Best Laid Plans (Dearly Beloved)

by James, Silver

  She did have to work to keep her mind from delving into completely irrational territory. Hot tubs, champagne, and hand-dipped, chocolate-coated strawberries had no place on her agenda either. But she was sure thinking hard about sharing all three with Nick Grant.

  ****

  The alert tone on her smart phone caused Claire to jump. She’d been engrossed in her daydreams about Nick Grant. Again. She glanced at the text and panicked. The wine tasting. She was late. Or would be if she didn’t get in gear.

  Twenty minutes later, she dashed into the upscale restaurant’s bar where the caterer had arranged the tasting. She combed nervous fingers through her wind-tousled hair as she followed the maitre d’ to a private room in the back. She managed to settle into one of the leather chairs and catch her breath before the Grants arrived.

  Laurel slid into the chair on her left while her father commanded the room from the chair on Claire’s right. She noted he angled his chair so that he was almost directly across the small round table from her. The man positively exuded power and sophistication in his charcoal gray, custom-tailored suit. And he took her breath away.

  Claire chided herself. She was much too old for this nonsense. And her plans had no room for a man riding in on a white charger, sweeping her off her feet, and leaving her with a broken heart when he kept right on riding down the road.

  She plastered a smile on her face and glanced toward the door to cover her reaction. “Is Justin on his way?” A busy young attorney, the groom was notorious for being late.

  Laurel held up her phone as if that explained things. “Oh, no, sorry. He’s stuck at court. He texted saying for us to go on without him.”

  After explaining the process of sampling wines to Laurel, Claire summoned the the wine steward, who arrived with a selection of bottles.

  The steward uncorked the first one, a pinot noir, and offered the cork and first sip to Nick. He promptly waved the bottle away. A bit surprised, the sommelier retreated and returned with a second bottle, a merlot this time. With Nick’s approval, he poured glasses for Laurel and Claire.

  ****

  Nick watched Claire sip her wine and tried not to think about her lips. “How did you become a wedding planner?”

  She swallowed and took another sip, gazing at him over the rim of the flawless crystal glass. “I was always a bridesmaid, never a bride. I put so many weddings together it just seemed a natural progression. I worked at a bridal salon for a few years and then opened my own firm.”

  “So…you never married?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “That was your insinuation.”

  “Was it?”

  “So you have been married.”

  “Have I?”

  The corner of his mouth quirked as he worked to suppress his laughter. He liked both the way her gaze slid down to watch his mouth and the curious look that appeared on her face—as if she were contemplating the same thing he had moments before. He had every intention of kissing Claire Vitale and kissing her soon. The curiosity in her expression changed to dreaminess before she looked up.

  Her brow furrowed and something sparked behind the brown of her eyes. “Don’t you have a corporation to raid or something?”

  The laugh was out before he could button it up. “I do, yes, but I’d rather be here sampling wine with you—to ensure my guests aren’t poisoned.”

  “Poisoned?” Claire sounded offended, as if she thought he might be serious.

  Nick glanced over at Laurel holding her wine glass in the palms of both hands. “I love my daughter, Claire, but my palate is far more sophisticated than hers. Her idea of a fine wine is one that comes in a bottle with a twist off top, instead of a box.” He smiled at Laurel to take the sting out of his words. She smiled back, a bit bemused. He hadn’t teased her in ages.

  “But boxes are so much easier to fit in the fridge, Daddy.” Laurel winked, and he felt a moment’s relief that she’d understood he wasn’t criticizing her. She cut her eyes toward Claire and then met his gaze, her bemusement now replaced by speculation.

  Nick decided to push his luck. He reached over and with one finger, tapped Claire’s left ring finger, which remained suspiciously bare. “So, Claire, was there a Mr. Vitale?”

  She’d just taken a sip and choked. Sputtering, Claire held a white linen napkin to her mouth. It came away spotted with the remains of the very fine Bordeaux. She glared at him, her full lips turned down into a frown he found most intriguing. “No.” She blinked, still scowling at him. “The only Mr. Vitale in my life was my father.”

  “So, we’ve clarified your marital status, and now know you haven’t been married.” Nick was surprised at how much he enjoyed bantering with her. She also didn’t pull her hand away. Interesting.

  “I do wish you wouldn’t put words in my mouth, Mr. Grant, not that it’s any of your business. I was married once, a very long time ago. I reclaimed my maiden name after the divorce.”

  “But it is my business, Claire. Everything about you is my business.”

  “Excuse me?” Her color heightened with her anger and he wondered if her cheeks would turn the same shade of pink when she was aroused. The question became, was she angry with him, the subject matter, or that long ago fool who had loved and lost her?

  The wine steward reappeared with a new bottle and fresh glasses. “For dessert, sir, may I suggest this Moscato d’Asti?” He uncorked the bottle. “I find an ice wine to be an excellent pairing with a traditional wedding cake.” He poured a little into a long, narrow wine flute and smiled as he waited for Nick to taste. “You will notice the light bubbling as it is a frizzante wine.”

  At Nick’s nod, he poured full glasses for Claire and Laurel. “This wine is noticeably lighter and sweeter on the palate.” He waited again as the ladies tasted the wine. “Do you taste the ripe peach and honeysuckle tones?”

  Laurel gulped the contents of her flute and held it out for a refill as she glanced at Claire. “This is yummy. Can we just have this one for the whole dinner?”

  “We can certainly arrange—”

  “To have a bottle just for you, Laurel. The grownups will appreciate a more sophisticated selection, honey.”

  Claire scowled for a moment before she inhaled. “Speaking of grownups, I am perfectly capable of finishing my own sentences, Mr. Grant.”

  “Yes, but I find you take a great deal of time explaining things. Time is money, Claire. While I have a great deal of the latter, I am perpetually short of the former.” He watched her flush deepen and enjoyed the fact he was the cause. Sooner than later, he was determined to test his theory about her passions. “Yet I find I always have time for you.”

  Chapter 3

  Mad enough to chew some proverbial nails, Claire sipped wine to cover her anger. She had to make a conscious effort not to bite the delicate rim of the crystal flute.

  “So we’ve decided then.” Nick didn’t phrase this as a question. He simply set his empty wine glass on the table in front of him.

  Laurel lifted one shoulder and made a face Claire interpreted to mean she didn’t care. Her answer confirmed that. “I don’t even like wine, Dad, so whatever you decide is fine. Except I really like the sparkly one we just had.”

  “Excellent. The Merlot will do nicely for the first two courses. We’ll serve the Bordeaux with the meat course and the Moscato d’Asti with the cake. Now, as to the champagne for the toasts…”

  If he suggests Dom Perignon, I’ll scream. Claire pressed her lips together to keep from voicing her thoughts. While that brand was an excellent choice, it was so typically Nicholas Grant as to be patently transparent.

  “I have an interest in a boutique winery in Napa Valley. They’ve had several excellent vintages in the past several years. We’ll use them. Make a note, Claire. I want the caterer to display the labels prominently. The winery can use the advertising.”

  Claire opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. Business. It was always business with this man. Time is mo
ney. Chop-chop.

  “You have something to add?” His arched eyebrow all but dared her to challenge him.

  She mentally counted to ten to calm down. Laurel didn’t care about the wine selection. She was an appletini-sort-of girl.

  If Claire was honest with herself, it had been easier to deal with the wine selection with Nick—Mr. Grant—present. The man might be overbearing but he knew his wines. “No, Mr. Grant—”

  “Nick.”

  “Mr. Grant.” His smile wasn’t quite a smirk but she wanted to wipe it off his face anyway. Or slap it off, which would be ever so much more satisfying.

  She inhaled. What was wrong with her? Nick Grant. That’s what was wrong with her. He pushed her off center and kept her perpetually off balance.

  He exhaled an exaggerated puff of air. “And here I thought we’d settled that already.” He offered her a wolf-in-sheep’s-clothing smile. “You will call me Nick before Laurel walks down the aisle, Vitale.”

  Was that a twinkle in his eyes or just a trick of lighting? Claire wasn’t sure and the flutter in her heart convinced her not to examine it too closely. She’d figured out that he called her by her last name as a way to needle her. Well, two could play that game. “You sign the checks, Mr. Grant, so that makes this business.”

  “I can arrange to fire you, Claire.”

  Laurel gasped and grabbed her hand. “No. Dad! I need her. You wouldn’t dare. Would you?”

  The girl’s bottom lip quivered, so Claire patted her hand. “No, he wouldn’t, Laurel. He’s already played that card. And I—”

  “Trumped me. Then negotiated for a much better deal. You would do well in the boardroom, Claire.”

  She refrained from rolling her eyes. “I do well at whatever I set my mind to, Mr. Grant, which at the moment is your daughter’s wedding.”

  Nick offered her that wolf’s smile again before pushing back from the table. “Indeed, Ms. Vitale. What’s next on our agenda?”

  “A spa day, Mr. Grant. Massage, facial, and new hair style plus a color consultation for Laurel. Shall I call the spa and request a second appointment for you?”

  He laughed as he stood and held both her chair and Laurel’s. “Touché, Vitale. I think I’ll pass. I’ll have the limo drop me at the office and then the car is yours for the rest of the day.”

  In the back seat of the luxurious car, Claire was pinned between Nick and Laurel. His thigh branded hers where they touched. Though she hunched her shoulders and kept her hands clenched in her lap, his upper body crowded hers. She cut her eyes in his direction, trying to get a glimpse of him. If she could see his expression, she could decide if he was touching her on purpose. Though why he’d want to…

  She jerked her thoughts back from the precipice. Nicholas Grant could have any woman he wanted. The idea he would hit on a middle-aged wedding planner boggled her, yet it certainly fueled some amazing fantasies as she drifted off to sleep at night.

  The driver took an abrupt left turn and Claire all but sprawled across Nick’s lap. Her gaze fixed on his face as the old Mae West line about being happy to see someone flashed through her mind. Nick couldn’t be happy to see her. Could he?

  He offered a slow smile as his hand found the hem of her skirt and her thigh. The heat from his palm scorched her and she only hoped the silk nylons she wore didn’t burst into flames. She nibbled on her bottom lip as she sorted through—and discarded—all the implications.

  She didn’t realize the car had rolled to a smooth stop at the curb in front of Nick’s office building until he coughed politely. Claire blinked as if she’d just awakened from a nap. She looked around, still feeling bemused and slightly out of sync with the world.

  “As much as I’m enjoying your presence, Claire, I fear I do have some work to do.”

  Blushing to the point she’d swear she was having a hot flash, she scrambled off his lap and remembered to breathe. She decided she needed to reassess her reaction to romance novels. Women absolutely could forget to breathe when in the arms of their heroes. Or villains, as the case might be.

  Nick leaned over and kissed Laurel on the cheek. “Bella Italy for dinner tonight?” He smiled when she agreed, but he continued to watch Claire. She recognized the speculation in his expression. “Would you care to join us?”

  “Oh yes, please, Claire! Will you?” Laurel looked so hopeful, Claire couldn’t refuse.

  “Thank you, yes. I’ll meet you for dinner. I’ll get directions from Laurel.”

  “I’ll pick you up.”

  She opened and closed her mouth several times. “I can drive.”

  “I’m sure you can. But I’m picking you up. And I will take you home after.”

  Getting into an argument over something as trivial as picking her up for…what? A dinner date? Dinner…outing? Dinner. Just dinner. It didn’t have to be anything more. Or less.

  “I’ll pick you up at 7:30. We have eight o’clock reservations.” Nick exited the car before she could reply, slamming the door shut.

  Claire flopped into the space he’d just vacated and hissed out an exasperated sigh. “Your father makes me crazy.”

  Laurel laughed, going so far as to clap her hands together in delight. “Oh, Claire. Me, too.” She caught her breath and settled back against the rich leather seat. “I don’t think I could get through this wedding without you. I’m so glad you convinced Dad to sign an exclusive contract.”

  She almost choked. “I…You’re father told you that?” Laurel beamed and Claire couldn’t say anything to burst the girl’s bubble of happiness. Instead, she patted Laurel’s arm. “After the Japanese fiasco, I was terrified of what he’d dream up next to ruin things for you.”

  Laurel beamed again. “I’m so glad you have my back!”

  Yeah, she had Laurel’s back, but who had hers?

  Chapter 4

  Walking through the restaurant, Nick’s palm felt warm and comforting where it rested on the small of her back. Even so, Claire’s nerves sent tingles all the way to her fingers and toes. First, he’d picked her up in his very expensive European sports car. Alone. Then he’d put the top down for the drive to Bella Italy. And now, they were being seated in what had to be the most romantic spot in the whole restaurant—a secluded booth complete with candles and a view out the window of the fountains and garden.

  She’d expected to find Laurel waiting at the restaurant but the girl was conspicuously absent—not to mention only two place settings graced the table.

  “Laurel—”

  “Had a last-minute change in plans.”

  Claire noticed his smirk—did a man like Nick smirk? Distracted by that thought, she started to sit on the side with the worst view but he guided her to the other side. “Force of habit,” she murmured.

  He settled on the bench across from her. “Oh?”

  “When I’m working with bridal parties, I always make sure my client has the good seat that includes the one with the best view.”

  “I think I have the best view.”

  Heat flushed her face and she wished she had a menu to fan herself with. A bus boy appeared and filled their glasses with ice water. She waited until he moved away before she said, “If I didn’t know better, Mr. Grant, I might think you’re flirting with me.”

  “Then you would think correctly.”

  Claire had picked up her glass and was swallowing—or attempting to. The cold liquid did not cooperate and she sputtered. She managed to gulp what liquid was left in her mouth so it didn’t dribble down her chin as she gaped at him.

  Nick looked amused and waited until she was breathing normally before he spoke. “Why does that surprise you?”

  “Why wouldn’t it? Technically, you are my employer. And…uhm…”

  He leaned back and watched her, arms folded across his chest. “I can see the wheels turning. And what, Claire?”

  “I’m not exactly your type.”

  The waiter appeared and before she could ask about menus, Nick ordered an antipasto pla
te for two, entrees, and Caesar salads, along with a selection of wines. When the waiter disappeared, he focused on her. “And how is it that you know what my type is?”

  She glowered, or hoped that’s what her expression conveyed. “See? That’s something else. You aren’t my type.”

  “You want a man who is a doormat?”

  “Well…no.” She held up a finger to silence him when he opened his mouth to continue. “But a man doesn’t have to be the extreme opposite.”

  “And that would be?”

  “A chest-thumping alpha male.”

  “I don’t thump my chest.”

  “Metaphorically speaking. And stop looking so amused. You know, I am perfectly capable of reading a menu and deciding what I would like to eat for dinner.”

  “Is Italian one of your many accomplishments?”

  “Don’t change the subject.”

  “I’m not. The menu is in Italian. Pardon me for presuming you couldn’t read it.” Claire opened her mouth and snapped it closed again.

  Nick chuckled, his eyes twinkling. “You’re spinning your wheels again. Don’t think so hard, Claire. Lean back, drink some excellent wine, and eat some wonderful food while we visit and get to know one another better. There’s nothing dangerous about that. Men and women out on dates do this all the time.”

  “There. See? That. What you just said. This is not a date.”

  “I beg to differ.”

  “Read my lips, big guy. This. Is. Not. A. Date. I don’t date clients.”

  “Technically, my daughter is the client. She signed the contract.”

  “And you amended it.”

  “Let’s not get the lawyers involved. Why can’t you admit you find me fascinating and want to spend the evening getting to know me better?”

  “Whoa. Ego much?”

  It was Nick’s turn to retort but the waiter appeared with the antipasto plate and their salads. The sommelier followed in his wake with a bottle of wine. After the wine tasting ceremony and Nick’s approval, the wine steward poured a Pinot Noir into her glass. She stabbed a square of cheese, pretending it was Nick.