I’m finishing the final touches on the place cards, making sure I have everyone in the correct spot. I pause when the next card up is Harrison’s. There, next to him, is me.
I give a girlish squeal as I place my card.
I’ve just finished with the last table when I hear someone yell for Carla that the ice sculptures have arrived.
The large double doors at the back are opened, and all at once, a great gust of wind blows through the room. The balloons and stars shimmy in the breeze, but the hundreds of place cards I’ve just placed are picked up and scattered about the room.
I gasp, “No!”
But there’s nothing I can do but watch them fly to the floor.
Scrunching my brow, I place a hand on my forehead. Apparently I’m not meant to make a hair appointment.
One by one, I begin to pick up the cards, sorting them into alphabetical order as I go. Carla hollers at someone to hurry with the sculptures and shut the door, but I block the noise out, focusing on my task alone.
An hour and twenty minutes later, the cards have been sorted, the seating chart consulted, and everything is, once again, in its place.
“Good, Lauren,” Carla says when I tell her I’ve finished. “Off with you now, go get beautiful for tonight.”
I hurry home, only yelling a hello to my family as I rush up the stairs. I don’t even bother to wait until the shower warms; I step right in, shivering in the cold water as I shampoo my hair.
After I’m properly shaved, scrubbed, and rinsed, I snap off the shower, wrap a towel around myself, and dart to my room. My dress is waiting in my closet, but I pause when I spot a small white box on my bed. Curious, I glance around my room as if I will find the answer to who left it there.
Gingerly, I open the lid. Then I let out a disappointed breath. There’s only a note.
Second row, third drawer, fifth spot.
I bite my lip, grinning. When I open the correct drawer of the jewelry box Harrison gave me, I find another note.
Top lid, right-side compartment.
“Honestly, Harrison,” I say under my breath. “And you all say I’m dramatic.”
When I open the lid, I find them, right under the glittery heart. A pair of perfect pink, sparkling stud earrings sits against the velvet, winking up at me.
I glance at the box in my hand. Printed in tiny gold writing on the inside lid, it reads, twenty-four karat gold, genuine pink sapphires.
Next to them is, of course, another note.
A little sparkle to celebrate a successful first event.
And my heart seizes. If this is just an amicable gesture, if this is just a night out as friends, I’ll die a little.
Surely not, though. This electricity, this spark, can’t be one-sided.
I slip the earrings in and admire them in my vanity mirror. My dripping wet hair and towel take away from the look, but the earrings themselves are lovely.
Then, having taken too much time cooing over the gift, I rush to finish getting ready. I exchange my towel for a robe and then do my makeup and hair.
Worried I look too young, I pin my hair up in a careful updo. I would have much rather had someone else do it for me, but I make do with something simple. I’m just slipping on my dress when I hear the back door open downstairs. Harrison’s muffled voice joins my mother’s.
Taking a deep breath, I assess my reflection in the mirror. I look good. Very good.
I hope Harrison thinks so.
Nervous, I go downstairs. Harrison’s eyes instantly flick to me when I walk into the kitchen, and a warm sensation builds in my stomach.
His tux fits him perfectly, and he looks like he’s just had a haircut today. He watches me, his gaze intense, and I go weak all over. I’m not even sure how I make it to him.
“Are you ready?” he asks.
“Lauren, you look lovely! You’ll have to sneak in some pictures,” Mom says. “I want to see everything.”
My parents seem to be under the impression that this is nothing more than a business dinner of sorts. Like Harrison and I are going together simply because it pertains to our work.
I truly hope that’s not what this is.
After saying goodbye to my mother, Harrison and I slip out of the door. Harrison stays quiet, and his silence is making the tension all that much worse. What is he thinking?
We’re finally in the truck and headed to the hotel.
Keeping my tone light, I say, “Thank you for the scavenger hunt.”
He flashes me a quick smile. “I see you found the earrings.”
I examine my nails. “I love them. Truly, thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
We reach the event, and a valet parks Harrison’s truck. It’s certainly a little different than parking out back and taking the three-minute walk like I’ve been doing all week.
Even though I know what to expect, I gasp when we cross into the ballroom. The lights have been dimmed for the party, and the floating silver stars reflect the light. There are already hundreds of guests present, and they’re all in tuxes and gowns, just like in the movies.
“So this is your world, is it?” I whisper to Harrison as he leads me in.
“Apparently.” He looks a little nervous. “I suppose it’s yours now too.”
I shake my head. “No, I wouldn’t have gotten to attend tonight if you hadn’t asked me.”
His mouth tips in a smile. “I know.”
My heart thumps, and I swallow.
A piano, violin, and cello trio play on the stage, and the soft music mingles with the quiet voices. An occasional laugh rises above the noise.
Pride in my work, in Carla’s work, makes me feel all warm and fuzzy. These people are enjoying themselves, and it’s because we tried so hard to make everything perfect.
“I think dinner is about to begin,” Harrison says. “Let’s find our seats.”
“I know where they are,” I whisper conspiratorially.
“Apparently, I brought the right girl.”
I glance up at Harrison, ready to say something flippant, but I pause. His eyes are on mine, and his hand slides to my waist. Without a word, he draws me closer.
My heart begins to gallop, racing at a frantic rhythm that makes it impossible to catch my breath or think.
“Lauren,” he says, leaning in.
Just as I’m moving to meet him, a shriek from a microphone echoes through the room. Instantly, I look away, breathing slowly to try to get a handle on my emotions.
“Sorry about that.” Mr. Fredmont laughs. “Apparently, I’d never cut it as an entertainer.”
The crowd laughs politely.
“Thank you all for coming this evening, and a big thanks to The Harbinger Hotel for allowing our firm to be part of their project. This hotel has been a pleasure to work on, and we are very proud of the finished product.”
The crowd claps, and Harrison and I join them.
“Dinner will be served shortly. So if you can all find your seats, we’ll get started.”
Harrison’s hand slides to my back, and he escorts me through the crowds. I hadn’t noticed when I placed the cards, but we’re seated with Perry Rogers, the man who started the firm.
“Harrison, who is this?” The older man stands.
“Perry, this is Lauren.” Harrison nods to me. “Lauren, this is Perry, and his wife, Phyllis. Perry is my boss,” he adds.
“For now,” Perry says, chortling. “You’ll be running the place in no time.”
Harrison laughs, but he looks nervous. We sit, and I reach for his hand under the table. When I brush his palm, he winds his fingers through mine.
His hand is warm, comfortable. It makes me tingly, and I have to work to keep from grinning.
The food is served, and Perry asks the waitress for another scotch. Next to him, Phyllis, his wife, scrutinizes her plate. She holds up her hand to get the waitress’s attention before she leaves.
“Yes, ma’am?” the girl asks.
Phyllis waves o
ver her meal. “I ordered the vegetarian plate. There’s some kind of sauce over the vegetables. It’s not butter based, is it?”
The waitress’s eyes widen. “I don’t know…I’ll have to check.”
“It’s coconut oil,” I say, hoping it’s all right that I’m stepping in.
Phyllis looks at me, surprised and a little skeptical that I would know.
“I’ve been assisting Carla in her usual assistant’s absence,” I explain. “I called the caterer myself. He assured me it would be cooked in coconut oil.”
Perry’s eyebrows rise, and he finishes off his first glass of scotch. “Well, Harrison, it looks like your girl is as efficient as you are.”
I blush, wondering if Harrison will correct the man, tell him I’m not “his girl.” He only squeezes my hand.
Perry speaks to Harrison through most of the meal, the conversation shifting from sports to work and then to golf. The man’s already on his third scotch, and the speeches haven’t even begun.
According to Carla’s schedule, dancing is to follow dinner. I watch, impatient, as the band gathers on the stage. They talk for what seems like forever, and then a woman dressed in a long, slinky gown steps up to the microphone. They begin their set, doing covers of old jazz songs. People filter away from tables, and the waitstaff begins to whisk away the dishes and offer those remaining in their seats coffee.
It’s all going exactly as planned.
Harrison offers me his hand. “Care to dance?”
We rise, and I murmur, “I have no idea what I’m supposed to do.”
“Me either,” he whispers near my ear. “Let’s just swing back and forth and hope no one notices.”
I laugh, and, together, we do just that.
“It’s not prom,” he says, and then he lowers his voice. “And there’s a ridiculous amount of stuffy, pompous people here, but are you enjoying yourself?”
“I am. So much. Thank you for bringing me.”
His lips tip in a warm smile, and he nudges me closer. We sway back and forth, and I rest my head against his shoulder, savoring the moment.
After several moments, Harrison clears his throat. “Lauren, I—”
“Sorry, Harrison,” a man not too much older than Harrison interrupts. “Fredmont wants to introduce you to a prospective client.”
Harrison turns back to me, giving me an apologetic look.
“Well, go on,” I say, smiling.
Looking unsure about leaving me, Harrison nods and tells me he’ll be right back. Since I don’t want to go to our table by myself, I loiter toward the edges of the room, waiting for Harrison to return.
I’m relieved when I see him heading toward me, but, again, he’s stopped. This time, it looks like the couple just wants to chat. He glances at me and flashes a subtly flustered look. Finally, he breaks free.
“Sorry,” he says, immediately drawing me close.
“You’re popular,” I tease.
“Well, I’m yours now.”
I stumble, and he laughs under his breath. “Falling for me, are you?”
His tone light, but there’s something there. I meet his eyes.
He lowers his voice. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you—”
“Lauren!” Carla says from behind me. “I’m so glad I found you.”
From Harrison’s arms, I blink at my boss, startled. She looks harried, to say the least.
“There’s been a glitch with the desserts.”
“A glitch?” I ask.
Carla’s finger taps her phone. “They’re still at the bakery.”
“No.” I shake my head. “It was on my list. I checked on it myself—the delivery was signed for.”
“Apparently it was the wrong delivery. It was cooking staples for the hotel’s cafe. The woman from the bakery has left me three frantic messages, and somehow I didn’t get them. Her van broke down on the way. She and several family members were able to transport the desserts back to the bakery, but she didn’t have a way to bring them to us.”
“Why didn’t they bring them here instead of the bakery?” I rub my temples.
“She was only a few minutes away from her shop, and she was worried the frostings and things would melt without refrigeration.”
“Fine,” I say. “What do we do?”
Carla flashes Harrison an apologetic look. “I need you to take one of our vans and go pick them up. The woman is there, waiting for you. She’ll help you get things loaded. We need them ASAP.”
I glance down at my dress then close my eyes, thinking.
“Desserts are after speeches, right?” I open my eyes and nod, determined. “I can make it.”
“Thank you, Lauren. I’m so sorry.”
She scurries off, dialing her phone.
“We’ll go together,” Harrison says.
“You can’t leave…”
He gives me a smile. “Of course I can.”
“Are you sure?”
He nods.
Unfortunately, as we’re on our way out, Mr. Fredmont corners Harrison.
“I wanted to talk to you about the Peterson project while you have a moment.”
Harrison’s boss drones on and on, and I simply don’t have time. Harrison catches my eye, grimaces, and then nods me off.
I’m out the door, practically running through the hotel after I leave the ballroom. My gown floats behind me, and fleetingly, I wonder if I look a bit like Cinderella fleeing from the ball.
I should have worn blue.
I get in the van, fumble with my dress, and I’m on my way to the bakery.
Luckily, there is little traffic this time of night, and I pull up in front of the building only ten minutes later. Just as Carla promised, the owner is there, waiting for me.
“I’m so sorry!” she exclaims. “I tried to get a hold of Carla.”
“It’s all right,” I assure her. “No harm done.”
She and her husband load the confections into the back. All of them are boxed, but she still warns me to drive carefully.
The thought of being responsible for it all makes me nervous, but I only nod and assure them I can handle it.
On the way back, I hit every single red light.
Every single one.
My nerves are sparking. I just know I won’t make it back in time.
It takes almost ten minutes longer to reach the hotel than it did to get to the bakery, but Carla and an assortment of burly kitchen types are waiting for me.
“Hurry!” Carla grabs one of the smaller boxes and shoves it in my hands. “Wait, I can stack one on top.”
I can barely see over the layers of flat boxes.
After all this, there better be chocolate in one of these.
I follow the others into the kitchen. The waitstaff is already pulling cakes and other confections from boxes and loading serving carts.
The speeches are already going. I can hear Mr. Fredmont right now.
Carla watches as the desserts are wheeled into the ballroom, and then she sighs. “Thank you, Lauren. You’re a life saver.”
“I’m sorry I checked it off. It said they signed for the desserts…”
She holds up a hand, cutting me off. “This wasn’t your fault. I asked you to see if they signed for it, not make sure it was in the refrigerator.”
“I still feel awful.”
“Don’t. Now get back out there. Harrison has been pacing like a tiger since you left.”
I bite my lip at the thought and hurry to the ballroom. People are again seated at their tables, but Harrison’s spot is empty. Just as I start to look for him, he appears at my side.
“You made it.” He grins and waves to the dessert tables, which are now being loaded up. “Good job.”
“I’m sorry.”
He nudges me into a private corner.
“Shouldn’t you be listening?” I motion toward the man giving the current speech.
“Nah,” he says, “It’s all the same. A bunch of men congratu
lating themselves on a job well done.”
I grin, and then, taking courage, I run my hand over his chest.
He steps closer and sets his hands on my shoulders. “Now, as I was saying before I was interrupted—”
“Harrison?” Someone says over the microphone. “Where has he gotten off to?”
Harrison’s eyes widen with shock as he turns toward the crowd. He calls out, looking mortified but trying very hard to hide it.
“Scouting out the dessert table, were you?” The man laughs. “Get yourself up here.”
“Are you supposed to do a speech?” I whisper.
“Not that I was aware of,” he whispers back.
Harrison jogs forward, a picture of athletic grace in his tux.
“For those of you who haven’t had the pleasure of meeting this young man yet, this is Harrison Neeley, the newest addition to our team.”
I realize that the man speaking must be George Claude, the final partner in the architectural firm.
“At the early age of sixteen, Harrison began attending the University of Connecticut. He graduated with a bachelor’s degree in architecture and won the nationwide contest we and Harbinger ran to design this very hotel. We are pleased he has joined our team, even if we’re all a little worried he’s going to be running the firm by the time he finishes with his master’s. Let’s give the young man a round of applause.”
The room is filled with laughter and cheers, but all I can do is stare at Harrison, stunned.
I knew he was gifted, and I knew he’d won some award, but I had no idea he designed the hotel. No wonder Riley was tripping all over herself to get to him.
“Would you like to say a few words, Harrison?” George asks him.
“I…uh…” Harrison looks dumbfounded at the attention. “Actually, yes. Thank you, all. I’m honored that you gave me this opportunity…and I have no immediate plans for a hostile takeover.”
The crowd laughs.
“And I’d like to do a quick shout out to the event coordinator and her staff who put all this together tonight.” He motions to my boss. “Carla, it’s spectacular.”
She blushes and waves to the crowd.
“And can I draw your attention to the lovely girl in the pink dress standing there in the back by the desserts? That’s right, turn around.”
I freeze, terrified. What’s he doing?
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