by Tawny Weber
“Mia, darling, I’m just checking on the progress of our gala,” Lorraine said in those rounded tones only the wealthy seemed to pull off. “Not that I doubt for a second that you have it all well in hand.”
Of course she didn’t. Four phone calls a day was a sign of absolute faith. Mia silently waited for Lorraine to continue.
“As you know,” and she did know because Lorraine had insisted on mentioning it in each of those four daily calls, “if this weekend’s fund-raising goals are met, there’s a good chance that I’d put you in charge of our Winter Ball.”
The Winter Ball. Mia’s holy grail. A luxurious, complicated, multifaceted event spanning ten days, necessitating clever and innovative fund-raising techniques, savvy organizational skills, and, if rumor was true, the ability to juggle fire, water and ice all at the same time.
She knew this weekend’s event was the last in a series of what were essentially interviews testing her abilities. She knew, too, that Lorraine would rather handle the event in-house than bring in an outside coordinator.
But if Mia impressed her enough, she’d get the contract, she’d continue to freelance and she’d be able to bill herself as one of the top charitable-event coordinators in the country.
Best of all, she’d have done it all on her own.
“We’ll meet that goal,” Mia vowed. “Actually, things will be so amazing that I’ll bet we surpass it.”
“Oh, Mia, you’re such an optimist. But if anyone can do it, I’m starting to think you could.” Before Mia could revel in that compliment, Lorraine’s friendly tone turned pure business. “Now, you got my note about adding another fifty seats to the dinner, yes? Where are you at with that?”
“I’ve already spoken with catering and the location staff. The florist will add two more bouquets to the table,” Mia said, running her finger down her list as she recited check-marked items. “Because we’re losing square footage, the string trio will set up on the balcony just outside the ballroom.”
As she continued to recite her progress, she made a quick mental note to add extra space heaters to that balcony. Even though it was summer, evenings in San Francisco could get chilly.
“Perfect. It sounds as if you have a solid handle on it all. You’re one of the best planners in the Bay Area. And speaking of, I heard a rumor,” Lorraine said, her voice dropping with hushed excitement. “A wonderful, too-good-to-be-true rumor.”
“What’d you hear?” Mia scooted into a more comfy position in her chair and smiled, ready for some fun. She’d discovered the only thing the wealthy loved more than seeing their names written next to the word altruistic and the promise of tax deductions was gossip.
“It’s come to my attention that a certain young lady we both know and love has hidden connections.”
Oh, no. Mia cringed. Lorraine had been nagging her to convince her uncle to one of her events, claiming he’d be a huge draw. But before Mia could think of the right excuse, Lorraine continued in an giddy rush, “International real-estate connections, ones with very deep pockets.”
Mia frowned. It didn’t sound like Lorraine was describing Senator Penz. Thankfully the woman kept dropping those juicy hints.
“This connection is, as I hear it, very distinguished, cosmopolitan and charming. A man who rose above his juicy, scandalous family. In other words, just the kind of guest to add such a delicious panache to my ball.”
Ahhh.
Not her uncle. Mia was torn between relief and frustration as she realized whom Lorraine meant.
“Santiago Acosta?” Why was everyone bringing up Alcosta today? “I’m not sure he’d be available at such short notice. I do know a number of other people we could invite, though. Dignitaries, celebrities, even politicians.”
“No, no, no. It has to be Alcosta. Everybody has been talking about him at the club, but he’s not taking invitations. He even turned down the Grangers.”
He did? The Grangers counted a congressman, a US diplomat and a Tony winner among their numbers. They were a group high on Mia’s event-organizing wish list.
“But if I could put word out that Alcosta is attending the gala, attendance will go through the roof. And by attendance, I mean donations, of course.”
“Of course.” Mia blew out a breath. “Let me see what I can do.”
“I knew I could count on you, Mia. You are so efficient and dependable. Your association with influential people like Alcosta does carry a lot of weight in considering you for my biggest events,” Lorraine declared before saying goodbye.
Mia hung up with a sigh.
To pull off getting a man like Alcosta on board—to say nothing of getting the man’s business—meant doing something Mia abhorred. Something she’d vowed to avoid at all costs.
Using a friend.
Her family was big on offering help and opinions, and thanks to years of military service all over the world, it had tons of connections. All of which she’d availed herself of when she’d started out.
But her brother-in-law’s bookkeeper pal had garnered her penalties by forgetting to file quarterly taxes. Her sister’s BFF snuck a strip show into a simple fund-raiser for firefighters. And her parents’ start-up loan offer had come with so many strings, Mia would have owed them 50 percent of her profits, along with her firstborn, before she’d have been able to untangle the mess.
Half the setbacks and problems she’d had with her business were thanks to her family’s “help.” Which was just one of the reasons why Mia now insisted on doing it all on her own. She’d even refused her uncle’s offer to bring her onto his senatorial staff for a year so she could garner government creds, something that might have gone a long way toward making her job easier.
For Mia, asking for favors for charity was simple. But asking for personal ones was akin to being poked in the eye with a burning stick, since no personal favor came without a few sticky strings.
The trick was going to be asking Jessica for help without making it obvious that she needed it.
“Why the long face?”
Speak of the devil.
Jessica Alexander posed in the doorway. The petite, curvaceous blonde looked like a cross between a china doll and a centerfold.
Mia shot a fast glance at the clock in the corner of her computer screen to make sure she hadn’t lost a few hours. Nope, only one o’clock in the afternoon.
But like Mia, Jessica didn’t have normal work hours. As an administrative assistant to Señor Alcosta, some days her roommate was home at five o’clock, some she waltzed in at two o’clock in the afternoon and others still she swept out at nine o’clock at night, wearing evening wear.
Their work schedules—or lack thereof—was pretty much the end of the similarity between the two women.
Despite measuring in at a lean five foot ten, Mia knew her sharp features gave her the look of a fairy. She wore her ebony hair in a pixie cut, the long bangs sweeping in a curve over eyes the color of bittersweet chocolate. She leaned toward textured fabrics, rich colors and avant-garde jewelry.
Jessica, on the other hand, was petite and built with enviously lush curves. She accented her fluff of blond curls, cornflower-blue eyes and a Cupid’s bow mouth with delicate fabrics in pastels and lace, skyscraper heels, and—in her only departure from her baby-doll style—flashy diamonds.
They were complete opposites in every other way, too. Mia was quiet. Jessica was flirtatious. Mia had cut her teeth on diplomacy. Jessica thrived on excitement. Mia was an introvert who loved nothing better than peace and quiet; Jessica was an extrovert who needed crowds and noise and attention. Jessica reveled in a secret love affair, sharing every detail—every detail—but the man’s name, while Mia had no more interest in a relationship than she had in dancing naked over hot coals.
And yet somehow they’d become friends. And despite Mia’s family’s concerns, she thought Jessica was good for
her. The other woman brought spice and energy and excitement into her life, something she hadn’t realized was missing until she and Jessica had run into each other on the street two months ago.
It’d been the first the women had seen of each other since they’d attended the same boarding school. She’d been surprised Jessica even remembered, let alone recognized, her. But Jessica had swept her into a hug, taken her to lunch and—as soon as she’d found out Mia had a two-bedroom apartment—begged to move in for a few months.
“I thought you were working today,” she said as Jessica leaned one arm against the doorframe and propped the other on her tiny waist.
“I decide to take a half day,” Jessica said in a husky voice that made men melt. “Fridays should always be half days, don’t you think? Besides, I have a date tonight.”
Jessica hadn’t lived here long, but Mia knew from experience that a date night meant spa time, a Victoria’s Secret binge and a juicy morning-after story hot enough to singe Mia’s imagination.
What must it be like to have that kind of love life? Mia wondered. Incendiary passion, breathtaking excitement. Heck, she’d take enduring interest, something she’d yet to have with a man, much to her mother’s disgust.
“You didn’t answer my question.” At Mia’s frown, Jessica added, “Why the long face?”
Mia thought of Lorraine’s mandate that she get Santiago Alcosta to attend the gala. The best way to get something done was straight out, her father always said. Just do it, find it or ask for it.
She opened her mouth to do just that.
“Just thinking about the business of, well, my business,” Mia heard herself saying instead. “I have three smaller events this week to deal with, plus the gala next weekend, and I still need to find an assistant.”
Preferably an assistant who thought raising funds for charity itself was an ample paycheck.
“I can help you out,” Jessica offered, crossing the kitchen to start pulling out ingredients. “I’ve got a little extra time on my hands after tonight. My hottie is heading out of town for a week, so I’d love a project to keep me busy.”
A week of free help?
“What about your job?”
“I’m sure I can work it out,” Jessica said, flashing her most engaging smile. “Ready for your favorite matcha mocha latte?”
Mia hesitated.
Not over the latte. That, she wanted.
It was a favor she wasn’t so sure of.
“I appreciate the offer...”
“I’ll take care of any research, handle vendors, pay the bills and organize your database,” Jessica assured her, starting to work on her caffeine creations.
As the scent of coffee filled the air, Mia pictured Jessica’s room, with clothes thrown over furniture, a vanity table splotched with spilled makeup and shoes dumped in piles in the closet. And the papers. Papers were stacked, piled, spread and wadded everywhere.
Mia placed a protective hand on the files next to her.
“I appreciate the offer. I really do. But that’s not really—”
“I’ll even handle finding someone to help you at events to replace that gal. What was her name? The one who kept breaking things? Your computer, that case of glassware, her leg.”
“Bree was my coordination assistant,” Mia murmured. “And she was just a little accident-prone.”
“Right. Coordination assistant. I’ll find you one.” Jessica began pouring ingredients into the blender. “You won’t have to worry about anything.”
“But—”
“I know how you are about taking help with the business end of things, but I promise, I know what I’m doing,” Jessica said, setting two tall glass mugs on the table, each frothed high with whipped cream and a delicate layer of almond dust. “It’s not like I’d screw things up for you.”
“Of course I don’t think that,” Mia denied half-heartedly, wrapping both hands around the mug to inhale the rich blend of scents to buy a few seconds. “But I’ve already put a call into Karen Lawson. She coordinates volunteers for a number of charities. I’ve worked with her before and am sure she’ll be sending someone my way soon.”
“Maybe she will, maybe she won’t. You don’t want to depend on a maybe,” Jessica said, reaching into a slender pocket in her silk suit to pull out a business card. She set it on the table amidst Mia’s piles of folders and stacks of files, and using one pink nail, pushed it forward. “Not when you’re going to be really busy since I just snagged you a dream event.”
“A dream event?” Curious, Mia lifted the card.
Unsurprised, she read the name Santiago Alcosta, embossed in glossy black ink on heavy white card stock, with the entire card framed by a slender gold line. Elegant, understated decadence, she decided. That’d be the theme she’d pitch to go with these cards.
“Tell me more about this dream event,” she invited, wondering how to parlay what was probably a corporate luncheon into a chance to personally invite Alcosta to the Forever Families gala.
“I showed one of your fund-raiser pitches to my boss this morning, and Señor Alcosta is not only excited—he’s ready to rock and roll. There are some conditions,” Jessica continued before Mia could ask how she’d gotten her hands on one of Mia’s fund-raiser pitches. “You know, I told you how picky he can be. Lunch at twelve-twelve every day. At every meeting, people have to be seated in alphabetical order. The scent of the flowers can never overpower the scent of the food. That kind of thing. I’m not kidding when I say that Alcosta is seriously particular.”
Mia flipped the page of her notebook to write that all down.
“What are you doing?”
Mia glanced up.
“Making notes for the event. A luncheon?”
“Luncheon?” Jessica laughed. “Oh, no. Bigger than that. He wants to build a new children’s hospital in Mexico City and he wants you to handle a series of events to raise the funds.”
“A series of...”
“Yeah, a whole bunch of events. Like a half dozen whatever it takes to raise twenty million. I think that’s what he’s estimating it’ll take to get started.”
Twenty-million worth of events? Holy bananas.
So many thoughts bounced through Mia’s brain. Images of all the children who’d be helped by a new hospital. The thought of the benefits of health care for thousands. And, hoo baby, multiple events, wow, the benefits to her business. If Mia had a contract like that, after Lorraine Perkins was done doing backflips, she’d hand over the Winter Ball on a golden platter. Carte blanche. No nagging, no micromanaging, no peering over Mia’s shoulder, no deep sighs over preferring to keep the job in-house.
“What does he need? I should meet with him. Do I call him directly, or is that something I set up with you?” Mia flipped to a fresh page in her notebook. “Do you know if he has preferences already in place? Is he open to suggestions? Will you handle carrying through the arrangements once the plans are made, or will that be my responsibility? Knowing that ahead of time will help with my bid.”
“Bid?” Jessica waved that away with a flick of her baby-doll-pink fingernails. “You don’t have to bid, Mia. The job is already yours.”
“Mine? Just like that?”
“Oh, but he’s not looking at any other event planners. The job’s yours if you want it. I mean, you’ll have to create an outline of your plans for Alcosta’s approval, of course, and adhere to his wishes and rules. And there is a wee little time crunch involved. But after the way I’ve talked you up, I’m sure you’ll get the contract.”
Oh. My.
Mia bit back the urge to get up and dance.
Twenty million. A children’s hospital. A half dozen events. All hers.
While Jessica organized her files.
Mia’s urge to dance froze.
Before she could voice her concerns, Jessica made a
show of grimacing.
“Um, look. It’s no big deal,” Jessica said, her tone making it clear that it was actually a huge deal. “But I sort of put myself on the line here. You know, promised all sorts of great things about your work. That you’d take the job. That you’d do fabulous. That you were the best in the business. Stuff like that. So I’m counting on you. I’d hate for Alcosta to start thinking he can’t trust my judgment.”
Mia blinked, the weight of Jessica’s words coating her doubts with a hefty layer of guilt.
“I’ll get a hold of Alcosta and let him know how excited you are.” Jessica grabbed her cell phone and started typing. “You get a proposal together. I’ll set up the meeting. Just leave me a list of what you need done.”
And with that, Mia was alone in the kitchen with her gorgeous view and the opportunity of a lifetime. Then she glanced down with a sigh at a nagging text from her mother.
By the time Mia had finished reading message eight of nine, she was sure of two things.
One, she was definitely going after the Alcosta job.
And two, no matter how old she was, her parents were going to drive her crazy.
* * *
His mother was driving him crazy.
A woman he’d dated a grand total of three time was stalking him.
His career was over.
A year ago, Spencer Lloyd had been on top of the world. Cryptographer, lieutenant and Navy SEAL, he’d known no other way to live but to the fullest.
One bomb explosion later, his vision was impaired just enough to put him out of the SEALs, his career was over and he was living life on the edge.
The edge of sanity, that was.
Getting out of hot spots used to be Spence Lloyd’s forte.
The hotter, the better.
He’d once spent three weeks as a well-tortured guest of terrorists before engineering an escape for himself and six others, leading the way on a leg broken in four places.
He’d parachuted through heavy gunfire to take out enemy munitions before they destroyed a small city.