Wedding Survivor (6 page)

While they all hastened to assure her that it was quite all right—they admired her willingness to try—there wasn't a man among them who didn't wonder if she could pull her own weight at eleven thousand feet. They were used to enduring extreme conditions with strong men. Not women who ran like girls.

Fortunately, Marnie fared much better on the next phase. The idea, as they had developed it, was to make sure their wedding planner could handle the press. In the pavilion, Michael began to fire a set of nonsensical questions at her, asking and reasking the same thing, trying to shake her up.

Marnie did a great job—none of the questions about affairs or babies or drugs rattled her in the least. She had a great laugh and a charming smile, and laughed appropriately at the ridiculous questions but still answered them with aplomb. Better yet, she gave up just enough of her made-up version of the wedding for the press to have a story, but not enough where they could actually learn when or where it was.

The last phase of the audition was Jack's creation. He thought it necessary to give the candidates some "what-if" scenarios to see how they'd react. "The bride hasn't decided what to wear for the wedding," he said, harking back to an Oscar moment that Olivia had told them about. "She has three or four dresses. When she gets up to the site, she decides to wear a Vera Wayne, but you don't
have
a Vera Wayne," he said, making it sound like a matter of life and death. "What do you do?"

"Wang," Marnie said.

"Huh?"

"Vera Wang. This is a tough one," she said thoughtfully. She tapped a manicured forefinger against her lips, then said, "Okay, here's what—I'd try and talk sensibly to her and point out all the good things about the gowns she's got."

No one had anything to say to that.

"Okay, that's dumb," she said hastily. 'This
is
Olivia Dagwood we're talking about. How about… I'd try and pass off one of the gowns there as a Vera Wang?" she asked. When no one spoke again, she said, "No? Okay, I give. What is the right answer?"

"Hell if we know," Jack said.

In the end, having exhausted everything they could think of, and being in turn exhausted by Mamie's knowledge of weddings, the guys sent Marnie back to the Lincoln to wait, and they caucused in the pavilion.

It was clear they had their wedding planner. Jack lamented that she didn't have the physical stamina they were hoping for, but they all agreed that she likely wouldn't look as hot as she did if she had the physical stamina of a discus thrower, which was, if they boiled it down, what they were hoping for.

"So what do you think?" Cooper asked them all. "Do we take her on?"

"Have we got another choice?" Jack asked. "She'll do, assuming she comes up clean on a thorough background check."

"I like her," Michael said. "She's cheerful. I like cheerful in a wedding planner."

"I like legs on a wedding planner, and she's definitely got those," Coop snorted. "I say we do it."

The three of them looked at Eli. He sighed wearily. "I still say it's the dumbest thing we've ever done."

"Great," Cooper said, and with a grin, shoved Mamie's forgotten melon at Eli. "Then you can call her with the good news when we finish the background on her."

MARNIE was waiting on the front bumper of the Lincoln when Eli strolled up the path, and she couldn't help noticing that the man looked as good coming as he did going in those old Levi's.

He smiled in a very soft, very sexy way that made her belly do a weird little flip as he reached the parking lot. "You forgot something," he said, indicating the now-bruised but still enormous casaba melon she hadn't even noticed until now.

"Thanks!" She quickly took the melon from him and waited for him to say more. Like,
You're hired
.

But he lifted his hand to signal the driver and said, "You can get in."

That was hugely disappointing. She'd thought she'd done pretty well at her audition. She was really hoping that he'd come up and tell her, while she was standing on Vincent Vittorio's property, that she had the job. And she thought he ought to be a whole lot more cheerful than this, because she deserved at least cheerful after what they'd just put her through. And really,
why
couldn't he have told her to wear some
workout
clothes instead of some
banging-around
clothes?

It was the rope, she thought as he opened the door to the Lincoln for her and she carelessly tossed the melon inside. It was that damn rope! It had been her bane from the moment she'd first met it at age six, and it was still kicking her ass!

She climbed in; the driver shut the door as Eli got in beside her. A moment later, they were backing out of the little lot.

Her arms crossed, Marnie let the casaba melon roll listlessly on the seat between them. Okay, maybe she didn't have the experience they needed for this sort of wedding, as in
no
experience, but if that was the case, couldn't they have just said so instead of making her run around a track in pants? The nerve, the absolute, unmitigated gall!

Eli said nothing as they drove through the electronic gate and turned onto a street. The farther away from Vince Vittorio's property they drove, the more irritated Marnie became. Her failure was partially
his
fault, she thought, stealing a glimpse of Eli from the corner of her eye. He should have told her to wear something a little more appropriate. She stewed until she caught him regarding her with a curious expression. "It was the rope, wasn't it?" she blurted.

"Pardon?"

"The rope! You guys cut me because of the rope! For your information, I couldn't climb the rope because of my pants—they're a
linen and silk blend
. If I'd been wearing something different, I could have done it."

"That's why I told you to dress in banging-around clothes."

God, if he said that one more time, she could not be re-sponsible for her actions. "But…" She sat up and twisted in her seat to face him fully. "But you didn't say
casual
, you said
banging-around
, and really neither of them mean the same thing as gym shorts, do they?"

"Apparently not."

She fell back in her seat. "And who calls workout clothes 'banging-around clothes'?" she asked irritably.

Eli shrugged. "Sorry. I didn't know there was a difference."

Were men just born fashion-challenged? "There is," she said with much superiority, "
clearly
a difference."

"I consider myself enlightened," he said with that easy smile.

A moment later the Lincoln turned and stopped. The driver got out and opened Mamie's door. Eli got out, too. Marnie stoically collected her fruit and her bag and awkwardly stepped out, juggling the stupid melon. Eli stood, his weight on one hip, patiently waiting.

"Thank you for the interview," Marnie said pertly, and tried to stick her hand out.

Eli put his hand under the melon, and took her partially extended hand into his big callused palm. Something tingled beneath her skin where her hand touched his, danced up her arm, and slipped right into her chest. Marnie looked up—somewhere along the way Eli had removed his shades and had the most amazing blue eyes she'd ever seen, a gorgeous mix of blue and gold. And there were little feathery lines on tanned skin fanning out at the comers.
Damn
. No job, no bonus gorgeous guy.

"I appreciate the opportunity," she said dejectedly.

He smiled lopsidedly. "Yeah, you really sound like you do. So listen, we're going to run a background check," he said smoothly, "and if you check out, I'll give you a call in a couple of days and we'll talk about ground rules. If you're cool with the ground rules, I'll take you to meet Olivia… that is, if you want the job."

Wait a minute… was she hearing him right? Marnie stood frozen, her mouth open, the melon in her hand. But then she gasped and lurched all at once, and Eli caught her melon. "You mean… you
mean
, I got
the job
?"

"If you check out."

"Oh, I'll check out," she said, nodding her head. "There's an alarming lack of anything in my background."

"We'll need to go over a few things—"

"Right, right—I'll bring my portfolio to your office at a time that is convenient for you and show you—"

"No, I mean about how we work. And there's a contract you need to sign that basically says if you die or something, it's not our fault."

"Okay!" she said, nodding and pumping his hand vigorously. "Oh, thank you, Eli! You won't regret it, I promise! So when can I expect your call?"

Eli smiled fully then—a stunning display of even white teeth and deep dimples. "Take a breath, girl. We'll call in a couple of days," he said, and handed her the melon. He lifted his cap and pushed his fingers through a head of thick, dark gold, sun-streaked hair. 'Take care." With a touch of his hat, he moved to the open door of the Lincoln and stepped in.

Grinning so widely her cheeks hurt, Marnie watched the Lincoln disappear into traffic, and then whirled around and marched for the parking lot and her car, the melon on her shoulder now.
Marnie Banks. Wedding Planner to the Stars
!

THEY did not call her the next day. Or the day after. By Friday, Marnie had lapsed into despair and had gone for a run to clear her head. And okay, to see if she could run the high school track at least twice.

When she got home, feeling better about herself after making two circuits without passing out, Mom was sitting in the kitchen in her new embroidered capris and red Keds, talking on the phone.

Marnie walked straight to the fridge, opened it, and took out a bottle of water.

"Well, you can put them in a fruit salad, too," Mom was saying. "You just section them, get a nice sweet dressing, and mix it all up. It's a really good summer meal."

Marnie started to leave the kitchen, but Mom gestured frantically at the phone. "Would you like to talk to Marnie? She just came in." Mom paused, and laughed, looking at Marnie. "Yes, she
does—a
little anyway. Nice talking to you, Eli," she said, and pulled the phone from her ear and thrust it at Marnie, who almost dropped her bottle of water, mortified that her mother had been talking to Eli about a fruit salad.