to do the proposing.

      One

      Charlene entered the law offices of Phelps, Dugan & Dodge innocent of the trouble the day would bring. She smiled at the young receptionist and nodded as she passed cubicles where clerks and junior associates labored. She stopped in the break room to grab her customary morning cup of coffee and a bagel. Then, as she proceeded toward her office, she heard the muffled roar of her first clients. There was no mistaking the hostile tones of Mr. and Mrs. Samuelson, two of the most objectionable people Charlene had had the displeasure of knowing. She had been selected by family court to arbitrate the Samuelsons’ divorce settlement. This was to be their third meeting. The first two had been complete and dismal failures.

      Charlene loved her legal specialty. There were very few people who could make the traumas of divorce and custody bearable, and Charlene prided herself in taking families who walked into her office wounded and terrified, and sending them out as people who could cope, people with options.

      The arguing achieved fever pitch as she neared her office. Briefcase under her arm, bagel in one hand and coffee in the other, she closed in on the noise. Her assistant and close friend, Pam London, was standing behind her desk, arms crossed and toe tapping impatiently as she glared at the conference-room doors. A disgusted frown twisted her otherwise handsome features.

      Charlene was a little confused. “What’s going on?” she asked. The Samuelsons were not supposed to be in the same room until the arbitrator arrived, for obvious reasons. Plus, they weren’t due for another hour.

      “They both had an idea they could get to you first, before the other arrived,” Pam explained. “I put Mrs. Samuelson in the conference room and asked Mr. Samuelson to have a seat in the foyer waiting room. But they found each other out and have been in there fighting ever since. I’ve tried to separate them, to no avail.” She smiled evilly. “Let’s bolt the door from the outside and let them kill each other.”

      Charlene handed her briefcase to Pam. “Was he threatening?”

      “Someone would have to take him seriously to be threatened. He’s just a pip-squeak. An obnoxious little horse’s ass. And she’s no better.”

      “Hmm. If anyone was threatening, we could call the police. Well, call building security to begin with, but give me three minutes before you send anyone in.”

      Charlene and the other senior partner, Brad Phelps, had the two expansive offices in the back, separated by their large conference room, while Mike Dodge was on another floor of the building. Charlene and Brad had private bathrooms with showers and two doors apiece; one to outer offices and their respective executive assistants and the other to the conference room. Charlene placed her coffee and bagel on her desk and retrieved something from the top drawer. She stood in the СКАЧАТЬ