Private Engagement

by Adrienne Perry

  “Well what are we waiting for then? It’s after 5:00 pm on a Friday night. Only losers are still at work.”

  Emily stood up to leave, gingerly testing her weight on her ankle. It felt okay. She and Troy started walking toward the exit when Emily suddenly stopped. “Just as an FYI?” she corrected, “What are you talking about ‘wedding of the decade’? This, dude, is going to be the wedding of the century.”

  *****

  Emily and Troy chose their favorite bar, Southern Comforts. It had an easy going, pub-like feel, with a row of worn leather stools lined up against a shiny wooden bar. Several tall tables were scattered across the scarred wood floor, and booths lined the walls. It wasn’t terribly trendy; it definitely had more of a friendly neighborhood-bar type of vibe, but Friday nights featured live music, and weary workers from the nearby offices often clustered in celebrating their escape from the drudgery of the week.

  Tonight Southern Comforts was swarming, but Emily and Troy managed to snag a high-top table. Though the bar was only a few blocks from their office, even that short walk had been enough to set her ankle throbbing again, and she gratefully sank onto the barstool next to the table. She waved hello to a couple of regulars from different offices nearby. The stools at the bar were already full, and a mob of randomly milling people was filling in the spaces between seats, with yells to the bartender for drinks.

  Troy, lifesaver that we was, gently pulled Emily’s hurt leg onto the empty third seat at their table and offered to get drinks.

  “Troy, how did I ever get lucky enough to deserve you in my life?” She thrust a twenty towards him. “I’d love a glass of Sauvignon Blanc, whatever the house brand is. I’m buying.”

  Troy snatched the bill from her hand. “Of course you are, darling, but tonight we’re having champagne.” Then he smiled conspiratorially. “Though if I play my cards right with that gorgeous bartender, I may get our celebratory drinks for free!”

  Emily smiled as Troy pushed his way towards the bar. He had started at Rivera Productions several weeks after she had as a general assistant. Though he didn’t have a college degree, he certainly had the skills and vision to be promoted to an event planner. But Mari was snobbish when it came to degrees, and thought that it made a difference to her clients that she could boast that all her planners had university educations.

  Emily knew that Troy wanted to be promoted, and she planned to ask him to come with her when she started her own business. He was invaluable to her, both professionally and personally. He seemed to always know what she needed emotionally before she knew it herself. He flirted indiscriminately with everyone, men and women, old and young, and everyone who met him wanted to know him better. Though he was outrageously flirtatious, he kept his personal relationships private, and Emily had never known him to have a girlfriend…or a boyfriend…though he seemed happy enough. When she tried to pry, he would deftly change the subject, and Emily remained in the dark about his life outside work. Maybe that was what made their partnership so successful. Mutual respect, honest admiration, but no messy personal details to slog through.

  As Emily watched Troy battle for a spot at the bar, she allowed herself a few minutes to imagine the two of them in her own company, planning events the way she really wanted to. She thought about all the happy couples they could help get to the altar, planning the perfect day and the best possible start to the rest of their lives together. How she loved to watch the first kiss, first dance, all the firsts of a new lifetime together.

  Suddenly the picture of the generic happy couple in her mind morphed into an image of her, standing in a flowy white dress sparkling as if woven from jewels. The man from the elevator stood next to her, his dark hair refusing to be tamed into submission and his emerald eyes burning with desire. She imagined her hand in his, and the electricity that would course through them as they dashed through the crowd, desperate to find a few private moments together.

  In her fantasy, she could feel him sliding the zipper down the back of her dress, letting the silky fabric slide off her body and settle in an ivory pool at her feet. She imagined the look on his face as he took in her lean, eager body, and she felt the surge of power that she could put that hungry look into his eyes.

  A pulse of arousal between her legs snapped her back to the present. Her face felt flushed, and she struggled to put the image of him out of her mind. The fantasy was wonderful, and she could maybe indulge in it again later, but he wasn’t anyone who would become her reality. And even if he did, marriage wasn’t for her anyway.

  “Hey, Cinderella,” came a silky voice from behind.

  Emily’s head snapped around, her deep brown eyes meeting his green ones. She gasped involuntarily and her pulse skittered with a mix of surprise and desire. He was just as attractive as she remembered. He’d removed his tie and jacket from earlier, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up, revealing hard, muscular forearms. Emily guessed there wasn’t anything soft about his body. Being with him wouldn’t be gentle and cuddly…it would be hard and demanding, exactly how she liked it.

  She had always enjoyed a little bit of kink in her sex life. She couldn’t stand when a man asked her if something was okay, or if he needed to go slower. Slow was good, but only when it served to heighten the desire for later, when the sex would be hard. Emily liked her sex hard. She liked handcuffs and blindfolds. She wasn’t into submission, per se, but she liked to “be taken”. She liked a little bit of pain, a pinch or bite on her neck, on her nipple. Sex in public places was a special turn-on. She loved being in areas just outside the sight of people going about their mundane business: A dressing room in a clothing store, a dark bench in a nearly deserted park at night.

  Unfortunately for her, it seemed, she wasn’t hardcore enough to belong in the BDSM crowd, but she wasn’t vanilla enough for the rest of the world. She had yet to find a man who could satisfy her desire for rough sex without wanting her to submit.

  As Emily stared into this man’s eyes, she wondered if he could handle her. He certainly appeared strong enough. She imagined he could capture both her wrists together in one of his, while he ripped her panties off with the other and thrust himself inside of her.

  “So how’s your ankle?” he drawled, his gaze traveling down her leg to her foot propped on the stool. The ankle was still swollen, and a purplish bruise was blooming.

  “I could use an ice-pack,” she said ruefully, gesturing down at her leg. “But unfortunately, the bar doesn’t double as a pharmacy.”

  They both regarded her ankle for a second, then he reached out and pulled an ice-cube from his glass of whiskey. “Maybe it does, after all?” He raised one eyebrow and extended his hand, holding the ice over her skin. A single drop of water fell, and she flinched, but it felt hot to her. Instant sparks flew through her body, but his hand hovered. “May I?” It seemed as if he were asking more than about applying ice to her injury.

  She cleared her throat, feeling hot and dizzy. “Are you a doctor?”

  “If I have what will help, does that matter?”

  She inclined her head slightly, and he smiled. Then he stroked two fingers down her calf until they reached her ankle. He circled her tender flash with his thumb and forefinger, like an ankle bracelet, and then gently rubbed the bruised skin with the pad of his thumb. Emily’s breath literally stopped as he cradled her ankle, which looked positively tiny in comparison to his large hand. His thumb continued to stroke her anklebone, tracing its way around the edges of the purple splotch of discoloration while he softly rubbed the ice over the bruise. She sucked in a breath.

  “I guess you won’t make it to the ball and find your Prince Charming,” he continued with a sly grin. “But that just means you’re still available for another lucky man,” he finished with a predatory gleam in his eyes. Emily’s breath whooshed out, and she remained mute as not a single coherent comeback sprang to mind.

  At that moment, Troy swept back to the table bearing two glasses of bubbling wine in one hand, and a ha
lf empty bottle in the other. “Here we go, Emily! The best bubbly twenty dollars can buy to celebrate you planning the wedding of the year!” he cried. “Oh!” he exclaimed as he noticed the man holding Emily’s leg. “Well, hello! I’ll, uh, just be…over there.”

  As Troy walked away, the man looked surprised, and he pulled his hand away from her leg as if it was burning him. The ice-cube, mostly melted by now, fell to the floor, and he idly rubbed one hand on the other to remove the water droplet.

  “Emily? That’s your name?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she replied. “Only my wicked stepmother calls me Cinderella.”

  He smiled at that, but all trace of cocky flirtatiousness was gone. Instead, he looked wistful. Emily noticed that the atmosphere between them had cooled. He took a step away from her.

  “Emily, who plans weddings,” he said formally. “It was lovely to meet you. I hope the ankle heals quickly.” He was all business now, as if he was talking to a colleague or a barely recognized acquaintance.

  Confused, Emily nodded thanks, stunned by the transformation in his attitude.

  As he turned to leave, she called out, “Wait!” When he stopped and turned, she was distressingly silent. She hadn’t actually expected him to stop. Now that he had, she didn’t have anything to say. Instead of speaking, she sprang off the stool and stepped toward him.

  Emily wasn’t sure what her intention was. Maybe she just wanted to look into his eyes one more time to see if she could figure him out and what had changed. Maybe she wanted just one more chance to breathe in his heady scent. Maybe she secretly hoped he’d declare his undying love for her. But when she replayed the moment later, over and over in her mind, she would swear to herself that she didn’t have any plan. All she could remember of the moment was the desperate need to keep him from walking away just yet.

  Her sprained ankle buckled under the unexpected movement. Emily stumbled forward, directly into his rock hard chest. Her hands flew up to his the shoulders, finding them as solid as she’d imagined. His arms simultaneously encircled her waist, catching her and holding her up. The sensation of her soft curves against his steely muscles rocketed her into a state of arousal unlike anything she’d imagined before.

  The sudden and unexpected flare of desire was too much for Emily to contain, and she pressed her lips to his. For a moment he just stood there, still as stone.

  Emily might have just stepped back and moved on, but instead, she decided she deserved just one taste. So she slid her tongue along his lips, nipping lightly at the corner of his mouth that had cocked up at her earlier. Though he had held back initially, the moment her tongue touched his lips, something broke inside of him.

  He groaned harshly and pulled her roughly into him. One hand tightened on her waist, and Emily could feel restraint in his fingers as he fought the urge to grip her any harder. He didn’t know yet that she liked it a little rough. His other hand moved to the back of her head, and he crushed his mouth against hers. His tongue tangled with hers, his teeth scraping her bottom lip. Emily felt his erection pressing into her thigh, and she instinctively rolled her hips into it.

  Then, as quickly as it started, he pushed her away from him. Her eyes flicked open and she was surprised to see that she was still in the bar, surrounded by people drinking and the muted sounds of happy hour chatter. He kept hold of her waist while gently back stepping her to her seat so she wouldn’t have to put her weight on her ankle again. For a second, he allowed his forehead to rest on hers, and then he shifted back, opening a gulf of space between them.

  “Wait,” she said again. “I don’t even know your name. All I know is that it’s not Prince Charming.”

  He gave her a rueful smile. “No one,” he replied, “has ever said anything more true.”

  With that, he turned and disappeared through the crowd and into the night. And all this time, Emily thought to herself, I thought Cinderella was the one who fled.

  Chapter Five

  With his typical impeccable timing, Troy reappeared at the table seconds after the man had left, and slipped a glass of the champagne into her hand.

  “Drink up, honey,” he stated wryly. “You got a whole bunch of explaining to do.”

  Emily downed the champagne in one long gulp. When Troy made a move to pour her a second glass, she shook her head. Troy raised an eyebrow at her, but refrained from giving her more. He topped off his own glass instead.

  Emily could feel his curiosity rolling off him in visceral waves. But how could she explain anything to Troy when she couldn’t even make sense of it herself? All she knew was that she’d just had the hottest kiss of her life, and that she’d felt in that kiss the promise of the best sex she’d find. And that promise had walked out the door with her Not-Prince Charming.

  Emily saluted Troy with her empty glass. “I’m going to head out,” she announced. “We’re going to be busy with the West…wait, what was the groom’s last name again? Did we ever even get that? Anyway, we’re going to be busy with Charlotte’s wedding, and we’re going to have to start as soon as possible. I need my beauty sleep.”

  Troy placed a hand on her arm. “Emily, you do realize that tomorrow is Saturday, right?”

  Emily sighed. “I know, but Charlotte’s coming back to the office Monday, and I want to have some ideas laid out for her already. I’ll have to make some calls, find out who will be available. The date Charlotte picked is less than three months from now, and that means there’s no time to waste. Even if tomorrow is Saturday.”

  Emily knew that Troy could be counted on to work weekends as often as she did. She knew he was hoping to get some answers about why she was making out with some guy in the middle of a crowded room. But he also knew her well enough to know that she wasn’t going to spill. With his usual grace, he let the subject drop.

  “Well, then, I suppose you’d better call me in the morning and let me know what I can do.” Then he winked at her. “Just don’t call too early.”

  *****

  Later that night, at home, Emily touched her fingers to her lips, and replayed the strange encounter over again in her head. What had that all been about? And why couldn’t she stop thinking about it? At first, it had seemed like fate that he had appeared in the bar, and it was beyond sexy when he applied the ice to her ankle, his eyes whispering what else he’d like to do. Then he’d gone all cold on her, and left.

  Whatever the situation, and whoever he really was, fate had given her two chance encounters with him. She certainly wouldn’t bestow a third. Still, it would be a long time before Emily stopped imagining his hard body above hers.

  With a sigh of frustration, Emily forced her brain to focus on the wedding. Charlotte had saved her from being fired, certainly, and that alone was reason enough for Emily to want this wedding to be perfect. That Charlotte was also Greenville’s closest thing to royalty made it a necessity that this event go off without a hitch if Emily wanted any chance of making it on her own. Even though Mari would steal all the credit, Emily would be saddled with every bit of blame should anything be out of place on the big day.

  More than both of those factors, though, was that Emily had really liked Charlotte. Her poise, her genuineness, and compassion that softened the edges of a steely determination simmering just beneath Charlotte’s surface, were all qualities that Emily respected. And that Emily shared. She saw potential that their very new relationship could blossom into a deep and genuine friendship, and for that, Emily wanted this event to be perfect. So no more Prince Charming fantasies, at least for now.

  Chapter Six

  Early Monday MORNING and Emily was late again. This time she hadn’t been touring any empty storefronts or charming Plantation-Era homes in which to start her new business. She’d simply, and quite embarrassingly, overslept. All weekend she had been sketching and pulling ads, everything from wedding dresses (though Charlotte would pick her own, Emily had some ideas of dresses that would complement the overall feel of the wedding) to flowers, from lightin
g to favors. She’d put everything she had into creating Charlotte’s dream wedding. The work had kept her from enjoying the gorgeous weekend weather, but it had benefitted her ankle, which was back to its normal size now that the swelling was down. The pain had eased as well, from a continuous throb to an intermittent twinge.

  As was protocol in the office, Emily had actually created three designs, each that she felt suited Charlotte’s style and wants. Since Emily hadn’t yet met the groom, however, she couldn’t settle on which design was best yet. Though she always created more than one design for her couples, nearly every time she had a favorite. In addition, almost every time she knew which one the couple would pick before they did. Sometimes they didn’t pick her favorite, and that was fine.

  This case was different. She was working to please Charlotte, certainly, but also her mother, and the mysterious groom. Emily hadn’t yet figured out the mother. She projected meekness and subservience, but already Emily had glimpsed peeks of someone stronger. She knew that Vivienne was holding back her true nature. What Emily didn’t know was why?

  Despite assurances from both Charlotte and Vivienne that the groom would be pleased with whatever decisions the women made, Emily knew that she would need to meet him, at least once, before she could settle her mind on a final design. Some themes just didn’t suit certain men.

  Luckily for Emily, today she was meeting with Charlotte again, along with her fiancé. There had been many assurances that he would be there today, no excuses. Emily hoped that was true. A man who missed one wedding meeting was forgivable. Missing two meetings, especially two in a row, made Emily’s antennae twitch. For Charlotte’s sake, as well as her own, she hoped the groom would join them.

  *****

  Armed with her binder full of photos and drawings and colors and fabric swatches, Emily managed to make up time by skipping her morning coffee run and heading straight for the office. She’d quickly checked her email on her phone at red traffic lights, and saw a barrage of messages from Mari asking where she was, and why she wasn’t in the office yet. It had just cracked 8:00 am, and the meeting with Charlotte and company wasn’t until 9:00 am. Emily was sure of that. She had double and triple checked her calendar, and, somewhat obsessively, called Troy several times over the weekend to make sure the time really was 9:00 am. Both calendar and trusted assistant assured her she was correct.