by Eliza Daly
“You still need to cook for me.”
She arched a thick, penciled-on brow. “Every night?”
“Maybe not every night, but I’ll still come by for dinner on Wednesdays.”
“One night,” she scoffed, thrusting a red polished finger in the air, causing her gold bangle bracelets to clink together.
“I’m sure he could make it for dinner more than once a week,” Cassidy piped up.
He glared at Cassidy, whose emerald-colored eyes peered innocently back at him. Damn, her eyes were beautiful. Yet she was undoubtedly far from innocent. Willing to do whatever it took to pry into his personal life, just like the media. He’d told her not to come, but she’d followed in her car anyway. Not that he’d mind having dinner with Fiona more than once a week, but he didn’t have the time. He’d gotten little accomplished the past two weeks with his aunt’s funeral.
Fiona’s blue eyes filled with hope.
“I’ll try to come two nights a week,” he said.
Fiona smiled wide. “Maybe I’ll come down.” She hoisted herself off the limb then stopped. “If ya stay for lunch. I make me pigeon pie in a puff pastry.”
Ryan’s stomach took a swan dive. The repulsive bird should be shot, but it certainly shouldn’t be eaten afterward. Still, it was Fiona’s signature dish, and choking it down was easier than hurting her feelings. However, he had already canceled a morning meeting; he couldn’t cancel his afternoon’s.
Noticing his hesitation, Fiona planted herself back on the limb. “Off to work with ya. Don’t be needing no pity company. Got Charlie, I do.” She gestured toward the chauffeur standing next to him.
Charlie sucked in some serious air, causing his hollow cheeks to deflate even further. The thought of being her “pity company” obviously pissed him off. He slid the black chauffeur’s cap back on his head, preparing to protest. Instead, he scratched a thin tuft of gray hair on his head, then put the cap back in place. He chose his battles wisely. Not just because Fiona had a good fifty pounds on his spindly frame, but he undoubtedly didn’t care to go hungry.
“I’ll stay for lunch,” Cassidy said. “I love pigeon pie.”
What a bunch of blarney. The woman would stop at nothing.
He glanced over at her, smiling stiffly. “You have a deadline to meet. Remember, twenty-one days?”
“Remember we have lunch plans?”
“Consider them canceled. Hit a drive-thru. Time is of the essence.” He peered up at Fiona, who was ranting about the inferior quality of fast food. “Why don’t you invite your family over from Ireland? They haven’t been here in several years.”
“Because they’re bloody eejits. Aggie and you were me family.”
“I still am your family.”
“What about me?” Charlie demanded, tossing his arms in the air. “Suddenly I’m not family? Guess I might as well drive my car off the cliff.”
The chauffeur scurried over to the golf cart, which had the body of a white Cadillac with an authentic grille and hood ornament. The cart was one of Aggie’s many vehicles and the only one Charlie had been able to drive legally for several years. Every time he got his license back, he’d take out the Lamborghini and have his driving privileges revoked again. Cruising around in the cart was the man’s way of showing local law enforcement they couldn’t keep him off the road.
Charlie hopped in the front seat, then thrust his middle finger high in the air at Fiona. “Cheerio.”
“Cheerio.” Fiona returned his gesture with several unladylike ones of her own.
Charlie took off, scooting across the lawn toward the cliff. At five miles an hour, he’d hit the cliff by nightfall.
“You’re just letting him go?” Cassidy asked Ryan.
“He’s not going to drive his cart off the cliff.”
“Hmph,” Fiona grunted. “What a drama queen.”
This from a woman perched up in a tree.
Cassidy glared at him, hand on hip.
“Fine.” He held up his hands in defeat. He reluctantly marched across the lawn, pursuing the golf cart.
• • •
“What’s your name?” Fiona asked, eyeing Cassidy. The woman had been smashed at Aggie’s funeral. No wonder she didn’t remember her.
“Cassidy.”
“Ahh,” Fiona said, nodding approval. “An Irish lass. Name means clever one. Are ya clever?”
“I . . . don’t know.” Smart enough not to tell Fiona she wasn’t Irish, since the woman seemed to warm to the idea.
Fiona studied her with a discriminating eye. “I think so. I would know. Got the gift, I do.”
She raised a questioning brow. The gift?
“Sixth sense,” Fiona said with a mysterious air about her. She gazed over at Ryan jogging, closing in on the golf cart. “When me Ryan was in college, Charlie took him meals. He’d get mad if Aggie and I did. Would call us mother hens.”
“Guys have this image to live up to, especially in college. But I’m sure he’ll want you at his wedding. You don’t want to miss that, do you?”
“Jaysus, Mary, and Joseph!” Fiona made the sign of the cross, gazing up toward the sky. “Me Ryan is getting married?”
How was the staff supposed to approve his fiancée if he hadn’t told them he was getting married?
The cook’s dark penciled brows fused together. “Why didn’t he tell me this?”
Cassidy scrambled for an excuse. “He wanted it to be a surprise, and I just blew it. Please don’t tell him I told you. I can’t afford to lose my job.”
“Running off and marrying without telling me, is he?” Fiona flung her arms wildly in the air, throwing herself off balance. She released the flask, which dropped to the ground. She double fisted the limb above her, teetering on her gold heels. After steadying herself, she dropped down on the limb with a thud.
Cassidy breathed a sigh of relief. “He’s not running off, I promise. I’m the wedding planner, and he’s getting married in Milwaukee.”
“Brilliant. You plan the wedding, I’ll make the cake.” Fiona gave a definitive nod. “Irish whiskey cake with a layer of . . . ” She rattled off the recipe.
Cassidy about gagged. The wedding cake would do nothing to reestablish her reputation. However, she wasn’t about to tell Fiona she planned to use Milwaukee’s leading cake decorator, La Patisserie, since the woman was lumbering down the tree with the grace of King Kong. Refusing Cassidy’s offer to get a ladder, she gripped the bottom limb and swung down. Her legs resembled plump sausages stuffed into velvet wiener casings, yet she was in better shape than she looked.
Cassidy yelled across the lawn to Ryan and Charlie, waving them back. The chauffeur had been driving in a zigzag pattern, delaying his progress. Ryan had caught up and was hitching a ride.
“Remember, don’t say anything to Ryan. He wants to surprise you.”
“’Tisn’t a secret if known by three people.” Fiona pinched her thumb and finger together and zipped them across her bright red lips. “I’ll make a board like I did for Aggie. With photos from when he was just a wee lad.”
The photos of Aggie and her lovers in exotic locations. Bingo. Perfect for hanging on Ryan’s walls. Rather than two lions mating on the Serengeti, it would be Aggie and her lover climbing Mount Kilimanjaro in black and white. No way would Ryan refuse a gift from Fiona.
“Speaking of photos . . . ” Cassidy explained her plan.
Fiona readily agreed to secure the photos for her.
The golf cart bounced across the lawn and stopped next to the tree. Ryan stepped out, but Charlie remained at the wheel, pointy nose high in the air.
Ryan glanced at Fiona, then over at Cassidy, giving her an appreciative, yet curious, look. “Thanks.”
“Not a problem.” If he knew how she’d accomplished such a feat, he wouldn’t be so thankful.
A red Porsche 911 raced up the driveway, a funnel cloud of leaves following behind. The car squealed to a halt.
“Shit. Just what I need,” Ryan
muttered.
A woman marched across the drive, white patent leather boots clicking against the pavement. The boots matched her size 2 white leather miniskirt and jacket. Her purple tights matched her tinted contacts and eye shadow. The woman was all mod, no bod.
“Lunch meeting, my ass. Is this why you didn’t want me at your aunt’s funeral?” The woman glared at Cassidy through long, false eyelashes.
“Veronica, I didn’t want you at the funeral because you’re allergic to cats.”
Veronica? As in The Love Boat Veronica?
“Huh, there probably weren’t even cats at the funeral.”
“Oh, there were,” Cassidy said. “Lots of them.”
“You were at the funeral.” She raised an already too arched eyebrow.
“Yes,” Fiona snapped. “Was his date, she was. So off with ya now.” She shooed the woman away.
Ryan didn’t deny Cassidy supposedly having been his date.
“Don’t worry, Mona, I’m outta here.” With a flip of her platinum blonde hair, Veronica spun around on the heel of a boot and huffed off.
Some lifejacket. A slight wave and she jumped ship.
“Mona,” the cook grumbled at the misuse of her name. “Woman doesn’t know her arse from her elbow.” She gave Ryan a stern look. “Put silk on a goat, and it’s still a goat . . . ” She continued quoting a slew of anti-Veronica Irish proverbs.
Ryan held up a halting hand. “I get the point.”
“Need a lass like this, ya do.” Fiona clamped a hand down on Cassidy’s shoulder, which flinched under the pressure. “A fine sturdy Irish girl not afraid to eat. Not one who looks like a twig.”
Sturdy? Cassidy was a size 6. Far from sturdy. But yet, she did love to eat.
Fiona smacked Ryan on the arm. “That woman certainly better not be the one you’re marrying.” She snapped her mouth shut, glancing nervously over at Cassidy.
Ryan glared at Cassidy, who shrugged apologetically. He peered over at Fiona. “I planned to tell you guys tonight that I’ve decided to settle down.”
Charlie started tooting the cart’s horn in celebration.
Fiona’s eyes lit up, and she embraced Ryan in a bear hug. “Who’s the lass?”
“I’m not sure yet. Just know it’s time to start thinking about it.”
The woman released her hold on Ryan. “Your first wee one should be named Finn. Need to go perfect me whiskey cake for the reception.” She climbed into the golf cart.
Charlie drove toward the house, the sound of them arguing over baby names carrying across the lawn.
“Sorry,” Cassidy said. “I didn’t realize you hadn’t told the staff.”
“That’s fine. And I don’t want to discuss Veronica.”
“How about that I’m your girlfriend?”
“She said you were my date, never mentioned you being a girlfriend.”
They headed toward the house, encountering a flowerbed where Ryan conversed briefly with the gardener in Spanish. He didn’t look the least bit Hispanic with his fair skin, green eyes, and tall, lanky build. The only thing Latin about him was the white straw Panama hat. Hector gave Ryan a huge congratulatory hug. He smiled, handing Cassidy a tulip. A plastic tulip.
“Gracias,” she said, then gave Ryan a questioning glance.
“My aunt hated winter but refused to move south. Having flowers year-round helped her beat the winter blues. We’ll continue the tradition out of respect for her.”
“What about when they’re buried under a foot of snow?”
“Hector shovels it off.”
Planting plastic flowers might sound a tad bizarre, but it really wasn’t. Milwaukee in winter was like Gotham City. Dark, gloomy, and surreal. Some people rejoiced over the first snowfall. Like the wackos who sat in ice shanties in sub-zero temperatures, dangling a fishing line through a tiny hole in the ice. They were the crazy ones, not Aggie.
Ryan excused himself, punching in a number on his cell phone. He stepped away, but she could hear him talking to Melanie, rescheduling his afternoon appointments and canceling the Tokyo trip. A little thing like finding a wife couldn’t keep him home, but his rather odd unconventional family could.
Interesting.
No biggie if he didn’t complete her questionnaire. He’d probably lie anyway. His family and friends would provide plenty of insight into his life.
He smiled at something Melanie said, and one of his damn sexy dimples creased his cheek. Finding him the perfect match might not be so difficult. He just needed a woman who could see through his aloof exterior to his compassionate side. She glanced over at the flowerbed blanketed with plastic tulips. Someone open-minded who could appreciate and understand others’ quirks. A woman who loved him enough to eat pigeon pie.
Finding a woman who met the staff’s criteria, not merely Ryan’s, was going to be a bit more challenging.
Chapter Six
Waiting in line at An Herb a Day Café, Cassidy closed her eyes and inhaled the spicy aromas and exotic scents filling the air. Her cheek wouldn’t stop twitching. She bolted past the customers and stood off to the side of the counter, waving frantically at Lucy, calling out her name. Lucy glanced up from the back counter where she spooned lemon balm into a thermal cup. She walked over, wiping her hands on her red-and-white-gingham apron.
“Whip me up something for this,” Cassidy said, pointing at her twitching cheek.
“That again?”
The nervous twitching had first occurred six months ago. The day she’d lost her job, self-respect, and paid health insurance benefits.
“I’ve got only twenty-and-a-half days left to find Ryan’s fiancée.” Screw this up and she could kiss reestablishing her career good-bye. She planted her palms on the counter and leaned forward, lowering her voice. “I’m freakin’ out.”
Lucy twisted her mouth around, contemplating the options. “Kava kava or vervain didn’t help before . . . ”
“Just make me something.”
“Go sit down, take deep breaths, and I’ll fix something up.”
Lucy shooed her away from the counter. Cassidy made a beeline through the lunch crowd for the only open table, her heels clicking determinedly against the rustic hardwood floor. She dropped down on one of the wooden ice cream parlor chairs and buried her nose in a red ceramic pot in the middle of the table, inhaling the calming scent of lavender.
Minutes later, Lucy walked over carrying a tray with two large, steaming mugs of tea and a sandwich. She placed a mug in front of Cassidy. “Skullcap tea. It’s very hot. Inhale the aroma for a few minutes before drinking it.”
Cassidy glared at the sandwich bursting with bean sprouts and other undeterminable healthy greens even a rabbit would turn up his whiskers at.
“First step to reducing stress is taking better care of yourself, so eat up. And I have something else that will also help. I went on eBay and ordered red pillows and a pink thong for Ryan’s office. One less thing for you to worry about.”
Cassidy opened her briefcase and retrieved her to-do list and crossed off: feng shui Ryan’s office.
“Between you and Fiona, the office is set. Now I only have a bazillion and one things left to do.”
“They say the best insight into a guy is to meet his parents. Guess his pseudo family would be the same thing. If his cook is willing to give you photos, maybe you could recruit the entire staff to help.”
“I plan on it. I’m going to need all the help I can get. And they ultimately need to approve his fiancée anyway.”
“I’ll help also.”
“When are you going to have time to help?” Cassidy glanced over at the line of people trailing across the café to the door.
“I’ve worked seven days a week for the past eight months. I need a vacation. Fran can handle things here.”
“What about the funeral home? With me quitting, isn’t Kenny going to want you to help out?”
Lucy snapped back in her chair, looking horrified. “I’m not working at the fun
eral home. Kenny knew when we married I would never be involved with the family business. His cousin, Sally, is filling in until he hires someone. I don’t mind helping out with an occasional themed funeral idea—they’re fun—but that’s it.”
“Isn’t she a travel agent?”
“The agency she worked for just folded. Organizing trips can’t be that different from organizing a funeral. You already know the person’s destination; you just have to plan how to get him there.”
Why did people think event planning was so easy?
Lucy took a sip of tea, and Cassidy joined her. “So, what’s our next step?”
“I’m meeting with Ryan’s lawyer, Alex Carson, this afternoon, and then I plan on creating the initial application form. Have to figure out a way to drastically narrow down the search for potential fiancées, since we only have a week before the first cut.” She picked a clump of bean sprouts off her sandwich, ecstatic to discover sliced turkey beneath.
Lucy gazed into the mug cradled in her hands. “She can’t make more money than him or he’ll feel threatened.”
“Can’t imagine many women have more money than him.” Cassidy jotted this down on her notepad. “He wants a woman who works in finance, which is ridiculous. And she can’t be a workaholic; he’s already married to his job.”
Just like Cassidy’s parents.
Both of them lawyers, their mutual desire for successful careers and an affluent lifestyle led them down the aisle. Cassidy had been a major inconvenience as well as a major disappointment. Rather than attending an Ivy League college surrounded by wealth and prestige, she’d become a wedding planner. She’d never told her parents she didn’t want to attend Harvard or Yale; she’d bombed the SATs instead. Much easier than confronting them about it. She also hadn’t mentioned she was now a funeral planner.
Hopefully she wouldn’t have to.
Her cheek twitched. She gulped down tea. “I need a crash course in Ryan Mitchell. I can’t find him the perfect match until I know him better, and he isn’t making it easy.”
“I just read an article that said you can tell what a guy’s like by the type of foods he eats. If he eats spicy food, he’s daring. A meat man has traditional values. And a vegetarian is spiritual and idealistic.”