Wedding Roulette

by Leandra Logan

  “Don’t cry to me. You’re the one who’s failed to manipulate him. Now we have no choice but to play his game. Call the ex right now. See if perhaps you can do a better job sweet-talking her.”

  “Still, in my opinion—”

  “Your opinion doesn’t mean diddly here. You are not really Simona.”

  “What about the other directive?”

  “The printed retraction? In his dreams. Simona’s never copped a public mea culpa in all her born days. Serve him up our compromise and be done with it.”

  “But—”

  “Make the call,” Beverly ordered. “Ditch the dud.”

  Krista stared up at Michael, a lone sentry in a sober gray suit, raking his clipped blond hair with a huge powerful hand. Her heart squeezed and her pulse jumped.

  Dud, indeed. The man was a genuine hottie. She’d forgotten what instant combustion felt like, the instant rush of desire. Her aunts and Irritated were fools not to appreciate his potent animal magnetism.

  Krista was struggling hard in her role now, caring more than ever to do the right thing. Her most important consideration was that, despite his jilted lover pitch, he was not in the throes of sincere romantic anguish. His was a bottom-line business dilemma. He hated losing, he hated rejection, he hated having his business affairs upset.

  There was no fooling Ms. Big of Bigtime Promotions. It took one workaholic to know another.

  Under the circumstances, Krista could not bring herself to cooperate. The aunts might view her as a puppet to their whims, but she had her limits. There was no way she was going to phone up Irritated in order to help Michael Collins ruin his own life.

  She was suddenly surging with power and confidence. Only she would and could save him from himself. And that meant standing firm against his self-destructive demands.

  She rose from her chair on a wave of euphoria, allowing her protective shawl to slide to the floor. She rounded the desk, ever so subtly giving her cap sleeves a bit of a tug off the shoulder.

  In all her life, she had never felt sexier.

  He had been roaming all over the room, but at the sight of her lazy feline approach, found himself rooted to a spot near some file cabinets. Touching his lapel, she spoke in a husky firm voice.

  “Michael,” she began in a hush, “I’m afraid it is against my policy to ever print a retraction.”

  He inhaled laboriously, touching the bloodred nails climbing his jacket. “Fine, forget it. The retraction was strictly for my ego. The phone call, however, is a necessity.”

  She felt him give her hand a gentle squeeze. Shimmering with sensuality and bravado all at once was no easy feat, especially when delivering bad news. “I’m afraid I must refuse to make the call, as well.”

  He was flabbergasted. “But a word from you would mean so much.”

  She stole her hand back. “That’s the problem. Your former fiancée might actually respect Simona enough to give you another chance. Not a responsibility I want.”

  “Why do you insist upon taking her side?”

  “I don’t mean to—”

  Realization suddenly flooded his face. “So it is the sex.”

  “The sex?”

  “You bought all that baloney about my not lighting her fuse fast enough.”

  Oops. Krista had forgotten all about that crack. The aunts took way too much pleasure in doling out that sort of earthy double entendre.

  He crowded her against the file cabinets, dipping his face close to hers. “Maybe Irritated was a little too anxious about our progress in that department. And maybe I was a bit too distracted this close to my convention. But let me assure you, when I do have the time and inclination to light a fuse, it burns fast and it burns hot.”

  Krista didn’t doubt it. Her own legs were weak. She had to press her thighs together to keep from melting to the floor.

  He continued in a tight, confident voice. “You’re a meddling egotist to hold your ground, to refuse to mend my fences. There was nothing wrong with Irritated that some square meals and a few dazzling nights in Vegas wouldn’t have cured. Why, given the chance I would have…”

  She gulped in his minty breath and spicy aftershave as he hovered close and laid into her about his courtship plans in the nation’s most pulsating city.

  He curled his mouth in self-deprecation. “What a waste this trip has been. I thought if I came here in person to plead my case, I could get my point across.”

  “You have made a point, though not the one you intended. Your every move today has convinced me all the more that you and Irritated are a mismatch. If a forceful man like you truly loved a woman, she would know it without a doubt. The very idea that she would be insecure enough to write to an advice columnist just doesn’t fit.”

  He reared in offense. “I proposed to her with sincere intentions.”

  “You were staging an engagement of convenience!”

  “Hey, I truly care for Irritated.”

  “You’re far more excited about impressing the boss.”

  “You make me sound ruthless.”

  Her voice softened. “Not if you fooled yourself, too, Michael. You probably got caught up in the excitement of it all without realizing. Doesn’t it strike you as the least bit strange that you fell in love at a time when you needed a wife most?”

  “The fact that our relationship blossomed as opportunity knocked was a lucky stroke of fate.”

  She was clearly skeptical. “How long were you fateful lovers dating?”

  “Three whole months.”

  “Hah! I don’t trust a dry cleaner or a manicurist for the first six months.”

  “Maybe that’s because you’re a crummy con,” he sputtered, “on the lookout for your own kind.”

  “Am not!”

  “Are too!”

  “Not!”

  He glared at her incredulously, his face flushed with fury. “You have reduced this argument to an embarrassing level of childishness. I better get out of here before I give you cause for a countersuit,” he fumed. “But you’ll be hearing from me again, I promise.”

  Krista stared at him in dismay. “What are you going to do?”

  “Something,” he vowed, charging for the door with fists squeezed to his sides. “Something to make you squirm.”

  When the outer door slammed shut, the aunts came rushing through the inner office door.

  Krista crumpled. “Guess that didn’t go too well.”

  “Where did we go wrong with her, Beverly!” Rachel lamented. “The girl knows so little about manipulating men.”

  “Never trust youth and inexperience.” Beverly sighed hard at Krista. “All you had to do was follow our instructions. We breathe life into Simona and therefore know exactly how she should behave.”

  The aunts stood together like a couple of uneven book-ends, sizing up their niece in disappointment.

  Krista was too wound up in her own emotions to immediately tune in to their wavelength. “Did you hear the way he talked to me? To me? I’m not some dummy to be squashed!”

  Rachel shook her finger with a quick reminder. “This isn’t all about you, dear! It’s about us! Our column!”

  Krista conceded that it was about all of them. The aunts and their column. Krista and her obligation to the aunts. But it was her diagnosis of Michael Collins, a man so wound up in his career that he couldn’t discern his business moves from his personal ones, that really made her simmer. Even though she herself was a fanatic about putting business affairs first, she was outraged that her charms hadn’t taken him in. The very idea that the seduction challenge had come to mean so much once she got revved up was surprising and disturbing. She never allowed men to shake her up to this point. It made her feel too vulnerable, distracted her from her work.

  “It’s a shame he and I couldn’t reach some understanding,” she said in fumbled apology. “I tried. I really tried.”

  “But you failed,” Beverly chided.

  “Just as you failed with your advice to his
fiancée,” Krista fired back. “Don’t overlook the fact that he’s only mad at me because he doesn’t know about you.”

  “Apparently a more seasoned temptress was needed.” Rachel tilted her blond head from side to side. “Perhaps with a little theatrical makeup and a dark wig, I could have—”

  “You play the young nymph, Simona?” Beverly clapped her ample bosom. “Dear lord give me strength.”

  Rachel glowed. “In her place I would have put him on the scamper.”

  “He’d have scampered for cover! You’re old enough to be his mother.”

  “Big sister, maybe.”

  “He is thirty, you are sixty. Do the math.”

  “Still, I would have been better than Krista.”

  The idea that they didn’t appreciate her sex appeal one bit hit a strong nerve in Krista. She stuttered angrily above their bickering. “I was to, sexy. You just don’t understand the executive mind. He was way too smart to fall for a surface dazzle like this one. Face it, he was too smart for me—for you! But I did it up sweet, fantastic. Just look at these shoulders,” she said with a snap of one stretchy sleeve. “I am a turn-on and tuned in.”

  The aunts regarded her with skepticism, and worse, unmistakable pity.

  Krista stomped a heel. “C’mon, you couldn’t even see me in action!”

  “But, dear,” Beverly said, “we heard everything.”

  “Everything but the necessary male panting of desire,” Rachel added.

  “I’m telling you, no woman could’ve gotten through to him!”

  Rachel held her determined, if not dewy, gaze. “The bottom line is indisputable. You didn’t pull our butts out of this sling. When you realized you couldn’t handle him, you should’ve made the phone call.”

  But Krista didn’t feel compelled to make the call. In her customary role as boss she’d made her own gut decision. The very idea that they were blaming her youth and level of experience in the matter was silly. But it was predictable because to them, she’d always be that made-up girl in the photograph. This seemed the perfect time to reveal that other gut decision she’d been repressing for too long.

  “I’m sorry this didn’t work out.” Krista marched over to the desk to gather her things. “But it’s left me with the feeling that I’ve stretched the role as far as I should. I’m not good at faking things the way you two are. It’s high time I retire my shawl and my voodoo hairdo. Use my picture if you like, but I am finished with the Simona schmooze, no more personal appearances like today’s fiasco.”

  “But Doughman isn’t finished with you yet,” Beverly protested. “He said so.”

  The very idea of unfinished business with Michael Collins sent a tingle down her spine. She eased on her raincoat, fighting the sensation. “He doesn’t have my number, and I prefer to keep it that way.”

  “He’ll probably be determined to sue us now.”

  “Don’t be so dramatic. He’ll probably come to see the obvious, that the wrong wife at an important convention would do him more harm than good.”

  “The wrong wife…”

  “Versus the right wife…”

  Krista looked up in time to see the yin and yang sisters exchanging their trademark look of inspiration. She never ceased to be amazed at the way these two completely different women could merge into one dangerous entity.

  “That’s right,” Krista went on. “A dynamic man like Michael Collins shouldn’t be in any hurry in choosing a mate. He needs a sensible wife who understands the complexities of running a business. Someone who confronts him on issues. Who likes doughnuts, for Pete’s sake!”

  “You do know your doughnuts,” Rachel said sweetly.

  “I daresay that he does need a wife like me. But he’ll no doubt grow old chasing wishy-washy waiflike party girls full of self-doubt who feel the need to consult a columnist for redirection!”

  “Perhaps we’ve been a bit too hard on you, dear,” Beverly clucked maternally. “You were only trying to support our original stand, which made the most sense.”

  Rachel stroked her niece’s hair. “And we’re very sorry if we offended you with our remarks about your sexuality.”

  “O-kay…” Krista eyed them warily.

  “You do have the Mattson charm and good looks.” Beverly preened.

  Rachel sighed consolingly. “Trouble is, you’ve been riding a bicycle with training wheels all these years and we were wrong to yank off those training wheels so abruptly. Seducing a workaholic like Doughman would be no easy feat, even for an experienced diva. It was wrong to expect a rookie like you to let it all hang out on such short notice—with no practice.”

  “Hang on there!” Krista took a deep breath and counted to ten. They were trying so hard to make amends that it was getting downright insulting. “Look, I need to go home now, see if it’s possible to transform myself into a professional for a one o’clock appointment.”

  The aunts beamed, at a good five hundred watts.

  “You go along, dear.”

  “Yes, you have a life, too.”

  Once in the elevator car Krista realized she’d misbuttonned her coat. A mistake that proved her distraction.

  What a morning. Even now, with the dust clearing, she was sure she had done the right thing with Michael. Her only regret was that he wasn’t content with her judgment call. He had found her sexy, of that she was certain. But how much more firepower would it have taken to make him take his medicine and like it?

  She moved through the lobby and out into the lingering drizzle. Oh, damn, he probably didn’t find her sexy at all.

  KRISTA A.K.A.SIMONA was a lethal weapon. A heat-seeking missile on a search-and-destroy mission.

  These were Michael Collins thoughts over a lonely room-service dinner that evening at the downtown Holiday Inn.

  He jabbed a forkful of green beans from his plate and chomped them down. It was all so very puzzling. In some respects Krista Mattson was the quintessential Simona Says—sassy, brassy and smug. But at times her mind operated like a steel trap, full of sound deductive reasoning that belied her frothy advice column. A frothy column that would be better served by her more practical side. But as she admitted herself, her column was showbiz. Perhaps a more serious column wouldn’t have been such a hit in syndication. Her schtick was catchy, he imagined, for the average American reader over morning coffee.

  He took a gulp of his mineral water and set the bottle back on the hotel desk with a slam. Here he was, actually finding points in her favor! Certainly an unconscious move. And intolerable.

  Never had he been mesmerized and scandalized by a single woman.

  He was a chump who no longer knew his own mind. To think how crystal clear he’d been on everything before marching into Simona’s office. She’d wriggled under his skin with that dazzling sensuality, then thumped him over the head with ruthless logic.

  She’d actually had the nerve to suggest that she was saving him from himself. From a doomed marriage…

  Dammit, he’d come to realize she made a valuable case. How could he ever have considered marrying a girl who carried a calorie counter in every purse? Who slogged through the day at a menial job just to change dress and burst onto the club scene? Who at her worst refused to take a single bite of a Delectable Delights doughnut, his crowning glory? His reason for living?

  So blinded by the idea of finally settling down, having a wife to come home to, and more immediately, a dazzler on his arm for the convention, he’d overlooked the obvious differences in their personalities.

  Part of him wanted to sue the panties off Krista Mattson for waking him up. Another part of him wondered exactly what kind of panties she’d worn under that tight knit dress today.

  He was contemplating the matter when there was a knock on his hotel room door. Krista? Bob Freeman?

  He opened the door wide to find the bellman carrying a giant goodie basket. Digging into his pants pocket he extracted a couple of loose bills and accepted his delivery.

  The
contents were far more to his liking than the bland roast beef platter he’d been munching on. It was brimming with fresh fruit, assorted cheeses and crackers, even a bottle of wine.

  He used two long fingers to scissor the large note card buried between two bright-red apples. Tearing open the envelope he found a stiff white notecard embossed with Simona Says in silver.

  His hand shook slightly as he read the card over and over again. Bless this wild woman’s heart! She’d had the nerve to shoot down his whole game, but ultimately had the sensitivity to come up with a reasonable solution. Considering his rudeness, this was quite a gesture. Of course, his threat of a lawsuit was bound to have had some bearing on her generosity. But not a lot, as a quick call to Irritated In Illinois would’ve gotten her off the hook. The possibilities jacked him up, sent him into a near tailspin. He couldn’t wait to speak with her. There was no phone number on the card, but the envelope bore her address.

  Plainly, she wanted to discuss this in person rather than over the phone.

  Basket in hand, he dashed out the door.

  Chapter Four

  It was a routine brainstorming session for Bigtime Promotions. Krista and Judy Phillips were at Krista’s Minneapolis town house, huddled together at her dining room table over a huge sheet of paper loaded with scribbles. It was the favored creative exercise for the pair. They began with a nugget of an idea, a core phrase written in the center of the paper, then formed a cluster of related buzzwords around it until they had a substantial concept to present their latest client. In this case the client was a local chain of electronics stores.

  It always was a casual session when held after hours, away from office formality. Judy was dressed in red capris and white knit shirt, quite practical for her dash over from her own town house, three blocks over in the same development. Krista was wearing some threadbare jeans and a gray Hamline U T-shirt. Both had their hair gathered in high bouncy ponytails.

  They worked contentedly to the soft backdrop of jazz. Each sipped a diet cola, anticipating dinner as the appetizing scent of supermarket lasagna and garlic bread heating emanated from the oven.

  Presently their cluster was leaning toward a sci-fi theme, with the main focus on a robotic character who could conceivably hand out a giveaway sack, including perhaps a store coupon, a cheapo calculator, and maybe a CD featuring the afternoon drive show of a local radio team.