by Hope Ramsay
She froze. Guys with seductive, velvet voices were one of her weaknesses. Every guy she’d ever met with a velvet voice had turned out to be a major player. And Matt Lyndon’s reputation preceded him.
“You’re the wedding planner, aren’t you?” he asked. “A situation like today’s must be difficult. For what it’s worth, I thought the reception room looked particularly nice. I liked the purple flowers.”
“Dahlias,” she said without thinking and pressed her lips together. She shouldn’t encourage him.
Like every player she’d ever met, the guy knew better than to use a standard pickup line. Instead he’d opened with a compliment that showed how much he was interested in what she did for a living. Maybe she should tell the guy that his cousin Amy was responsible for the flower arrangements.
Nah, maybe not. Maybe she’d wait to shoot him down. So instead of leaving him there on the portico, she turned and strolled in his direction. Predictably, his eyes sparked, and a smile touched his lips. He was handsome, she’d give him that. But then all of the Lyndon men were handsome.
“This is such a nice spot,” he said, his voice as smooth and easy as a shot of Maker’s Mark. He was a cool customer, completely at ease. And she gave him points for hitting on her. He was young, maybe twenty-five. And she was much older. It had been a while since anyone—young or old—had so much as catcalled.
Not that she enjoyed catcalls. But still, a woman in her mid-thirties enjoyed being hit on now and again. She purposefully ran her hand through her hair, just to see what he would do. Any player worth his salt would interpret that as a come-on.
He stood up and intercepted Courtney, getting close enough for her to smell his woodsy aftershave. “I imagine the inn is a great place for couples to get away for a weekend,” he said. “It’s probably a drag for a person like you. I mean, where do you go for a getaway?”
Oh brother, Matt Lyndon was so obvious. He was testing to see if she was available. She gave him a coquettish smile, which he mirrored. “I’m afraid I work too hard to get away on weekends. Besides, I hate leaving my cat alone, you know?”
She didn’t have a cat. But letting him think she did was like waving a piece of raw meat in front of a tiger. A woman who would stay home with her cat was automatically unattached. He knew the code as well as she did.
“So, do they make you wear black to work?” he asked. “It’s not really your color, although the shape of that dress is nice. You look kind of hot in it.”
Uh-huh, there it was, the little passive-aggressive remark designed to send the message that he wasn’t desperate, had standards, and maybe if she was nice to him, he would show her a good time. “Thanks,” she said, as if she didn’t actually know the steps to this dance.
“So you look like a fun person, Courtney. The kind who likes to get out and party, you know? Have a little casual fun.”
Casual fun. Like a hookup with no strings attached. At least he was an honest player, she’d give him that. She had no use for players who led a girl on. She said nothing in response to his come-on. She simply turned her back on him and took a couple of steps toward the inn’s front door. Then she stopped and looked over her shoulder with what she hoped was a classic come-hither look.
He grinned. “So, do you have anything planned for after work? Since there’s no wedding, maybe we could get away somewhere for drinks or something?”
There it was, the classic close.
She wondered if Matt understood the cruelty of his little game. Probably not. He undoubtedly thought that if he used the word “casual,” it would absolve him of any damage he might do to any woman who crossed his path.
She turned and faced him head on. “No thanks, Matthew. I know a player when I see one. Oh, and one other thing, you can tell Brandon that I intend to take his ex-fiancée under my wing and teach her exactly how to recognize players like you and heartbreakers like him. And I hope to God she never has to suffer another humiliation at the hands of a man ever again.”
Chapter Three
It’s time to get up.”
Laurie cracked her eye and then immediately squeezed it shut. Someone had pulled the curtains back, and the damn sun shone through the big double-hung window like a torture device. Why the hell had it stopped raining anyway? Her head throbbed, but this wasn’t one of her killer migraines, thank God. It was merely a basic hangover with a chaser of life-shattering grief.
“Come on, you need to eat.” Mom’s voice had that steely quality to it, and despite Mom’s tears last night, this morning she was dry-eyed.
That was Mom. Her life zigzagged from one emotional disaster to another. She had tons of practice getting over crap with the help of various therapies from classic psychoanalytic to cognitive behavioral. She was self-aware and more than happy to expound on the deeper meaning of life, even though she was totally lost and without any real direction.
Laurie burrowed deeper into the bed and pulled the pillow over her head. She didn’t want to get up. She didn’t want to eat. She didn’t want to face the world. Damn. If she’d been smarter, she would have bypassed the champagne and gotten Jessica to drive her home. She raised her head and checked the digital clock on the bedside table.
Too late to catch the flight to Bermuda.
Laurie pushed her hair out of her eyes and looked up at Mom, a vision in black-and-white polka dots that probably came from Bergdorf Goodman. The dress was so New Yorker-comes-to-Virginia.
That was Mom, all right, a New Yorker born and bred. Dad had temporarily transplanted her to D.C., but when their marriage dissolved, Mom moved back to Manhattan, taking ten-year-old Laurie with her. Despite years of living there, Laurie had never become a New Yorker. She detested the city.
So when she turned eighteen, she came back “home” to attend George Washington University in the nation’s capital. She’d been living in D.C. for the last ten years.
“Come on,” Mom said in that mommy voice of hers. “I know you would rather hide, but it’s better to get up, take a shower, and dress for brunch.”
“Brunch? Really?” Laurie’s voice sounded vaguely frog-like, a sign that she was dehydrated from the champagne, hurling, and eventual dry heaves.
“It’s Sunday, sweetie. And you have to eat. I thought we’d brunch at the Red Fern Inn.”
“I don’t want brunch. I’ll get room service.”
“It’s too late for that. You’ve missed the inn’s breakfast, and they don’t have room service.”
As usual, Mom focused on the practicality of things instead of Laurie’s desire not to have brunch at all.
“I’m sorry, sweetie. We decided to let you sleep,” Mom added in a compassionate tone.
“Who’s ‘we’?”
“Not your father, that’s for sure. You’ll be pleased to know that I sent him back to Washington. Honestly, the man is impossible. But you should know that he was so furious yesterday that it took Charles, Jamie, and Mark Lyndon to calm him down. I’m afraid they plied him with a lot of bourbon. He was very grumpy at breakfast this morning.” Mom leaned over the bed, and Laurie noticed the glass of water in her hand. “I’ve got Tylenol for your headache.”
Resistance was futile so Laurie pushed herself up from the pillows and discovered that her headache wasn’t really all that bad after all. And she was definitely sober, which was a pity. She would have to do something about that.
She took the Tylenol anyway, mostly to give Mom a sense of accomplishment. “Do they have mimosas at the Red Fern?”
Mom glared at her. “The old adage about hair of the dog has been scientifically proven wrong, you know.”
Laurie nodded, but an hour later, she and Mom sat in the tap room at the Red Fern Inn sipping a couple of spicy Bloody Marys. The dark room, with its stone walls, heavy beams, and heart-of-pine flooring suited Laurie’s mood. Plus it was late for brunch and the crowd was pretty thin, which meant she didn’t have to run into anyone she knew.
Not that she knew many people in Shena
ndoah Falls, since she’d moved here only a month ago. She and Brandon had bought a run-down fixer-upper. Laurie could certainly see the potential of the house, but if she’d had her way, they would have purchased a two-bedroom condo in the new complex down Route 7, closer to Winchester.
Actually, now that she thought about it, if she’d been totally free to make her own decisions, she would have taken the associate professor job at the University of Michigan. In which case she’d be sitting in beautiful Ann Arbor right now. Instead, she’d taken the far less prestigious job at Winchester University just twenty minutes away. She’d made that sacrifice so Brandon could join his father’s law firm, Lyndon, Lyndon & Kopp.
Her throat thickened. It took a gargantuan effort to swallow down the tomato juice and vodka. Damn him. Damn him to hell and back again. She took several deep breaths and shoved the overwhelming crap to the back corner of her mind. She could do this. She could make it through this meal without crumbling. She opened the menu and tried to focus. The Red Fern offered no less than seven different varieties of eggs Benedict.
Decisions, decisions. Would she go traditional, or try the Eggs Benedict Huevos Rancheros, or maybe even the Eggs Benedict Cumberbatch? No, nix the Benedict Cumberbatch eggs, they were definitely out of her league. Traditional, then. Not that there was any doubt really. Laurie just liked to pretend to be adventurous.
She was so engrossed in the menu that she practically jumped when Pam Lyndon showed up at the table looking like royalty in a dark gray pencil skirt and a cornflower blue tweed jacket that buttoned up the front with a Mandarin collar.
“Hello,” she said. “I know you both probably want to be left alone, but I was just finishing brunch with some of the members of the Harvest Festival steering committee when I saw you come in. I wanted to tell you both how sorry I am about yesterday.” Pam cocked her head like a curious dog and inspected Laurie out of a pair of keen blue eyes that matched her jacket. “Laurie, I want you to know that the doors of Charlotte’s Grove will always be open for you. After all these years, I feel as if you’re part of the family,” she said as she pulled up a chair. “I will truly miss you if you don’t stay in touch. And, darlin’, I know this is a sensitive subject. But I don’t want to see you crawl away in some hole.”
“You should listen to her,” Mom said.
Laurie said nothing because right now all she wanted was to find a nice dark secluded place to lie down and assume the fetal position.
“Darlin’,” Pam said. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but the best thing you can do for yourself is to pick yourself up and just go on without Brandon as if nothing has happened. I know he’s shaken your self-esteem, but you can’t let him know that. He says he wants you to go see other people, and in my opinion, you should do it. In fact, if you like, I’d be happy to set you up with one of my nephews. You and Daniel have a lot in common. Both of you have had terrible wedding disasters. And of course, you and Andrew are already friends.”
Oh great, just what she needed, a date with some guy who also got left at the altar. And how could she date Brandon’s best friend? No thanks. Escape wasn’t an option so she looked Pam in the eye. “Thank you, Mrs. Lyndon, really. But I’m not ready to date anyone.”
Pam stood up and patted her shoulder. “Of course you aren’t. But give it a few days. If you change your mind, give me a call. Now that you’ve moved to town, we shouldn’t be strangers.”
“Thanks,” Laurie said.
“I heard that you bought a house in town.”
“Yes, on Rice Street.”
Pam’s frown spoke volumes. Laurie already knew that her house wasn’t in the fashionable section of town. But Brandon had big plans for fixing it up and selling it for a bundle in a few years when the neighborhood started to improve. That plan was up in smoke too. Damn. She couldn’t continue to co-own the house with Brandon. She’d have to sell it.
“Well, I should be going. Darlin’, please keep in touch,” Pam said, her smile fixed.
“Sure,” Laurie said in a pinched voice.
When Pam’s back was turned, Laurie picked up her drink and took three or four swallows just to kill the sudden emotional and financial pain.
“Sorry about that. You know this is going to be hard,” Mom said, once Pam was out of earshot, “but Pam is right. It’s like riding a horse. When you’re thrown, you just have to climb back on. You’ll survive. I’m here to help you do that. And I think the first thing we should do is make a list.”
Laurie was a supremely good list maker. She’d made it through the last year of wedding planning, house shopping, and job hunting with multiple lists. And she’d already started a list of all the things she wanted done to her fixer-upper. Now it looked as if she needed to make a list of the things she had to do to get over her relationship with Brandon.
Couldn’t she just wallow in the pain for a while? Maybe spend the next five days—days when she should have been in Bermuda soaking up sun—wearing her pajamas and eating Ben and Jerry’s Chubby Hubby ice cream?
No, she couldn’t. And the first item on her list would have to be ditching the Chubby Hubby and developing a new relationship with something else, like Empower Mint or Chocolate Therapy. She took another sip of her drink—a smaller one this time. The vodka was starting to take the edge off.
“I think the first thing we should do is take you to New York for some shopping. I don’t want you spending the next five days on your couch eating ice cream. Is that clear?”
Mom knew her so well.
Laurie finished her drink and waggled her empty glass at the passing waitress, who nodded. Then she turned back toward her mother. “I don’t need retail therapy,” she said. “Besides, I don’t like taking Dad’s money. You know that. I want to stand on my own two feet. That’s why Brandon and I chose a short honeymoon in Bermuda.” Her voice wobbled. She should be there right now.
“Your father and I have only your best interests in mind, and we don’t mind spending money on you. In my opinion, you need more than just a shopping trip. You need a total makeover.”
“Mom, please…”
“Sweetie, you do. It’s terrible when a man lets you down. Take it from me. The first thing I did for my self-esteem after your dad and I split was to get a little work done, you know?”
Yes, Laurie knew. Mom had had more than a little work done; she’d had the whole middle-age lift package from her boobs to her butt.
“I don’t need any work done,” Laurie said as the waitress put another Bloody Mary in front of her.
“I know that. You’re still so young. But you do need better hair and…uh…”
“What, Mom? Spit it out.” The vodka was bringing out her inner brat.
“Laurie, everyone heard what Brandon said yesterday. When a man says he wants to go sample the rest of the world, it means he’s gotten bored with the woman in his life.”
“Or it could just mean he’s a dick.” Laurie spat the words, but the moment she spoke them, her heart wanted to take them back.
“You know that’s not true,” Mom said. “Brandon has always been so sweet to you.”
Mom was right. Brandon wasn’t a dick, and she already knew that Brandon had gotten bored with her. She just didn’t want to admit it.
“So I think we should focus on redoing you, inside and out. A new wardrobe that’s a little more office hottie and a little less dowdy college professor. And I think you could really use a session with a therapist. In fact, I’ve already gotten recommendations for a couple of local CBT therapists that might help you relax, you know, about…things.”
Laurie was tempted to ask Mom what things she was talking about, but unfortunately Laurie already knew. She wasn’t exactly inventive or creative or even exuberant when it came to sex. She was kind of old-fashioned. And maybe as frumpy as her wardrobe, which consisted of pantsuits in all the basic colors—gray, navy, and black.
Laurie finished her second Bloody Mary just as the waitress came by to take
their orders. And just to prove that she could do something unexpected, she ordered the Eggs Benedict Cumberbatch.
“So, what do you say?” Mom asked. “The guest bedroom is ready for you, and we can take the train up this evening and spend five days shopping on Fifth Avenue and in SoHo, and maybe even go to the Met.”
Mom had just pulled out the stops, hadn’t she? A trip to the Metropolitan Opera was a huge inducement. But the cost was too high.
She shook her head. “Mom, I’m not going to change myself. And I’m certainly not going to do what Brandon suggested. I won’t spend the next six months sleeping around so I can be a better wife to the guy I fell in love with the first moment I saw him.”
“Sweetie, don’t—”
“Don’t what? Mom, here’s the thing. I thought Brandon loved me for who I am. And trying to change myself won’t work. I mean, how’d that work for you and Dad?”
Mom’s mouth dropped open, and Laurie knew she’d pushed it too far. Damn. She was so tired of tiptoeing around her parents’ broken relationship. And the very last thing she wanted in life was to become her mother. But Brandon had certainly given her a gigantic push in that direction.
The Washington, D.C., office of Wilson Kavanaugh, LLC, occupied space on the thirteenth floor of a new office building at the corner of Connecticut Avenue and K Street. The reception area was paved in marble and paneled in European beech. The partner offices were light and airy, the corridors wide and spacious, the carpets thick and neutral-toned.
The opulence ended when it came to the associate offices, all of which sat in the interior of the suite, without windows except for glass walls open to the common area where the administrative staff labored.
On Monday morning, Andrew found himself at his desk sipping the day’s second cup of coffee when Noah darkened his door. “Andrew, I need your help,” Noah said as he stepped into the office and closed the door behind him.