Black Tie Optional (Wild Wedding Series Book 1)

by Ann Marie Walker

  “Just,” he said without breaking stride.

  “Our office hasn’t received your RSVP for the annual gala yet. This is our single largest event, funding nearly all of—”

  “I’m aware of the importance of the event, Mrs. Moran.” He’d been going to that blasted ball for as long as he could remember. But more than that, it was his mother’s legacy. Did this woman really think he’d be a no-show? Cole bit down on his molars. No, but he knew exactly who did, and he’d bet his Bugatti that she was the one who was responsible for this little lobby ambush.

  The elevator opened on a soft ping. “Tell my grandmother I’ll be there,” Cole said as he stepped inside. It was impossible to miss the woman’s relief, and for a moment he actually felt sorry for her. Lord knows she had her work cut out for her as the executive assistant to Meredith Vanderholden Grant. It didn’t matter how well she was compensated, there weren’t enough benefits in the world to make working for a viper in pearls more tolerable.

  “Thank you, Mr. Grant.” Her hand shot out to keep the door from closing. “And can I confirm lunch on Tuesday as well?”

  A muscle in Cole’s jaw twitched. Of course, his grandmother wanted to meet with him on Tuesday. Hell, she’d probably had the date circled on her calendar for months. He gave a tight nod then stepped forward to jab the button on the panel. His grandmother might have had the upper hand at the moment, but by the time Tuesday rolled around his attorneys would have put an end to her reign of tyranny once and for all. A smug grin curved his lips as he imagined the look on her face when he delivered the news. The thought had him smiling all the way down the hallway. In fact, it wasn’t until he reached his sister’s room that his expression faltered.

  The door was open, affording him a moment to observe her before she plastered on the smile that never failed. Professional gamblers could learn a thing or two from his kid sister when it came to a poker face. According to her, everything was just fine. She’d even used the word “dandy” once for Christ’s sake. Hell, sometimes even Cole started to believe she had the power to will herself back to health. But in that unguarded moment, she looked small and frail and far too vulnerable.

  Fuck, he hated seeing her like that, propped up in a hospital bed as tubes dripped and machines beeped. But it didn’t faze her one bit. No, for Rebecca it was business as usual. Just another day at the office. Literally.

  “Don’t you ever take a day off?” Cole asked as he strode into the room. As he drew closer, he could see there were dark circles beneath her blue eyes.

  She looked up from the notebook she’d been scribbling in and smiled. “Look who’s talking, Mr. Workaholic.”

  He bent to kiss the crown of her head. The doctors had assured her that she wouldn’t lose her hair with this type of treatment, but she’d cut her brown curls into a short bob just in case, arguing that it would be less to sweep off the floor if they were wrong.

  “I’m not a doctor,” Cole said. “But I’ve been here with you enough to know that rest, while being a four-letter word, is actually something they recommend.”

  “I’m on an IV, Cole, not life support. And besides, love never takes a vacation, so neither do I. People get married every weekend of the year.”

  “I’m sure their plans wouldn’t all crumble if you took a day off from work.”

  She shrugged. “I don’t see my job as work. I love what I do. Meeting people who have fallen in love and decided to spend the rest of their lives together; talking to them, discovering what makes their love unique and then finding the perfect way to showcase those emotions on the most important day of their lives.” She sighed. “Love is what makes life worth living, Cole.”

  If anyone else had spoken those ridiculously saccharine words, Cole would have laughed in their face. But Rebecca believed every word of it, and if the dreamy look in her eyes wasn’t proof of that then the fact that she worked God knows how many hours for God knows how little pay sure as hell was.

  Cole lowered himself into a chair with an exaggerated sigh. “Thank fuck hopeless romantic isn’t a genetic trait.”

  “No, but you could stand to have a shot of it.” She smiled sweetly. “In the ass, perhaps?”

  Cole didn’t want a shot of romance in the ass or anywhere else for that matter, but the idea certainly amused his sister. She was grinning from ear to ear. “Maybe I will just take my flowers and go,” he teased.

  “The flowers can stay and so can you.” She nodded to the small white envelope nestled among the blooms. “But there better not be a check in there.”

  “And you better not be about to give me any grief.” Christ, did they really need to have this conversation every month?

  “Cole, it’s bad enough you pay all my medical bills. I don’t need you paying my rent.”

  “First, our father practically paid for this whole damn hospital. Second, no sister of mine is going to live in a dump.”

  “Half-sister,” she corrected.

  Cole rolled his eyes. “Don’t start that shit.” He tugged at the tie around his neck. “Maybe if you came to work for me . . .”

  She lifted a brow and mimicked his line. “Don’t start that shit.”

  He threw up his hands in innocence. “All I’m saying is love doesn’t seem to pay much.”

  She shot him a look that effectively ended the conversation. His little sister might have been hooked up to machines and drunk on wedding details, but she could take him down in a war of words. And while he secretly loved it, the last thing he wanted to do was rile her up while she was in the middle of her treatment. “Fine. What would you like to talk about?”

  The gleam in her eyes told him he’d just opened Pandora’s box. “Meet any nice girls lately?”

  And there it was. “Next topic.”

  “Oh no, you don’t get to CEO your way out of this one. This isn’t a board meeting and as previously discussed, I don’t work for you. Now answer the question.”

  “No Rebecca, I haven’t met any nice girls. The women I meet are all workaholic assholes just like me. That or vapid socialites looking to hyphenate with a healthy portfolio.”

  “Don’t be such a cynic, Cole. The right girl is out there somewhere. Every pot has its lid.”

  “Do you put that on cocktail napkins?”

  “I’m serious.”

  “Sadly, I know you are. But despite your less-than-scientific cookware theory, it seems I’m destined to remain single. At least for now.”

  “What about your grandmother?”

  “She’s a bit old for me.” He shivered. “Plus, the whole incest thing is a little creepy, don’t you think?”

  “Ass. You know what I’m talking about.”

  As if he could he possibly forget. “My lawyers are working on it.”

  “Do they think they can get it resolved before next week?”

  “I’ll know more after Thursday’s court appearance, but they assure me it should be fairly routine.”

  “I hope so.”

  Cole scowled at the furrow in his sister’s brow. While her genuine concern touched him in ways even she would never truly appreciate, it was a waste of the energy she needed to focus elsewhere.

  “Hey, I don’t want you worrying about me. Concentrate on getting stronger, or on centerpieces and flower arrangements, or whatever it is that requires”—he glanced around the room—“forty-five binders. Jesus, Bec, I thought you were the techie generation.”

  “I’m the same generation as you, dork. And there are hardly forty-five, but if you must know it’s because people want to see samples they can touch, not just look at online. It’s like hand jobs, virtual isn’t a substitute for the real thing.”

  “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that and walk out of here thinking of you as the innocent girl I know you are.”

  Rebecca snorted. “I’m twenty-five, Cole. Little late for the ‘save yourself until marriage talk.’ Besides, those of us with life-threatening illnesses get the whole carpe diem thing.”<
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  “I don’t know if I want to kick your ass or hug you right now.”

  “Since when are you a hugger?”

  “True, and it would hardly be a fair fight with you hooked up to that contraption.”

  “I could still take you.”

  “Beat this disease, and I’ll let you take your best shot.”

  “Bribing me?”

  “If that’s what it takes. Although I don’t think it will come to that. I’m betting you’ll be good as new in no time.” Good as new? Fuck me, he thought, he sounded like one of the ladies in the guild. Cole braced himself for a barrage of teasing from his little sister, but instead her eyes widened.

  “Oh!” she said, clearly excited about whatever thought had just popped into her mind. “Speaking of bets, is this the weekend you head to Vegas?”

  He nodded. “Flying out tomorrow. But Jonathan is staying behind, so if you need anything at all . . .”

  “Will you stop worrying about me?” Rebecca said, cutting him off. She let out an exasperated breath that told Cole she was about to put him in his place. Didn’t matter that he was a foot taller, not to mention nearly five years older, when she wanted to, his sister could be one hell of a spitfire. “I’m fine. And I really don’t need a babysitter.”

  “Babysitter?” Cole laughed. “I’m going to tell him you said that.”

  “Don’t you have a kingdom to rule, people to behead, that sort of thing?”

  “Beheading is far too messy, but there are a few people I wouldn’t mind throwing in the dungeon for a week or two.”

  “Well, some of us do have work to do, so—and I mean this in the nicest way possible—get out.”

  The spirit in Rebecca’s voice caused a smile to spread across Cole’s face. “You know that only encourages me.” He slid his starched French cuff over the face of his TAG Heuer. “But since I do have a meeting to get to, I will settle for telling you to listen to your big brother and get some rest.”

  “I love you.”

  “Yeah, you’re not so bad yourself.” He shot her a grin over his shoulder as he strolled out of the room. “For a pain in the ass.”

  Chapter Three

  Olivia had no sooner pulled the rubber band from her hair when she gathered the blond waves into a fresh ponytail and refastened it. “I’m telling you, the man is a total pain in the ass.”

  “So you’ve said. Repeatedly,” Cassie deadpanned without taking her eyes off her laptop.

  Olivia reached for her fourth—or was it her fifth?—six-dollar glass of airline chardonnay. “I mean, if I didn’t know better I’d say he majored in assholery in college.” She paused with the plastic cup in mid-air. “Nope, make that douchebaggery. In fact, he probably has a Ph.D. in it.” She drained the last of the wine before declaring that from that point forward she would only refer to Coleman Grant III as “Dr. Douchebag.”

  Cassie’s fingers flew across the keyboard. “Even douchebags can redeem themselves.”

  “Only in those romance novels you devour. Even then it takes the love of the right woman and believe me, no woman could save that man. He’s beyond redemption.” Olivia chewed on her lip as she considered that for a moment. “Hmm, Douchebag Redemption. Now that would be a catchy title.” A small giggle escaped her lips, followed by a rather unladylike burp.

  Cassie looked up from the screen. Her tortoiseshell reading glasses sat perched on the end of her nose, and a pencil was tucked behind her ear, barely visible beneath her auburn curls. “Maybe you should leave some wine for the rest of the passengers.”

  “Pfffft. I’m on vacation.” Olivia pushed the button on her seat then grunted when it only reclined half an inch. “For the next three days, I’m going to eat too much, drink too much, and gamble too much. And so are you. Starting now.” She closed Cassie’s laptop. “I know relaxation is a foreign concept to you, so when in doubt, follow my lead.”

  “Fine.” Cassie picked up the small bottle of Merlot that Olivia had ordered for her several rounds ago and unscrewed the cap. “But do I have to obsess about Dr. Douchebag too?” A teasing grin spread across her face as she poured the wine. “’Cause you know, I’m not the one who has the hots for him.”

  “Would you stop with that already?”

  “Can’t say I blame you really. Easy on the eyes doesn’t even begin to cover it when it comes to that man.”

  “Yeah, but hard on the ears. Once he opens his mouth, his devil horns start to show.”

  “Maybe so, but the angels don’t seem to mind.” Cassie took a generous sip of wine. “I think he’s dated every one of the Victoria’s Secret models.”

  “First, lame joke. Second, you know this how?”

  Cassie nodded to her laptop. “I am capable of googling more than recipes on that thing. He’s sort of all you’ve talked about for the last three months. Figured I should see what all the fuss was about.”

  “Correction, his lack of consideration for an endangered species is all I’ve talked about.”

  “Right, my bad.”

  Olivia ignored the sarcasm dripping from Cassie’s words and instead asked her if she’d packed any snacks. One of the perks of having a best friend who was a pastry chef: no shortage of treats.

  “Sorry,” Cassie said. “I was sending out resumes right up until I left for the airport.”

  So much for the perks, Olivia thought just as her stomach growled. “Remember when airlines used to give out little bags of peanuts?”

  “They still do up there.” Cassie nodded toward the front of the plane. “But in china bowls, warm even.”

  Olivia stared past her friend to the formation of clouds just outside the window. “Kristen Wiig was right,” she said on a heavy sigh.

  “Come again?”

  “In Bridesmaids. Kristen Wiig was absolutely right.”

  “About the Colonial woman churning butter on the wing?” Cassie whipped her head in the direction of the small oval window beside her. “Where?”

  Olivia laughed. “About first class. The whole ‘close the curtain’ thing is elitist bullshit at its finest.”

  “You’d rather watch them drinking champagne and eating ice cream sundaes?”

  “No, but I wouldn’t mind using a bathroom that is only a few steps away instead of hauling my ass to the back of the plane to do the pee pee dance in the aisle while I wait in line with the other folks unwilling or unable to shell out an obscene amount of money for an extra three inches of leg room and a bowl of warm nuts.”

  The plane dipped and so did Olivia’s stomach, making her need to use the restroom seem all the more urgent.

  “You know their bathroom is the same as the ones in the back: tiny and disgusting. And while we’re on the topic, why does the flusher have to sound like you’re about to be sucked out of the plane? When I was a kid that freaked me the hell—”

  “Hold on,” Olivia interrupted. She turned in her seat. “They get ice cream too?”

  Cassie nodded. “The works. Hot fudge, whipped cream, toppings.” She shrugged. “Or so I’ve been told.”

  “That’s it. I’m flying Southwest from now on. They might board us like cattle but at least we all graze in the same field.” Olivia leaned out into the aisle. “I mean look at that, a whole line of people waiting to use the bathroom while the chosen twelve have one all to themselves.” She downed the last of her wine. “Wish me luck.”

  “You need luck going to the bathroom?” Cassie looked at her more closely. “Are you drunk?”

  “No.” Olivia laughed. “Okay, maybe a little, but that’s only because of the altitude.”

  Cassie rolled her eyes. “Might have more to do with the fact that neither of us have been out in ages.”

  “Something we are going to make up for this weekend.” She unfastened her seat belt. “But for now, I need to make a point.” Olivia could actually see the moment realization dawned.

  “Oh no, no, no. This is a bad idea, Olivia. I know you’re the champion of the underdog and savio
r to even the most reprehensible creatures, but you do not want to mess with air marshals.”

  Olivia laughed. “Bathroom segregation is hardly an issue for air marshals.”

  “I’ll remind you of that,” Cassie lowered her voice, “when they have you handcuffed in the galley.”

  “Chill out. I’m not going to cause a scene. I’m just going to use the bathroom.” With that, Olivia climbed out of her seat. The blue curtains separating the two cabins were partially askew and through the opening Olivia could see that the bathroom at the front of the plane was vacant. More importantly, she could also see that there was no sign of the flight attendant. Perfect, she thought as she parted the polyester barricade, maybe she’s elbow deep in hot fudge sauce.

  The cabin lights had been dimmed and as she made her way toward the front of the plane Olivia realized none of the first-class passengers seemed to even notice her, or if they did, her presence didn’t faze them. They were far too engrossed in their laptops or tablets to pay much attention to her silent protest of class discrimination.

  She moved swiftly and quietly, all the while reminding herself to keep her cool and just stroll up there like it was no big deal. Nothing to see here, just a woman using the lavatory.

  She was two feet from her target when . . .

  The floor rumbled beneath her feet and then seemed to fall away completely as the plane hit a pocket of turbulence. Olivia reached out, blindly grasping at seat backs to keep from falling, but it was no use. The plane dipped again, and the weightless sensation sent her stumbling backward. The air left her lungs in a rush as she fell ass first into the lap of one of the passengers. Her elbow protested the jarring impact with the center console, and the armrest would no doubt leave a bruise on her thigh, but neither of those compared to the embarrassment she felt as the arms of a stranger encircled her.

  “Are you all right, miss?” he murmured. She felt the deep tenor of his voice vibrate through her, and for a moment embarrassment was replaced with something different, something primal and raw. His rich masculine scent enveloped her, leaving her temporarily at a loss for words. Then the stranger beneath her straightened, and his arms tensed just as her gaze traveled from his broad chest to his lightly stubbled jaw to the furrow in the brows that framed eyes a color of blue she’d only seen once before . . .