The Wedding Planner

Taking a seat on the love seat, she kicked off her high heels and wiggled her toes, emitting a sigh of relief, and wondered again for the hundredth time why she insisted on torturing herself for the sake of fashion. She should have followed the lead of that actress who wore tennis shoes with her business and evening attire.

“Fran Weaver and her daughter came in for a fitting of Heather’s wedding gown,” Meredith finally explained. “They got into a huge argument about the headpiece.” She screwed up her face in disgust as she recalled the unpleasant incident. “I thought at one point they might actually come to blows. Heather was totally exasperated at her mother’s insistence that she wear a rhinestone tiara instead of a traditional tulle veil.” Fortunately, Meredith had managed to convince Fran that the tiara would not be appropriate with Heather’s dotted-swiss gown. But only after Heather had burst into tears and locked herself in the dressing room.

“Frances always was one to put on airs,” the older woman said, her tone clearly disapproving as she brushed graying wisps of hair from her ashen cheeks.

Frances Weaver had been one of Louise’s cleaning customers after Henry Baxter’s death had left his wife and daughter almost destitute. Though she’d worked hard to provide for Meredith, Louise had felt shame at having to clean the toilets of women who had once been her friends.

“What else happened today?” Her mother enjoyed listening to the day’s events, eagerly awaiting even the smallest tidbit of gossip. Meredith tried to provide a steady stream of news to take Louise’s mind off her illness and the loneliness that resulted from residing in the nursing home.

“Randall got an A on his criminal law test.”

Louise’s smile couldn’t have been prouder had she been the law student’s mother. “I know. He came by to visit earlier and brought me a half-dozen chocolate chip cookies. Wasn’t that sweet? He’s such a nice boy.”

Meredith knew what to expect next, and she braced herself for it. Her mom made the same speech at least once a week. “I don’t know why you don’t think about dating him, Merry. A girl could do a lot worse.”

Knowing Randall’s dating preferences ran in a different direction from her own, Meredith smiled patiently at the suggestion. “We’re just friends, Mom. I’ve told you that before.”

“I want to see you married and settled before I die, honey. I don’t want to go to my grave knowing you’ll be left all alone.”

“Now, Mom, you know I’m not going to let you die, so you needn’t worry about that,” Meredith said, wishing she really had that kind of divine power. At this point she’d settle for a magic wand—one she could wave and, with a flick of her wrist, cure her mother’s heart ailment, find herself a Prince Charming and locate Adam Morgan a bride, so she could get the annoying man out of her hair.

“I’ll get married in my own good time, and you’ll be around to spoil the heck out of your grandchildren.”

At her mother’s sharp gasp, Meredith followed her gaze to the small television set suspended from a ceiling bracket in the far corner of the room. Adam was being interviewed on a segment of the local news about his plan to wed.

A handsomer man did not exist on the face of the planet, Meredith was sure of it, and she tried to ignore how the sound of his deep voice had the power to send tingles up and down her spine.

“What on earth is that odious man up to now?” Louise asked, not bothering to hide her dislike.

She fought the urge to groan. Her mother blamed the Morgans for her husband’s death due to black lung disease, a condition he’d developed while working in the Morgan coal mines. Meredith had hoped to postpone the discussion of her newest client until she could figure out a way to break the news gently to her mother. Only now that wouldn’t be possible.

“Isn’t it a bit unorthodox to plan a wedding without a bride, Mr. Morgan?” Bill Simmons of WNPB News asked.

“A wedding? He’s getting married?” Shaking her head in disbelief, Louise added, “Who would marry such a man? The poor woman must really be hard up.”

“Uh, Mom, there’s something we need to talk about—” But before Meredith could elaborate, Adam Morgan took the words right out of her mouth.

“I’ve hired Best Laid Plans to organize everything, from the bridal selection to the reception. Together we’re planning a big event to mark my departure from bachelorhood to happily married man.”

Adam was smooth, she’d give him that. She only wished she had his facility with words, especially now, since her mother was staring at her as if she were Judas Iscariot in the flesh.

“How could you, Meredith? You know how I feel about the Morgans. They killed your father—they ruined our lives.”

Louise Baxter’s face was unnaturally flushed, and Meredith knew that any kind of excitement or stress wasn’t good for her. “I was hoping to prepare you, Mom. I didn’t know Morgan would be interviewed so quickly.” She crossed to the bed, plumping the foam pillows behind the ailing woman’s back. “Now take a deep breath and calm down, or I’ll ring for the nurse to give you a sedative.”

Despite the obstinate set to her chin, Louise did as instructed, much to Meredith’s relief. “I don’t understand any of this, Merry.”

“It’s just business, Mom. I needed the money that Morgan was willing to pay. I’ve got inventory to purchase, payroll to make, and Adam Morgan’s offer was too good to refuse. After all, I do plan weddings for a living, and he is getting married.”

“Rich people always get what they want.”

“He doesn’t seem like a bad guy. A little nutty perhaps, but not altogether bad. Morgan needs to marry quickly in order to gain custody of his niece and nephew.

“You remember how brutally his sister was murdered, leaving those two kids at the mercy of their deranged father?” Louise tsked loudly, indicating she did. “Well, Adam Morgan is planning to adopt them and provide a stable home.” How stable, Meredith couldn’t be certain. After all, they’d be living with him. And he wasn’t exactly what she would call sane by normal definitions.

“Allistair Morgan was scum. I’m sure his son is the same. Blood always tells.”

Louise had more to say, but one of the nurses came in just then with her dinner, and Meredith was provided a reprieve, which she took without hesitation.

Kissing her mother goodbye, she said, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mom. I’ve got to get home and fix dinner for myself, let Harrison out before he pees on the floor.” Harrison, her golden retriever, was named after Harrison Ford because he was so darn cute, and because Meredith had had a huge crush on the actor ever since Han Solo had piloted his way into her impressionable young heart.

“You be careful, Merry. And get all of your money in advance. Don’t trust Adam Morgan.”

Assuring her mother that she would only trust the man as far as she could spit, which wasn’t all that far—she knew that, because she and her next door neighbor Ricky Trumble used to have spitting contests when they were kids—Meredith hurried out the door and headed for home.

PULLING INTO HER GRAVEL driveway ten minutes later, Meredith set the brake on the red Mitsubishi Eclipse and gathered up her things.

The amber light from the front porch lamp illuminated Peter Webber’s handsome face. He was sitting on the brick steps blocking her door, holding a huge paper bag on his lap that smelled suspiciously like Chinese food the closer she approached. Her stomach, apparently forgetting the wonderful lunch she’d shared with the Morgans only hours before, roared appreciatively in response.

“Hi, Meredith. Hope you don’t mind me darkening your doorstep without calling, but I neglected to get your business card before I left Adam’s, and I didn’t have your home phone number.”

“If that’s Chinese food, and if you’ve brought enough to share, then you’re forgiven.” Unlocking the door, she invited him in, and they were immediately assaulted by Harrison, who was as eager to greet them as he was to rush out the door to take care of pressing matters.

“Did you see Adam’s interview?” He unloaded the small white cartons of delicious-smelling food onto the green-lacquered table in her kitchen. Like the rest of the house, the room was cozy, which was Meredith’s euphemistic way of saying microscopic.

“It was a last-minute thing, so I went ahead without consulting you. Hope that was all right.”

She waved away the objection and got down a couple of plates from the cupboard, fishing in the drawer for silverware and hoping to find forks that weren’t horribly mismatched. Her housewares, like her furniture, were what Meredith referred to as eclectic, which sounded so much nicer than mishmash or garage-sale specials.

“I’m only involved in this media blitz because Adam wanted me to be. I’m not comfortable in the spotlight.”

Peter seemed surprised. “As pretty as you are? I find that hard to believe.”

The unexpected compliment took her off guard, and she smiled with a great deal of uncertainty. “Give me five minutes and you’ll see just how hideous I really am.”

Hurrying into her bedroom, Meredith tore off the uncomfortable suit and pantyhose and slipped on a pair of faded red sweats that had seen better days. Stuffing her aching feet into furry slippers that resembled white bunny rabbits whose whiskers moved when she did, she thought about removing her makeup, but decided against it. The poor man wasn’t ready for such a shock before dinner.

Meredith emerged to find that the attorney had let the dog back inside and was now lying supine on the living room floor, trying to get the one-hundred-fifty-pound canine off his chest.

Harrison considered anything on the floor fair game, including, and most especially, people. “Harrison, leave Peter alone. It’s time for dinner. Now go to your blanket. Shoo!”

The dog obeyed, but not before getting in one last swipe of his tongue down Peter’s face. The attorney laughed, mopping up Harrison’s exuberance with what used to be a clean white hankie. “Guess my idea of playing and your dog’s are two different things. I’ve never been much good at wrestling. Is he always this friendly?”

She shook her head. “No, not always. He’s very protective when the need arises, but he likes most people, especially when he finds one brave enough to crawl around on the floor with him.”

Peter took a seat at the table situated near the window and began serving himself out of the cardboard containers. “Your attempt to make yourself ugly didn’t work,” he remarked, his grin teasing.

Meredith choked on her eggroll and reached for the glass of iced tea next to her plate. She liked Peter, hoped they would be friends, but that instant sexual attraction required for any good relationship was missing between them, unlike the spark that had ignited when Adam Morgan first stepped into her life.

Just her luck to be attracted to a nerdy businessman instead of a suave, handsome attorney.

“I bet you say that to all the ugly girls,” she quipped. “Now pass the sesame chicken and tell me what evil media things you’ve conjured up for our prospective bridegroom.”

WHILE MEREDITH AND PETER consumed gargantuan proportions of moo shoo pork, fried rice and steamed dumplings, the prospective bridegroom was having a difficult time concentrating on the paperwork in front of him.

As he mulled over P & Ls and production-cost analyses, Adam kept seeing Meredith’s face, her incredibly long legs, her firm, lush breasts…

“Damn!” he cursed, his erotic musings having had the predictable effect. Moving restlessly to the window, he gazed out.

The moon was full, the stars shining brightly in a sky as black as his mood at the moment. Adam hated distractions, and Meredith Baxter was proving to be a very big distraction, if the pressure in his groin was any indication.

Perhaps if I call her… He glanced at his watch: seven-thirty. She’d be at home at this time of evening and would no doubt welcome a chance to discuss all those annoying, trivial wedding details that women were so fond of agonizing over.

What nonsense is this? Gazing longingly at the crystal decanter of brandy on the credenza behind his desk, he decided that liquor could eliminate the restlessness he was feeling far better than talking to an opinionated woman, who would no doubt ramble on about petits fours and champagne fountains and whatever else was found at wedding receptions. He hadn’t a clue.

The brandy burned like liquid fire as it made its way down, but it didn’t obliterate the memory of the smile on Meredith’s face when she teased him about marrying a chimpanzee, or the genuine affection in her green eyes when she told those stupid jokes to his niece and nephew about embarrassed zebras and black-and-white newspapers. She’d left out the one about the nun rolling down the hill.

He smiled as he recalled Andrew and Megan’s joyful laughter. The children hadn’t had much to laugh about lately, what with their mother’s death, and having to adjust to a new school and surroundings. But Meredith had managed to lighten their spirits, and had made them forget the ugliness of their situation, if only for a little while. Something he’d been unable to do.

He’d tried, of course. He truly loved Megan and Andrew. But he was out of his element when it came to children, schoolwork and the multitude of everyday problems kids seemed to have.

But he wouldn’t admit his shortcomings to anyone, because if the courts knew how totally inept he was at being a parent, they would remove Megan and Andrew from his care, and no amount of money he could offer would make any difference at that point. If it hadn’t been for Peter’s persuasive argument with the court and the people at social services, Megan and Andrew would already be living in a foster home.

Over my dead body!

Deciding that his thoughts were becoming a little too maudlin, he put down the brandy and picked up the phone, dialing Meredith’s home number before he could change his mind.

She answered on the third ring, and his heart gave a little zing when he heard her voice. There was laughter in the background—a man’s laughter—and the sound of it knotted his gut.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had company.”

“Mr. Morgan, is that you?” Meredith seemed genuinely surprised to hear from him. He felt like an ass.

“I’ll call back tomorrow.”

“No need. It’s just Peter. He brought over Chinese and we’ve been going over the media campaign. We’ve come up with some wonderful ideas I think you’re going to—”

“Peter Webber is at your house eating dinner?” he interrupted, and the vein in his temple started throbbing.

“Why, yes.” He could hear the smile in her voice, which made him even madder. “Would you like to speak to him?”

Webb was the last person he wanted to talk to, especially now that he knew his so-called best friend hadn’t wasted any time putting the moves on the wedding planner he’d hired. “No. I don’t need to talk to Peter.”

“Oh? Was there something else you needed?”

A gross misunderstatement, if ever he heard one. “I was just calling to—” What? Hear the sound of your voice? Talk you into going to bed with me? “Get your reaction on the interview I did today. I thought it went well. Did you see it?”

“Yes. I was at the nursing home visiting my mother when it aired. I thought you did very well.”

“I hear chimpanzees from all over the country are calling the station at this very moment trying to get a date with me.” His attempt at humor was met with momentary silence, then she finally laughed, and Adam released the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

She laughed! Adam’s forehead broke out in a cold sweat. He’d never felt such relief, not even when Fergus Industries’ bid to take over his corporation had failed last year.

“Did you make a joke, Mr. Morgan?” The teasing note in her voice was unmistakable. “I’m impressed. There’s hope for you yet.”

“I have my moments.”

“Mmm.”

The X-rated murmur went straight to Adam’s lap, but was quickly dispelled when she giggled and said, “Harrison, stop that! You’re tickling my ear.”

Harrison? Who the hell was Harrison? Was the woman having a party? First Peter, now Harrison. How many men were at her house? He felt annoyed, left out, and wished he’d never called.

“Harrison gets off on licking my ears and feet,” she explained. “He’s such a pervert, but really very cute. He’s also a bit too affectionate. I’m thinking of having him pruned. It may lessen his urges a bit, if you get my drift.”

Adam’s loins tightened, and he felt the strongest urge to cross his legs. He developed an instant empathy for poor Harrison, whoever that poor, lovesick fool might be. “That’s rather drastic, don’t you think? Perhaps you should just tell him no. That’s been known to work on occasion.”

“Believe me, I’ve tried. But it just makes him all the more aggressive and amorous. He paws my chest, tries to rub against my leg. I—”

A strangled sound emitted from his throat. “Ah, there’s my call waiting,” he lied. “Gotta go.”

Slamming down the phone, Adam took a deep breath, then poured himself a huge tumbler of bourbon and gulped it down, nearly choking in the process. He was as stiff as a two-week-old corpse.

The woman had no shame. She spoke of intimacies as if they were front-page news, as if she were working at one of those phone-sex hotlines, where all you needed was a preprogrammed phone dialer and a healthy imagination.

Unfortunately, Adam had both.

Chapter Four

“I quit!”

Meredith threw her purse down on the counter, knocking several bridal magazines onto the floor in the process, dropped her portfolio at her feet and dared Randall, who was staring wide-eyed at her, to object to her decision. Which, of course, he did.

“You can’t quit, sweetie. You own the place.” He came around from behind the counter and shoved a mug of coffee in her face. It was warm and steaming and smelled utterly delicious. “Here, drink this. It’s mocha almond fudge and it’s guaranteed to make even the most hideous problem dissolve straight away.”

“Thanks.” The chocolate aroma soothed her immediately. Why did anyone need tranquilizers when chocolate was so readily available? “I know I’m being childish,” Meredith admitted, taking a sip and murmuring her approval. “But that—that man makes me nuts. He’s so damn arrogant, so damn…rich.”

She’d thought after last night that maybe he had some semblance of common decency and, well…normalcy about him. Granted their phone conversation had been strange and disjointed, and she’d never truly figured out why he’d called—the lame excuse he’d given about the interview just didn’t wash—but she’d enjoyed their brief talk, even though he’d rudely slammed the phone in her ear. But every time she formed the opinion that maybe there was more to Adam Morgan than just a large bank account and an overabundance of arrogance, he went and did something stupid.

Guiding Meredith to the consultation area, usually reserved for prospective clients, Randall took a seat on the green-and-rose-flowered-chintz love seat and urged his distraught employer to do the same.

“At least he can pay the exorbitant bill we’re going to charge him, right?” His grin was infectious, and Meredith finally smiled.

“I’m gonna stick it to him, Randall. You’d better believe it. I’m gonna nail that arrogant piece of pomposity for every grain of rice, every inch of ribbon, every damn candle that illuminates his glorious day.”

“So, what’d he do? Make a pass? Try and molest you while you were strolling the sacred grounds of the Morgantown Country Club?”

Meredith pulled a face. “Hardly. I doubt Morgan has enough animal instinct to recognize that I’m of the opposite sex.” Though she’d certainly recognized his gender right off, especially after a whiff of the heady musk aftershave he’d worn to their appointment. A fact that had made his rude comments seem all the worse.

With a disappointed sigh she explained, “We met in the grand ballroom of the country club, where the reception will most likely take place. It’s a lovely room with huge crystal chandeliers, delicate French wallpaper and an oak parquet dance floor. Anyway, I wasn’t there fifteen minutes when he looked me over from top to bottom in the most insulting way possible, mind you, and suggested in that superior way he has that I might want to wear something different to our next appointment.”

She looked down at her royal-blue suit. “What’s wrong with this? I know it’s the same suit I wore last time we met, but my green one’s at the cleaners, and I don’t have the money right now to buy another.”

Randall patted her hand in a consoling fashion, his aggrieved expression clearly stating that Adam Morgan had overstepped his bounds and committed the cardinal sin: criticizing one’s wearing apparel. “What is he, the fashion police or something?”

“What he is, is a rich, snooty society snob who expects everyone to have had the same advantages as he. Well, I told Daddy Warbucks what he could do with his arrogant, rude and unwanted opinion. Then I did the only sensible thing I could think of.”

“Uh-oh.” Shutting his eyes, Meredith’s assistant braced for the worst, knowing the woman, as sweet as she was, had a wicked temper when pushed. “Which was?”

“I dumped a pitcher of water onto his lap, told him to get over himself and stalked out.”

“Sacrebleu!” Randall, who was taking French lessons, liked interjecting new words he’d learned into the conversation whenever he could. Sacrebleu and mon dieu were at the top of his list at the moment.

“Sacrebleu, is right! I think I just blew our ten thousand dollar deposit and the future of this business.”

“I don’t suppose you’d consider apologizing.”

Meredith jumped to her feet. “Apologize? To him? Absolutely not! Are you crazy? The man is a Neanderthal. He has no social graces whatsoever, despite his privileged upbringing and fat bank account. I’m sorry I ever accepted the job in the first place.”

Meredith’s adamant feelings were reinforced a few hours later while seated at the mahogany table with one of her most important clients, who’d come into the store to discuss possibilities for a mother-of-the-groom dress for her son’s upcoming wedding.

The door flung open and a blast of cold air entered, along with Adam Morgan.

The wedding consultant gasped at the sight of the man, her face paling slightly, making Joan O’Connor turn her head to see what had caused such an overt reaction.

“I’ve come to apologize,” he said, as if that would make up for his insufferable behavior.

He was wearing a different suit from the one Meredith had doused earlier—gray wool with a matching vest and pearl-gray shirt, which just happened to make the color of his eyes stand out—and he looked none the worse for wear. In fact, he looked mouth-wateringly good. Yummy, even.

Brushing the disturbing thought aside before she began to drool, she said, “I’m with a client right now, Mr. Morgan. If you care to have a seat on the sofa, I’ll be with you as soon as I can.” She wasn’t in any hurry to get rid of Mrs. O’Connor; the idea of making Morgan wait warmed her.

He stood beside the table, not moving a muscle, as if he hadn’t heard a word she’d said. “I’ll buy you a new suit. In fact, I’ll buy you a whole new wardrobe. It’s the least I can do to make up for—”

It was Mrs. O’Connor’s turn to gasp, though it was Meredith who turned beet red. The stupid man had made it sound as if she were his mistress, or kept woman, or whatever. It was obvious he’d given that impression to the stodgy matron, who was looking at her with shock and indignation.

Like Adam Morgan, Mrs. William O’Connor was one of the First Families of West Virginia. She’d even had the distinction FFWVA emblazoned on her personalized license plate for all the world to see. It was purported that her grandfather, Willy Fitzwilliam O’Connor, was the first resident of Morgantown to have owned and operated a thriving bordello, though Mrs. O’Connor adamantly denied the scandalous assertion, which had been made by a Morgan. The O’Connors and the Morgans hadn’t gotten along since.