“Have you seen George?” Anne looped a gold-beaded garland around her neck and picked up a string of white twinkle-lights.
“Not recently.” Her cousin Bryan came down a few rungs and reached for the end of the light cord. He scrambled back up the ladder to complete the faux starry sky. “You might try in the office. Last time I saw him, he was griping about not being able to get a good signal on his cell phone. He might’ve gone in there to use the landline.”
What could possibly be so important as to take him away from the work he’d promised to help with? “How long ago?”
“Probably more than an hour ago.”
“Thanks.” She crossed the ballroom to deliver the strand of beads to the student workers decorating the parade float. Continuing through the heavy pine door, she tried to get hold of her anger. How could he disappear on her like this? She’d hoped to turn things over to him for half an hour so she could sit down and regroup— and maybe close her eyes for a few minutes. She was getting too old to keep these kinds of hours. With her business’s financial future secure, she needed an assistant—or a partner.
The office door stood open. No George. Frustrated, she dropped into the tall executive chair behind the desk, picked up the phone, and dialed his number.
He answered on the third ring. “George Laurence here.”
“Where are you?” She grimaced at the accusation that managed to slip into her voice despite her best efforts to affect a light tone.
“I am in the hot sun at the top of a very tall ladder trying to hang purple, gold, and green garlands while talking on the phone without plunging to an early and grizzly demise.”
Embarrassed relief washed through her. “Oh. I thought…”
“Anne.” His deep voice caressed her jumbled emotions. “I promised I would be here for you. Unlike…other people, I always hold true to my word.”
Her throat tightened. His ability to understand what she was thinking continued to amaze—and comfort—her. “I’m sorry I doubted you.”
“No apology necessary. Why don’t you close the office door and rest for a few minutes? I’ll fetch you should any problems arise.”
The idea of being “fetched” by him like a stick by a golden retriever brought her to irrepressible laughter. She couldn’t explain her mirth to him at his inquiry. She repeated his “Ta-ta for now” and hung up.
Indecision hit her when she crossed to the door. Three o’clock, and so much left to do. Could she afford to disappear for fifteen minutes? Or, being honest with herself, could she depend on George? Happy Endings, Inc., and her reputation as an event planner represented what she valued most in life, outside of her family.
She closed the door. If the relationship between them stood any chance of developing into…something, she must learn to trust him. Besides, what could happen in the few minutes she needed to get her second—or was she already on her third—wind?
At five o’clock, George found Major O’Hara and asked him to bring all of the workers together in the break room behind the kitchen. Cliff’s press conference would begin in half an hour, and George wanted the staff to be made aware of the ground rules for tonight’s event.
He found one of Anne’s cousins in the crowd of student workers. “Have you seen Anne recently?”
Jonathan shook his head. “Not for a couple of hours. I thought maybe she’d gone to run some errands.”
“Thanks.” George asked O’Hara to keep everyone together until he returned. He jogged across the ballroom-turned-French Quarter and down the hall to the administrative office. He turned the knob softly and swung the door open.
Anne never stirred. Even when she was sound asleep, stress drew her forehead into worry lines. He eased the door closed and released the handle centimeter by centimeter until it latched. He wanted to reveal the guest of honor’s identity to her in private anyway. Best let her get all the rest she could. She’d need it. As soon as he finished with the staff, he’d come back and tell her.
The buzz of voices in the break room stilled when George entered. “I know many of you have been curious as to whom this event is for. That’s why I wanted to call you together. Our guest of honor this evening is Mr. Cliff Ballantine.”
Astonishment swept through the room, and the initial gasp turned to excited whispering, especially among the females. He held his hands up to regain their attention. “Obviously I don’t have to explain who he is. There are, however, some ground rules everyone must agree to before his arrival. If you cannot agree, or if you break any of these rules, you will be asked to leave.”
He pulled a manila folder from his bag. “First, Mr. Ballantine will not be signing any autographs tonight. Please do not approach him with any such request. He has been kind enough to supply autographed photos for each of you instead.” He passed the stack of black-and-white head shots to the young woman at his right. “Second, you may not, under any circumstances, call anyone to let them know he will be here tonight. You are more than welcome to talk about it after the event to whomever you please.” He reached for a cardboard box on top of a stack of chairs. “Please deposit your cell phones in this box. They will be locked in the office until the end of the event.”
Excited twittering turned to groans. George gave them his sternest look. “If you cannot abide by these rules…” The thud of phones dropping into the box drowned out the complaints. “Third, there will be many other people here tonight whom you may be tempted to ask for autographs. Don’t. After the event is over, if they offer to sign something for you, that is permissible. But don’t solicit them. Finally, for those of you who will be greeting guests at the door, if they do not have an invitation, please call me over the radio before allowing them admittance.”
A hand shot up at the back of the room.
“Yes?”
“Even if it’s someone we recognize, we’re not to let them in?”
He didn’t want any of the guests offended, but he didn’t want any paparazzi or reporters gaining entrance, either. Most of the guests would understand. “Please call me no matter what.” He pulled another stack of papers out of his bag, split it in half, and started them around the room. “This is a release stating that you have heard and understood the guidelines I’ve just enumerated for you. Please sign it and return it to Mr. O’Hara or me, and then you can go back to your duties.”
They were signing the releases when Anne’s cousin Jonathan burst through the doors. “George, I think you should come outside.”
He left Major to gather the paperwork and ran across the building. His phone beeped and he pulled it out to answer the call from Cliff’s publicist.
“We were on our way to the hotel in downtown, and Mr. Ballantine decided he wanted to have the press conference at Lafitte’s Landing instead.” Tracie’s voice betrayed her state of near-panic. “You’ll need to figure out a podium and some sound quickly.” A black stretch limousine, followed by innumerable vehicles, wound its way up the long drive toward Lafitte’s Landing.
“Oh, my sainted aunt!” He spun and ran back inside. “Keep Mr. Ballantine in the car until we get everything set up,” he called into the phone, then disconnected and clipped it back in place.
One of the staff directed George to a storage room where he found a large lectern and portable sound system. As the boys who’d worked with the equipment before rushed to get everything plugged in, George arranged the stanchions and black velvet rope, originally set out to line the red carpet leading to the entrance, as a barrier to keep the reporters and cameras out of Mr. Ballantine’s face. Like locusts, they swarmed toward the building, but the college students did an admirable job of keeping them behind the barricade.
After a thumbs-up from Jonathan, George descended the porch steps and crossed to the limousine. Blinding flashes combined with yelling reporters competed for Cliff’s attention as George opened the door and the movie star stepped out.
What was he wearing? Blue jeans and a University of Louisiana baseball jersey? George shook his head. If he hadn’t been here all day… But he’d promised Anne.
Anne! She still didn’t know. He whirled to return to the building and find her before she woke up and walked out into the middle of her worst nightmare.
Cliff grabbed George’s shoulder to stop him. “Tracie, call the hotel and have them send over any other reporters still waiting for me there. Laurence, show me what’s been done inside.”
No, no, no! He had to get to Anne. He had to tell her himself. Please, dear Lord, let her sleep through this. Let her stay in the office until I can get to her. “Yes, Mr. Ballantine.”
The diminutive, dark-haired publicist stepped up to the lectern to announce that Mr. Ballantine would give his statement in approximately fifteen minutes.
As soon as his eyes adjusted to the dim interior, George’s gaze scoured the room for the statuesque blonde he’d come to love in the last month. He sighed when he couldn’t spot her.
Like a politician, Cliff greeted the college students still working on the decorations, table settings, and final preparations. George kept his eyes trained on the door at the back of the room. When Tracie gave him the word, he’d get Cliff back out front and go tell Anne. He couldn’t let her hear this from someone else.
Standing in the middle of the ballroom, Cliff turned in a full circle, nodding his head. “Looks great, Laurie. Good job.”
“I can take no credit, sir. Your wedding planner, An—”
“Why aren’t any of them asking for my autograph?” A fierce frown marred Cliff’s world-famous face.
Oh no! A worker, with the box holding everyone’s cell phones under her arm, went through the door at the back of the room. George moved to stop her, but Cliff grabbed his shoulder again. God, please don’t let Anne wake up! “Everyone working here tonight signed a release that they wouldn’t. We gave them signed head shots a few minutes ago.”
The frown melted into relief. “Oh. Good. I thought I was losing my touch for a minute there.” He inhaled deeply. “Take me to the kitchen. I want to sample what we’re eating tonight.”
Yes. The kitchen. Anne probably wouldn’t go in there.
The frenetic preparations in the kitchen came to a dead stop when Cliff entered. Major O’Hara commanded them all back to work and came toward him, his face a study in granite.
“As I live and breathe, Major O’Hara.” Cliff extended his hand jovially.
The caterer’s smile seemed forced. “Cliff Ballantine. It’s been a long time. Welcome.”
“So what’s on the menu?” Cliff seemed not to notice the frosty reception.
George followed them as Major allowed Cliff a taste of each of the dishes. He knew why Anne and her family would give Cliff a frigid greeting. What had happened with Major O’Hara?
Tracie beeped through on his phone while Cliff taste-tested the jambalaya. George stepped to the double doors and peered out into the ballroom. No sign of Anne. “Tracie, please tell me everyone is here and we can get started.”
“Yes. The natives are getting restless. They’re ready for the human sacrifice.”
“I’ll have him out there in a moment.” He had to wait for Cliff to finish slurping down a glass of iced tea. Through the doors and fifty feet across the ballroom, and Tracie would take over. He pushed the swinging door open, and it bumped someone on the other side.
“I beg your pardon—” Not now! Not when he was so close to success.
“It’s okay. Oh, hi, George.” The beautiful, trusting smile that crossed Anne’s face broke his heart.
“Thanks, guys, everything looks great!” Cliff called over the din of kitchen equipment.
George’s shoulders dropped. “Anne, I was going to tell you—”
“No!” She shook her head and backed away from him. “No.” The dead calm of her voice worried him more than the shock on her face.
“Laurence, why—” Cliff stopped beside him and muttered a surprised expletive under his breath. “Annie Hawthorne. I never thought I’d see you again.”
George clenched his hands into fists and bit the insides of his cheeks. “Mr. Ballantine, may I introduce your wedding planner?”
“Wedding planner?” Cliff looked from George to Anne. “You’re kidding, right?”
Anne’s face had gone pale, her posture so stiff George worried she might faint. His phone beeped again. “Sir, the press conference.”
“Right. Anne—we’ll talk later.” Cliff brushed past her on his way out of the kitchen. She jerked away from him and exited into the ballroom.
When George came out of the kitchen, Anne stood with her back to him. “Anne. Anne, I wanted to tell you privately, but then he came here instead of going to the hotel, and…” He shook his head. “And things spiraled out of my control.” He touched her arm.
She whirled to face him. “Cliff Ballantine? You work for Cliff Ballantine?” Her gaze shot electric blue anger at him. “Did you have a good laugh last night? I poured my heart out to you. I told you how much he’d hurt me. And you stood there and said nothing. Nothing! If you really cared about me, you would have told me. Right then. Stranger things have happened? That’s all you could say?”
Although she never raised her voice, he felt as though she’d yelled at him. He looked around the room. A few students working nearby quickly turned their attention back to their tasks. He clasped her elbow. “Let’s go to the office—”
She yanked out of his grasp. “Afraid I’ll embarrass you with my outburst?” She took a deep breath, and before he could blink, her expression changed from fury to calm professionalism. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a job to do.” She stalked away.
Oh, Anne, Anne! I’m so terribly sorry. He turned to exit the building. Now the truth had been revealed, Anne wouldn’t want him here. His responsibility lay solely with Cliff and Courtney… and in figuring out how to convince Anne to forgive him. Perhaps after she got over the initial shock, she’d be more open to listening to his explanation.
A red haze surrounded Anne. Cliff Ballantine. She’d been planning Cliff Ballantine’s wedding. To see him standing there behind George… Tears burned her eyes. How could he do this to her?
He? Whom was she most angry with? George? Cliff? God? She hated to admit it, but of the three, Cliff’s surprised expression at seeing her acquitted him of any guilt. He hadn’t known about her any more than she’d known about him.
“Keep the walkways clear of streamers and confetti. We don’t want anyone slipping and hurting themselves.” The college students jumped to do her bidding.
George. She’d trusted him to be honest with her. She’d told him—
“Make sure to tape the plugs connecting those light strings so they don’t come undone. Also, tape the extension cord down along the floorboard so no one trips on it. If y’all are finished with that, you need to go change into your uniforms.”
God, how could You do this to me?
In response, her own voice echoed through her memory. The only way I’d be able to talk to Cliff Ballantine is if he were to walk through those doors. She hated it when God took her at her word.
Several students stood in the front hall, gawking through the windows on each side of the front doors. “If y’all don’t have anything else to do, you need to go change clothes and get your stations ready.”
They scattered, and Anne took their position at the window.
Had Cliff always been so broad through the shoulders? Between them stood George, hands clasped behind his back. Compared to his employer, he looked half his real size.
He glanced over his shoulder, and their gazes met. He turned and slipped inside. “Anne.”
She stepped back, shaking her head. She opened her mouth but had no words. Pressing her lips together, she closed her eyes and turned away.
He moved closer. “Anne, I wanted to tell you last night, but I couldn’t. I truly was going to tell you this afternoon, but he changed his plans at the last minute and came here instead of going to the hotel to give his press conference. He showed up just as I was coming to tell you.”
The din outside rose in volume as reporters started shouting questions over each other. Anne stopped but kept her back turned to him. “I don’t want to talk about this right now. I just want to get through tonight with as little drama as possible.” She walked away, praying he wouldn’t follow. The sound of the heavy front door closing gave her some relief.
She crossed the French Quarter at Mardi Gras–themed ballroom into the kitchen. Major O’Hara looked up from where he was supervising one of his cooks. She jerked her head toward the staff break room. He nodded and joined her a few moments later, closing the door on the noise and confusion of the final preparations.
“Did you know?” Major asked. He perched on the edge of a stack of four dining room chairs. Ten years ago, Major had agreed to cater Anne and Cliff’s reception for a miniscule amount of money.
She released the large clip at the back of her head and ran her fingers through her hair. “No. I can’t believe George didn’t tell me.”
“Does he know you have a history with Cliff?”
“Not until I told him everything last night.” She sank onto an ancient sofa and then decided she’d have been more comfortable on the floor.
“And he didn’t tell you then?” Major crossed his arms, a familiar storminess coming into his expression. She’d forgotten what a short fuse he had when he thought someone he cared for had been wronged.
“He—” What was it she’d said to George last night just before telling him about Cliff? I don’t expect you to tell me what you’ve sworn to keep secret. She leaned her head back and stared at the water-stained tile above her. “He promised Cliff he wouldn’t tell anyone.”
“Then why did he pull everyone together and tell all of us right before Cliff got here?”
Anger surged anew. Why indeed. “You’re right. He could have told me last night. It’s not like I’m going to go out and blab to some supermarket tabloid reporter. He should have shown me more respect than that. ‘Stranger things have happened,’ my foot! If he has so little respect for me, after tonight is over, he can just plan the rest of the wedding by himself.”