The Wedding Planner

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The moon was full, the stars shining brightly in a sky as black as his mood at the moment. Adam hated distractions, and Meredith Baxter was proving to be a very big distraction, if the pressure in his groin was any indication.

Perhaps if I call her… He glanced at his watch: seven-thirty. She’d be at home at this time of evening and would no doubt welcome a chance to discuss all those annoying, trivial wedding details that women were so fond of agonizing over.

What nonsense is this? Gazing longingly at the crystal decanter of brandy on the credenza behind his desk, he decided that liquor could eliminate the restlessness he was feeling far better than talking to an opinionated woman, who would no doubt ramble on about petits fours and champagne fountains and whatever else was found at wedding receptions. He hadn’t a clue.

The brandy burned like liquid fire as it made its way down, but it didn’t obliterate the memory of the smile on Meredith’s face when she teased him about marrying a chimpanzee, or the genuine affection in her green eyes when she told those stupid jokes to his niece and nephew about embarrassed zebras and black-and-white newspapers. She’d left out the one about the nun rolling down the hill.

He smiled as he recalled Andrew and Megan’s joyful laughter. The children hadn’t had much to laugh about lately, what with their mother’s death, and having to adjust to a new school and surroundings. But Meredith had managed to lighten their spirits, and had made them forget the ugliness of their situation, if only for a little while. Something he’d been unable to do.

He’d tried, of course. He truly loved Megan and Andrew. But he was out of his element when it came to children, schoolwork and the multitude of everyday problems kids seemed to have.

But he wouldn’t admit his shortcomings to anyone, because if the courts knew how totally inept he was at being a parent, they would remove Megan and Andrew from his care, and no amount of money he could offer would make any difference at that point. If it hadn’t been for Peter’s persuasive argument with the court and the people at social services, Megan and Andrew would already be living in a foster home.

Over my dead body!

Deciding that his thoughts were becoming a little too maudlin, he put down the brandy and picked up the phone, dialing Meredith’s home number before he could change his mind.

She answered on the third ring, and his heart gave a little zing when he heard her voice. There was laughter in the background—a man’s laughter—and the sound of it knotted his gut.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had company.”

“Mr. Morgan, is that you?” Meredith seemed genuinely surprised to hear from him. He felt like an ass.

“I’ll call back tomorrow.”

“No need. It’s just Peter. He brought over Chinese and we’ve been going over the media campaign. We’ve come up with some wonderful ideas I think you’re going to—”

“Peter Webber is at your house eating dinner?” he interrupted, and the vein in his temple started throbbing.

“Why, yes.” He could hear the smile in her voice, which made him even madder. “Would you like to speak to him?”

Webb was the last person he wanted to talk to, especially now that he knew his so-called best friend hadn’t wasted any time putting the moves on the wedding planner he’d hired. “No. I don’t need to talk to Peter.”

“Oh? Was there something else you needed?”

A gross misunderstatement, if ever he heard one. “I was just calling to—” What? Hear the sound of your voice? Talk you into going to bed with me? “Get your reaction on the interview I did today. I thought it went well. Did you see it?”

“Yes. I was at the nursing home visiting my mother when it aired. I thought you did very well.”

“I hear chimpanzees from all over the country are calling the station at this very moment trying to get a date with me.” His attempt at humor was met with momentary silence, then she finally laughed, and Adam released the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

She laughed! Adam’s forehead broke out in a cold sweat. He’d never felt such relief, not even when Fergus Industries’ bid to take over his corporation had failed last year.

“Did you make a joke, Mr. Morgan?” The teasing note in her voice was unmistakable. “I’m impressed. There’s hope for you yet.”

“I have my moments.”

“Mmm.”

The X-rated murmur went straight to Adam’s lap, but was quickly dispelled when she giggled and said, “Harrison, stop that! You’re tickling my ear.”

Harrison? Who the hell was Harrison? Was the woman having a party? First Peter, now Harrison. How many men were at her house? He felt annoyed, left out, and wished he’d never called.

“Harrison gets off on licking my ears and feet,” she explained. “He’s such a pervert, but really very cute. He’s also a bit too affectionate. I’m thinking of having him pruned. It may lessen his urges a bit, if you get my drift.”

Adam’s loins tightened, and he felt the strongest urge to cross his legs. He developed an instant empathy for poor Harrison, whoever that poor, lovesick fool might be. “That’s rather drastic, don’t you think? Perhaps you should just tell him no. That’s been known to work on occasion.”

“Believe me, I’ve tried. But it just makes him all the more aggressive and amorous. He paws my chest, tries to rub against my leg. I—”

A strangled sound emitted from his throat. “Ah, there’s my call waiting,” he lied. “Gotta go.”

Slamming down the phone, Adam took a deep breath, then poured himself a huge tumbler of bourbon and gulped it down, nearly choking in the process. He was as stiff as a two-week-old corpse.

The woman had no shame. She spoke of intimacies as if they were front-page news, as if she were working at one of those phone-sex hotlines, where all you needed was a preprogrammed phone dialer and a healthy imagination.

Unfortunately, Adam had both.

Chapter Four

“I quit!”

Meredith threw her purse down on the counter, knocking several bridal magazines onto the floor in the process, dropped her portfolio at her feet and dared Randall, who was staring wide-eyed at her, to object to her decision. Which, of course, he did.

“You can’t quit, sweetie. You own the place.” He came around from behind the counter and shoved a mug of coffee in her face. It was warm and steaming and smelled utterly delicious. “Here, drink this. It’s mocha almond fudge and it’s guaranteed to make even the most hideous problem dissolve straight away.”

“Thanks.” The chocolate aroma soothed her immediately. Why did anyone need tranquilizers when chocolate was so readily available? “I know I’m being childish,” Meredith admitted, taking a sip and murmuring her approval. “But that—that man makes me nuts. He’s so damn arrogant, so damn…rich.”

She’d thought after last night that maybe he had some semblance of common decency and, well…normalcy about him. Granted their phone conversation had been strange and disjointed, and she’d never truly figured out why he’d called—the lame excuse he’d given about the interview just didn’t wash—but she’d enjoyed their brief talk, even though he’d rudely slammed the phone in her ear. But every time she formed the opinion that maybe there was more to Adam Morgan than just a large bank account and an overabundance of arrogance, he went and did something stupid.

Guiding Meredith to the consultation area, usually reserved for prospective clients, Randall took a seat on the green-and-rose-flowered-chintz love seat and urged his distraught employer to do the same.

“At least he can pay the exorbitant bill we’re going to charge him, right?” His grin was infectious, and Meredith finally smiled.

“I’m gonna stick it to him, Randall. You’d better believe it. I’m gonna nail that arrogant piece of pomposity for every grain of rice, every inch of ribbon, every damn candle that illuminates his glorious day.”

“So, what’d he do? Make a pass? Try and molest you while you were strolling the sacred grounds of the Morgantown Country Club?”

Meredith pulled a face. “Hardly. I doubt Morgan has enough animal instinct to recognize that I’m of the opposite sex.” Though she’d certainly recognized his gender right off, especially after a whiff of the heady musk aftershave he’d worn to their appointment. A fact that had made his rude comments seem all the worse.

With a disappointed sigh she explained, “We met in the grand ballroom of the country club, where the reception will most likely take place. It’s a lovely room with huge crystal chandeliers, delicate French wallpaper and an oak parquet dance floor. Anyway, I wasn’t there fifteen minutes when he looked me over from top to bottom in the most insulting way possible, mind you, and suggested in that superior way he has that I might want to wear something different to our next appointment.”

She looked down at her royal-blue suit. “What’s wrong with this? I know it’s the same suit I wore last time we met, but my green one’s at the cleaners, and I don’t have the money right now to buy another.”

Randall patted her hand in a consoling fashion, his aggrieved expression clearly stating that Adam Morgan had overstepped his bounds and committed the cardinal sin: criticizing one’s wearing apparel. “What is he, the fashion police or something?”

“What he is, is a rich, snooty society snob who expects everyone to have had the same advantages as he. Well, I told Daddy Warbucks what he could do with his arrogant, rude and unwanted opinion. Then I did the only sensible thing I could think of.”

“Uh-oh.” Shutting his eyes, Meredith’s assistant braced for the worst, knowing the woman, as sweet as she was, had a wicked temper when pushed. “Which was?”

“I dumped a pitcher of water onto his lap, told him to get over himself and stalked out.”

“Sacrebleu!” Randall, who was taking French lessons, liked interjecting new words he’d learned into the conversation whenever he could. Sacrebleu and mon dieu were at the top of his list at the moment.

“Sacrebleu, is right! I think I just blew our ten thousand dollar deposit and the future of this business.”

“I don’t suppose you’d consider apologizing.”

Meredith jumped to her feet. “Apologize? To him? Absolutely not! Are you crazy? The man is a Neanderthal. He has no social graces whatsoever, despite his privileged upbringing and fat bank account. I’m sorry I ever accepted the job in the first place.”

Meredith’s adamant feelings were reinforced a few hours later while seated at the mahogany table with one of her most important clients, who’d come into the store to discuss possibilities for a mother-of-the-groom dress for her son’s upcoming wedding.

The door flung open and a blast of cold air entered, along with Adam Morgan.

The wedding consultant gasped at the sight of the man, her face paling slightly, making Joan O’Connor turn her head to see what had caused such an overt reaction.

“I’ve come to apologize,” he said, as if that would make up for his insufferable behavior.

He was wearing a different suit from the one Meredith had doused earlier—gray wool with a matching vest and pearl-gray shirt, which just happened to make the color of his eyes stand out—and he looked none the worse for wear. In fact, he looked mouth-wateringly good. Yummy, even.

Brushing the disturbing thought aside before she began to drool, she said, “I’m with a client right now, Mr. Morgan. If you care to have a seat on the sofa, I’ll be with you as soon as I can.” She wasn’t in any hurry to get rid of Mrs. O’Connor; the idea of making Morgan wait warmed her.

He stood beside the table, not moving a muscle, as if he hadn’t heard a word she’d said. “I’ll buy you a new suit. In fact, I’ll buy you a whole new wardrobe. It’s the least I can do to make up for—”

It was Mrs. O’Connor’s turn to gasp, though it was Meredith who turned beet red. The stupid man had made it sound as if she were his mistress, or kept woman, or whatever. It was obvious he’d given that impression to the stodgy matron, who was looking at her with shock and indignation.

Like Adam Morgan, Mrs. William O’Connor was one of the First Families of West Virginia. She’d even had the distinction FFWVA emblazoned on her personalized license plate for all the world to see. It was purported that her grandfather, Willy Fitzwilliam O’Connor, was the first resident of Morgantown to have owned and operated a thriving bordello, though Mrs. O’Connor adamantly denied the scandalous assertion, which had been made by a Morgan. The O’Connors and the Morgans hadn’t gotten along since.

Forcing a smile, Meredith said, “If you’ll excuse me one minute, Mrs. O’Connor, I need to deal with something.”

The woman glared disapprovingly at Adam, then at Meredith, and gave a loud harrumph, clearly annoyed at the whole proceeding. “I’ll come back another time. I don’t like getting involved in matters that don’t concern me. And I certainly don’t like to be kept waiting.

“And you, young woman,” she said to Meredith, “seem to have your hands full at the moment.” With an imperious lift of her chins, and pointing her nose in the air, she turned and stalked out the door, leaving Meredith speechless and standing with her mouth gaping open.

But only momentarily.

“Now see what you’ve done! You’re not only ruining my life, you’re ruining my business.”

Adam stiffened, clearly not used to being castigated, especially by a woman—a woman he’d just apologized to. He did not normally apologize to anyone. “I can’t be blamed for the rudeness of your clientele, Miss Baxter.”

“Rudeness of my—” She threw back her head and laughed, but there was no humor in it. Rather, the sound resembled nails raking down a blackboard. “That’s rich. You, of all people, calling someone else rude. How very novel.” Actually, she knew for a fact that Mrs. O’Connor was extremely rude to most everyone she encountered and was prone to meddling in matters that didn’t concern her, though she would declare otherwise.

“I said I was sorry. I offered to buy you a new wardrobe to make amends.”

“I don’t want a new wardrobe! I’m perfectly happy with the miserable one I’ve got.”

Adam had never met a woman who didn’t like or want new clothes. His sister had purchased a new wardrobe approximately every six weeks, saying fashionable clothing lifted her spirits. Perhaps the young woman was spirited enough. Or perhaps she was just stubborn and opinionated.

“My sister and mother always liked shopping for new clothes,” he explained. “I thought you might, too.”

She heaved a sigh, for it was suddenly quite obvious that the man was totally clueless and had no idea he’d offended her.

Where Adam Morgan came from money grew on trees, and the women in his life spent it freely, buying whatever they wanted with no thought to cost, designer label or starving children in India. Meredith, on the other hand, was on a fixed budget and spent only when it was absolutely necessary. Her business obligations came before her wardrobe, which admittedly lacked a certain flair and would probably have given Ann Taylor and Donna Karan heart seizures.

“Sometimes, Mr. Morgan, it might be a good idea to stop and think before opening your mouth. Not everyone has had your advantages in life. And it’s not necessary to say every little thing that pops into your head.” She wanted to say “your thick head” but she refrained.

He studied her. Meredith Baxter was quite different from any woman he’d ever known. She spoke her mind freely—albeit a bit too freely—was as organized in business as he was himself and didn’t mind going out on a limb if her instincts called for it.

She’d so much as called him stupid over those wedding invitations. No one had ever dared do that before! But rather than be annoyed, he was impressed. He wondered if maybe he really was stupid.

“Upon further reflection, Miss Baxter, that blue suit is very becoming with your red hair and green eyes. And it certainly fits you well.” Too well, as his body could amply testify. Only a surgical glove would have been more form fitting on her luscious body. “I shouldn’t have remarked on the frequency of its use. I apologize.”

“Apology accepted.” She heaved another sigh, and his eyes followed her heaving bosom—up and down, making Meredith acutely aware that, though he was somewhat of a dolt, he was still all male. “Are we still on for tomorrow morning, then?” she asked. They had an appointment to review fabric samples. Adam Morgan intended to give input on the bridal gown and bridesmaid dresses, having apparently changed his mind about those seemingly trivial matters he’d spoken of previously.

“Only if you promise to leave your water canister at home.” His lips twitched; her cheeks pinkened.

“Two jokes in two days. My, my. I’m blown away by your sense of humor, Mr. Morgan.”

“Adam. Please call me Adam.”

She arched a brow. “You’re sure? Because—”

“I’m sure.” He held out his hand, and Meredith took it. It was warm and firm, the knuckles lightly sprinkled with dark, masculine hairs. His hands exuded strength and confidence, maybe gentleness, and she was suddenly overcome with a pulsing sensation in her lower extremities that felt as if her heart had just gone into hyperdrive.

Good gracious! she thought. I’m attracted to Daddy Warbucks.

CURTIS TREMAYNE INHALED deeply of the cigarette clutched in his long, tapered fingers. His nails, once manicured religiously, were now jagged and dirty. He blew out a series of concentric smoke rings, then smiled sinisterly at the image projected on the TV screen—an image that provoked only one emotion: hatred for Adam Morgan.

“Rich bastard!” he muttered, stabbing the butt out in a plastic ashtray that read Murray’s Roadside Garage, and rolling himself off the lumpy excuse of a mattress.

The Howard Hotel wasn’t exactly the kind of accommodation he’d been used to frequenting. When he’d been married to Allison they’d only traveled first class, dined in gourmet restaurants and stayed in five-star hotels. His wife’s money had provided all the creature comforts a man in his position could want.

Curtis liked only the best, which was why he’d chosen Allison Morgan, the darling of Morgantown society, the spoiled, pampered pet of her ruthless father Allistair Morgan, who’d been as rich as Croesus and as mean as a junkyard dog. Curtis had hated him on sight.

Unfortunately, his wife was now dead, and he’d been cut off from all the Morgan wealth. Though he didn’t mourn Allison—he’d never been in love with the foolish woman—he did mourn the loss of his Hugo Boss suits and sleek black Jaguar, which he’d been forced to leave behind when fleeing his former home.

It was a pity the way things had turned out. But, as usual, Allison had pushed his temper to the limit, always whining about his drinking, the women he fooled around with, the kids he never wanted and hadn’t paid attention to.