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Oh, let the back-peddling commence!
But it was too late. Mirabeth had already whipped out her iPad from her Birkin bag, flipped back the Tiffany & Co. cover and brought up her checklist for the party arrangements.
“Jude,” she happily said as she tapped in the name. Then glanced at Kate, her sculpted brows arching further, an implied poke in the ribs.
Kate could have died. Right there on the spot. In the middle of Sunday champagne at The fucking Plaza.
“I need his last name for the program, Kathryn,” Mirabeth sing-songed. “The place card will simply say, Jude and Kathryn. My, gosh, doesn’t that have a nice ring to it?”
“Much better on a finger,” Tulia Evers retorted with a coy look.
“Well, of course!” Mirabeth concurred.
There was a scream starting at the back of Kate’s brain. She tamped it down.
“Come on, Kathryn,” Mirabeth urged. “Spill!”
“McMillan,” she reticently—agonizingly—announced. “My date’s name is Jude McMillan. He’s an attorney.”
And I am a colossal idiot!
The girls broke out in delighted squeals and went absolutely nuts over having finally pried a personal tidbit from the lips of Dr. Kathryn Stockman.
Her gaze slid to Charlotte. Who joyfully mouthed, “Lovely, Kathryn.”
Kate stared in horror at the fuss being made on her behalf.
Holy hell.
What had she done?
When the din eventually ebbed, with Kate skirting every question about her and her “date”—deflecting by expertly steering the conversation back to the bride-to-be—she hastily made her excuses and slipped from the circle of socialites. She rushed through the lobby of the hotel, her high heels clicking on the marble floor. Echoing her agitation.
It wasn’t like Kate to just blurt things. Though…no, she hadn’t technically blurted Jude’s name.
Literally, it’d just tumbled from her lips.
At the most inopportune time. Damn it! She couldn’t stop thinking about Jude’s close proximity and the fact she’d wanted him to kiss her when he’d had her in a near-compromising position.
This was what had come of his aggressive advancement on her. Followed by Kate’s inability to now stave off all those sexy thoughts she’d kept a lid on for years.
This really was a nightmare of epic prop
ortions.
But she would put everything back into perspective.
She could handle this.
Breathe.
Just breathe.
A valet hailed a cab for her and Kate slid into the backseat. With slightly trembling fingers, she pulled her phone from her slim purse.
Kate had two choices. Call Charlotte and tell her she’d just received a message from Jude, claiming his plans had unexpectedly changed and he needed to cancel on her.
A plausible, stable Option A.
