Kiss Me in the Rain (Destined for Love: Mansions)

by Lindzee Armstrong

  “Yeah.”

  “Great. I’ll line up a few appointments. See you then.” She waved and drove away.

  Tyler pulled out his cell and took a picture of the house. There was nothing wrong with the Anderson family finances.

  He couldn’t shake the niggle of worry that tugged at him all the way home.

  When Layla was a little girl, she’d often daydreamed about being engaged. The playful bickering over invitations, the stolen kisses at dinner parties, the anticipation as the calendar counted down to the big day . . .

  Somehow dying of boredom, while pretending to be thrilled to attend an auto dealership grand opening, had never entered her fantasies.

  An employee in a red button down shirt with the Davenport Dealers’ logo announced the latest giveaway winner into a microphone, the sound so garbled it was barely understandable. Children with balloons whined for more candy, clearly as bored as Layla, and the smell of cheap popcorn permeated the air.

  Layla shifted from foot to foot, needles of pain shooting through her heels and up her calves. Who had planned this event? Stale popcorn and helium-filled balloons hardly screamed “buy your next car through Davenport!” No one would remember—or talk about—this event.

  A man in a monkey costume, holding a sign that proclaimed our deals are bananas, wandered by again, screeching obnoxiously. Talk about tacky. She would’ve focused on making this an event children begged their parents to take them to. A bouncy slide, carnival games, and maybe pony rides . . . something to keep the kids happy and occupied while the salesmen schmoozed the parents.

  Grant leaned into her, his lips close to her ear. “Sorry,” he murmured. “Another hour, and we can go.”

  “This is great,” she lied.

  How was Tyler spending his Saturday? She tried to imagine him filling a shopping cart with groceries or folding a load of laundry—something boring and mundane. Normal. She wouldn’t mind this grand opening nearly as much if he was her date instead of Grant.

  Why had she told him she wanted him? He’d barely paused on his trek into the mansion. The last three weeks had been a careful dance in which they both avoided each other.

  The drive home was silent. Layla had quickly learned that Grant was a man of few words, at least where she was concerned. He was always polite and respectful, but it was obvious his thoughts—and probably his heart—were elsewhere. She missed the easy conversations she and Tyler had shared in Europe. By the time the last tour ended, he was so much more than a crush. He’d become her best friend.

  “Thanks for coming with me tonight,” Grant said as he pulled to a stop in front of her home.

  Layla unclicked her seatbelt, eager to get out of the car. “Of course.”

  His hand landed over hers, and she glanced up in surprise. His eyes were wide and earnest. “I hope you know how much I appreciate it. Dad was really pleased. He’s convinced your presence kept Elizabeth away.”

  Layla squeezed Grant’s hand, surprised by the swell of affection she felt for him. “I’m glad she didn’t ruin tonight.”

  He looked away, but not before Layla caught the glint of pain in his icy blue eyes. “Me, too.”

  She wished there was a way to fix Grant’s heart. At least one of them should get a happy ending.

  “Are we still on for tomorrow?” Layla asked. Grant was taking her golfing at the country club, where Mr. Davenport would probably parade them around like zoo animals.

  “Yes. I’ll pick you up at nine o’clock.”

  “See you then.” Layla closed the door and waved as he disappeared down the tree-lined path.

  She rubbed her neck, trying to ease the tension there. Instead of heading inside, she wandered around back to her pond. She needed time to decompress before facing her mother, who would no doubt pepper her with confusing questions. She couldn’t quite figure out if Mom hoped this engagement would turn into something real or prayed for the day it fell apart. Layla definitely was counting down the days until she could escape.

  Tyler hadn’t raced back to Kentucky. That had to mean something. Part of her still hoped they could work things out once the engagement was over.

  The sun was low over the trees, and a slight breeze rippled the surface of the pond. Through the picture windows, Layla could see employees setting up for another event in the ballroom. Half a dozen figures scurried about in dark slacks and light blue polo shirts.

  Layla slipped out of her shoes, relishing the feel of the warm concrete against her sore skin. She lowered herself to the pier, tucking her A-line floral skirt under her legs as she let her feet skim the cool water. A groan escaped her lips. Her arches were on fire. Why did she always choose style over comfort?

  A loud crash from inside the mansion made her jump, her foot flicking water into her lap. Frantic voices floated out an open window.

  Layla quickly rose to her feet, standing on tiptoes to see inside the mansion windows. A slender woman waved her hands frantically at a taller, overweight man.

  That didn’t look good. Layla slipped back into her heels, grimacing as her toes pinched in pain. The woman waved another hand, and the man dropped out of sight.

  Layla quickened her pace and flung open the mansion door. Jumbo shrimp was strewn about the floor. The man frantically grabbed for pieces and dumped them in a black plastic bin.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said to the slight woman standing over him. “I didn’t see you there.”

  The woman—Layla recognized her as Stacia’s assistant—pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose with a shaking finger. “It was an accident.” Her voice was as unsteady as her hand.

  “Maybe we can salvage—”

  “We can’t serve that now!” she screeched.

  “Hey.” Layla held up her hands, and they both glanced over, noticing her for the first time. “What happened here?”

  The woman’s eyes were suspiciously red. “Hank and I collided. This is half the shrimp we were supposed to serve at the seafood buffet during cocktail hour.”

  “I’m so sorry, Cosette,” Hank said again. He straightened, the container of ruined shrimp in his hands. “Maybe we can call around and buy more.”

  “This was flown in from India. You can’t just buy it at the supermarket.” Cosette motioned to the food. “Throw it in the trash. I’ll figure something out.”

  Hank hung his head and slunk away. Cosette folded her arms tightly and bit her lip.

  Okay, she was definitely about to cry. Layla wrapped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “Hey, it’s okay. Where’s Stacia? She’ll know how to fix this.”

  A tear trickled down Cosette’s cheek, and she quickly wiped it away. “Stacia’s not here.”

  “Where is she?” Layla had never known Stacia to take a sick day.

  “She was fired almost three weeks ago. You hadn’t heard?”

  Shock turned Layla momentarily mute. Stacia had been fired? Layla wracked her brain for what could’ve happened three weeks ago to cause this. That would’ve been around the time she’d gotten home from Europe. “Was this before or after my engagement was announced?”

  “The same night,” Cosette whispered.

  Layla’s knees buckled, and she swayed on her heels. Stacia had been with Cypress Grove for as long as Layla could remember. She’d been a model employee who ran events with precision—definitely not the type to get fired. Find a position elsewhere and quit, perhaps. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. I watched security escort her out.”

  Layla had spent three weeks avoiding thoughts of that night, but now she forced herself to recall the evening. At the time, she’d been so overwhelmed that Stacia’s conspicuous absence hadn’t bothered her. Now it flashed like a glowing red warning sign.

  Stacia would never have quit before a major event, especially not one hosted by the owner of Cypress Grove. Termination was the only thing that made sense.

  “Who’s the new event planner?” Layla asked.

  “There isn’t
one, yet. I’ve been in charge.” Cosette gave a laugh that bordered on hysterical. “I’m clearly not doing a very good job.”

  Layla’s heart lurched. Cosette seemed nice, but the stress had her flirting with a mental breakdown, bless her heart. Layla hugged Cosette again, feeling her thin body tremble with anxiety. “You’re doing great. Don’t you worry about a thing. I’ll find my father right now and get this all straightened out.”

  “Oh, I don’t want you to bother—”

  “Nonsense. What’s the good of being the boss’s daughter if you can’t pull a few strings?”

  Cosette clearly wasn’t capable of taking on the full load of Cypress Grove alone. What was Daddy thinking letting Stacia go? Cypress Grove couldn’t run without an event coordinator.

  Daddy was in his office, head resting in one hand as he stared at a computer screen. She walked in without knocking and the shut the door firmly behind her.

  Daddy glanced up then leaned back in his chair. “Well, this is a pleasant surprise. How did the grand opening go?”

  “Fine.” Layla popped a hip, resting one hand on it. “Did you fire Stacia?”

  He sighed, rubbing a hand across his chin. “I had no choice. She was caught sharing information with competitors.”

  Layla dropped into a chair, her head already shaking. “That doesn’t sound like her.”

  “I’m as surprised as you are.”

  Stacia was the woman who’d taught Layla how to coordinate flatware with china patterns. Not a turncoat. “Are you sure it was her?”

  “Yes, unfortunately. I had to let her go immediately.”

  Layla folded her arms, a pang of betrayal piercing her heart. How could Stacia do this to them? She’d dedicated something like twenty years of her career to Cypress Grove—the first one to the mansion and the last one to leave each day.

  “I thought she cared about the mansion as much as we do,” Layla choked out.

  “I did, too. But we haven’t been able to give her a raise for a few years. I knew she was upset about that, but didn’t think she’d take it this far.”

  Layla swallowed hard. “So Stacia’s gone. Why haven’t you hired someone else? You’ve had an assistant running everything on her own for three weeks. Cosette’s about to have a nervous breakdown, and I doubt she’s qualified for the job, or you would’ve already promoted her.”

  “Cosette is still in college. She’s too young for this type of a position.”

  “So hire someone else. I’m sure there are plenty of qualified applicants.” Layla would go through the applications and interview the candidates herself. Tonight, it had been spilled shrimp, but what other mishaps had occurred in the last three weeks? If news got around that Cypress Grove was slipping, the reservations would stop pouring in, and then they’d be in real trouble.

  She wasn’t dating Grant and avoiding Tyler just so a hiring conflict could tank the mansion’s reputation.

  “The qualified applicants are all worth more than we can afford,” Daddy said. “There isn’t one application I feel good about yet. Cosette can handle things a while longer.”

  That sick pit of unease was back in Layla’s stomach. “I’m not even sure Cosette can handle things tonight.”

  “She’s going to have to.”

  Layla balled her hands into fists, struggling to remain calm. “We can’t run an event center without an event coordinator. This place must bring in loads of money. It’s booked solid a year out.” It probably cost a small fortune to host an event here. How could all the money be gone?

  “You have no idea how much it costs to keep this place running. Yes, we make a lot of money here, but not nearly as much as we spend. The electrical bill alone is astronomical, especially in the summer months.”

  “Daddy . . .” Layla waited until he met her eyes. “Come on. You have to hire an event coordinator. Soon.”

  “I will, as soon as I find one with the right price tag.”

  Layla slumped in her chair, watching her father type away on his computer as though the situation had been handled. They couldn’t hire some cheap event coordinator. They needed someone with Stacia’s attention to detail, someone familiar with what it took to run a large-scale event, and who was familiar with the customs of the upper class.

  Someone who loved Cypress Grove as much as Layla did.

  She straightened with a gasp. Daddy’s hands stilled on the keyboard, and he looked up with a frown.

  “I can be the event coordinator,” Layla said.

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Think about it.” She leaned forward, resting her hands on the edge of his desk as excitement tingled through her. “I’ve spent my entire life attending and planning events like the ones we have at Cypress Grove. I’m perfect for the job.”

  “Right now you need to focus on keeping Grant and Charlie happy.”

  “That’s hardly a full-time job.”

  “Maybe it should be.”

  Layla rolled her eyes. She walked to the serving tray and poured two fingers of bourbon into a glass. Why did he keep that stupid casino cup in here?

  She handed her daddy the drink. Maybe a little alcohol would make him more reasonable. “I can do this, Daddy. Who else are you going to find who’ll work for free? If Cosette has to run another event alone, she might end up in the mental institution. You’ll be out two employees.”

  Her father stared at her, a crease between his brow as he thrummed his fingers against the desktop.

  Layla held her breath.

  She would die if he handed Cypress Grove over to some sub-par coordinator who ran the place into the grown.

  His face relaxed, and she knew he’d made a decision. “Okay. We’ll try it out and see how it goes. You can start tonight. We can’t have poor Cosette quitting on us.”

  Layla jumped up and rounded the desk, hugging her daddy tightly. “Thank you. I promise you won’t regret this.”

  “Make me proud, Layla Jean.”

  “I will.”

  She hurried from the room, eager to disappear before he changed his mind. Had she really just volunteered to run all the events at Cypress Grove for free? Nerves made her stomach tighten, but in a good way.

  In the ballroom, she found all evidence of the spilled shrimp erased. A few employees arranged bouquets of flowers, but Cosette was nowhere to be found. Layla found Hank on a ladder in the middle of the room, changing a light bulb in the chandelier.

  “Have you seen Cosette?” she asked.

  Hank glanced down at her and shrugged. “I think she’s in Stacia’s office.”

  Layla nodded and hurried away. Hopefully Cosette wasn’t as frazzled as she’d appeared. Layla hadn’t heard of any mishaps over the last three weeks, which was a good sign.

  She heard the sniffle of tears from down the hallway. Cosette was indeed in Stacia’s office, leaning against the desk with a box of tissues in one hand. Her mascara was smeared, and her shoulders slumped.

  Cosette scrambled to stand. She dropped the box of tissues on the desk. “I’m so sorry. I just needed a minute.”

  “It’s been a stressful night.” Layla pursed her lips, suddenly nervous about telling Cosette about the change of plans. Would Cosette be offended she hadn’t been offered the job?

  “I’ll be fine when Mr. Anderson can hire someone else,” Cosette said.

  “Uh, he sort of already has. I’m taking over as event coordinator.”

  Cosette’s eyes widened, and then her entire body sagged with relief. “You are?”

  Layla nodded, feeling more confident. “Yes. Can you bring me up to speed for tonight? I know how to run a party, but I have no idea what was planned.”

  Cosette fumbled for a folder, quickly rifling through some papers. “I’ve got all the information right here.”

  Layla grabbed the folder. “Walk with me.”

  “The wedding starts in the ballroom at five o’clock then cocktail hour is in the garden so we can get ready for the reception.”
>
  “Where are we at with the shrimp?”

  “The kitchen is making crab cakes with imitation crab as a replacement.”

  Layla nodded, pleased with the answer. Cosette may be overwhelmed, but it seemed she was also competent.

  The next hour was a frenzy of deciphering Stacia’s notes, keeping Cosette calm, and making sure no detail was overlooked. Layla would prove to her daddy how capable she was.

  The wedding cake arrived—five tiers of fondant and luster dust that Layla feared would topple over at a light breeze. The bridal bouquet—tulips, which seemed an odd choice for October—disappeared minutes before the ceremony, but Layla located it in the kitchen in the nick of time. The flower girl threw a temper tantrum, but Layla solved it with a cookie.

  When the bride and groom recited their vows, faces soft with love, Layla’s heart ached. Would she ever find that for herself? She caught a glimpse of Tyler through the windows, mixing drinks outside for the cocktail hour. The last three weeks of avoidance had been more painful than if he’d never come to South Carolina.

  He was going to be at the mansion for every event, and now, so was she. Avoiding each other had just gotten extremely complicated, but she wouldn’t lose Cypress Grove because things were awkward with a boy.

  The crab cakes were a hit at the seafood buffet, and the bridal party danced until well after midnight on a monogrammed spotlight of the couple’s initials. Eventually, the bride and groom left, and the wedding guests disappeared, leaving behind empty stemware and half-eaten plates of food. Layla’s feet, which had been mad after the grand opening, were officially furious.

  “Well, we survived,” Layla said, bumping Cosette’s shoulder with her own. “Good job tonight.”

  “I couldn’t have done it without you,” Cosette said.

  “Go home and get some rest.”

  “Oh, I always stay until the cleanup’s finished.”

  “You’ve earned a break. Besides, I want you here first thing in the morning. And by first thing, I mean like ten o’clock. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover if we’re going to keep things up to Stacia’s standards.”

  Cosette laughed, but nodded. “Thanks. You have no idea how glad I am to be the assistant again.”