Terri had barely survived the death of her mother. Ian had been the life raft she clung to in that dark time. His brother Dave, and Dave's wife, Sandi, had been the ones to see her through his death. She had avoided emotional entanglements ever since. It was easier to just live single, untouched by feelings that would later turn to heartbreak.
Or so Terri had always thought. Yet, here she was, walking along hand in hand with Bastien, after having been kissed properly for the first time in ten years!
Without really thinking about it, Terri slid her hand free, stopping at a display to pick up a small black purse and examine it. She couldn't have stopped the physical withdrawal from Bastien any more than she could the mental one. Her guard had been down, but it was back up and in place again. It was for the best.
Terri didn't like to think of herself as a coward. She could take all the physical pain that life could dish out, but emotional pain was another thing. She felt so deeply when she loved that losing it, whether through betrayal or death, was a kind of hell she wouldn't willingly subject herself to again. And she now very much feared that if she wasn't careful, Bastien could break her heart. It would be so easy to love him. He was smart, funny, sweet, kind and terribly attractive. But Terri couldn't see someone as wildly successful and handsome as him being interested in boring-old-her for very long. Eventually, he'd move on to someone more his match. And, even if he didn't, he wasn't invincible. Just think about the medicine he took, and the IV stand in his closet. Bastien could die on her, leaving her to struggle on alone as everyone else she'd ever loved had done. It was easier not to love him in the first place. She'd have to try to keep her emotional distance from now on, Terri decided, and wished she hadn't agreed to a play and dinner tonight when he'd suggested it at breakfast.
"Dear God, you two!" Vincent Argeneau paused in the entry to gape at the bags Bastien and Terri carted into the penthouse later that day. "Do you think you bought enough?"
"I think so," Terri said with a laugh, then added, "Most of these are Bastien's."
When Vincent arched his eyebrows and turned his gaze on his cousin, Terri laughed again. A chagrined expression covered Bastien's face. The man hadn't been joking when he claimed to love shopping. She'd never seen anyone, man or woman, shop like he did. It was a good thing he was wealthy, or he'd surely go bankrupt. The man was a shopping fiend.
"I needed some more casual clothes," Bastien excused himself, unable to disguise his embarrassment. "I didn't even own a pair of jeans, and I thought it was time I got some."
"Uh-huh." Vincent walked forward to peer into the open tops of the bags. "Felt a need for some new clothes, did you?" he asked, and grinned when Bastien flushed. He added, "Well, as much as I'd like to torment you over this sudden urge you have to dress in a younger, more relaxed, not to mention more attractive manner, your secretary insisted it was important you call before quitting time. And as it's a quarter to five now—"
"She said it was important?" Bastien interrupted, setting down the bags he carried. "I better pop down to the office and see what it's about. Meredith doesn't exaggerate. If she said it was important, it's most certainly important.
"Just leave the bags here in the entry for now, Terri. I'll get them when I come back," he added as he turned to push the button for the elevator. He stepped onto the lift when the doors opened, then turned back to hold them as he asked Vincent, "Did she see to the kitchen?"
"Oh yeah," his cousin assured him in dry tones. "She saw to that all right. You now have enough food—not to mention dishes—to feed a small army. I hope your guests have healthy appetites. Actually, I know C.K. does. For a skinny guy, he sure eats a lot."
"He's probably bored to tears and eating because of it," Terri suggested.
Vincent seemed to contemplate that possibility, then shook his head. "Nah. He's been editing some book in front of the television. There's some sort of marathon of old British reruns. Pretty good ones, actually."
"You might want to see if there's anything to snack on, Terri. Our dinner reservations aren't until after the play," Bastien suggested as the elevator doors began to slide closed. "I'll be back in a few minutes."
"Hmm," Terri murmured as the doors clicked shut. "I wonder what the important matter is."
Vincent shrugged. "Meredith didn't say."
"Well, I guess we'll find out soon enough," Terri said philosophically. She finally set down the bags she'd carried up for Bastien. "In the meantime, I'll see about that snack he suggested."
"I'll join you. I could use a bite myself," Vincent announced. And he followed her into the kitchen.
Chapter Seven
"I don't understand why this is such a big problem," Bastien said into the phone with forced patience. He couldn't believe that the important matter Meredith had needed his attention for was to call the florist about the arrangements for Kate and Lucern's wedding. He supposed Kate, as the bride, would think this was important, and he did understand that, but the problem in question seemed rather petty to him. Yet the florist, a fellow with an unfortunately high-pitched voice and an equally unfortunate lisp, was acting as if it were a major catastrophe.
"I've already explained, Mr. Argeneau," the florist said in exasperation. "Our grower's entire crop of Sterling roses was hit by—"
"Yes, yes. Aphids ate them."
"Not aphids, sir," the florist corrected with exaggerated patience. "It was—"
"It doesn't matter," Bastien interrupted, his own patience beginning to slip. The man was making this more difficult than necessary. The answer to this dilemma seemed simple enough. "Your grower's roses are gone. So go to another grower."
There was a brief pause, followed by a long-suffering sigh. "Mr. Argeneau, one cannot just drop down to the local nursery and buy
several hundred
Sterling roses. These are
rare
flowers. They're snapped up before they've even finished growing."
"So substitute a different rose, then," Bastien suggested.
"The Sterling rose was the centerpiece of the whole wedding!" the man wailed. "All the arrangements and colors were chosen to offset it. One can't just—"
Bastien frowned, his ears straining as the fellow suddenly fell silent. He was sure he'd heard a catch in the florist's voice before he'd stopped talking. The guy was really upset. He must be one of those emotional artist types, Bastien decided—though he would never have thought of a florist as an artist. The guy certainly had the temperament, though. "Hello? Roger, was it?"
"Roberto," the man snapped, then cleared his throat. "I'm sorry. My assistant just handed me a fax with more bad news. This time about the urns Ms. Leever chose."
"Yes?" Bastien asked warily.
"There was a fire at the plant where they're produced. It's caused delays. The urns won't get here in time for her wedding."
"Of course they won't," Bastien muttered. He pushed one hand through his hair and sighed. "Look, just put in roses that are as close in color to the originals as possible, and use urns as close in style and everything will be fine." That seemed a reasonable solution. He gathered by the stony silence that followed this suggestion that the florist didn't think so.
"When does Ms. Leever return to the city?" Roberto finally asked.
"I'm not really sure," Bastien admitted. Kate hadn't been too clear on the matter in her rush to get moving, and he hadn't thought to ask when Lucern called to let him know they'd arrived safely. Personally, he almost hoped the couple would be gone the whole two weeks until the wedding. Bastien was pretty sure Kate would hog Terri's time when she came back, and he had plans for doing that himself.
"I simply
must
talk to her. Either you'll have to have her call me or give me the number where she can be reached. These problems
must
be resolved now, to be sure we have the supplies we'll need on hand to have the arrangements made for the church and reception on time." It wasn't a request, but an imperious announcement.
Bastien scowled at the phone, then glanced at the clock on his desk. It would be midafternoon in California. He doubted Kate would be in her hotel room just now, but he supposed it wouldn't hurt to call and find out.
"Hold," he barked into the receiver, then put the man on hold. He next buzzed Meredith's desk, hoping she hadn't left for the night.
"Yes, sir?"
Bastien sighed in relief. "Put me through to Kate's hotel in California please, Meredith," he ordered. He added as an afterthought, "And thank you for not leaving yet."
He didn't wait to see if she knew what hotel Kate was in; Meredith knew everything. Besides, she'd told him that Kate had called the office earlier that day to leave a contact number in case they had to reach her.
"Miss Leever on line two, sir," Meredith announced a moment later,
"Thank you." Bastien pushed the button for that line, and was immediately greeted by an anxious Kate.
"Meredith gave me a quick rundown of the problem. She says you have Roberto on the other line. Can you conference-call us?"
Bastien blinked. He wasn't surprised that Meredith had given her a rundown; doing so saved him some time and trouble, which was what his secretary did best. And fortunately, to ensure that someone would call him back, Bastien knew the florist had explained the problem to Meredith when he'd called earlier that day. His surprise was at the panic apparent in Kate's voice. She had always seemed a perfectly sensible woman to him. This kind of reaction to the loss of one stupid type of flower and a silly urn seemed a bit excessive. Was the whole world going mad? Spring fever, he thought wisely. That was probably the explanation for his fascination with Terri, too.
"Bastien? Can you conference-call us?" Kate repeated impatiently.
"Er… yes," he said. "Hang on." He pushed the necessary series of buttons, then said, "Hello?"
"Yes," Lucern's fiancée said at the same time the florist squeaked, "Mr. Argeneau?"
"Oh, Roberto!" Kate cried with relief, apparently recognizing the man's voice.
Bastien sat back and twiddled his thumbs as the two went into crisis mode, both wailing in distress about the lost Sterling roses, then exchanging horrified exclamations over the delayed urns. It was all just
too
much, they agreed. Horrible. Ghastly. Tragic.
"Tragic," Bastien agreed, just to keep them from thinking he wasn't listening or interested. He wasn't really, though. He wished they'd hurry up and settle down to discussing what had to be done to repair the damage, rather than wasting time lamenting over how this could
positively ruin
the entire wedding.
"Good Lord!" Terri gaped at the crammed kitchen cupboards. They had gone from completely bare to overflowing in the space of two days. Anything and everything a body could want now filled the shelves. If nothing else, Bastien's secretary was certainly thorough, Terri decided as her gaze slid over the rows of neatly stacked and organized food. There was so much now, she couldn't decide what to have.
"Do you feel like anything specific, Vincent?" she asked.
"Are you on the menu?" he asked.
Terri laughed, not taking the comment seriously. Vinny was an actor. She had no doubt that flirting was second nature to him. He probably wasn't even aware when he did it anymore.
She closed the first cupboard and opened another, her brow knitting as she looked over more food. It had never occurred to her that confusion would be the result of so much choice. It was, though—which was a pain, because Terri wasn't even really hungry, but knew she'd be starving halfway through the play if she didn't have a little something now. But what to have? Vincent obviously wasn't going to be any help. Perhaps C.K. would be more useful.
Closing the cupboard door, Terri smiled absently at Vincent as she stepped around him and moved back out into the living room.
"What do you feel like having to eat?" she asked Chris, who had relocated himself from his guest room. He glanced away from the television to raise a questioning eyebrow.
"Nothing. I'm stuffed," he said. "I've been eating all day, ever since the first food began to arrive."
"Oh." Terri sank down onto the edge of the couch next to him to contemplate the matter.
"How was the Met?" C.K. asked politely after a moment.
"It was fun." She perked up slightly at the memory. "They have lots of cool stuff there. We didn't get to see everything, though. It's so huge! But Bastien said we can go back another time."
Chris nodded. "It's probably better to go a couple times than to try to cram it all in one day anyway."
"Yes," Terri agreed, then asked, "How was your day?"
"Oh, you know. Long. Boring." Chris sighed, then his gaze landed on the stacked manuscript on the coffee table. "I did try to work, but the pain is distracting."
"Hmm." Terri nodded sympathetically as he rubbed his leg above the cast. She'd never had a broken bone in her life, and had no real idea how painful it must be. But it seemed best to keep him off the subject, so she asked, "What did you eat?"
She hoped that his answer might help her decide what to have, too. But the young man's answer brought a grimace to her face.
"Chips, cheese, and sausage." He shrugged.
"That's hardly a healthy diet," Terri chastised.
"Well, there was no one to cook for me. I had to fend for myself," the editor said defensively, then patted the set of crutches Terri hadn't noticed leaning against the couch. "Fortunately, Bastien's secretary brought these babies up half an hour ago. I can get around on my own now."
"Good," she said, aware that Bastien and Vincent had been helping the man get to and from his bedroom each day. She didn't know if he needed help dressing and undressing, but thought he would probably want some more fresh clothes soon, too. She'd have to mention it to Bastien, Terri decided, then allowed her mind to return to her problem.