by Hope Ramsay
Oh crap. Now what? “I, um, I—”
“She wasn’t here to see you, Leslie,” Rory said from his apartment’s concrete stoop. He’d thrown on a pair of jeans, but no shirt or shoes. He looked gorgeous and romantic and dangerous all at once. He was an addiction Arwen could not afford.
Leslie’s gaze snapped from Arwen to Rory and back again before a big smile spread on her face. “Oh, I didn’t know you two were acquainted.”
“You should come down to the Jaybird some Wednesday,” Rory said. “Arwen is an amazing songwriter.” Rory’s deep-set blue eyes pierced Arwen like a pair of twin lasers.
“It’s not true,” she said. “I’m a much better paralegal. And, um, I, uh, really need to get back to the office.” Arwen pulled open her car door and escaped before Rory tried to convince her to stay. She needed to keep away from that man. He was not good for her. He was messing with her mind.
She peeled out of the parking lot, but instead of heading toward the office, she turned left onto Route 7 and drove toward Winchester. She hadn’t been lying to Rory about the open mic tonight. She had a meeting with Tom McClintock, a clerk in the Jefferson County Building Permits Division.
But even if she hadn’t been busy, she would have begged off the open mic. It was stupid to believe anything Rory said. After all, he was hardly a success in life. He tended bar in a small backwater café, and he lived in a room he subleased in a rundown apartment. He wasn’t living a dream life.
In fact, he was wasting his life on cigarettes and weed. Where did he get off telling her what to do about her life?
But then again, did it make a difference if your cell was gilded or rusty? Either way it was still a cell.
Tears formed in her eyes as she drove. She wanted to be wild and adventurous, but four days of sex with Rory had done nothing except make her crazy. The hours of lost sleep. The deep questioning of her beliefs. The yearning for something she couldn’t even articulate.
Damn. It wasn’t healthy. She needed to get back on track. And tonight’s meeting was the first step back. After that, she’d find some other bar where she and her friends could hang out. There were a few chain restaurants up at the highway interchange not far from downtown Shenandoah Falls. She would get over this momentary lapse of judgment.
She forced herself to focus on tonight’s meeting. Tom was a good guy and an old friend from high school. And in true whistle-blower fashion, he hadn’t wanted to meet in the county offices. In fact, he hadn’t wanted to meet anywhere within the boundaries of Jefferson County. So at 5:30 p.m. Arwen pulled into the parking lot at Jim Barnett Park in Winchester and waited until Matt joined her twenty minutes later.
Then the two of them hiked to a remote picnic area, where they sat down with Tom, who had a lot to say about the Jefferson County Council, and its chairman, Bill Cummins.
Chapter Thirteen
Courtney arrived at Eagle Hill Manor at 9:00 a.m. on Saturday. Allison Chapman’s wedding and reception were the only events on the calendar today. Thank God.
No less than three hundred guests were expected. The Carriage House, Eagle Hill Manor’s largest function space, wasn’t big enough to hold three hundred wedding guests, so a tent had been erected over the adjacent terrace to create covered space for five additional ten-person table rounds.
The ceremony would take place at 4:30 p.m. on the lawn adjacent to the gazebo. The guests would start arriving a little before 4:00 p.m., so Courtney had plenty of time to get ready.
Her first stop of the day was to check on the tent and tables for the reception, but she needn’t have worried. The tent was up already, and staff were setting up the thirty tables required to hold the crowd. The thirty centerpieces and the flowers for the gazebo and wedding party were scheduled to arrive at noon, and Amy had already confirmed delivery with the florist. Courtney spent twenty minutes with Amy going over a checklist and had just started to think that maybe Allison Chapman’s wedding would be perfect when her cell phone jangled.
“Is that the bride?” Amy asked.
“Of course it is,” Courtney said as she punched the talk button.
“Hi, Allison. How’s it going?” Courtney held her breath, prepared to hear yet another conversation about the canapés.
“I have a few minutes before I need to go to the hairdresser. I’m having breakfast. Can you join me?” Allison sounded somber.
Courtney agreed and then gave Amy an exaggerated eye roll.
“Drama?” Amy asked.
“I don’t know yet.”
Five minutes later, Courtney strolled into Eagle Hill Manor’s dining room, where breakfast was served to the inn’s guests on a daily basis. Allison, wearing a University of Virginia sweatshirt and looking surprisingly calm for a bride, sat alone at a two-person table near one of the windows.
Something bothered Courtney about this. A bride usually didn’t eat breakfast alone on her wedding day. Where were Allison’s bridesmaids? Her mother? For that matter, where was breakfast? Allison’s table was bare except for a half-empty coffee cup.
Courtney slipped into the facing seat and immediately attempted to reassure the bride. “I was just down at the Carriage House,” she said. “The tent is already up, and the tables are being set. Amy says the flowers are on the way. We’ll have the corsages, bouquets, and boutonnieres delivered to the Churchill Suite when they arrive.” Courtney gave Allison a professional smile. “Are you excited?”
The bride nodded and took another sip of coffee. Her smile wavered.
Courtney leaned in, concerned. “Are you all right?”
“It’s terrifying,” she said on a shaky voice. “I mean, I think Erik is the right man. After all, he’s a hedge fund manager. So I’m probably set for life. But still…”
Courtney tried mightily not to snap at Allison. Without question, this woman was the most spoiled, the most calculating, the most annoying bride she’d ever worked with. “And you love him, right?”
“I suppose.”
She supposed? Arwen was right. Romance and true love had died somewhere in the 1990s during the Clinton administration.
“Are you having cold feet?” Courtney asked, dreading the answer.
Allison vigorously shook her head. “Of course not. I mean, Erik is great.”
Yep, she was having cold feet. Brides and grooms with second thoughts were becoming a real occupational hazard. “I’m glad to hear that you love your fiancé. Relax, girl. It’s going to be fine.”
Allison put her coffee cup down on the table and stared at it. “Are you still dating Matt Lyndon?”
Dating Matt Lyndon?
Courtney’s heart went on a wild trip before settling back into her chest. It wasn’t a new sensation. Ever since that night when she’d chickened out and pushed Matt into the friend zone, thinking about him had become a hobby. Thinking about him, lusting after him, and reliving their one night of breathtaking sex was not the same as dating him though. And she’d never told Allison that she and Matt were a thing, had she?
No. She’d told Allison that she had a plan for Matt. And at the time, three weeks ago, that had been a true statement. It wasn’t anymore. Her desire to put Matt in his place had disappeared.
“We’re not dating. We’re just friends,” Courtney said.
Allison looked up, the expression on her face morphing from uncertain bride into evil-eyed Maleficent. “You’re friends?” She delivered the words like a slap to the face.
Courtney probably deserved that. “I know. How could I possibly be friends with a player like him? But he moved in next door, and we’ve become…neighbors, okay?”
“And what? Are you taking casseroles over to him on a nightly basis?”
The comment hit perilously close to the mark. “Allison, did you ask me here so we could talk about Matt Lyndon?”
Allison leaned back in her chair and stared out the window. “I must have told you that we hooked up in college.”
Courtney nodded. “Yes, you did.” Where
was she going with this?
“I knew him in high school, of course, but he was such a dork back then,” Allison said.
Damn. Matt had told her he’d been short and fat, but she hadn’t believed him. How was it possible? The Lyndons didn’t do dorky. Did they?
“I know it’s hard to believe when you look at him now. In high school, he was short and kind of chubby. And he liked poetry. Although, to be honest, he still liked poetry when we hooked up in college. I thought the whole poetry thing was a little gay, to tell you the truth. But Matt’s not gay.” She paused a moment. “He’s better in bed than Erik.”
Allison whispered the last sentence, and suddenly Courtney understood. Not ever having been a bride, Courtney had never actually experienced this emotion. But Allison wasn’t the first bride to freak out at the thought that her fiancé would be the last man to share her bed. And she could understand why any woman would look back on her encounter with Matt with a certain amount of nostalgia. Still, she didn’t need to know that Allison had slept with Matt.
“Sex isn’t everything,” she said, but her voice sounded pretty damn insincere.
“I was going to marry him.”
“What?” How gullible had Allison been?
Allison finally looked away from the window. “You heard what I said. He proposed to me, and then he broke it off…”
“What? He left you at the altar?”
Allison shook her head and sighed like a drama queen. “No. It never got that far. He broke off the engagement. But to be honest, I don’t think he wanted to break it off.”
“Why not?” Was this woman delusional?
“His family made him do it.”
“Why?”
Allison shrugged. “I don’t know. But I should have found a way to make it stick, because I’d be a Lyndon now. Instead I’m marrying money, which isn’t bad. But Matt has the last name, you know, like American royalty.”
WTF? Had Matt left her at the altar, or had his family refused their blessing? Either way, Courtney should have felt some deep sympathy for Allison, but instead a profound sense of relief washed over her. The idea of Matt with someone as selfish and craven as Allison seemed all wrong somehow.
But then, she was hardly a disinterested party.
Allison waved her hand in dismissal. “I guess I should get over it. It’s all ancient history anyway. So, tell me, how have you fared with him? How many casseroles have you taken over? And what have you done to put him in his place? Isn’t that what you wanted to do? Or have you changed directions and decided to go after him? Be honest.”
“I haven’t taken him any casseroles.” A true statement, even if it was a tiny bit dishonest.
Allison arched a brow. “None? Really? Are you an idiot? If I lived next door to a Lyndon, I would be all over him with casseroles. And I’d make sure the condoms got lost, if you know what I mean. Honey, you’ve been handed an opportunity. Don’t blow it the way I did.”
What the hell? Had she tried to trap Matt into a marriage? It sure sounded that way.
Courtney stood up, her hands balling into fists. She was done with this idiotic, spoiled brat of a bride. “Look, Allison,” she said. “If you’re looking for advice, I suggest that you go back upstairs and decide whether you love Erik Smith or his money. Because as far as I’m concerned, the only reason to get married is for love.”
Allison threw back her head and laughed. “You’re such a romantic. If that’s the way you approach things, you’ll never land a Lyndon. Of course, you’re unlikely to land one anyway. I tried, and I failed. I can’t see you doing something I couldn’t accomplish.”
In that moment, Allison Chapman became the face of every snotty girl in high school who ever put her down, called her zit faced, or teased her because she wasn’t pretty enough for the in crowd or coordinated enough for the cheer squad. They’d taught her a few lasting lessons: Smart girls were nerds, and cross-eyed smart girls were pathetic.
But Courtney was done feeling pathetic, so she leaned over the table, got right up in the bride’s face, and told her where she could take her opinion and shove it. Then she turned on her heel and marched from the dining room.
She felt strong, empowered, and almost kick-ass for about two minutes. But by the time she reached the back terrace, reality set in. Allison wasn’t one of the mean girls from high school. She was a mean girl who was also a client. And clients were always right—even when they were wrong.
Deep in Courtney’s head, the ghost of her father whispered words he’d said to her a thousand times: Beauty is as beauty does.
And Courtney had just been unforgivably ugly to one of Eagle Hill Manor’s brides.
It didn’t take long before Willow heard about Courtney’s faux pas. An hour later, Eagle Hill Manor’s owner cornered Courtney in the gazebo, where Rick, the sound guy, was connecting the PA system for Allison’s ceremony. “What’s the matter with you?” she said, then scowled at Rick and told him to take a five-minute break.
When Willow scowled, people jumped.
Once Rick had left, Courtney turned toward her boss and said, “I’m sorry, Willow. She’s…” Words failed her.
“What? What is she? Aside from being one of our clients and a bride?”
Courtney let go of the breath she’d been holding seemingly for the last hour and collapsed on the bench that ran the gazebo’s circumference. “She’s a snob. And a bully. And I could call her other names…”
Willow sat down beside Courtney. “Don’t. Honestly, you do fabulous work for me, but I’m tired of dealing with your anger issues.”
“Are you firing me?” A sharp pain pierced Courtney’s chest. What would she do if Willow fired her?
“I can’t decide that until I know what the hell happened.”
Courtney leaned back and rolled her neck, trying to ease the tension. “Honestly, Willow, she’s kind of psycho. I mean…” She took another long breath and started again. “Okay, this is what happened. I found out that she knows Matt Lyndon. She told me she had hooked up with him in college. And to tell you the truth, until this morning, I was sure she was another one of his victims. So I told her that I was going out on a date with him in order to put him in his place.
“But then this morning, she tells me some other story about how Matt proposed to her but his family broke up the relationship.”
“What?”
Courtney nodded. “She said a lot of mean, selfish things, the way she always does. But the gist of it was that she’s marrying Erik for his money, but if she had her choice, she would prefer to be marrying someone with money and the Lyndon last name.”
“So she’s a fortune hunter. But we’ve always known that. Why lose your temper now? If I didn’t know better, I’d say that you were jealous of her. That this had more to do with your feelings for Matt than anything else.”
Courtney took a deep, calming breath and nodded. “Yes, it’s about Matt. But not the way you think.”
“Okay, why don’t you explain it to me?”
“You know he’s my neighbor, right?”
Willow nodded.
“So I just want to make it clear that I’m not the kind of neighbor who takes over casseroles every night.”
“Oh.” Willow elongated the word as if a lightbulb had just flashed in her brain. Willow cocked her head and studied Courtney for a long moment. “What happened? Did Allison suggest that you weren’t good enough for a Lyndon?”
Heat crawled up Courtney’s face, and when she spoke again, her voice trembled. “I’m not in love with Matt Lyndon, okay? He’s too young for me, and he’s not looking for commitment right now. We’re friends.
“But when Allison suggested that I’d be stupid not to bring over casseroles every night and try to trap him into marriage…I don’t know, I—”
“What? She suggested you should trap him in a marriage?”
Courtney nodded. “Worse than that. I got the feeling she had tried to trap him and failed. And when I realized th
at, I just saw red.” She blew out a breath. “I know I was in the wrong. And I know I need to apologize.”
“Okay. I expect you to do that. And I also want you to be very careful with Matt.”
“I told you, Matt and I are friends. Besides, he’s what? Twenty-five. He’s a baby.”
Willow stood up. “Courtney, if you want to lie to yourself, go right ahead. But you and Matt are not friends. If you were, you wouldn’t have lost your temper the way you did.”
Chapter Fourteen
Over the next week, Matt argued with his mother about his apartment no less than ten times. And when he wasn’t arguing with Mom, he was spending long hours at work as a means of distracting himself from the woman living next door. Work seemed to be the only panacea for the daydreams that distracted him whenever he let his concentration slip. He’d imagined himself making the journey across the hallway hundreds of times, but he never could decide what he should say if he knocked and Courtney answered.
Would he explain that he’d also been a social outcast during high school? Would he tell her about his broken heart and Allison Chapman’s endless cruelty?
No. He. Would. Not.
So instead he followed David around, writing meeting notes, proofing filings and motions, and preparing his cousin for every meeting and every court appearance as well. After regular office hours, once he’d finished any work David had assigned him for the day, Matt chased down the leads Arwen’s whistle-blower had provided.
By Monday of the following week, Matt had found a potential client—a landowner who had been assessed an absurd fine and now faced a choice between forfeiting his property to the county or selling out to GB Ventures. But even though the situation was unfair, the facts made the potential case difficult. And besides, Matt wasn’t a litigator.
He needed advice, and he couldn’t go to Dad, and he wasn’t about to call up the managing partner. So on Monday afternoon, during a lull in David’s schedule, Matt strolled into his cousin’s office and shut the door behind him. “You have a minute?” he asked.