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woodland violets to a rain forest of exotic orchids and whatever else is in there. Gotta say, Emma’s done the amazing again.”
She didn’t know what to think about Malcolm and orchids, and didn’t have time in any case. Herding included making certain the guests worked their way out of the house instead of wandering through it, and giving the bride and groom her attention until they were safely in their limo and driving away.
When they were gone, she let out one satisfied breath.
“Nice job.”
And whirled around to see Malcolm in the doorway holding a plate.
“It was, but it’s only half the job today.”
“So I’m told. Here.”
She frowned at the plate he held out.“I don’t want that. I don’t have time for that.”
“I’m just the messenger. Mrs. Grady sent it, and according to the rules of Mrs. G, as messenger I’m required to tell you to sit down for five minutes, eat. She made me promise to report back to her either way.” He cocked his head. “I don’t know about you, but I’m not bucking her.”
“Fine.” She took the plate holding some sort of cold pasta and vegetable medley, sat on one of the portico benches, and ate.
Malcolm pulled a small bottle of water out of his pocket, offered it.
“Thanks.You picked a bad day to drop by and hook up with Del or Jack or Carter. Saturdays are routinely our busiest, and we’ve called all hands on deck.”
“I didn’t come by to hook up.” He dropped onto the bench beside her. “I came to collect my hundred from Jack, and to see you.”
“I’m too busy to be seen.”
“I’m seeing you now.”
“We appreciate you pitching in, but you don’t have to—”
“No problem. I got food, beer, and some damn good cake out of it. Did you get any of that—the cake?”
“No, I haven’t—”
“Had time,” he finished and smiled at her. “I hear there’s a big fancy dinner and more cake on tap later. Hauling flowers and chairs and whatever around for that seems like a good trade.”
She stabbed more pasta. She noted he’d shaved that morning and his jeans were free of holes and grease stains. Despite the chill, he wore only a black tee.
“Your garage is open on Saturdays.Why aren’t you working?”
“I worked till one.” He leaned back, closed his eyes. “Put in a long one last night.”
“What’s a long one?”
“Till about two. Kid banged up the grill, cracked a headlight on his daddy’s Jag, which I cleverly deduced he wasn’t supposed to drive while said daddy was away with his girlfriend.The kid was desperate to get it fixed before the old man got back and before the household staff noticed and narced on him. Paid me to expedite the parts and labor.”
“That’s deceitful.”
He opened his eyes.“He’s not my kid, so that’s not my business. If it were my business, I’d probably say if the old man paid as much attention to the kid as he does to the girlfriend, the kid wouldn’t have taken the Jag out in the first place. Hell of a ride, anyway.”
“He may be an exceptional father just taking a couple of days for himself.”
“The kid’s mother is on a year’s sojourn—that’s the word the kid used—in Tibet where she’s exploring her spiritual self or whatever the fuck, to revisit her truth after divorce three. So he’s dumped on the father who leaves him with a house full of paid staff while he pursues his work and his women. Being rich doesn’t make you a selfish bastard,” he added, “it just makes you a hell of a lot more comfortable when you already are.”
Sympathy warmed her eyes, her voice. “You’re talking about Chad Warwick.”
“Yeah, that’s the kid.You know him?”
“I know the family, though that’s not an accurate term for the situation. I heard Bitsy was going to Tibet. Also heard that she’s spent the last couple of months on her spiritual sojourn on the C?te d’Azur.”
“Nice.”
“No, it’s really not. Poor boy.” She rose, held out the plate. “You can report back to the general, and take proof that I followed orders.”
He got to his feet, took the plate. Held her gaze as the light breeze ruffled his already ruffled hair. “I’ll be staying for the next round.”
“That’s up to you.”
Now he reached around, closed his hand over her ponytail. “I got my hundred, so the rest of it’s about seeing you.” He leaned down, took her mouth—hard, hot, fast. “So, I’ll be seeing you.”
When he strolled out of sight, Parker told herself she could spare thirty seconds to sit down, to get her legs back under her.
Since it took twice that, she had to sprint up the stairs to check on the suites, and stay on schedule.
CHAPTER NINE
AS EXPECTED, THE EVENING EVENT ENTAILED PROBLEMS, MINI crises, and personal conflicts Parker outmaneuvered, solved, or tamped down.
She solved the potential combat between the feuding MOB and GMOB by taking each on separate tours of the facilities while the other got her face time with the bride.
And firmly played Switzerland when each woman listed the faults and failings of the other.
She managed to keep the groom’s good friend occupied, and segregated from any areas his ex-wife, the bride’s sister, might pass through.
While personalities and defusing human time bombs ate up most of her time and energies, she passed what she thought of as guard duty on to Mac or Laurel long enough to run personal checks on the setup.
Step-by-step, she glimpsed Emma transforming forest and meadow into an elegant and elaborate feast for the eyes while Laurel added finishing touches on a five-layer cake as spectacular as a white diamond.
In the Bride’s Suite, Mac documented another transformation—one of woman to bride, capturing the moment of pride and pleasure when their client stood in her glimmering white gown, sparkling with silver beads on the strapless bodice.
Parker watched the bride sweep back her elaborate skirt so her mother—obviously too overcome to think of feuds—could fasten the icy fire of diamonds around her daughter’s neck.
“Something old,” the mother murmured.
Parker knew Mac would capture that iced fire, the lovely lines of the bride’s shoulders, the sweep of the dress—but the moment and the photo would also illuminate the emotion between mother and daughter as they smiled into each other’s damp eyes.
“Baby, you look like something out of a dream.”
“I feel . . . God, I—Mom. I didn’t expect to get all choked up.”
Parker handed her a tissue.
“You were right, Parker,” the bride added as she carefully dabbed the corners of her eyes. “About not wearing a veil.” She touched a hand to the simple band sparkling in her dark, upswept hair. “About keeping the headpiece understated.”
“You couldn’t look more perfect, Alysa,” Parker told her. “Unless . . .”
As Emma was still completing the Ballroom, Parker took the bridal bouquet from its box, offered it to the MOB. “One last lovely detail.”
With the trail of silver-edged orchids accented by clear beads in her hand, the bride turned to the cheval glass once again. “Oh. Oh. Now I—I guess I feel like something out of a dream.”
The MOB laid her hand on Parker’s arm, sighed.
And that, Parker thought, was the best acknowledgment of a job—so far—well done.
She heard the squeal—young, happy, not distressed—but hurried to the other side of the room as Mal, his arms full of flower girl, opened the door.
“Excuse me, ladies, but I found this fairy princess. Is this the entrance to the castle?”
“It certainly is.” Parker started to reach out for the girl when a woman called out, and headed toward them, the other two flower girls on each hip.
“Leah! I’m sorry, so sorry. She got away from me, and I couldn’t catch up with her with the other two.”
“No problem.”
r /> “They’re ready for pictures,” Parker said. “So you can take them right in to Mac. I’ll give you a hand.”
She took the unrepentant Leah. “Thanks,” she said to Mal before carrying the little girl away.
“Bye, Mal! Bye!” Leah called over her shoulder, and Parker’s lips twitched in amusement as the girl added noisy blown kisses to the farewell.
When she came back, she found Mal helping himself to the cheese tray.
“Good stuff,” he commented.
“Protein helps keep the energy up.”
“Okay.” He spread some Port Salut on a cracker. “Have some energy.”
It couldn’t hurt, she decided, and accepted. “Where did you find Leah?”
“The kid? Right out in the hall, dancing. Doing, you know. . .” He twirled a finger in the air. “She’s all about her getup. I’d just taken the—what is it, FOG?—or maybe it was the other, the FOB—a shot of Jack Black, so she couldn’t have been out there long.”
“We appreciate the help.”
He smiled. “Show me.”
