Straight from the Hart

by Tracie Banister

  Cole rolls his eyes, but doesn’t argue the point any further.

  Turning to Aubrey, I ask, “Did you confirm the car service for tomorrow night?”

  She nods. “They will send the Bentley Muslanne to collect Melinda at her apartment after the sun sets at seven-thirty.”

  “And . . .” I spin around to look at Natasha.

  “I will pick up Craig a half-hour before that, confirm he has the ring, looks and smells presentable, and drive him to the Wilshire entrance of LACMA.”

  “Where I’ll be waiting,” Cole continues the narrative. “I’ll arrive an hour ahead of time to meet with the museum’s event coordinator to make sure the area around Urban Light has been cordoned off to keep the public out, then scatter the rose petals between the lampposts. I’ll do one row of white, then one row of red.”

  “No!!!!!” I almost drop my tote bag in horror. “The red and white petals should be mixed on each row. MIXED! Red and white roses together symbolize unity and say—”

  “—‘I love you deeply and my intentions are honorable,’” the members of my team complete my thought and Cole punctuates it with a snicker.

  “You were messing with me,” I deduce.

  “I was teasing you because you are worrying about this way too much. You’ve trained us all very well and we care just as much as you do about giving our clients a positive experience. I swear on my Ralph Lauren Pride Collection T-shirt that was autographed by hot Olympian Gus Kenworthy while I was wearing it that this proposal-slash-birthday soirée will go off without a hitch.”

  As that designer tee is Cole’s most prized possession, hearing him swear on it does make me feel better. I release a long breath and try to relax my shoulders, which feel like they’re bunched up beneath my ears. “I know I can trust all of you to carry out my wishes. It’s just . . .”

  “You hate to miss out on seeing all of your hard work for this couple come to fruition.”

  Cole knows me so well.

  “Right, and it’s not like I’ll ever get to see another proposal at this venue.”

  Urban Light is a magnificent assemblage sculpture composed of two hundred and two cast iron lampposts from the 1920s and ‘30s. There’s so much beauty and history in those old street lights, which were lovingly restored for the installation, and they’re one of the most visited public artworks in Southern California. While Urban Light has been featured in movies, TV shows, and videos, it’s not something you can rent out for a private affair. Ditto for all of the event venues at LACMA as they’re available exclusively to corporate or nonprofit organizations.

  The only reason Craig’s being allowed to utilize the space is because I went to the museum’s CEO and explained my romantic vision to him, stressing how meaningful the proposal would be to Melinda as she loves LACMA so much and has devoted seven years of her life to working at the venerable institution. As the CEO is a happily married man of several decades and a big, old softie at heart, he couldn’t resist my impassioned plea and said he’d allow us to use Urban Light, the open-air pavilion behind it (where the couple’s friends, families, and co-workers will be hidden in the dark until Craig proposes and is accepted, then the lights in the pavilion will blink on and reveal their loved ones), and finally, the north piazza where the birthday party/engagement celebration will take place. Craig doesn’t even have to pay the huge amount of money these spaces would normally cost to rent; he just has to donate five hundred dollars to the museum’s Exhibition Fund.

  Apps and alcohol for the party will be provided by Ginger Moon, a Chinese restaurant owned by Melinda’s cousin, David, who is generously providing the refreshments at cost. Oh, that reminds me!

  “Natasha, would you call David Yang and ask that he double the amount of chicken wings with hoisin sauce? I got a text from Craig earlier and he said more of his bros from work were coming to the party and he knows they’ll love those wings.”

  “Consider it done!” she says brightly, then scribbles a note on one of the pages in her binder.

  “Aubrey . . .” I swivel my head in her direction. “. . . you did tell the rental place to remove ‘Shallow’ from the song list for the karaoke duets, right? Because Craig reiterated in his text that Melinda loathes that song and the movie it came from, and the party will be ruined if anyone sings it. I don’t know why the company included ‘Shallow’ to begin with. I told them I wanted romantic duets, stuff that would work for a happy occasion, not some angsty ballad that makes people want to slit their wrists.”

  “I’ll make sure ‘Shallow’ is nowhere to be found when I pick up the sound system tomorrow,” Aubrey promises.

  Having a karaoke machine at a classy event held at a museum may seem like an odd choice, but it’s perfect for Melinda and Craig’s engagement celebration since the two of them met at a karaoke bar in North Hollywood. He claims it was love at first sight for him when he saw Melinda and her friends on stage doing the Spice Girls’ classic “Wannabe.” She kept messing up the lyrics and getting tickled about it, which he thought was adorable. Melinda was similarly charmed when they were chatting later and he lifted his beer to take a sip and missed his mouth entirely because he couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

  “See? We’ve got everything under control.” Wrapping an arm around my shoulders, Cole guides me toward Straight from the Hart’s door.

  “What about the videog—”

  “It’s all good,” Cole assures me in a soothing tone like I’m some skittish cat about to be shoved in a carrier for a trip to the vet’s. “You go to Riverside and keep our number one client happy and we’ll take care of business here.” He reaches out one hand to pull open the door, then uses the other to give me a gentle shove out into the corridor.

  “But—” I turn around to find the door to my office closed and my employees body-blocking it so that I can’t go back inside.

  They all smile and wave goodbye, so apparently it’s a coup and I’ve been temporarily ousted.

  “Will you record the proposal on your phone and send it to me?” I shout at Cole as if the thin sheet of glass between us is a sound barrier.

  He nods before making a shooing motion.

  “Fine. I’m going, but I’ll have this . . .” I pull my cell out of my pocket and hold it up. “. . . on all weekend if anyone has any questions or problems.”

  Chances are they won’t since things ran quite smoothly the whole time I was occupied with the Js.

  “Have fun!” Natasha calls out.

  “It’s not fun; it’s work,” I remind her before making a half-turn and walking toward the elevators where I press the down button. While I’m waiting, I lift my phone, which is still clutched in my right hand, to check the time. It’s three forty-two now, so barring any major traffic issues, I should reach my destination by—

  The elevator dings to indicate its arrival and I glance up as the doors slide open to reveal someone else who’s engrossed by the device in his hand.

  “Alex!” I blurt out his name in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

  I haven’t seen or spoken with him in several days, not since we parted ways after finishing up the story for TMZ. It should be noted that this was done entirely at Thorne’s Brewing Company while we washed down some fish tacos with a Belgian witbier. Alex had suggested we go back to Pinnacle, but being alone with him in that office at night seemed like a really bad idea.

  Not waiting for him to answer, I scurry onto the elevator before the doors close and jab the LOBBY button on the console.

  “Clearly, you’re on your way out, so I won’t keep you,” Alex says. “I just dropped by to give you this.” He extracts an envelope from the pocket inside his summery, stone-colored suit jacket, which he’s paired with a blue checked dress shirt and navy tie. “It’s payment for services rendered to J. Reid in the amount agreed upon, plus expenses. Jax was so pleased with your work that he told me to add an extra zero to the amount.” He offers me the check with a smile that makes his eyes crinkle at
the corners.

  “That’s very generous.” I take the money and stuff it in my tote bag. “But the job has yet to be completed. Jax wants to take Jaz on a romantic getaway. They’re still working things out and he thinks they need to escape LA and the media intrusion in their lives to reconnect.”

  Alex’s face pales. “But the New Frisco premiere is in ten days and that’s followed by an international press junket. Jax doesn’t have time to go haring off on a second honeymoon.”

  “Relax. They’re not going far. Jax told me to find some place here in California that will be amazing and give them the privacy they crave. I heard about a property in Riverside I think will be perfect. That’s where I’m headed now. I’m going to spend the weekend at the Mission Inn and get the full couple experience so that I can customize Jax and Jaz’s stay and make it really special,” I inform him as the elevator reaches its destination and opens its doors for us.

  “How can you get the full couple experience if you’re going by yourself?” Alex asks, following me out into the lobby.

  Without breaking my stride, I toss back over my shoulder, “In case you’re forgetting, I have Ian. He always accompanies me on overnights to vet hotels and offer the male point-of-view.”

  And we always have a great time on these trips. When we went to check out a new luxury hotel in Napa last fall, we ate the best farm-to-table food, had in-room hot stone massages, and toured vineyards via bike, train, and hot air balloon! On our last night, I was silly drunk from one too many wine tastings and an equally soused Ian convinced me that sneaking down to the pool for a midnight skinny dip was the best idea ever. We were making so much noise, laughing and splashing, that we attracted the attention of a security guard. Fortunately, Ian had cash in his discarded pants’ pocket and the guard’s silence was bought with several crisp hundred dollar bills.

  If I’d been sober, I would have been mortified by being discovered in my birthday suit, but inebriated Vanessa thought the whole thing was a riot. We continued the party in our suite, wrapped up in fluffy, white hotel robes, where we lounged on the bed, stuffing our faces with every fancy dessert on the room service menu while playing a saucy game of “Never Have I Ever” with a hundred questions I found online. Needless to say, Ian won that game hands down as there were only two things on that list he hadn’t done: give someone chocolates in a heart-shaped box for Valentine’s Day (too cliché!) or Google sex positions (according to him, he already knows them all and even takes credit for inventing a new one).

  The phone in my hand starts ringing and I stop in the center of the lobby next to the blue-tiled pool where a trio of boys sculpted in bronze play so that I can check Caller ID. “Speak of the handsome devil,” I say, grinning at Alex before I accept the call and bring the cell to my ear.

  CHAPTER 32

  “Hey, sweetie!” I greet my fake boyfriend with an abundance of enthusiasm. “Were you able to catch an earlier flight? If you’re back in LA, we can drive up to Riverside together.”

  “Sweetie? Since when do you call me— Oh, you’re with someone, aren’t you?” Ian expels a sigh. “I hate to do this, Gingersnap, especially when you’ve got an audience, but I’m stuck in New York.”

  “What? Why?” I resume walking, heading to my building’s front doors while also distancing myself from Alex so that he overhears as little of this conversation as possible. “Is everything okay?”

  “No. We’re supposed to be auctioning off a collection of Tiffany lamps next week, and the mosaic base of a dragonfly table lamp was damaged during transport to Ellingsworth’s.”

  I wince. “What’s the value of the lamp?” I’ve reached the door now and am about to extend a hand to push it open, but Alex beats me to the punch. I mouth a “thanks” to him and stroll outside onto West Seventh where I hang a left.

  “We were expecting to get half-a-million or more at auction on that lamp alone and there are twelve in the Herrolds’ collection. We’re covered by insurance, of course, but we need to get the lamp to a restoration expert ASAP and I’ve got to go out to Long Island tonight to kiss the family grande dame’s wrinkly ass. She’s having a fit about her lamp coming to harm on our watch—the same lamp that’s so precious to her it’s been gathering dust in her attic since Nixon was in office. If I don’t calm the old battle-ax down, she might take her auction to another house, or sue us. Either way, it wouldn’t be good.”

  I’ve reached the intersection of West Seventh and South Flower where people are congregated, waiting for the light to turn green so that they can cross.

  “Take a nice gift to show Mrs. Herrold how sorry you are for the mishap,” I advise Ian, “and lay on the charm. In the face of that, she won’t be able to stay mad at you, or your butterfingered employees, for long.”

  “A gift! I hadn’t thought of that. Good call, Gingersnap. My assistant just left to do a latte run, so I can text her and tell her to grab something for the dragon lady on her way back.” There’s a pause for a few seconds while I assume he’s typing the text. “Sorry again about canceling on the trip,” he says the next time he speaks. “I’ll make it up to you when I get back.”

  The walk sign starts flashing, so I move en masse with the other pedestrians across West Seventh.

  “Your birthday party’s still on for Sunday night, right?”

  “Nothing short of an alien invasion could stop that. My mother is determined to make it the ‘event of the season.’ She’s added another dozen people to the guest list every time I talk to her. I probably don’t even know half of them.”

  “We’ll have fun,” I assure him as I step up onto the curb and march purposefully down South Flower, my heels clicking on the sidewalk. “Are you going to drive down to Long Beach with Viv and me, or meet us at the party?”

  “Mum wants me to be there ahead of all the guests and there’s no point in torturing you and your grandmother, so I’ll send a car to Viv’s to collect the two of you at six.”

  “Great. I’ll let her know. Good luck with your cli—ack!” I shriek when I’m shoulder checked by a large man who barrels past me, not paying any attention to who or what might be in his path, and the force of the collision makes me sway to the side. I feel a steadying hand on my elbow and glance to my left to see who my savior is.

  Alex? Crap! I’d been so caught up in my conversation with Ian that I’d forgotten about my ex. I just assumed he left me outside the Fine Arts Building since our business had been concluded.

  “You all right?” Ian asks.

  “Uhhhh . . .” I’m staring into Alex’s steel blue eyes while his fingertips press into the bare flesh of my arm and I’m enveloped by his scent—no cologne today, but I recognize the smell of the citrus-and-musk soap I gave him as a stocking stuffer the first Christmas we spent together.

  Is he still using that particular brand because of sentimental attachment? It certainly reminds me of a happier time in our relationship when I loved nothing better than to burrow in close and appreciate the special alchemy that occurred when the fresh, masculine scent of that soap mixed with Alex’s body heat.

  “Vanessa!” Ian’s concerned voice brings me back to the present.

  “Yes, yes, I’m fine.” Extricating myself from Alex’s grasp, I return my attention to the call. “I was just on my way to my car and some jerk almost knocked me over.” I toss my ex a half-smile to let him know I’m grateful for his quick reflexes, then resume my trek up South Flower.

  “You take your life in your hands on the streets of LA, Gingersnap. You should get a driver. Better yet, I’ll loan you mine when I’m not in town moving forward. Shit! Larissa just texted me back asking all these questions about Judith Herrold’s likes and dislikes. How should I know if she’s a fan of scarves?”

  “Viv loves them, so I think they’re a safe bet for a mature woman,” I say as I veer right into the parking lot where my BMW is carefully watched over by an attendant named Oscar whom I give a wave to in his booth.

  “Good to know. I’ll
just—bloody hell! Larissa just texted me a bunch of photos of Hermès scarves, and they’re all hideous. I need to call her before she spends eleven hundred dollars on this giraffes-in-the-jungle print. Talk to you later, Gingersnap.”

  He hangs up and I’m about to do the same when I realize Alex has stopped a few feet ahead of me and is leaning back against the rear of my BMW with his arms crossed and his eyes trained on me. With him paying such close attention, I can’t disconnect this call to the man who’s supposedly my significant other without expressing any affection or that will look hinky.

  “Love you too!” I say to the dead line. “Sending lots of kisses!” I make some smooching noises, then end the call and dump the phone in my tote.

  “Too bad about Mr. Perfect flaking out on you,” Alex says, pretending to sympathize, although the smile playing around the corners of his mouth tells me he couldn’t be more pleased about this turn of events.

  Sticking my hand into the unzipped pocket inside my bag, I pull out my key fob. “He had an emergency at work; it happens. Now if you’ll excuse me . . .” I press the unlock button on the fob. “. . . I need to hit the road so that I don’t miss my dinner reservation at the hotel. Thanks again for bringing me the check.”

  With that brush-off successfully delivered, I yank open the driver’s side door of my car and climb in, taking a few seconds to arrange myself comfortably with my vitamin water in the cup holder and my tote stowed in the backseat. I’m reaching for my seatbelt when the passenger door opens and Alex plops down next to me. What the he—?

  “Did you need me to drive you to your car?” I can’t think of any other reason why he’d invade my personal space like this.

  “No.” He clicks his seatbelt into place, then slides on his sunglasses and turns to me. “I’m coming with you to Riverside.”

  “Nope. No way. Not happening. Get out!” I stab a finger at the car door, but Alex makes no move to leave.