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“Okay.” Laurel laid down her brush and turned. “Now, the question would be why.”
Mac started to speak, found her throat snapped shut. The sudden barrier had her eyes filling. She could only shake her head as tears spilled over.
“Okay, okay.” Laurel crossed over, folded Mac into a hug. “It’s going to be all right. Come on. Sit down.”
“You have five hundred chocolate hearts to monogram.”
“It’s probably more like four hundred and ninety-five at this point.”
“Oh, God, Laurel, I’m so stupid!”
“Yeah, you are.”
Quickly, efficiently, Laurel had Mac sitting at the counter with a box of tissues and a small plate of as yet unadorned chocolate hearts.
“I can’t take your candy.”
“It tastes a lot better than crow, and I’ve got plenty.”
Sniffling, Mac took one. “You make the best.”
“Godiva should tremble in its boots. What happened, honey? Was it your mother? Light went on,” she added when Mac didn’t speak. “Right after you did the outraged stalk.”
“Why can’t I suck it up, Laurel?”
“Because she knows every button to push when it comes to you. And no matter how much you suck up, she’s got more.”
It was, Mac had to admit, the heart of the target. “It’s never going to change.”
“She’s never going to change.”
“Meaning that’s on me.” Mac took another bite of chocolate. “I know it. I do. I said no. I said no, and I meant no, and I would’ve kept saying it even if Del hadn’t taken the phone and hung up on her.”
In the act of getting down a glass, Laurel glanced back. “Del was there?”
“Yeah, he came by to tease me about Carter—which is a whole other area of what the hell am I doing—and she called from Florida wanting another couple thousand so she could stay another week and finish her recovery.”
“I’ll give Del credit for hanging up on her, but he should’ve come back here to tell us.”
“I asked him not to.”
“So what?” Laurel demanded. “If he had any sense, he’d have done what you needed not what you asked. Then you wouldn’t have wallowed all night and woken up the bitch.”
She set a glass of ice water beside the chocolate. “Drink that. You’re probably dehydrated. How many times did she call after Del left you alone?”
“It’s not his fault. Twice. I didn’t answer.” Mac heaved a sigh. “I’m really sorry I took it out on you.”
“What are friends for?”
“Let’s hope Parker sees it that way. Can I take these up, to sort of sweeten the deal?”
Laurel chose two white chocolate hearts from her supply. “She’s no match for the white chocolate, and you might need the edge. Me, you just pissed off. Easy to get over it. You hurt her feelings.”
“Oh, God.”
“I figure it’s better you know that going in. She’s pissed, too, but it’s the hurt feelings you’ll need to get down to.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
Knowing Parker, and she did, Mac went directly to the conference room. The
incident had occurred there, so Parker-logic dictated its follow-up would take place in the same venue.
As she’d expected, Parker sat at the table working with her Crack—her BlackBerry. The fire had calmed to a cozy simmer, and the coffee had been replaced with the bottle of water Parker was rarely without. Her laptop sat open and beside it rested a tidy stack of files and printouts.
Parker was never anything but
prepared.
As Mac came in, Parker set the BlackBerry aside. Her face was cool and blank. Her business-to-attend-to face, Mac knew.
“Don’t say anything. Please. I come bearing chocolate and every possible variety of apology. You can have as many of them as you want—the chocolate and the apologies. My behavior was ass-hatty in the extreme. Everything I said was from the box of stupid I brought in with me. Since I can’t take it back, you have to forgive me. You don’t have a choice.”
She set the plate down. “There’s white chocolate.”
“So I see.” Silently, Parker studied her friend’s face. Even if she hadn’t known Mac nearly all of her life, she’d have seen the signs of a recent crying jag.
“You’re just going to come in here and say you’re sorry after I did all this work so we could fight it out and I could make you crawl?”
“Yes.”
Considering, Parker picked up a white chocolate heart. “I assume you’ve already been through this with Laurel.”
“Yes. Hence the chocolate. I blubbered all over her. I got most of it out, but if you don’t eat that so I know we’re okay, I’m going to start up again. It’s like a symbol. Men shake hands after they beat each other up. We eat chocolate.”
With her eyes on Mac, Parker bit into the heart.
“Thanks, Parker.” Mac dropped into a chair. “I feel like such an idiot.”
“That helps. Let’s just clear the air. If you’ve got a problem with how I’m managing Vows, we have to be able to discuss it, one-on-one or as a group.”
“I don’t. Parks, how could I? How could any of us? Sure the repetition gets old sometimes, but we all know the reason for it. Just like we all know that you hammering out and handling a zillion details frees the rest of us up to focus on our specific parts of the whole. I can do what I do—and the same for Em and Laurel—because you think about everything else. Including thinking about everything the rest of us do so we can all kick wedding ass.”
“I didn’t bring it up so you could stroke my ego.” Parker took another bite of chocolate. “But do go on.”
And we’re back, Mac thought with a laugh. “It’s a fact. You’re anal, obsessive, and a little bit scary with the memory you have for minutiae. And it’s a fact that’s a big part of the reason we kick that ass. I don’t want to do what you do, Parks. None of us do. And because I opened the box of stupid and put my ass hat on, I hit you where I knew it would hurt most.”
Mac glanced at the files. “You put reports together, didn’t you? Documentation, cost analyses and other really mean stuff.”
“I was prepared to squash you like a bug.”
Mac nodded, chose a dark chocolate heart. “Eating candy’s better.”
“It really is.”
“So . . . how did the tour go?”
“They brought their mothers, and an aunt. And a toddler.”
“A toddler?”
“The aunt’s granddaughter. She was cute—and really, really fast on her feet. They toured Felfoot Manor yesterday, and the Swan Resort last week.”
“Hitting the big ones. How’d we measure up?”
“They want a Saturday in April of next year. An entire Saturday.”
“We got it? On a tour and a pitch? A double booking?”
“No booty dance yet.” Parker lifted her water bottle and sipped. “MOB—the one with the gorgeous Prada bag on her arm with the checkbook inside it—wants to meet with all of us. Full consult before commitment. She’s got ideas.”
“Oh-oh.”
“No, she’s got
ideas, the sort that would make this a major event. The kind of event that generates serious attention. Father of the bride is Wyatt Seaman, of Seaman Furniture.”
“The ‘We make your house your home’ Seaman Furniture?”
“The same, and his wife has deemed us potentially worthy. Not capital
W worthy, yet. But we’re going to give her the presentation to end all presentations.”
Challenge lit Parker’s face, fired in her eyes. “After which, she’ll be taking her checkbook out of that gorgeous Prada bag and giving us a deposit that’ll have our hearts singing hallelujahs.”
“Then we dance.”
“Then we dance.”
“When’s the presentation?”
“A week from today. You’ll need new packages. We want it very fresh. They took a look at E
mma’s space, and she did a quick pitch. Since you were wearing the ass hat, I steered them clear of the studio.”
“Very wise.”
“But we had your samples here, so we could give her the feel. Next Monday, we’ll want to highlight every shot you’ve had in a magazine. And . . . you know exactly what to do.”
“And I’ll do it.”
Parker pushed over a file. “Here’s a rundown of who we’ll be dealing with. I did some Googling. And here’s bullet points and the latest schedules for the three upcomings.”
“I’ll cram.”
“Do that.” Parker passed Mac a bottle of water. “Now tell me what happened.”
“Just Lindaitis, again. Fever’s broke, and I’m fine.”
“She couldn’t have wanted money. You just . . .” Parker trailed off as she read Mac’s expression.
“Already?”
“I said no—repeatedly. Then Del hung up on her.”
