Stand-In Groom (7 page)

He’d no more than sat down when Courtney squealed with excitement and rushed into the room, phone still pressed to her ear. “Can you take me to the airport tomorrow? Charter terminal?”

He frowned but nodded. “Of course.”

She jumped up and down a little bit and returned to the kitchen. He ate slowly, enjoying the disparate flavors of the foods—the briny crisp bacon, spicy link sausage, eggs oozing with cheddar cheese, all washed down with rich, dark-roast coffee.

“I’m going to New York—and then he’s taking me to Paris to
buy me my trousseau.” Courtney leaned over him from behind, hugging him around the neck.

She’d needed something to take her mind off the scene at her mother’s home. “I know you’ll enjoy that.”

“He also said something about apartments for me, and you could give me the addresses?”

“Of course.” Three months ago George had signed leases on town houses in both cities when his employer decided to propose but wanted to keep the relationship a secret. Besides, she wouldn’t have stayed in his apartment with him anyway. She wouldn’t risk her reputation that way. “When do you expect to return?”

“In about three weeks.”

“Three—” His mouth went dry.

“Yeah. Sorry to leave at such a crucial point in the planning, but this is the only time his schedule will allow—probably the only time we’ll be able to see each other much before the wedding.” She kissed his cheek. “Well, I’m off to bed. I rinsed my plates and cup and put them on the counter by the sink.”

“That’s fine.” His mind reeled. Three weeks. The three most critical weeks for planning the engagement party—scouting out a location, securing a band, selecting invitations, creating the list…

And he’d have to do it alone with the most attractive woman he’d ever met.

L
eft on his own after Courtney’s departure, George found getting out and about in Bonneterre eye-opening. The mental image he’d created of a midsized city in central Louisiana had been built solely on anecdotes of his employer’s childhood and a few films he’d seen supposedly set in the area.

He hadn’t quite believed he’d hear Cajun-French spoken in the stores and zydeco music on the radio or see alligators swimming around in swamps, but he also hadn’t expected a teeming, modern minimetropolis, either.

Using his need for furniture as an excuse for leaving the house early each morning and not returning until late in the evening, he explored the city on his own. Although Mama Ketty fed him well, he discovered Beignets S’il Vous Plait, a chain of cafés around town that only served the powdered sugar–dusted, fried french puff pastries and the best coffee he’d ever tasted. The last three mornings, he’d started out his jaunt with a tall chicory coffee and a plate of three beignets.

He really wanted to explore Old Towne, Town Square, and the Riverwalk, but being in the vicinity of Anne Hawthorne’s office with the possibility of running into her stopped him.

Slipping into the café’s men’s room, he washed the stickiness from his hands and checked his shirt for any signs of white dust from his morning snack. He’d have to go back to the house and change
clothes before meeting with Anne this afternoon. Khaki pants and a navy polo shirt weren’t his idea of a professional appearance.

He turned the air conditioner up to high when he got back in the car. Ten in the morning, and the Mercedes’ external temperature gauge registered eighty-eight degrees. If only Bonneterre were located farther north—
much
farther north—he could call it ideal.

His cell phone began to play Nat King Cole’s “Mona Lisa.” Smiling, he turned down the radio to answer the call.

“Good morning, Miss Landry. How may I assist you?”

“George, I just got off the phone with Anne. She’s going to make some changes to the contract and have you sign it. Can you pull together the address book so we can get a mailing list to her for the engagement party?”

“I believe it would be better if I handled the invitations. Since Miss Hawthorne is supposed to believe I am your fiancé, she would find it rather odd when my name isn’t on the announcement, wouldn’t she?”

Courtney giggled. He’d come to enjoy that sound so much. “Okay. Well, can you tell her that when you see her?”

“Yes, miss.” She never demanded. She always requested. “Have you settled into the apartment?”

“Oh, it’s so cool—I have the best view of Central Park from my window. And I’m in walking distance of all of the fabulous designer stores in Manhattan.” She giggled again. “Oh, and George, thank you.”

Heat rose in his cheeks. “What for?”

“For the pink and the lace and the ribbons. I know you had to be the one who had my room decorated for me.”

“You’re welcome, Miss Courtney.”

“Speaking of decorating—how is your furniture shopping going?”

“The stores you recommended were wonderful. I think you’ll approve when you return.”

“I can’t wait to see it. Oh, the car’s here. Gotta run.”

“Good-bye, miss.”

“G’bye, George.”

After losing track of time exploring a few shopping centers near the large enclosed mall, George returned to the house, stomach growling. He parked in back and headed for his room to shower and rid himself of the sticky feeling from running in and out of stores in the heat and humidity. He was going to have to rush to be on time for the three o’clock appointment with Anne.

The cell phone rang again while he stood in the closet, peeling off the sweaty clothes. “Hello, George Laurence here.”

“Mr. Laurence, this is Anne Hawthorne. I wondered if we might push our appointment back to three thirty. I’ve had to take care of an issue with a vendor and will be late returning to my office.”

The longer he could put it off, the better. “Three thirty will be fine.”

“Thank you so much.”

George ended the call and jumped in the shower. Then, although he hated to do it because of the heat, he dressed in black summer-weight wool trousers, a long-sleeved shirt, and a tie.

His phone beeped. A message from his employer. He grimaced at his reflection as he straightened his tie. Oh, to be able to turn off his cell phone and not have to jump to do someone else’s bidding at any time of the day or night. Whoever had invented the mobile phone should be publicly executed.

He listened to the message and made notes on tasks he needed to do, e-mails he needed to send, and plans he needed to make on his employer’s behalf. All of it could wait until later.

The luxury convertible twinkled at George in the shimmering sunlight as he approached it. Too bad he couldn’t keep this indulgence. When his employer arrived, George would have to hand over the keys of this beauty and find something more in keeping with his own income.

Crosstown traffic was heavy for midday. He thought he noticed a group of women seated at alfresco tables outside of a coffeehouse
admiring him, but he didn’t want to turn around and look. He never ceased to be amazed at how the appearance of money could make women pretend to find him attractive.

He’d never had any delusions about his physical appearance. He’d been a slight lad growing up—a slight lad with an angular face, big nose, and unevenly spaced teeth. Although his teeth had straightened out somewhat as he grew up, he still tried to keep them hidden as much as he could. His nose, large to begin with, had been broken in a school rugby game when he was fourteen, so was a bit asymmetrical, too. His shoulders were broad, and he was tall; but if he didn’t work out with weights at least four times a week, he could hide behind a lamppost just by turning sideways. He kept his light brown hair short, and several years ago, he’d started to develop wrinkles around his eyes.

Put him in an expensive Mercedes, and the women would look. Stand him beside someone like his employer or Forbes Guidry, and no one saw George Laurence.

“Lord, I know this has been a recurring theme in my prayers, but You know how much I would like to marry and have a family. I cannot ask a woman to live with the kind of schedule I must keep for my current employment. Please show me a way to do something else and still remain in this country.” George looked around to make sure no one saw him talking aloud in an otherwise empty car. What did it matter? It wasn’t as if he were talking to himself. He was talking to Someone more important.

He pulled into a car park just off Town Square. When he stepped out, the air wrapped around him like a sweaty gym sock. Why anyone would choose to live in these conditions baffled him. He’d take the clammy weather of northern England any day.

Following the sidewalk into the traffic-free square, he admired the original late-Victorian architecture. The row houses facing the large central commons had long ago ceased to be residences and were now stores, restaurants, and other businesses. The obvious attention to historic preservation made the commercial area feel
more like a small English village and less like the large American city it really was.

Just before he reached Anne’s office, he paused and drew in a deep breath.
Lord, again I ask, please help me to keep my word to my employer without having to lie to this woman. And please help me to overcome the growing attraction I feel for her
.

8

Anne’s skin tingled when George Laurence—and only George Laurence—entered her office.
He’s engaged, he’s engaged, he’s engaged.
…“Good afternoon, Mr. Laurence.”

“Good afternoon, Ms. Hawthorne.” Today he wore a light blue button-down with black dress pants. The multicolored tie looked expensive.

“Is Courtney running late?”

“She is in New York. Shopping. She asked me to come in her stead and begin work on the events with you.”

She swallowed hard. Working alone with George Laurence.
God, what have I done so terribly wrong that You’re punishing me like this?

Sharp pain shot through Anne’s left temple as she looked down at the paperwork on her desk. She knew better than to skip meals, but she’d been so busy this afternoon that lunchtime had completely passed her by.

She motioned for George to have a seat at the small round conference table beyond the sofa and wing chairs, biting back a smile when he waited until she sat before he did. She moved the vase of purple tulips aside and placed the file on the table facing him. “Here’s the adjusted contract. Negotiated items are printed in blue ink. Items that incur an additional consultant fee are in green.”

He read through the detailed list of services to be provided. “You label and stuff the invitations yourself?” He looked up at her without raising his head.

Bedroom eyes, grandmother would have called the cinnamon-colored orbs burning holes into Anne’s self-consciousness. He was quite a handsome man, in spite of his being
engaged
.

“Yes. I’m also the copywriter, and I will design the programs for the ceremony, as well as other services.”

“We can strike the invitations for the engagement party from the list. I will take care of those myself.” He pulled a black metallic pen out of his shirt pocket and crossed through the line item.

He would do it himself? Was the budget monster rearing its head? “I’ll remove that from the final version, then.” Her stomach churned, and her head throbbed. She knew if she didn’t get something to eat soon, she’d be in serious danger of passing out.

Before she could stop herself, she asked, “I know this will sound like an odd question, seeing that it’s after three thirty, but have you had lunch yet?”

An audible rumble answered her question before he could speak. “No, I have not had lunch yet.”

She couldn’t be certain, but she thought he might have actually blushed. She suppressed her smile. “Would you be interested in walking over to The Wharf with me? I need to talk to the owners about the date for the rehearsal dinner, as it was one of the restaurants on the list Miss Landry e-mailed me yesterday. While we’re there, you and I can discuss the contract and some other paperwork I’ll need you to fill out.”

As they walked across the park in the middle of Town Square, she found herself glad George was just a bit taller than she. Being full-figured was bad enough, but towering over men made her even more uncomfortable. She hadn’t met a man who didn’t find her height intimidating until she’d met Cliff Ballantine in eleventh grade….

No. She wasn’t going to go down that road right now. She was trying to stay positive. “How long have you lived in the United States, Mr. Laurence?”

“Five years.”

“And do you like it?”

“I’m not overly fond of Los Angeles or New York. Montana is very nice, as is New Mexico. Alaska was beautiful. Las Vegas is garish and noisy. And I find your city charming. I’ve been to many other places. Each was unique in its own way.”

His response was the most words Anne had heard him string together since meeting him. She watched him from the corner of her eye as they crossed the cobblestone street. He carried himself regally, broad shoulders high and proud, chin parallel with the ground, eyes forward. He wasn’t a lawyer. He “represented” a client of Forbes’s. Some kind of an agent, maybe?

“You’ve seen a lot more places than I have,” she admitted with a sigh.

“It’s part and parcel of the job. I go where my employer needs me. Since my current employer roams the earth, I must make sure he lands in the correct spot.” He opened the front door of the restaurant and motioned for her to enter ahead of him.

The hostess hugged Anne. “Hey, Miss Anne. You haven’t been in for a couple of weeks. We’ve been worried about you.”

“Hi, Sarah. It’s June—you know, the busiest month for weddings.”

The college student giggled. “I know.” Sarah looked over Anne’s shoulder, and her eyes widened when she saw only George standing there. “Table for
two
?” the college student asked with a grin.

Anne shook her head, exasperated, but smiled. “Yes, please. By the back windows if there’s anything available.”

“Right this way.”

From the expression on the girl’s face, Anne knew that before the server came around, the news that Anne Hawthorne, the spinster who planned everyone else’s weddings, had come in with a man would have gotten back to the dishwashers. She fully expected a slow but steady progression of employees past the table in the next fifteen or twenty minutes. Never before had she come in with only a man. Usually she came in alone to eat and meet with one or both of the owners to discuss events. Sometimes she would bring in clients
who weren’t familiar with the restaurant. Speculation would run wild.