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Marlon Sheffield lived only five miles away, so she pulled into his drive a handful of minutes later. Though he was an aging widower, Sheffield remained tight with Dallas politicians. Money and power won him many a congressman’s ear. So when he threw a party, he demanded the best.
Fully prepared to deliver just that, Jo Ellen pulled around to the back of his mansion and into the servants’ parking lot, where the caterer’s van sat with its back double doors hanging open. Slipping into business mode, she began issuing instructions, answering questions, and fixing slip-ups as soon as she stepped out of her car.
Six hours later, she had moved from working behind the scenes to standing in the front parlor and greeting guests who paraded through the main entrance. Cheeks already cramping from the constant smile she bestowed upon each person she greeted, she took a deep breath, working her lips in a quick exercise as the doorbell rang yet again. Stalling to straighten the dress she’d changed into before she opened the door, she wiggled her feet in her high heels, wishing they weren’t so new and had been properly broken in. Beginning to melt a bit from the constant exposure to the outside temperatures, she smoothed her hand over her stomach when it gurgled.
She should’ve paused for a snack before she started the hosting portion of the evening, but it was too late for regrets now.
Pasting a pleasant and greeting smile on her face, she opened the door for the next guest, bracing for the blast of warmth from the one-hundred-and-three-degree heat.
“Welcome,” she started to launch into her typical greeting. But then the new arrival lifted his face, and the rest of her greeting strangled in her throat. Her smile froze, as did the rest of her body. Her startled heart dang near skipped a beat.
She hadn’t seen Travis Untermeyer for a full decade. The years had treated him so-so. He wasn’t as slim as he’d been in high school, but he remained reasonably attractive, though his hair had started to thin a little—okay, a lot—up top. All in all, his face was still as young and vibrant as the last time she’d seen him through tear-soaked lashes.
He was exactly not what she wanted to see this evening, or for the rest of her life, really. With her ten-year class reunion approaching, too many memories from the past had already started to haunt her lately, invading her dreams, stealing into her stray thoughts. Running into her ex-boyfriend from that awful era was only going to make the memories worse.
He jolted to a halt when he saw her and blinked a dozen times before saying, “J-Jo Ellen?”
She swallowed, gathering her defenses in around her.
Fortunately, her name spoken from a voice that didn’t sound like the boy she once knew jarred her back to herself. Snapping into hostess mode, she held out a hand—that didn’t tremble, thank goodness—and blasted him with a gracious smile. “Mr. Untermeyer. What a surprise. I had no idea you would be here this evening. Do come in. Can I get you anything to drink? With the heat wave, you must be parched.” As she recalled, he was particularly fond of sweet tea…not that she would mention anything to do with what she remembered about him.
Looking completely bewildered by her rambling welcome, he slowly took her hand. “N-no. No, thank you.” His grasp was warm, soft, and slightly damp; definitely a politician’s handshake.
“Everyone else has gathered in the parlor. Let me show you the way.” She took his elbow to lead him from the entry, noticing he smelled the same, Old Spice and hair gel. She held her breath so the nostalgic noxious fumes couldn’t knock her unconscious.
Before she could drag—er, escort—him too far, he reared back, tugging her away from the arched opening of the parlor.
“Jo Ellen. My God. What’re you doing here?”
Exactly the question she’d wanted to ask him. It had been her job to send out all the invitations and his name had not been on the guest list. But she couldn’t be vulgar and openly charge him with party crashing. Sheffield could’ve extended him a last-minute verbal invite…without telling her.
It was probably best he hadn’t been on the list, anyway; she wasn’t sure how she would’ve braced herself for this moment.
The last time she’d seen Travis, he’d just broken up with her in the hallway of Tommy Creek’s high school. The next week, her parents had carted her off to Reno. Though she and Emma Leigh had returned for holidays and vacations, she hadn’t left the house much during her brief trips home, cocooning herself inside her old bedroom, trying to mentally and physically recover from her miscarriage, and pretty much stay away from everything she’d left behind.
After graduating, she’d moved to College Station where she’d attended Texas A & M. After that, she’d gone back to Tommy Creek only for short visits on special occasions, and she never left her parent’s farm when she did.
She’d made it a point not to keep in contact with old classmates…especially the ones who’d broken her heart. She’d done so many stupid things in her youth, made so many stupid decisions; she honestly didn’t want a reminder of any of it.
Yet, here stood one of the biggest, staring at her expectantly, waiting for an answer.
She shook herself back to the present. “I’m hosting Mr. Sheffield’s party. I doubt you’re aware of it, but I’ve started a hosting service to—”
“Actually, I have heard of it,” Travis said. “The rent-a-hostess is making a huge splash through the society circles. But I had no idea that was you.”
Even though he called her tireless occupation the exact term it was, she found it to be demeaning to the profession she’d been working eighty-hours a week for the past three years to perfect when coming from him. Still, she displayed a tight-lipped smile and nodded graciously. “Tell me. How have you been? When did you come to Dallas?”
As he had ten years ago, Travis eagerly gushed about himself. “I’m in the mayor’s office as part of the campaign planning staff. There are a couple of strong challengers looking to unseat the incumbent in the next election. We’ve been working around the clock to come up with a new platform.”
Pretending interest, Jo Ellen lifted her eyebrows. “Really? You’re planning for the next election already? How dedicated y’all must be.”
“Oh, we start getting ready for the next election as soon as the votes are cast from the last.”
“My goodness. I had no idea so much work went into such things. Sounds like you have a very important job.”
Instead of continuing his spiel, Travis frowned as if he thought she sounded as fake as she was pretending to be. “Jo Ellen, I know things weren’t great between us the last time we saw each other, but you’re treating me like a stranger.”
Weren’t great?
