Best Laid Plans (Dearly Beloved)
Praise for Silver James’ Writings
Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
Best Laid Plans
by
Silver James
Dearly Beloved Series
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Best Laid Plans
COPYRIGHT © 2013 by Silver James
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by
Tina Lynn Stout
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First
Last Rose of Summer
Edition, 2013
Digital ISBN 978-1-61217-761-8
Dearly Beloved Series
Published in the United States of America
Praise for Silver James’ Writings
“This story should be a hit with anyone looking for a fast-paced love story. It provides just the right touch of romance to make it a pleasure to read. If you are in the mood for a quick love story with a happy ending,
FAIRY TALES CAN COME TRUE
is for you.”
~Two Lips Reviews (4 Lips)
~*~
PROMISES, PROMISES
: “This is a spicy little read that definitely fills that need if you are wanting a quick romantic fix. I would highly recommend this short story to anyone looking for a contemporary read with a little kick to it.”
~Long and Short Reviews (4 Books)
~*~
FAERIE FATE:
“If you love time travel, you will definitely enjoy traveling with Ciaran and Becca.”
~Bitten by Books (5 Tombstones)
~*~
“This wonderful, magical story has plenty of action, political and international intrigue, FBI interference, loyalty and betrayal popping up in unexpected places, and I loved every word of
FAERIE FIRE!
”
~Bitten By Books (5 Tombstones)
~*~
“Silver James does a wonderful job of blending old world and new, enchantment and reality. This story rocks and rolls until the very last page! I highly recommend
FAERIE FOOL!”
~Karin Tabke aka Harlow, best-selling author
Dedication
For Greg—even after 30 years, I still remember
our wedding like it was yesterday.
You gave me a happy ever after of my very own,
a daughter to be proud of,
and your steadfast belief in me makes it possible
for the characters who live in my imagination
to come alive in the stories I write.
Chapter 1
Never, in twenty-plus years of wedding planning, had Claire Vitale considered advising the bride and groom to elope. Not once. Until now. She’d faced down her share of mothers-of-the-bride, but this time it was the bride’s father who had her chugging liquid antacid like champagne. Claire was pretty sure her expression mirrored the look of horror plastered on the bride-to-be’s face.
“You want me to wear a what?” The bride’s voice rose two full octaves.
“Now, Laurel.” Nicholas Grant looked ready to steamroll over his daughter’s protests.
Claire stepped into the breach since Laurel didn’t have a mother to stand up for her. “Mr. Grant, I think you should consider your daughter’s wishes. This
is
her wedding.”
Gray eyes pinned her to the spot and she was once again reminded why the name Nicholas Grant was feared in boardrooms across the country. Though he was a formidable opponent, she had only to glance at the tears pooling in Laurel’s eyes to straighten up to her full height—all five feet three inches of it—prepared to do battle.
“This is a business decision, Ms. Vitale. As Mr. Yuzuki and his associates will be attending, it will be beneficial to present them with a traditional Japanese wedding.”
Laurel burst into tears and fled the room while Claire simply stared at the man across the dining room table. Elopement sounded better and better. A destination wedding—for the bride, groom, and maybe their attendants. At this point, she was considering reimbursing her fee to Laurel to help pay for it. She was simply appalled at the man’s apparent lack of consideration. Claire’s cheeks radiated heat as her temper flared.
“A business decision? A
business
decision?” She inhaled and clenched her hands into fists to help steady her voice. “No, Mr. Grant. This is most definitely
not
going to be a business decision. This is your daughter’s wedding.
Her
special day—the one little girls dream about their whole lives. You have meddled, pushed, and bullied Laurel to the point I wouldn’t be surprised if she called off the whole wretched affair.”
Her dander was up now and she stalked around the table to confront him. “You have changed her plans five times now, Mr. Grant. You’ve changed the venue, the menu, the dress, and the bridesmaids. You didn’t like the band. You didn’t like any of the
six
caterers we previously contracted. Not once have you considered what Laurel wants.”
“What Laurel wants is irrel—”
“Do. Not. Go. There.” She bit off each word. Claire stabbed her index finger into his chest for emphasis, surprised it didn’t bounce off his stiffly starched Egyptian cotton dress shirt. “Laurel is your only child—your daughter. She’s a wonderful young woman who happens to want a fairy tale wedding,
not
a business merger.”
Claire paused for breath, noting his eyes had gone battleship gray. Well, that was certainly fitting under the circumstances.
“Who are you to presume to speak to me like this?”
She poked him again. “
I
am the wedding planner.
I
am the one—the
only
one apparently—concerned with ensuring Laurel has a wonderful wedding. Dealing with the groom’s mother has been a piece of cake compared to what I’ve put up with from you.”
“I hired you. I can fire you.”
“Really? You went there? Honestly, Mr. Grant, do you want to play that card?” She tilted her chin up almost daring him to carry through with his threat. She stared. He stared back. And blinked first.
Claire resisted the urge to fist pump. “Your daughter hired me for my expertise, Mr. Grant.
She
is my client. You may ultimately sign the checks, but I work for her. I want to be very clear on that.”
He opened his mouth but then snapped his jaw shut before any words spilled out.
Claire inhaled and stepped back so she didn’t get a crick in her neck from glaring up at him. He was too tall for her own good. And handsome, if she’d let herself think about it. In his early fifties, his dark hair was laced with a few silver streaks that made him look distinguished. Suntanned, athletic, tall. Very tall.
She made a note to start wearing high heels—
very
high heels—around him. Height had its advantages and since she was vertically challenged, she needed every advantage she could command. She waited to see if he’d speak. He didn’t.
He turned on his heel and marched out. Moments later, his voice barked from somewhere deeper in the huge house. “My office, Ms. Vitale. Now.”
“Ha. He wants to confront me on his own turf.” She rearranged two of the place settings on the magnificent dining room table. She and Laurel had been choosing the china for the bridal dinner when Mr. Grant interrupted them with his pronouncement.
Taking her time in order to plan what she would say to him, she scooped up the stack of gift cards sitting on a silver tray and slid them into her planner. She would record them later as a reminder for Laurel to write thank you notes. She stopped at the Georgian side table in the entry hall and rearranged the vase of fresh flowers commanding the center of its marble top.
Then she considered stopping by the kitchen to ask for a cold drink. Or coffee. Yes, coffee would be better. It would take longer to fix.
****
“Sometime today, Ms. Vitale.” Nick’s sarcastic tone brooked no argument. He used it effectively on all his subordinates, especially the tardy ones.
She appeared at the door to his office. His inner sanctum wasn’t the luxurious study of some dilettante. He often worked from home, given his world-wide holdings. Computers, faxes, phones—these were the decorations of his Spartan space, and that’s just the way he wanted it.
Ms. Vitale braced her shoulder against the door jamb, one hand on her hip. “You barked?”
Nick stared. He didn’t quite know what to do with her. She amused him. Frustrated him. And made him wonder what she’d look like if he took the pins out of that old-maid bun to allow her hair to tumble about her shoulders.
She arched a brow and managed to look down her pert little nose at him. Considering their height difference, that was a feat. He waved a negligent hand toward the chair parked haphazardly in front of his desk. “Sit.”
“I am not your dog, Mr. Grant.”
“Obviously not, Ms. Vitale. My dog obeys my commands.”
The corners of her eyes crinkled as she fought the smile threatening to break her poker face. “I’m afraid I flunked obedience school.”
Since she made no move to take the chair he indicated, Nick settled on the front edge of his desk, leaned back a little, and folded his arms across his chest. “You interest me, Ms. Vitale.” She blinked. Score one for him. “Not many people stand up to me.”
Something that sounded suspiciously like a snort escaped from her but she still didn’t speak. “For a woman who had a great deal to say a few minutes ago, you are strangely silent now. Marshalling your courage to beard me in my den?”
“Beard you in your den? Please tell me you didn’t just say that. What century did you grow up in?” She pushed off the door jamb and advanced on him.
He noted with curiosity that his heart rate increased and certain parts of his anatomy stirred with interest.
Stopping directly in front of him, she fisted both hands on her hips, which did interesting things to the neckline of her blouse. “Ahem. Eyes up here, buster.”
Rather than show his guilt, he trailed his gaze down, taking in her lush figure before meeting her eye-to-eye. “Buster? And you talk about my use of archaic language?”
Her full lips curled into a parody of a smile—one that didn’t come close to reaching her eyes. He would not want to meet her across a boardroom table. Her reputation as a tough negotiator was well-deserved.
“What do you want, Mr. Grant? I still need to calm Laurel down and get her to make a decision on the china for the reception dinner.” She glanced at her watch. “And I have an appointment with the florist in an hour.”
“Laurel will calm down in her own good time. I would prefer the Royal Doulton Platinum, but Laurel would pick the Doulton Gold Ribbon. Call the florist to reschedule. I’m paying the man enough he can make time for you another day.”
“Mr. Grant—”
“Nick.”
Her mouth gaped open. Score another point for him. He’d surprised her. But then he’d surprised himself as well. This conversation wasn’t going the direction he’d intended. She inhaled deeply and he felt the effect of that rise of her breasts directly below his belt.
“Mr. Grant.”
“Nick, or if you prefer something a little more formal, Nicholas. I must warn you, though. My mother is the only woman who calls me that.”
“I just bet.” She muttered the words under her breath, but he heard them.
“May I call you…” His voice trailed off as he tried to remember her first name.
“Claire. And no. You may not. This is a business relationship, Mr. Grant.”