by Emma Tharp
"Hey, what's up?" I ask.
"How are preparations coming for the party? Is everything set up?" he asks with a bit of panic in his voice.
"Everything is going to be great. You don't have to worry about a thing. Liza has it under control. I have one more meeting, and then I'll be heading home to make sure."
Garrett sighs into the phone. "Shouldn't you be spending time together if you want to woo her?"
"Oh, yeah. Good point." I haven't been spending face-to-face time with her. It's been more texting and phone calls. But he's right. I want this plan to work. "I'll rush through this meeting and get to my place as soon as I can. And don't worry, okay? You're going to do great tonight. It's going to be the perfect night to propose."
"I know. I'm still nervous though. Everyone RSVPed, and I know Liza will make it perfect."
Getting up from my desk, I walk out my door and head to the conference room. "It's going to be a night she'll never forget. Now I have to go, or I’m going to be late for my meeting." I end the call, and tuck my phone into my pocket.
After an expedited consultation and a rush through traffic, I'm home in record time. I take all of this seriously, and my brother is right. I need to spend time with her if I want my plan to pay off.
As soon as I walk in the door, the smell of garlic and spices wafts past my nose. Making my way to the kitchen, Liza is chopping tomatoes, looking gorgeous in a little black dress with a red apron over it. My heart skips a fucking beat just like it used to in high school. It’d be great if it’d stop doing that.
The Dave Matthews Band is playing on her phone. Her voice is off key as she sings along.
"This is how home should smell," I say loud enough for her to hear.
She startles and puts her hand over her chest. "You scared me. I didn't hear you come in." She giggles and turns the music down. "Your house didn't smell like this growing up?"
Taking off my jacket, I hang it up and go to stand next to her, peering over her shoulder to see if there's anything for me to sample. "Hardly. My mom was amazing, but she didn't know how to cook." Bless her heart. The woman tried, but nothing tasty ever came out of her kitchen.
Liza looks up at me, biting her lip. I wish she wouldn’t do that. Her mouth is already too distracting. "Here." She picks up a shrimp and raises it toward my mouth. "Have one of these until the crostini comes out of the oven."
I do as she asks and chew on the cold shrimp. The sauce has a savory tang that hits all the right spots on my tongue. "Delicious."
"Hey, princess. How much longer on the beef?" A good-looking guy I don't know comes from around the corner. He's tall, thin, and wearing a black suit. "Oh, hello," the man says when he sees me standing near Liza. He walks closer to me and puts his hand out.
"This is Spencer. I hired him to work with me tonight. Figured I could use the help here." She turns to me. "This is Donovan Monroe."
I shake Spencer's hand, squeezing it tighter than necessary. I don't say anything and I really don't like how close he's standing to Liza—shoulder to shoulder—or the familiarity. Spencer called her “princess.” Every muscle in my body tenses. I'm bristling, and I have no way to stop myself. I need to get a grip. "Good to meet you, Spencer," I say, my tone flat and cold.
Liza clears her throat, her eyes moving from Spencer to me. “Spencer, why don’t you start opening the wine bottles so the wine can breathe? And, Donovan, can I have a word with you?”
“Sure,” Spencer says and retrieves the case of wine from the pantry.
When he walks away I’m able to stop glaring at him.
Liza pulls me toward the hall. She fidgets with her apron, balling it up in her hands. “Is everything okay? I was hoping you wouldn’t mind that I hired someone to be here with me. I didn’t mean to upset you. I should’ve asked.”
Damn. I’m making her nervous, and maybe a touch insecure. Not exactly the best way to get her to fall for me. “No. It’s fine. Sorry, I was caught off guard.”
“It’s just that I want tonight to be perfect, and Spencer is my best friend. I’ve worked with him for years in the restaurant business. I trust him and know that he won’t let me down. I wish I’d let you know in advance. I’m sorry,” she says and puffs out her cheeks.
Her best friend. Okay. That’s where the familiarity comes from. I have friends and colleagues who are women. I’ve never called one of them princess before, but that’s not the kind of guy I am. “The two of you are close,” I observe, almost as a question, but not quite.
“We are. We work well together and we’re each other’s support system. He and I commiserate over our guy troubles, and when I have a bad day, he’s the one I call.”
It’s a little overwhelming, the sudden and unexpected release of all the tension in my body. “Our guy troubles.” They both like guys. Spencer is gay. The realization makes me feel lighter—almost giddy. I clear my throat. “Liza, I apologize for my reaction. Work has been stressful, and when I saw Spencer round the corner, I was surprised. If you need the help, it’s fine that you hired your friend.”
Now it’s Liza’s turn to relax. Her smile builds and she presses her palm to her heart. “Thank you, Donovan. Tonight is going to be great.”
“I know it is. Do you need anything from me before I shower and change?” I ask.
“No. Spencer and I have it all under control.”
I nod. “Good. I’ll be out soon. The guests should be arriving in thirty minutes.”
“I’ll get back to work,” she says before she makes her way back to the kitchen.
It’s impossible not to watch her walk away. Her legs are smooth and long, leading up to her perfect peach-shaped ass. I sigh to myself and go to my bedroom. I have to figure out a way to get myself in check. My ultra-caveman behavior with Spencer is not acceptable. The effect this woman has on me hasn’t changed one bit since high school. That is not part of the plan.
Ten
Liza
“Can you step away from the kitchen for a few minutes? There are some people I’d like you to meet,” Donovan asks.
The party is in full swing and everyone is up and mingling after the meal. “Sure. I just have to finish arranging the tarts on a tray.”
“I can do that.” Spencer steps back into the kitchen with his hands loaded up with dirty dishes that he sets in the sink.
“That’d be great. And then you’re free to go, Spencer. I can finish cleaning up,” I tell him.
“Thanks for helping out, Spencer,” Donovan says, reaching out for Spencer’s hand to shake it.
This time when they shake, Donovan doesn’t look like he’d like to kill Spencer. I’m not sure what caused Donovan to have such a strong reaction to my best friend, but I’m glad to see that his attitude toward him has changed.
“No problem. You have a beautiful home.” Spencer smiles at Donovan and then gets to work on the tarts.
“I appreciate that.” Donovan gives Spencer’s shoulder a pat.
“I’ll call you in the morning,” I tell Spencer.
Donovan puts his hand on my lower back and guides me to the living room where the partygoers are mingling. It’s a simple gesture, only meant casually to show me where we’re going, but I can’t ignore the heat and tingles up my spine his touch elicits. It’s unsettling how much his attention is affecting me. I haven’t been lucky in relationships. Like I can’t seem to find the right guy at the right time. Yet here I am, working for my high school buddy and feeling things I haven’t felt in a very long time. My heart seems to stutter to life when I’m around Donovan, and when I think about him—which is happening a little too often for my liking.
He’s been sweet, sending me random text messages about how tasty he thinks my food is, and occasional questions about the party, but always personalized with I know it’s going to be an amazing party because you’re planning it, and You’ll see. Everyone is going to love your food so much that your schedule is going to fill up faster than you can keep up. Once he even told me
that he couldn’t wait to see me again. But I have to remember he’s only helping me out so I can pay back the loan he gave me. That’s all.
He might’ve had a crush on me in high school, but I don’t think he does anymore. The way Donovan looked at me back then, like he’d move heaven and earth for me, it was clear there were feelings there. But now, he’s a successful businessman, kind and handsome. I’m sure he has a beautiful, sophisticated girlfriend in the wings somewhere. Although, at the dinner tonight, he didn’t seem to be paying special attention to anyone in particular. And as much as I didn’t want to, I was checking.
I bite my lip and wipe my hands on my apron. It feels like I’m out of my league here with all of Donovan’s successful friends and family. Yet, he wants to introduce me to people, and for that, I am grateful.
We step into the living room and make our way to Giselle, his sister. She’s a couple of years older than Donovan and me, but I remember her from high school.
“Giselle, do you remember Liza Dooley?” Donovan asks.
She’s holding a champagne flute, which she sets on an end table so she can take my hand in hers. She’s a little taller than me, thin and sophisticated. Her dark hair is swept up in a chignon and her dress fits so well, it has to be a designer. It’s navy with princess seams, cap sleeves, and a sleek waistline as if it were custom-made to shape and accent her femininity. “Of course, I remember you. I spent many fun evenings at your parties.”
“Oh, yes. My get-togethers were quite notorious.” I grin at her and her smile back to me is warm and welcoming.
“Didn’t Liza do a wonderful job tonight with the party?” Donovan asks.
Giselle leans in and lowers her voice. “I’m in heaven and honestly surprised I haven’t popped a button on my dress. I overindulged a little tonight. Everything tasted so good.”
Pride blooms in my chest. “I’m glad you enjoyed everything.”
“More than enjoyed. I’m going to get your contact information from Donovan for my next get-together. And I’ll pass it along at the firm. Everyone is always looking for a great caterer.”
“That’d be wonderful. Thank you,” I tell her.
“I knew you’d be pleased. Her food’s the best I’ve had from any caterer in the city,” Donovan brags.
My breath hitches in my throat. His compliment takes me by surprise, but I bask in the heat of the moment. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. So, sis, I told you that you could bring a date tonight…” Donovan takes a sip of his beer.
Giselle rolls her eyes at Donovan. “You know I date once a year. I don’t have time otherwise.”
Once a year? She’s a beautiful woman. Why wouldn’t she date more regularly? It doesn’t make sense. I’m sure there’s a story there.
The sound of someone clinking their glass draws our attention to the other side of the room.
It’s Garrett, Donovan’s older brother. “Can I have everyone’s attention, please?”
The room gets quiet and someone turns the soft music that was playing all the way down.
“Thank you all for being here, and, Donovan, thanks for the invite.” Garrett takes the hand of the woman standing next to him. “He helped me plan this evening. I wanted all the people I love and care about to be here for this.”
The woman next to Garrett gasps. “What are you doing, Garrett?” she asks.
“It’s a surprise,” he tells her and turns his attention back to the group. “Camille and I have worked together for years, and last year, we fell in love.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small box. Taking one knee in front of her, he grabs her hand. The way he looks at her, with pure adoration and love, is the way that I hope someone looks at me one day. Camille’s hand flies to her chest. “Camille, I don’t want to waste anymore time. You mean the world to me and I want to spend forever with you. Please make me the happiest man alive and tell me you’ll marry me.”
Tears fall down Camille’s cheeks as she nods. “Yes.”
Everyone in the room claps. Garrett stands, slides the ring on her finger, and takes Camille in his arms.
Even from my vantage point all the way across the room, I can see how massive the stone is on her ring. It shines and picks up all the light in the room, sending sparkles across the far wall.
My heart warms for Garrett and Camille. What a beautiful proposal.
“Wow.” I lean over to Donovan. “That was so romantic.”
He looks at me, his dark eyes shining. “It was, wasn’t it? He’s been trying to plan a grand gesture for months now. I told him to keep it simple. It looks like Camille is pleased. Let’s go congratulate them.”
“Sure.” We make our way to the newly engaged couple and wait for a gentleman to finish talking to them.
When it's our turn to speak with Garrett and Camille, Donovan gives Garrett a hearty handshake and Camille a big hug. "Congrats, guys! I'm so happy for the two of you. I wanted to introduce you to Liza Dooley. Garrett, you might recognize her from high school. She was the caterer tonight. Wasn't everything excellent?" His voice is full of enthusiasm.
"Your food is amazing," Camille exclaims, her eyes still sparkling with post-engagement excitement.
"Hello, Liza, it's nice to see you again. Thank you for making tonight perfect." Garrett grabs my hand and gives it a gentle shake.
"Congratulations to you both. I'm happy that I could be a part of your special evening," I tell them, truly happy and a bit envious of their obvious affection for each other. Every woman wants a man to look at her the way Garrett is gushing over Camille.
"I do hope you have business cards with you. We can pass them out at the office and to colleagues," Garrett says.
"I did bring some. That would be the nicest compliment you could give me, to refer someone," I say. Donovan might be right. This party could definitely be the springboard I need to start filling my schedule.
We excuse ourselves and let others congratulate Garrett and Camille.
Donovan takes me around to other partygoers, praising me and bragging about me. I pass my card out to several people, and before I know it the party is nearing its end. Donovan bids farewell to his last guest and he joins me in the kitchen where I am cleaning up.
Tugging off his tie, Donovan throws it on the counter and loosens his top buttons. "Let me help." He picks up the towel and begins drying dishes.
"I can take care of this. It's what you're paying me for."
"I don't mind." He dries off a serving platter and puts it in a cupboard.
This is a side of Donovan I didn't expect to see. The way he showed me off all evening and now how he's helping clean up warms my heart. It's almost as if we’re an old married couple. "How do you think it went?" I ask, curious to hear his thoughts.
He turns and pins me with those intense dark eyes and gives me a devastatingly handsome, panty-melting, good-luck-ever-finding-a-mouth-better-than-this smile. "It was the best party I've ever thrown. Hands down."
Overcome with pride, joy, and gratitude I want to throw my arms around him and stay there all night, but instead I smile back at him. "Thank you for everything."
Just then, my phone vibrates next to me on the counter. Glancing at it, I see it's a text from an unknown number.
Can you check your availability next month? I just left Donovan's party and I need you to cater my next event.
"One of your guests just texted me and wants to book me for an event. Already!"
Donovan winks at me. "You see? Told you."
Eleven
Donovan
"Liza. It's Donovan Monroe," I announce as I prop my feet up onto my desk and cradle my cell between my shoulder and ear.
"Oh." There’s surprise in her voice. "Hi, Donovan. How are you?"
"I'm doing well, thanks. I'm calling for a couple reasons. First of all, I keep getting messages and texts telling me how great the party was last week. Job well done. You should pat yourself on the back." It's true. Everyone loved Liza's foo
d and I'm hoping this party will help catapult her business.
There are sounds of pans clinking in the background. I salivate thinking of what she might be making for dinner. "I've booked two parties already from your guests and I have to call someone back this evening to schedule a consult. I really can't thank you enough, Donovan."
"You're welcome. I'm also calling because I need you to come to an event with me. Call it market research." Because I won't be calling this a date. It isn't a date. "It'll give you ideas of what other catering companies are doing."
"When is the event?" she asks.
Fiddling with a paperclip on my desk, I open it and make shapes with it like I did back in high school. "It's Saturday night. Are you free?" I truly hope she is. I'd like to see her again when she isn't working. It'll give me time to get to know her and vice versa. That way, I can continue to woo her. It seems like everything I've been doing thus far is helping my cause. This past week I sent her a voice mail gushing about the party and I've been texting her once every other day, to which she always replies back with cute texts and emojis. It's as if I can see her blushing with each message.
"Yes. I can make that work. What should I wear?"
Visions of her perfect long and smooth legs have my blood pumping hard. What I wouldn't give to have those legs wrapped around me. "A cocktail dress."
"I can do that."
"Good. I'll pick you up at seven." I end the call.
Breathing deeply, I imagine Saturday night with Liza Dooley on my arm. It's everything I've always wanted. And now I think it's what she wants, too.
My plan is starting to work.
Making my way into Liza's building, I'm quite underwhelmed. She's meeting me in the lobby, and I'm assuming it's because she doesn't want me to see her apartment. There's no doorman here and it's in an unsavory neighborhood. She deserves better than this place. Once this is all said and done and her business is booming, she can get out of here.