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His mouth flooded with moisture as they locked eyes with each other. His hands tingled. Her lips parted slightly. Lance wouldn’t stare at her lips. Instead, he moved his arm from her chair. He then clasped his hands on the table.
June Myers returned to the room. “I hope you can forgive my absence. I had to make an emergency phone call about this wedding.”
“To whom? I’m right here.” Lance cocked his head to the side.
“Your mother,” June said. “She hired me to do a job and I will follow her instructions to the letter. Besides, it’ll save you the trouble and you can focus on your work.” She folded her hands in front of her, staring at him as if she’d won.
Lance’s eyes diverted back and forth between June and Chantelle. What about his opinion? What about Andrea’s?
When would it end? He grew tired of his mother taking over. This was between him and Andrea. Over the years he tried to break free from the hold his parents had, but Lance never succeeded. His stomach hardened. A grown man,
but bound.
“You’re right, Ms. Myers,” he said. “I appreciate the time and effort you’re putting into making my day with Andrea a success.”
She clapped her hands. “I’m glad you agree, Mr. Taylor. Now, in terms of the venue, I was thinking—”
“You’re fired.” He stood from his seat, hearing it scrape against the hardwood floors.
“Excuse me!” June’s mouth dropped.
“You’re fired.” Lance didn’t blink. “You’ll be compensated for any purchases you’ve already made, but I’ll no longer need your services.” He looked down at Chantelle, whose eyes bugged. “Are you ready to go?”
She nodded.
Lance took her hand and together they walked to the door.
“What about the smothered steaks?” June called out. “Fish? You can’t do this! Don’t you know who I am?”
Lance chuckled as he and Chantelle marched down the hall. She looped her arm through his.
“Am I allowed to print this? Or is this considered private?” She asked with a grin.
“I’ll think about it. June may not want that in the papers that she tries to take over her clients’ weddings. Are you hungry?”
“Why? You want smothered steaks?” She joked.
“Not a terrible idea. Are you free for dinner tonight?” He escorted her to her car.
Chantelle unhooked her arm from his. “For another interview?”
“Think of it as an exclusive.”
“And you’re cooking?” She grinned.
“I can cook. Don’t forget the dinner I made for your birthday.”
“Yes, and afterwards I was in the hospital with food poisoning.”
“I cooked the chicken right.” Was dinner even a good idea?
Chantelle tapped her lips with her fingers, but her smile gave her away. “Okay. What time?”
“Seven.”
“That’s a time for a date.”
He tilted his head to the side, loving her teasing. “Six-thirty.”
