by A. C. Arthur
“How many other places do you have on your list?”
“Just two more for today. But you don’t have to follow me around town if you don’t want to, I can send you my final decision.”
“Then I’d miss out on all the lessons about event planning.” He joked. “Not a chance. I’m going to stick to you like glue Cheyna Dansfield and then when my sisters are ready to plan their weddings I’ll win some brownie points by having knowledgeable input.”
They’d turned to leave the Wave Hill House, her high-heel boots clicking on the original wood floor sections that weren’t covered by thick Aubusson rugs.
“How many sisters do you have?”
Cheyna wasn’t sure why she asked, the words were out before she could carefully consider them. That was new for her. After years in foster care she’d learned how to precisely measure her words. She said only what was necessary, when it was necessary. That had been the best way to stay out of trouble with the other kids in the various homes she’d lived in.
“Two. Maxine and Cassandra. Or Maxie and Cassie, as we call them. They’re both younger and not nearly ready to marry anybody. But my brothers and I are bracing ourselves for when the time comes. You know we’ll have to approve of the dudes that come sniffing around them and then of course, foot the bill for the wedding.”
“Oh really? It’s been my experience that when the bride and groom do not write the check themselves, the parents are usually next in line to fund the big day.”
He sobered and shook his head. “My mom’s done enough for us. It’s our job to take care of her now.”
So there was a mom but not a dad. Cheyna didn’t feel any type of way about that since she’d never had either one. She was at the door to her car which was parked down the driveway, when she looked at him again.
“Really, you don’t have to go to these other venues with me.”
“I take as much pride in my job as you take in yours. So, yeah, I’ll be right behind you.” He lifted a hand to his forehead and gave her a mock salute before walking down two cars to where he’d parked his vehicle.
His very shiny and sporty vehicle Cheyna thought as she opened the door and eased behind the wheel. The guy drove a Porsche and looked like he’d stepped off the pages of an urban business magazine. He also cared very deeply about his mother and his sisters. All of which were inconsequential to the matter at hand, she decided as she started the engine and pulled out of the parking spot. He was part of this job and the sooner she selected a venue, the sooner he would be out of her hair.
Two hours later Cheyna and Logan stood in the center of the iconic Rainbow Room, 65 stories above the landmark Rockefeller Center.
“This has got to be the location for every woman’s dream wedding.” Logan sounded in awe of the circular designed room with its floor-to-ceiling windows that brought the New York City skyline inside.
“Not every woman,” Cheyna replied dryly.
She caught herself and began jotting down notes. “However, this place definitely feels like Monica and Alex.”
Cheyna knew he was watching her. She could see his inquisitive gaze through the lenses of his sunglasses. It didn’t matter. She began walking the space. “Tall, robust floral centerpieces and candlelight. Chic, elegant, vintage glamour as this place has been around since the 1930’s.”
She could see the event clearly and excitement began to bubble in the pit of her stomach.
“What’s your dream wedding?”
Cheyna spun around at his question. He stood just a few steps behind her, one hand thrust into his front pants pocket while he absently touched the back of a chiavari chair.
“I don’t dream of weddings,” she replied after quickly dismissing the defensive remarks that first popped into her mind. “Not for myself. I envision events that will cater to my clients’ desires.”
In a move that looked practiced and way too sexy, Logan lifted a hand to touch the edge of his sunglasses and eased them off his face. His brows were furrowed as he continued to stare at her.
“You plan phenomenal events for anyone who writes you a check but you never think about what type of wedding you would plan for yourself?”
Now that he put it that way, it did sound kind of off. But it was true. Cheyna was not the marrying, happy ever after type. Her life was meant to be different. That was something she’d accepted a long time ago.
“I have better things to do with my time.”
She turned all the way around now, taking in the entire space and began writing on her notepad again.
“There’s more than enough room to accommodate the intimate group of one hundred here. She could actually go up to four hundred, but I doubt she’ll want to do that. There’s tons of ambiance to work with. Florists and decorators could really transform the space into exactly what Monica envisioned.”
“Your parents don’t have anything to say about you spending all this time making other people’s dreams come true and ignoring your own?”
He was full of questions and not ones that were related to their work. Cheyna decided it was best to keep moving and get this meeting—and subsequently, his questionnaire—over with as soon as possible.
“I don’t have parents.” The words were spoken as absently as if she’d just provided the time of day.
She stopped near a window and looked out to all the buildings and the lights as it was after five and already beginning to get dark.
“Everybody has parents.”
“Not me!”
Cheyna immediately sighed at her impatient and irritated tone. She was trying to be professional but she really had no idea what Logan was trying to do.
“I grew up in the foster care system. I do not know who my parents are because they thought their lives would be better off without me and gave me up about ten seconds after I was born. No siblings, no family, nothing. Now, can we try to focus on Monica and Alex?”
He didn’t look as if anything she’d said had affected him in any way. His gaze simply remained fixed, questions probably still rumbling around in his head.
“Are you going to add any comments to the venue?” she asked after a few stilted moments of silence.
He shrugged. “This is the place. I knew that when we walked in. It’s at the center of a New York landmark that screams hard work and dedication or else nobody could afford to set foot in here. The Lakefields are all about hard work. And it has the glamour. Not as subtle as I first thought was required, but in a grand and stately type of way that fits them too.”
Cheyna couldn’t argue his logic or his confidence. Or was that arrogance? She couldn’t tell. Perhaps because he’d thrown her off with how easily he’d shifted from the personal to the professional. That shouldn’t have been such a surprise since she preferred to remain professional, yet it was and she didn’t know how she felt about it.
“I agree.”
There was no need in denying that she’d also decided this was the place.
“I’ve already checked the availability so I’ll just need to iron out time and logistics and get the contract started. I can do that in the morning. I hope today’s outings were helpful in getting you started on your campaign.”
Cheyna tucked her notepad and pen into the bag on her shoulder and was already heading for the door. She suddenly felt like the glamourous room had gotten a tad too small. Logan fell into step beside her.
“I did. I’ll have to see how it works into my preliminary ideas for the campaign, but I’m sure it’ll be fantastic.”
“Great.” She spoke the word absently.
“Let’s get some dinner.”
It took every bit of poise and control Cheyna had to resist stopping and staring at him once more. That had been her reaction to each of his out-of-the-blue questions today and she was tired of giving in to his uncanny candor.
“I’m headed back to the office. I still have work on other events that I need to get done.”
“It’s getting close to six. Din
nertime.”
“I have to work.”
He stared at her pointedly. “You also have to eat.”
“Not with you,” she snapped just as they approached the elevator.
With another sigh that infuriated her more than she thought possible, Cheyna met Logan’s gaze.
“I don’t mix business with personal. While sharing a meal with someone could be construed as professional, I have a feeling that’s not the way you meant it. So I’ll say thanks, but no thanks.”
The elevator doors opened at that moment and Cheyna stepped in first.
Logan followed her. “I can accept that.”
Once outside, he walked her to the garage where they’d both parked. Logan stood at her car while she unlocked the door and slipped inside.
“Engagement photos.”
“What about them?” she asked.
“Are you doing them? If so, when? And will the entire family be there?”
“Yes. Haven’t selected a date yet. Wasn’t in my original plan and neither Monica nor Alex mentioned their families.”
“Run it by them. I think it’ll be a good tie-in with my campaign. Maybe they could even have them taken at the gallery.”
When she didn’t immediately reply, he continued. “Get their input and let me know. I can wrangle up the family since that part was my idea. And have a good evening, Cheyna.”
He slowly pushed the driver’s side door closed after speaking. While Cheyna was thankful that their time together had come to an end, she wasn’t at all happy with the way he’d just “handled” her and this job. With a shake of her head she decided to dismiss it. She started her car and pulled off.
She’d been driving for about ten minutes when her phone rang. Answering the call on speaker phone, she continued toward the office.
“Hi Cheyna, this is Lieutenant Sinclair.”
She frowned because it had been a while since she’d heard that name.
“Hello, Lieutenant. How are you?”
Her response seemed cordial enough and not at all worrisome which she had immediately felt upon hearing his name.
“Same shit, different day,” he quipped. “Hope you’re doing better than that.”
Cheyna smiled because the Lieutenant had never been one to censor his words.
“I’m well. But I’m sensing this is not a check-up call.”
“It’s not. I need to speak to you about something. Is there somewhere we can meet?”
“I’ll be at my office in about ten minutes.”
“Great. I’ll meet you there.”
He hung up before she could say another word and Cheyna tried not to find the entire conversation alarming. Her heartbeat quickened even though nothing had actually changed. She was still in her car driving toward her office after a productive afternoon of venue searching. Her business was doing quite well, especially with the wedding of the year now under her supervision. All her bills were paid, she had clothes on her back and the small overpriced apartment that she lived in belonged solely to her. All was well in her world.
So why were her hands shaking by the time she pulled her car into her designated parking spot in the building’s garage? There was no reason, Cheyna told herself. It was just a phone call. There wasn’t anything unusual about it, except the hairs on the back of her neck that were raised the moment she heard his voice.
Cheyna was in her office for almost fifteen minutes before Lieutenant Ramsey Sinclair walked through the front door. Sarah and Evan were already gone for the day so Cheyna stood and walked to the reception area to greet him when she heard the door open.
“Hello.” She willed herself to smile even though she felt anything but happy about this visit.
“Hello, Cheyna. It’s good to see you again.”
His voice was exactly the same and so were his startling good looks. She suspected she’d always been taken off guard by his extremely muscular build, honey gold complexion, neatly trimmed low-cut black hair on top of his head and beard. It seemed odd to connect the attractiveness of the man to the holster in which he carried his gun and the shiny gold badge that was usually clipped to his belt.
“What brings you here, Lieutenant?”
Cutting to the chase had always been easier for Cheyna. She liked her answers fast and as honest as possible.
He wore tan dress pants with neat cuffs at the bottom that touched well-shined natural-colored wing-tipped shoes. His matching jacket, white shirt and gold paisley tie gave him more of a playboy look than that of a law enforcement official. The black wool overcoat he wore was open and he had one hand in the left pocket as he stood with his legs slightly parted.
“I need to tell you something and I didn’t want to do it over the phone.”
Cheyna folded her arms over her chest. It was the only way to keep him from seeing that her hands were now shaking. “Tell me what.”
“It’s about Liam Edison.”
She swallowed but otherwise did not move. She’d known that name was coming. Liam was all that Cheyna and the police had in common.
“There’s a restraining order.” Her voice sounded even and calm, or at least she was desperately trying to convince herself that it did. “He’s not supposed to come near me and I settled the lawsuit out of court just like they wanted.”
That part of her life was supposed to be over.
“He’s dead.”
Her lips snapped shut and her breath almost stopped at the two simple words.
“When he did not show up in the office this morning his personal assistant traveled to his apartment. His body was found at eleven fifteen.”
“Suicide?”
Liam was a pompous, egotistical, over-compensating idiot. He was nothing like the man he portrayed in the designer suits sporting prep school good looks. And after all the things he’d done to her, he should have been weighed down with enough guilt to drive him to take his own life. To anyone else that might sound awful. To Cheyna, after all she’d been through with and because of Liam Edison, it was a simple truth.
“Murder.”
Her arms fell to her side.
Lt. Sinclair’s gaze followed the motion. “I have a few questions I need you to answer, Cheyna.”
She blinked. For an instant it felt as if the room was spinning, but Cheyna knew that wasn’t true. Her world was shifting yet again. All she had to do was hold on. Just as she had each time she’d been shipped to a new foster home. Just breathe and hold on.
“I didn’t kill him,” was her even response. “Any other answers you need, you’ll have to consult my attorney.”
Chapter 5
There was nothing like family. At least not in Logan’s mind. His family had been his anchor and when they’d done all they could for him, they’d pushed him in the direction of help to make sure that he remained whole. So yeah, there was nothing in all of the living world, like family.
“You’re still greedy. Where do you put all of that food?” Perry grinned and playfully tossed his balled up napkin at Maxie.
Maxie caught the napkin in mid-air and shook her head. “Don’t be jealous of my high metabolism. And you ate more than your share so stop complaining.”
Perry was not finished with his taunting. “I’m six feet two inches tall. You’re barely five three and you eat like a three hundred-pound man.”
“I’m healthy and not one of those diet-crazed women you’re probably chasing around town. I love my curves and get no complaints from the men I date.”
Groans erupted from every guy sitting around the heavy oak table situated in the center of Joanna’s dining room at their planned Wednesday evening dinner.
“Whoa, don’t nobody want to hear that kind of talk,” Perry told her.
Steph actually put his fork down on the side of the plate with his half-eaten slice of cake and used his hands to cover his ears. “I definitely do not want to hear about you, your curves and any dude on this planet that’s interested in your curves.”
“No
t any dude that values his eyesight,” Logan chimed in.
Now Maxie’s lips curved upward and she rolled her eyes. “Y’all too much. We don’t go into fits whenever you’re talking about whichever woman you’re taking home to your bachelor pads for the night.”
“Because we never talk about those women, at least not in front of you, Mom or Cassie,” Perry noted.
Steph nodded. “True. True.”
“Secrets or shame?” Maxie asked with a huge grin.
“Privacy,” Logan stated.
Maxie looked to Cassie who had been unusually quiet throughout dinner and said, “Shame.”
Cassie managed a small smile.
“Alright, that’s enough,” Joanna added.
Maxie tossed that napkin back at Perry who extended his arm to catch it in the air, but missed. This caused another round of laughter that echoed off the papered walls in the room. The sound filled Logan’s heart and for a moment he silently thanked God for all the blessings that he was certain he did not deserve.
“I’m going to get myself another glass of wine and then we’ll talk.”
Logan watched as his mother stood from the table and walked back into the kitchen. Everyone sobered the moment she was gone.
“So who did what?” Perry asked.
As the oldest of Joanna’s children, Perry Williams turned thirty a month ago. He was the director of the Child First Organization, a non-profit focused on providing services for underprivileged children. He sat at the far end of the table, leaving the head seat, opposite their mother, vacant after their step-father’s death. Beside him Steph, who was a year younger and a couple inches taller, sat with his elbows propped on the table as he shrugged.
“Not me. I just came back from an assignment in Syracuse last night,” he said.
Steph worked for a national insurance company, investigating cases in the New York and New Jersey region. It wasn’t the job his brother had dreamed of having, but a torn ACL during Steph’s first year in the NBA had changed the plans he’d talked about all his life.