Anna turned her sneering smile on him. “Where’s your proof?” she asked. “Oh, that’s right, you haven’t got any.”
“But I’ve got proof it was you who cancelled the band,” Carrie said. “Your signature on the cancellation fax. Sent yesterday, from the Arundel Hotel.”
Anna wasn’t listening. “These flowers,” she said, ripping the bouquet from Ruth’s arms. “They’re not your precious Cool Water roses! They were dyed in someone’s kitchen. Just ask the one in the wheelchair–I heard her talking about it with the receptionist.”
“But...what happened to my roses?” Ruth asked, her brow crinkled.
“I destroyed them!” Anna yelled back, beyond denial. “Like I destroyed everything else about your perfect day.”
“But you didn’t,” Ruth said, and Carrie felt a brief flicker of hope. “Despite everything you did, Carrie made this day wonderful.”
“But what I don’t understand is why you did it,” Carrie said. “You must have known I’d find the money one way or another. I was never coming back to work for you. What did you get out of this?”
“Satisfaction.” Anna sounded out every syllable. “I taught you everything you know. I was your mentor. And I want you to know you can’t do it without me.”
“Yes, I can,” Carrie said automatically, and was amazed to find she believed it. “And I will.”
“Not if I sue you for breach of contract.” Anna held up several sheets of paper, fished out of her clutch bag, her crazy smile growing even wider. “When you joined Wedding Wishes, you signed a contract stating that, in the event of your leaving the company, you would not take with you any clients currently signed to the Wedding Wishes books.” Anna flicked through the pages, and pointed to Carrie’s name at the bottom. “This is your signature, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Carrie said. “But I didn’t...”
“And yet, after you left for this godforsaken inn, I had three different couples cancel with Wedding Wishes, saying they only wanted to work with you.” Anna smiled, and Carrie saw more of her teeth than she ever had before. “Breach of contract.”
Carrie tried to get her mind around that. “But...but they didn’t come here. I’m not a wedding planner anymore. I’m an inn owner. I haven’t spoken to any of them.”
Anna shook her head. “Not the point. I lost commission, I lost stature and I lost business. And you should pay for that.”
Carrie could feel the crowd behind her growing bigger, as guests found their way in from the terrace and the bar to see what was happening. She was even faintly aware of her parents, standing in the doorway behind Anna.
She turned to Nate. His gray eyes were angry, but on her behalf, she knew, not at her. And every tense muscle in his body seemed to be saying, What do you need me to do? How can I save you?
But Carrie had come to the Avalon Inn to do something by herself for a change. To achieve her own dream.
And she was not ready to give that up.
“No,” she said, sharply enough to cut across all the other muttering. The room fell silent, and Anna Yardley turned her attention to her. “And I would suggest that you think very hard before making a decision about taking any of this to court. After all, I have proof that you tried to sabotage a client’s wedding.”
“Don’t you get it? I don’t care anymore,” Anna said, but she looked a little shaken.
Carrie smiled again. “Besides, we don’t need proof. Do we, Ruth?”
“Of course not.” Ruth stepped forward, her expression harder than Carrie had ever seen it. “These things aren’t won in the courts, Anna, you know that. Do you honestly think, by the time I’ve finished telling the whole of Manchester and every bridal magazine in the country what you tried to do to my wedding there’ll be a single couple that wants Wedding Wishes to organize theirs?”
Anna actually took a step back in the face of Ruth’s rage. Carrie let out just a small smile.
“It seems unlikely,” Carrie said, moving forward into Anna’s space, treading carefully around the broken china. “Now, I will be sending a check for the money you invested, minus the cost of repairing the dresser and replacing the dishes. And, actually, my wages for the last three months, which mysteriously never reached my bank account. I will leave it up to Uncle Patrick to decide whether Wedding Wishes deserves its fee for this wedding, although I would suggest not. And with that, my employment with you is ended.” She reached past Anna and opened the door to the lobby. “And I never, ever want to see you again.”
Anna stepped backward again, into the waiting hands of Stan Baker who, clutching her upper arms tightly enough that Carrie could see the jacket crease, said, “I think it’s time for you to go, young lady. Now, I’d appreciate it if you did that quickly, because there’s a certain somebody I’m waiting to dance with.” As he led Anna through the lobby, he called over his shoulder, “Cyb? See if they’ve got any Bing Crosby on that contraption of theirs.” With a huge smile, Cyb went to obey.
“Feel better now?” Nate asked, and Carrie smiled up at him. She could see Ruth ranting at her parents, Graeme still holding the waist of her gown. And she could see her father beaming at her across the room and knew he would be offering his accountant services again to sort out what she owed Wedding Wishes and she didn’t even care.
“Much,” she said, smiling.
“Well then.” Nate plucked Ruth’s bouquet from her hands, and Carrie blinked. She hadn’t even noticed she’d grabbed it from Anna. Seemed she did want it after all. “Want to come look at the moon?” he asked, the words a low rumble behind his breast bone.
Carrie looked up at him. “Is that a euphemism for making out on the terrace?”
Nate grinned. “Could be.” He tucked her free hand into the crook of his arm and led her to the doors, ignoring Ruth’s call behind them. Carrie decided her cousin could wait a little while before her full wedding day debrief. It was her wedding night, after all. Surely she had something better to do.
Carrie knew she did.
Despite the December chill, the terrace was already populated with a few improbable couples who either hadn’t heard the ruckus inside or had rushed straight out again after it was over. The latter even included Jacob and Izzie, finally. But Nate tugged her farther along, to an area unlit by the lights in the ballroom, shadowed and shaded by trellis and greenery. It took her a moment, but when Carrie glanced over at the nearest window, she realized where they were. Exactly where Nate had kissed her for the first time over fourteen years ago.
“I’ve been thinking about your question,” Carrie said, resting her head against Nate’s broad chest, as he leaned back against the railings.
“Really,” he replied, and Carrie could feel the words as he said them. “Whenever did you have time?”
“While I was watching the wedding.”
“I missed it,” Nate pointed out. “I had to get capers.”
“And Jacob’s special tartar sauce was well worth it. Dad wants to patent the recipe.” Carrie rubbed her cheek against the soft cotton of his shirt. “It has occurred to me that maybe, just maybe, I don’t have to do everything on my own.”
“I think I might have mentioned something to that effect before.”
Carrie glanced up at him, her hands resting on his hips. “Do you want to say I told you so? Or do you want to kiss me?”
“Definitely the latter.” Nate bent his head and placed a soft, lingering kiss on her lips. “But I still need to hear you say it.”
Carrie sighed and looked out from the terrace, over her land. Her home. “I need you. Not just as a gardener or Mr. Fix-it.” She caught his gaze, and matched the seriousness in his eyes. “I need you here, with me. There’s no point in having all this, if I don’t have you to share it with. As equals.”
And that, apparently, was just what Nate had been waiting to hear. Lifting her up to sit on the terrace railing, her wrapped his arms tightly around her waist and kissed her, hard.
“That’s all I needed
,” he said, when he finally pulled his lips back. “We’ve got plenty of time to figure out the rest.”
He bent his head to kiss her, and Carrie rose up from her perch to meet him halfway. Sinking into his kiss she welcomed the warmth that enveloped her as his arms held her against him. Nate was right, she decided. They had plenty of time to figure out the details.
After all, it had taken them fourteen years to reach this point. And she was in no hurry to rush the next fourteen.
Carrie closed her eyes and kissed him back.
About Sophie Pembroke
http://www.lyricalpress.com/store/index.php?main_page=authors&authors_id=206
I love telling stories about friends, family and falling in love, and often set them in my homeland of Wales as a method of combating homesickness. My books all tend to include tea, cake, wine, good food and communities of people coming together. My blog, at www.SophiePembroke.com, features much of the same.
Room for Love is my debut novel, and although the Avalon Inn and the people who inhabit it are all fictional, there are a few real world moments that shine through. The ancient Welsh dresser that houses the Avalon’s china is actually my grandparents’ dresser, which now lives in my kitchen. And Grandma really did work in a donut dugout during the war... I talk some more about the inspiration behind the Avalon on my website.
My next novel, An A to Z of Love, (Lyrical Press, July 2012) is set near the Avalon Inn in the seaside town of Aberarian. In Welsh, aber means ‘mouth of the river’ and arian means ‘silver’ or ‘money.’ Which, incidentally, is just what the town is lacking, and needs, urgently… For details about Aberarian, and how my heroine Mia plans to save it, check out the Books page at www.SophiePembroke.com.
Sophie’s Website:
www.SophiePembroke.com
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[email protected]
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Sample – The Company She Keeps
By Barbara Kellyn
http://www.lyricalpress.com/store/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=3_25&products_id=487
Chapter 1
Harper Bukoski impatiently shifted from side to side, her jaw clenched like a vise as she waited for an answer.
The shaggy-haired barista shrugged. “I’m sorry, lady, I checked in the back too. We’re totally out of the cinnamon chip.”
“Totally out? You have cinnamon chip scones in here every single morning except the one day my entire future depends on it?”
“Maybe you could try our blueberry instead. They’re pretty good,” he said.
“Thanks, but no. It has to be cinnamon chip.” Harper glanced at her watch and made a beeline for the door. Moving at a good clip, she figured she could reach the next franchise in four and a half minutes. Walk out with the scones in two more. That would still leave forty-three and a half minutes to spare before the pitch of her career.
Hitting her stride halfway up the block, an embarrassingly loud explosion of Sex Bomb detonated inside her coat pocket. She cursed the day she’d agreed to let her boss program his choice of ring tone into her phone.
“Marty, hi. Gee, you’re up early.”
“Did you get the scones?” he asked, his sandpapery voice hoarse with tension and a persistent smoker’s cough.
“Not yet, but I will. The shop on First Avenue didn’t have the cinnamon chip, so I’m heading to the one on Third.”
“I’m counting on you to make sure everything is perfect this morning, Harpie.”
“I know, and everything will be perfect.” She kept her voice placid and pleasant, hoping to ease his mind as her panicked heels clicked speedily against the pavement. “The presentation is ready and the rationale is printed. I just need to pick up the scones and then I’ll personally set up the boardroom the moment I get in.”
“It better be ready by nine sharp.”
She rolled her eyes. “Marty, have I let you down once in the past four years?”
“No, you haven’t,” he said. “So don’t fuck up on me now.”
Harper zipped through the front door of the Third Avenue coffee shop and jumped into line. She craned her neck to see past the half-dozen customers in front of her and counted one, two, three cinnamon chip scones nestled in the display case. Whew.
Inhaling deeply, she held in the warm, bakery-scented air, trying to catch her breath and calm her frayed nerves. As senior writer and unofficial head of Double D Marketing’s creative department, she wasn’t accustomed to scavenging metro Minneapolis’ better coffeehouses for a client’s favorite pastries. Then again, it wasn’t every day Double D had a sliver of a chance to land a client like biotech giant Sematek.
Truth be told, the meeting had only come about because Marty had worn down his buddy Jed Sanderson until he finally agreed to hear a pitch. Despite having the inside track with a Sematek head honcho, Double D was putting on an elaborate dog and pony show to win the account and shore up the floundering agency for another year. Harper had voluntarily taken on the responsibility for a flawless presentation, certain it would be the perfect opportunity to show Marty she was more than ready to add the title of VP of Creative Services to her business card.
Slowly, she released her breath. The line had not budged. There didn’t appear to be a reasonable explanation for the delay, yet no one appeared as agitated as she felt.
Doesn’t anyone else need to get to work this century?
A woman vacated her spot at the front of the line, clutching an iced coffee in one hand and towing a cute, curly-haired toddler with the other. Harper’s stance immediately softened. With a little smile, she watched as the boy carried a paper bag to a nearby table and wiggled in anticipation as the woman–his mother or nanny, perhaps?–sat across from him. His treat had barely tumbled out of the bag before his chubby fingers went to work digging apart the jumbo-sized chocolate muffin.
“Ah, forget it.” A man’s booming voice startled her back to the present. “You won’t be doing yourself any favors.”
She blinked. Surely, he’s not talking to me.
“It looks good now, but trust me, you’ll only regret it later,” he said, sure sounding like his comments were pointed in her direction.
She snapped her head in a half turn, hoping to tip off the loudmouth that his audacious advice was most unwanted. Who does this asshole think he is?
“It’s already a pretty tight fit back there, am I right?”
Hey, I may not be a stick figure, but I’m no lard ass!
“Well, don’t blame me when you need a heavy-duty forklift to move all that junk around.”
That’s it! That does it! She spun around to unleash her fury. To her surprise, the jerk wasn’t the greasy lowlife she expected but a towering, corner-office type in a designer overcoat and power suit. Still, impeccable dress was no excuse for being flagrantly rude to a lady. “Hey. You think you’re being funny?”
He gulped. “Excuse me?”
“I asked if you enjoy making asinine comments to total strangers behind their backs.”
The big man crinkled his brow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She scoffed, noting no one else stood in line behind them. “Yeah, right. I suppose it was the Invisible Man taking all those cheap shots? You don’t even know me, for Godssake.”
He raised a hand to his right ear and pressed a barely-visible Bluetooth device. “Sorry, I’m going to have to call you back. But think about it. Adding another order is only going to compromise inventory space and complicate warehouse processing later. Right. Bye.”
&nbs
p; Her cheeks burned hot as she eyed his tiny earpiece. “Oh. You were, uh, on the phone.”
“Mm-hmm,” he mumbled.
“Regardless,” she sniffed demurely, “you shouldn’t be so oblivious to your surroundings when using that obnoxious thing. People are apt to get the wrong idea.”
“Come again?”
“Your comments made it seem as if you were talking about the size of my ass.”
The man’s straight-lined mouth suddenly curled into a smile before giving way to laughter. “Sorry ’bout that.” He pinched his lips in silence even though his shoulders continued to shake. “But you have to admit, that’s pretty damn funny.”
She glowered up at him. “It’s only funny if you’re the kind of person who gets their jollies talking to themselves in public.”
“I wasn’t talking to myself. I was on a call.” His eyebrows caved. “Maybe you’re the kind of person who gets their jollies eavesdropping on private conversations.”
“Eavesdropping? Everyone in this place can hear you.” The nerve of this guy. “Are you soooo important that you think you can just go wherever you want and speak as loud as you damn well please?”
He opened his mouth to deliver a retort when one of the two baristas behind the counter spoke up. “Um, hi. Hello? Can I help the next person?”
Harper turned. While she had been busy berating the man, the line in front of her had dissipated. She rushed to fill the unoccupied space as Bluetooth Guy took a giant sidestep toward the other available register.
“Ah, yes.” She sighed with relief, dropping her shoulders and collecting her thoughts before placing her order. “I’d like that–”
“Cinnamon chip.” Bluetooth Guy blurted out his request first. The barista serving him dipped into the bin and fished out the last remaining scone of its kind.
Harper waved her hand frantically to freeze his transaction. “Wait! I wanted that.”
Room for Love Page 28