Runaway Groom (2 page)

An errant memory nagged at her. Years ago, she’d greeted Matthew’s arrival at their house with almost as much enthusiasm as June. Back in school, she’d nursed a crush on her friend Amy’s older brother. The entire Logan clan were so charismatic and good-looking, it was difficult not to. Of course, she’d been a sixteen year old kid—a teenager with a mouthful of braces that made her self-conscious.

In Matthew’s company, her heart sped up and she became totally tongue-tied and awkward. With his intense navy blue eyes, and almost-black hair tumbling across his forehead, he’d been every teenager’s fantasy. She’d tried to hide her attraction, and he’d seemed oblivious to her crush. He’d been kind, been fun. Back then, she’d dreamed of one day finding a man just like him.

“Do you ever see Amy?” It was as though June had zoned in on April’s thoughts.

She shook her head. Their friendship had hit the skids pretty much immediately after their siblings’ relationship.
I guess in a warzone you pick a side.

June tilted her head to the side. “Are you seeing anyone?” Her eyebrows rose.

“No. Well, not really.” She’d gone on a couple of dates recently with another barista, or should that be baristo? Joshua was nice, uncomplicated, but didn’t exactly set her on fire. He’d tried, but the lack of chemistry was obvious.

“Might you bring someone to the wedding?”

“Are you kidding? Bringing someone to your wedding would be disastrous. Dad would have me married off before I’d even completed the introductions.”

June sat on the sofa and patted the seat next to her. She had a familiar look on her face, the one that usually meant that she was going to ask a favor April wasn’t going to enjoy giving.

On stiff legs April walked over and sat down.

June placed her soft, manicured hand over April’s clenched hands. “In that case, I need another favor. I want you to look after Matthew at the wedding.”

*****

Matthew Logan breathed in the clear crisp air and looked up into a cloudless sky. Conditions were perfect.

“Thank you all for coming today.” He smiled at the employees who had answered his call for volunteers, all clad in their running gear. It was strange to see them in out of their usual suits and professional work wear. “I really appreciate you guys helping us out here, and for bringing your supporters along. Let me explain how this is going to work.”

The abandoned airfield outside London still had its uses, mostly as a training road for learner drivers, but today—today the quiet track had been transformed into a running track for the use of Logan Advertising.

At one end of the looping runway was the start line, and along the route large screens had been set up, which would be visible to the runners as they circuited.

“Everyone has their tags attached to their running shoes, and their recording devices?”

The little group responded with nods and upraised thumbs.

“The purpose of today is not to test the system, we know from the manufacturers it works properly,” Matthew said. “What we need from you guys is feedback about the images you will see as you pass each screen. As you know, this technology has been used in marathons in the past few years, and don’t worry, I’m not expecting anyone here to run a marathon unless they feel like one hell of a workout this morning.” He grinned. “I’m going to do two circuits, because I need the exercise, but I think most people will do one. Susan has programmed the system with each runner’s details. I’ll let her explain the next bit.”

Susan White stepped forward. “Okay, there are two parts to this, the runners…” The runners cheered. “And the supporters.” The supporters cheered back. “Each runner has a team to keep them going. We’re spreading the supporters out into four groups. Each group is covered by a camera. The RFID devices are triggered as each runner crosses over the mats set up along the route. This passes information on the runners’ positions to central control. As each runner approaches the screen, a personalized message flicks up. They’ll see real-time encouragement from their supporters, a targeted message from the advertisers, and as they pass, footage of the product.”

“What we want to evaluate here today is the effectiveness of the advertising,” Matthew said. “Each screen has the same information, but delivered in a different order. We’ve done some modeling in the office, but we need feedback from you guys as to which works best.” He held up the recorder fastened on a lanyard around his neck. “As you see each screen, I want you to record the following information. Screen number, your thoughts about the content, and how you are feeling—both approaching the screen and leaving it.” He pointed to the table set a little way away from the starting line. “When you’ve finished your run, hand in your recorder to Janice and she’ll give you an envelope.”

“No winners ribbons, boss?” one of the company’s directors, Jason shouted.

Matthew put his hands on his hips. “No, this isn’t about who’s the fastest, because that will be me, of course.” Laughter rose in the air. “The envelopes are a thank you to everyone for volunteering. I’d love to take you all to the pub afterwards, but I know many of you have other things to do on a Saturday evening, so Janice has organized a little cash reward for helping out for you to spend as you wish. Taking your supporters out to dinner, maybe?”

He could tell this surprise was well received, and made a mental note to thank Janice later for thinking of the idea. When he’d put out the call for employees to give up their Saturday afternoon he’d been surprised by the instant positive response.

What had started as a test of the advertising campaign for their newest client had somehow morphed into a team-building exercise. The single members of the company seemed to be using it as a dating aid too. It hadn’t escaped his notice that Jason had a team of three secretaries waving him on. Some of them had even made little flags.

There might well be some new couples by the time Monday morning swung around.

“Okay, are we ready?”

The runners took their position at the starting line, the supporters spread out behind the cameras, and the race began.

He’d only been half kidding about being the frontrunner. Although business had consumed most of his time this week, Matthew’s usual routine of running three times a week meant he had a step up on most of his employees. As he approached the first screen, the rest of the field was far behind. The screen flashed up ‘Matthew you’re in the lead!’ He grinned. Pressed the button to record. “First screen, feeling good about being in the lead.” The image changed to a picture of Susan, who waved a flag with a self-conscious smile at the camera. “Feel good, having Susan waving,” he recorded. Then as he drew level with the screen, a close up image of a runner’s feet clad in Albios sneakers appeared with the company’s logo above them. “The footage is too slow, I feel the urge to match my speed to theirs—it should be speeded up slightly. There could also be more information on this part; maybe we could insert the tagline. There’s time for me to take in more information.”

Satisfied, Matthew picked up the pace. Seeing a campaign in action was so much more effective than modeling it on the boardroom monitor. Heat spread through his thigh muscles as he pushed his body to its limit. The mix of runners, occasional joggers and walkers didn’t matter. Each participant had at least one supporter, and as he passed the first group behind the camera, each person’s enjoyment was evident.

Susan had volunteered to be his supporter, which was lucky, because he didn’t have anyone to ask. Even though he got on well with everyone who worked for his company, the invisible boss-employee divide dictated none of them would be caught dead waving a flag and urging him on. For the first time in years, a trace of loneliness spread through him.

He dated, but kept his work and private life separate. And there was no one he could imagine wanting to see on the sidelines. Not that any of the women he dated would want to stand outside in the crisp spring air encouraging him on.

He approached the second screen, and dictated notes into his recording device. Everything about this campaign had to be perfect. Albios wanted to trial the campaign at a smaller 10k women-only race next month, and if all went well, Logan Advertising would be awarded the contract for advertising during the London Marathon.

This campaign was the big one. The one to cement their position as one of the most successful new advertising agencies in London. With the economy contracting, many of his rival firms had been forced to make redundancies; some had even gone out of business. The company he’d borrowed money from his parents and the bank to start five years ago bore his name. Everyone who worked within the spacious offices in one of London’s steel and glass skyscrapers had mortgages to pay, families to support. There was no way Matthew would sacrifice any of them to the recession gods, not if he could help it.

His mother always called him stubborn.

Muscles burning, Matthew wiped the sweat from his brow as his feet pounded the asphalt.

Stubborn didn’t begin to cover it.

Chapter Two

All work, no play, makes April a dull girl.

And I’m dull enough.
April rubbed blusher onto her cheeks. If it had been up to her, she’d stay in again and watch another DVD. Her friends joked about the alphabetized stack on the shelf behind her TV, and sure, she had to admit she did have every rom-com ever produced, or at least every rom-com with her favorite leading men in them, but there wasn’t anything wrong with that.

Marie and Eliza didn’t agree. They were always telling her to stop watching life from the sidelines, and get out there and live it. She’d suggested a girls’ night in, but this time they were adamant. The city had a lot to offer, and both of them were determined that tonight, they’d go out and sample a little bit of it.

As long as they didn’t both hook up with gorgeous guys like last time. There was nothing fun about playing gooseberry.

She straightened the leather skirt Marie had persuaded her to buy in a moment of madness. How on earth was she going to sit down in this thing without flashing her panties to everyone? With a sigh, she turned away from the mirror.

She had time to make a phone call.

She sat on her bed and rested her hand on the phone.

Surely June had taken her advice, and given up the mad idea of inviting Matthew to the wedding? They hadn’t had a chance to discuss it before June had headed back to Ireland.

She pulled in her bottom lip and chewed it. June wasn’t an idiot. Even if Michael knew she’d been engaged once before, he couldn’t possibly be okay with inviting her ex. And their parents would be livid. Mum’s heart wasn’t strong, she’d already had one heart attack, and the sight of Matthew Logan lounging in the pews would definitely add stress to what was already ramping up to be a stressful day.

Their father, Jack and his second wife Inez were flying in from Spain, and although both of her parents got on well enough most of the time, being seated next to each other on the top table would add more electricity into the mix. There was a real danger of electrocution, and if they clashed over Matthew…

It was tempting to just hope for the best, and ignore the situation. But in all honestly, she couldn’t. Because Matthew’s presence at the wedding held the potential to turn everyone’s world upside down.

She dialed June’s number.

June bubbled with wedding news. April dutifully reported on the dress’s progress—at their final meeting she’d fitted June with the plain cotton toile mock-up of the dress, and made alterations. They’d finalized the final fabric, a heavy duchess satin in pale silver. June had brought Michael with her, so they hadn’t had a chance to talk about the Matthew situation.

Bloody man. He’s even become a situation.

June burbled on and on. April’s eyes glazed over. She wasn’t even remotely interested in the meal, the table settings, the flowers, but she obediently made the right noises for the following fifteen minutes. Then she snapped.

“June.”

“And we thought for the buttonholes—”

“June.” Raising her voice and lowering her tone had the desired effect.

“Hmm?”

“I want to talk to you about Matthew.” April gritted her teeth.

“I’ve sent the invitations.” Was there a trace of too-late in June’s tone?

“You didn’t invite him, did you? You know we agreed it wouldn’t be a good…”

“You agreed inviting Matthew wouldn’t be a good idea, I disagreed.”

Oh crap, there definitely was more than a trace of too-late in June’s voice, in fact it was more of a I’ve-done-it-get-over-it tone.

“June, you didn’t.”

“April, I did.”

If she could see her sister now, April knew exactly what expression would be on June’s face. She’d have her hands on her hips and her bottom jaw stuck out like a boxer inviting a punch. But she’d have her dukes up, ready to strike back.

“It’ll cause no end of trouble.”

“He’s not a bad guy. Everyone blames him for—”

“Because he ran out on you, June. He’s the goddamned runaway groom.”

“He didn’t leave me at the altar, April.”

“Semantics.” April squeezed her eyes tight shut. How could June not realize that if Matthew attended the wedding he would be the sole topic of conversation?

If the press gets hold of it...
She rubbed at the ache blooming in her forehead. Michael’s family was practically American royalty. All of the newspapers would be there, and if one of them decided to do even basic research they’d discover June’s history.

The past would only stay in the past as long as Matthew wasn’t in the church.

The doorbell rang.

“Oh, who’s that?” June jumped on the diversion like a cat pouncing on catnip.

“Marie and Eliza, we’re…”

“You’re going out? Great! Have a good night, we’ll talk soon!”

A click. Dead air.

Was there actually such a place as Margeritaville?
April licked the salt from the rim of her glass and followed it with a chilled mouthful of tequila. “We should have stuck to beer,” she muttered. Her mouth tasted funny, as if her tongue had gone to sleep or something.