Bride Has Two Faces: A Wedding Caper Sequel Page 12

  Joan rolled her eyes. “Now what?” she asked. “When our sweetheart employer returns, she’ll raise the roof if those sample books are still out of date. First Gisele tells me the new fabric swatches got misplaced, now this–” As she spoke, the phone rang. Pulling the piece of gum from her mouth, she stuck it on the surface of her desk as she lifted the receiver.

  “Perfect Vows,” she purred. A slightly screeching sound emerged from the other end, as if an angry squirrel was conversing with Joan. Eyes widened slightly, Joan placed a hand over the mouthpiece.

  “It’s her,” she hissed. Both Gisele and Gwendolen exchanged looks of unease.

  “Yes...of course. No, I haven’t screwed it up yet, promise...” Joan rolled her eyes as she spoke, the sound of the voice on the other end jabbering away in response. The secretary’s hand covered the mouthpiece again.

  “She wants to speak to you,” said Joan.

  “To me?” The response from Gwendolen and Gisele was simultaneous, although the look of horror on Gwen’s face was unsurpassed. To her? Surely not, surely there was some mistake– it had to be Gisele–

  “To you.” Joan shoved the phone in Gwen’s direction. Gisele breathed a sigh of relief as she swiftly retreated to make herself busy at a safe distance from the sound of the eminent Ms. Taylor’s voice.

  Gwen took the receiver as if handling a snake, a trembling thumb and forefinger wrapped around it. “H-Hello?” She tried to suppress the shaking in her voice, which made her tone jump from loud to quiet in a split-second.

  “Gwendolen?” Grace Taylor snapped. “I hope you’ve finished with those catering menus–and you’ve taken care of all the waiting list people we’ve sacked, correct?”

  “Of–of course,” said Gwendolen, although her heart was sinking to the bottom of her chest. “That is to say, I’m working on the catering menus. We have a new one from Cake Bake and–”

  “Never mind the details,” scolded Grace. “What on earth do you think I am, your therapist? Just do it and don’t bore me with the trivial part. Now, to whom did you shove off those last clients?”

  Gwen froze at these words. “What clients?” Her voice faltered.

  “Oh, what was their name?” Grace Taylor sounded cross. “Halter, Hammond ... Halton?”

  “There was a ... a Hammond-Brown?” suggested Gwendolen. This much was true–although their wedding was already well underway when Grace Taylor made her exit for the spas. Crossing her fingers behind her back, Gwen prayed inwardly for a miracle. Please, please, don’t let her remember the Harletts ... let her forget all about that appointment.

  “Hammond-Brown? No, that’s not ... well, maybe it is. Anyway, to what agency did you send them?”

  Gwen’s knees wobbled slightly. “Um, all of the clients we declined went to Planners of Perfection, I think,” she said. “And Wedding Co-Op. I think.” She darted a glance in the direction of Joan, who was staring at her with a look of incomprehension.

  There was a pause on the other end of the phone. “Fine,” said Grace Taylor, after drawing a sharp breath. “Then finish coordinating those catering menus and be sure to pick up the new drapes for my office. I told the sales clerk expressly to have them ready by this week.”

  “Of course,” said Gwen. Maybe this was the end of the torturous conversation– maybe her boss was about to let her go free. She felt herself relax, her heart soaring upwards at the thought of hanging up the phone without being caught red-handed in these lies.

  “About my return ...” The sound of Grace’s voice brought Gwendolen back to earth with a thud.

  “Your return?” she repeated. A look of dismay crossed Joan’s face; somewhere behind her was the crash of office supplies and a gasping sound from Gisele.

  “I was planning to return early, of course. As soon as the doctor would conveniently release me.” These words made Gwendolen picture a swathe of bandages wrapped around Grace Taylor’s face, with a small hole cut for talking and sipping low-calorie shakes.

  “Then you’ll be back ... soon?” she ventured. Heart hammering, she now envisioned her boss marching into the office days early, finding Gwendolen gone or–worse yet– picking up the phone to tell Mrs. Harlett the firm would be happy to plan her wedding now that its eminent founder had returned.

  Job lost, reputation ruined–and the chance moments of basking in Ryan’s warm smile stolen away. A blush of guilt crossed her face with this thought, even as she felt her panic rising.

  “As usual, I’m sure the doctor is completely wrong; I can already tell without even consulting him that the healing process isn’t all he promised,” she complained. “I can’t stand incompetence–and being stuck here the whole time would be practically murder, but if murder is what it takes ...”

  “Then you’re not coming back early?” Before her, Joan performed a silent little dance of triumph while sitting at her desk; a groan of relief was issued from the direction of the office supply zone.

  “Never mind when I’m coming back!” Grace Taylor snapped. “Just finish those assignments and start on the office Christmas cards early for heaven’s sake!” There was a loud click as the call was disconnected, a dial tone filling the space after a split-second of silence.

  Gwendolen placed the phone in its cradle again, a dazed feeling invading her head. She felt light enough to float across the carpet, carefree enough to run down all three flights of stairs to the ground below. This must be how people felt who escaped a terrible accident by mere seconds.

  “Well, what did she say?” demanded Joan. “She’s not coming back yet, is she?” A suspicious tone had invaded the secretary’s voice, even as Gwen shook her head.

  “No,” she answered. “No, everything’s just fine.” A silly smile of relief crept across her face as she sank into the nearest chair.

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  Excerpt from Free for the Wedding

  The lighthearted romantic novella from the author of best-selling Late to the Wedding

  “Valarie?” A man’s voice, his tone young but with the depth of maturity. In the background, the shouts and scuffling noises of a gymnasium.

  “This is Valarie,” she answered, racking her brain for who could be placing a social call. Not her date for this evening, since he possessed a mellow voice and had mentioned he gave up athletics after spraining a thumb playing table tennis.

  No exes in her past, of course. Just a series of acquaintances that seldom made it past the casual luncheon and a string of crushes who were never aware at all that Val glanced longingly in their direction.

  “It’s Jason,” the voice on the other end continued. “Jason Cotter–you know, from Wardruff High School? Aka, the good old days?”

  Val fumbled the computer mouse, inadvertently launching the half-finished memo into cyber space, although she was barely registering her mistake in the wake of this unforeseen development. Clutching the receiver with both hands–in order to keep from dropping it–she managed to choke out a reply.

  “Jason! Of course, how are you? It’s been–”

  “–forever,” he supplied with a laugh that threatened to make her heart wobble. And instantly brought to mind the youngest member of Wardruff High’s football team, the running back hero, with his carefree smile and effortless gol
den hair.

  She knew from spying on his social network page a couple times–until he switched from public access to private–that he’d developed a lean physique and many more muscles since their days of sharing a lunch table in the school cafeteria. His picture was the only update she had access to these days. It had never occurred to her to 'friend' him or expect him to do the same–much less have him actually phone her up.

  “So are you needing an event planned?” she joked, with a little laugh to keep herself from completely melting down as her heart pounded. The crush of a lifetime, the love of her life, she had believed as an adolescent in braces and a teenager who lurked outside the football field on practice days. She remembered those feelings keenly, explaining why her knees were weak and her grown-up self was yearning towards the sound of his voice.

  “That’s a good guess, but it’s not exactly why I called. By the way, sorry to phone you at work like this, but I couldn’t find a listing for your home number.”

  Jason Cotter wants my number? Her eyes sank closed, her fingers clutching the edge of the desk in a surreal moment. As if she were fourteen again and gazing at the back of his head in math class as the teacher droned on about polynomials.

  “I–I just changed apartments,” she stammered. “Which is probably why you couldn’t find me. Because it’s not like I’m hiding or anything.” With a cringe for how nervous she sounded, babbling on like some girl with a crush. Which she had been–over a decade ago, of course.

  “Yeah, that makes sense,” he chuckled, the shrill note of a whistle echoing somewhere close behind him. “Sheesh–I know that was loud. I’m kind of on the job here. Covering a basketball game for the Richmond Tribune.”

  “You’re a journalist?” She waved away a work colleague who paused in the doorway to hoist a coffee pot invitingly.

  “Sports columnist,” he said. “Big surprise, right?”

  She had pictured him still playing football somehow. His profile picture certainly indicated he was fit enough for the task.

  “Anyway,” said Jason, “the only address I’ve got for you is from a Christmas card you sent a couple years back and I guess I sort of lost it. I didn't want to use one online, because I’d hate for the invitation to get lost...”

  “Invitation?” Val frowned, a new wave of confusion flooding her. A small stirring of foreboding which put an end to the blushes over his sudden call.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Do you remember that class reunion the school held last May?”

  “Ummm…” She stalled for time. She hadn’t gone to her high school reunion for a variety of reasons, but mainly because she was still an office assistant as Corky Simmons had predicted their senior year, and was still sporting a slight spare tire around her waist which her cocktail dress didn't hide.

  There was a slim chance in her mind at the time that someone like Jason might be there and that she didn't want to face him as the same old helpful, wide-eyed Val who traded papers with him in chemistry study group.

  Was he inviting her to another one? She couldn’t imagine the classmates getting together for something impromptu and hoped another five years would be passing before she would face them as a group. Long enough for her to become a senior event planner, buy the perfect house in Connecticut, maybe even have a serious relationship or engagement.

  “I had to work that weekend,” she said, finding the first viable excuse. “I heard it was a real blast though–I mean, some of our old classmates mentioned it on their twitter feeds.”

  “Hey, I can’t speak for anyone else,” he said, “but it was pretty much the best day of my life. It’s where I ran into Heather again. You still know Heather Sykes, of course. ”

  Heather. As in her best friend from grades four-through-twelve Heather. As in tall, blonde Heather with the perky smile and revolving door of admirers, from whom Val was inseparable from the moment they first played Barbies together in Forest Park's concrete playground.

  “Yeah,” she said faintly. “Of course I know Heather. We still talk–” Actually, it had been a long time since their last phone or email exchange, she reflected. Over a year maybe. Heather's form of communication tended to be sporadic and flighty, centered on major events or a desire to vent frustrations.

  The gymnasium sounds grew fainter, as if he’d ducked down an empty corridor. “We talked for hours and it turns out we’d both been living in Virginia since college,” he said. “Crazy coincidence, right? So after the reunion we started dating and one thing led to another and well…we’re getting married in June.”

  “Wow.” Her lips felt numb as they formed the word.

  Was she surprised? Jealous? Surely not–not given all the time that had passed since the three of them were gawky teenagers and high school friends. She fought back her momentary shock quickly enough to add in a warmer tone, “That’s great, Jason. Congratulations.”

  “I can’t believe it either.” He was laughing now, excitement audible in his tone as he launched into his story. “There she was, standing right by the big fish tank in the recreation room. They started playing that song we all used to love so much–the one by that band something-or-other–”

  “Hootie and the Blowfish,” said Val automatically, the song lyrics to "I Only Want To Be With You" popping into her head. Then blushed as she realized how weird it sounded that she still remembered.

  “Yeah, yeah,” he said. “That’s it. So I worked up the courage to ask her for a dance, and I could tell she wasn’t exactly swept off her feet, but we took to the floor ...”

  Val’s head sank slowly onto her desk as the voice on the other end continued on. Her head snapped back to attention as he finished with, “…and when I mentioned that note I gave her back in ninth grade, well, it just seemed kind of destined.”

  Her heart dropped, her eyes growing wide. “The note?” she echoed. Oh, no. Not the note. Please, please don’t let it be what I’m thinking…

  Free for the Wedding and other wedding-themed novellas by Laura Briggs are available in e-Book format.

  A Chick-Lit Austenesque Romance, A Modern Twist on Pride and Prejudice

  Available in Softcover and E-book

  Also Available in a special U.K. Edition for fans of British spelling, words, grammar, and slang!