Wedding Survivor (12 page)

AFTER shopping in a trendy boutique on Rodeo Drive (because Olivia said Marnie could really update her look there, and by the way, had she considered botox?), Marnie was now sitting in a happening restaurant, wearing a wispy new dress, dining with a very fine man who sported a very sexy five o'clock shadow.

Did it get any better than this?

She was on top of the world, and hey, Eli was really turning out to be not quite as bossy as she'd originally thought. He was a little more talkative tonight—he actually told her something about himself. Even though it was something violent and involved a helpless animal, it still made her laugh. He was really a great guy, she was deciding.

And when Eli smiled, ho Jesus… he had these beautiful blue eyes, and they crinkled in the corners. His lips were full and so damn sexy, especially for a man, just like the models in
Vanity Fair
she thought were lip-enhanced. Eli's lips spread across even white teeth and ended in those fabulous dimples in each hollowed cheek. Marnie imagined he used that smile on women all the time. She could picture the cowboy sauntering into some saloon, and with one smile, the dance girls would come running.

She might, if she weren't working for the guy.

Oh yeah, she was really beginning to think she had lucked into the job of a lifetime and settled back in her chair, one arm propped on the polished arm, her legs crossed and a foot, encased in a new Rodeo Drive shoe, swinging carefree. She laughed at Eli's stories of three daredevil boys in Texas dirt while she surreptitiously admired her dress (Olivia was right—it
did
drape beautifully), and somewhere in the back of her mind, she was telling herself that she had arrived, that it was only up from here, that she was meant to be hanging around the rich and the famous, and obviously, that was why the dot-com thing hadn't worked out. It wouldn't surprise her at all if people were seeing her right now, checking her out, wondering, who is that girl?

And then Eli asked her about her meeting with Olivia. And she said—which, in hindsight, perhaps wasn't the brightest thing she might have said—"I bought this dress!" And she sat up, so he could see how cool it was.

Eli looked. His gaze was sort of hidden beneath really long lashes and heavy lids, but he looked a good long minute, long enough for her to feel her blood start to heat. He looked from the top of her dress, which draped low on breasts encased in a new lacy push-up bra, to the hem, which was on her knee. And on down to her toes, and her very cool, very strappy beaded sandals.

Then he lifted his gaze and looked her in the eye. "You didn't go shopping, did you, Marnie? I thought maybe you'd sworn that off with the debt you're in."

Oh hell,
that
again.

"And weren't you supposed to make a little progress with our client?" he added.

"I did!" she protested. What did he think, she was a com-plete novice? Well okay, he might have reason to think that, but she had done more than shopped! All right, not a
whole
lot more, since they had shopped most of the afternoon, and he was right, dammit, that she had sworn off shopping. But hey, she was due to get a big payment here soon!

Anyway, she hadn't left Olivia without getting
something
about the wedding accomplished. In fact, the insinuation that she had "just shopped" was insulting the more she thought about it, and she snorted, "
Honestly
, Eli, I know what I'm doing." And she rolled her eyes.

"I'm sure you do. But I'm thinking you probably can't do a whole lot of wedding planning in die middle of some pricey dress shop."

He had a point, but Marnie tossed her head nevertheless. "For your information, we talked about the chef and how many guests she'd like to invite, and stationery, which Olivia is not big on, and linens, which she is very big on and
must
be BBJ linens, and the music, and then how we might incorporate an arch into the ceremony."

His heart-stopping blue eyes immediately narrowed at that, and he shot forward like a striking snake. "What did you say? You talked about
what
?"

"A chef—"

"Not that," he said, gesturing for her to move forward.

"The guests?"

"No," he said, frowning. "The last thing you said."

"Oh! A little arch she wants to incorporate into the ceremony. You know, get married under it."

Eli closed his eyes and sighed for a moment. Then he opened them and pinned her with a look that made her shiver a little. "Marnie," he said evenly, and put his giant hand on her wrist, let his long, thick fingers wrap around it. "Do you know what arch she's talking about?"

"Yes! It's an arch that they used in the filming of
The Dane
!" Right, like she didn't know what arch! It held great sentimental value for Olivia, and she said it was made of plastic, so it wasn't a big deal as far as Marnie could see, and Olivia said she'd pay for the shipping. Bottom line, she'd
saved
T.A. money today!

But Eli's fingers tightened on her wrist. "Just out of curiosity—have you seen
The Dane
?"

"Not yet. I was going to rent it this weekend."

"Well when you do, try and envision Olivia and Vincent's wedding under the Arc de Triomphe."

Marnie blinked. Then laughed. "Oh, Eli! Not
that
arch. She was talking about another one."

"How do you know?"

"Because she described it to me," she said and yanked her hand from his grip so she could sketch an invisible arch with her hands. "Not so big, and it's plastic, and she offered to ship it, so what's the big deal?"

"The big deal," he said calmly, "is that it's not that size." He mimicked her invisible outline. "It's actually about the size of Kansas. And Olivia is right, it's made of plastic—about three hundred pounds of it."

Marnie's earlier feeling of being a player was rapidly disintegrating. "Huh," she said, biting her lower lip thoughtfully. "Three hundred pounds, you say?"

Eli nodded.

"Mmm… that is a little different, isn't it?"

"Uh-huh."

She winced. "But I think it's a deal breaker."

"Excuse me?"

" 'Fraid so," Marnie said, nodding sympathetically. "If Olivia can't get married under that arch, then she's not getting married."

Eli surprised her by laughing. "Promise? Because that wouldn't hurt my feelings one bit," he said, and intercepted the waiter who was about to lay the check on the table as he simultaneously reached into his back pocket, took out a wallet, and pulled out a platinum card of some sort and handed it to the waiter without even looking at the bill.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Marnie demanded.

"I mean, if Olivia wants to pull the plug on this stupid idea of getting married up there—or at
all
—I'd be the happiest man on the planet."

"You're not serious. You would ruin her wedding over a stupid
arch
?"

He shrugged. "I wouldn't lose any sleep. It sure ain't the gal's first rodeo and I'll bet big bucks it won't be her last"

"That's horrible!"

"Maybe, but it's true."

Frankly, he looked so smug about the whole thing that Marnie bristled. "What is the matter with you?" she demanded. "Everyone deserves a nice, pretty wedding—"

"You ready?" he asked coldly, suddenly sitting up and planting an elbow on the table. "Where's that waiter?" he asked, looking around the room.

The man was a horse's ass, and Lord help the poor woman who eventually hooked up with him, because Marnie was certain that
his
wedding would be an event in front of the justice of the peace, over and done with in five minutes and topped off with a trip to Taco Bell before everyone got back to work. What a goon.

"Gee," she muttered, reaching for her purse. "Throw in one little arch and look what happens."

"That's right, just look what happens," he said, snatching the bill from the waiter when he appeared and dashing off his name on the receipt. He slammed the bill holder shut and looked up at her with glittering blue eyes. "I thought I told you to manage her expectations."

"What, she's not allowed to have an arch? Is that such an unreasonable expectation?
Lots
of weddings have arches, but I wouldn't expect you to know that, because I doubt you've ever been close to a wedding, and with your views on the subject, I doubt you ever will be."

His face colored slightly, and he pressed his lips together for a moment. "She can't have a fucking three-hundred-pound
arch
," he snapped, and stood, caught Marnie by the elbow and pulled her to her feet. And he kept his hand tightly on her elbow as he steered her through the maze of restaurant tables and out the door.

"Jesus, Marnie," he continued as they walked, "did you ever think how we'd ever get it up there? I showed you the map. You know what we're up against."

"Yes, you showed me the map, atlas man," she shot back. "But I didn't realize it was so high in the mountains that it might as well be on Jupiter.
We're
getting up there somehow. Can't an arch get up there, too?"

The maitre d' pushed open the door for them, and Eli and Marnie marched through it, side by side, halting together in front of the valet stand. Eli flipped his claim ticket at the kid, then turned to face Marnie. He was so close she could smell his cologne, the faint scent of wine.

She tried very hard not to look at his lips.

"This isn't a made-for-TV movie. You need to keep a lid on things. She may have more money than God, but that doesn't mean she has to spend it all."

She hated it when people—okay, men—talked to her as if she were a turnip. She folded her arms, lifted her chin, and glared right back at him. "Here's an idea. Why don't you just let me do the job you hired me to do?"

He blinked. And a grin slowly spread his lips. A very dark and dangerous grin. "All right. And why don't you just do the job we hired you to do and stop playing Hollywood Barbie?"

"Hollywood
Barbie
! You're going to call me names because the bride wants some stupid plastic
arch
?" she exclaimed indignantly.

His pickup screeched to a halt in front of them before he could answer. The valet jumped out of the driver's side and rushed around to the passenger side to open the door for Marnie. She glared at Eli and marched forward.

But he was right on her heels, and in a confused moment where the valet tried to get out of the way at the same time Marnie tried to get in the truck, she hastily stepped out of the valet's way and backed right into Eli. Or rather, the brick wall that was Eli. Brick chest, concrete posts for legs. Solid and thick, the man was as hard as his head, and it felt like she'd just been zapped—the sort of zap that stings and makes you shiver all over at the same time.

She quickly jumped forward before he could zap her with any other hard body part, and practically dove headfirst into his truck.

Eli stepped up to close the door, and for a brief moment, a
very
brief moment, his eyes swept over her again, lingering for a split second on her breasts before he slammed the door shut and strode around to his side of the truck.

He got in, put the truck in gear, and pulled away from the curb. "So where were we?"

"Let's see___Oh, I remember. You were impugning my professionalism by implying that I am not taking my job seriously."

"Oh, right, right, you had decided to take a three-hundred-pound arch to the remote mountains of Colorado. An arch I bet she told you about
after
you'd spent a fortune shopping. Which is exactly my point, Marnie—don't get caught up in the glamour."

"Glamour! Ha!" she cried derisively. "That is the most ludicrous thing you've said yet! Caught up in the glamour!" She snorted.

"Oh yeah? Well just look at you," he said as he headed for Santa Monica Boulevard.

She gasped indignantly. "Whaddaya mean,
look
at me?"

"Your
dress
," he said, as if that explained it all.

"What about my dress?" she cried, getting very irritated now, and looked down at her most excellent dress. "For your information, this is just about the coolest dress on the planet, thankyouverymuch, and please don't be offended when I say that I'm not about to take any fashion advice from Howdy Doody who thinks workout clothes are the same as banging-around clothes."

That made Eli laugh. "I may be Howdy Doody to you, but I ain't blind, sweetheart. It's because that dress is so fine that I'm saying this to you, all right? You wouldn't
have
a dress that fine if you weren't out shopping and getting carried away with Olivia Dagwood and her little sphere of stardom. But I promise you, the moment you become inconvenient or irrelevant to Olivia, she will cut you off and act like she never heard your name. I'm just saying things will go a lot easier if you just do your job and don't buy into the pals bit."

Marnie flew right past the tone of his voice and the telling her what to do to
that dress is so fine
. She tried to keep the smile from her face but was horribly unsuccessful. Actually, she was beaming. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "You really like it?"

He groaned. But he was smiling a little, too. 'Try and absorb what I'm saying, will you, coppertop? No arches! No fancy cakes, no china, no silver, no sit-down dinners."

"Aha!" she said brightly. "So you
do
know a little something about weddings!"

"Maybe a little," he said, and looked out the driver's window for a moment. "Just listen to me, Marnie."

She laughed. "How can I avoid listening to you? When you actually talk, you're usually complaining about something."

"I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't try and mentor you a little bit here."

"Are you
serious
? Are you actually serious?" she exclaimed in disbelief. "You don't mentor! You spout opinions!"

"Come on. No I don't."

"Yes you do! You have a tone. I don't have a tone, but you
so
have a tone."

They argued about the perceived tone of his voice and her inability to listen, as well as how he came off like a frozen stiff who spoke only to bark orders until they reached her neighborhood.