dressed in black summer-weight wool trousers, a long-sleeved shirt, and a tie.
His phone beeped. A message from his employer. He grimaced at his reflection as he straightened his tie. Oh, to be able to turn off his cell phone and not have to jump to do someone else’s bidding at any time of the day or night. Whoever had invented the mobile phone should be publicly executed.
He listened to the message and made notes on tasks he needed to do, e-mails he needed to send, and plans he needed to make on his employer’s behalf. All of it could wait until later.
The luxury convertible twinkled at George in the shimmering sunlight as he approached it. Too bad he couldn’t keep this indulgence. When his employer arrived, George would have to hand over the keys of this beauty and find something more in keeping with his own income.
Crosstown traffic was heavy for midday. He thought he noticed a group of women seated at alfresco tables outside of a coffeehouse admiring him, but he didn’t want to turn around and look. He never ceased to be amazed at how the appearance of money could make women pretend to find him attractive.
He’d never had any delusions about his physical appearance. He’d been a slight lad growing up—a slight lad with an angular face, big nose, and unevenly spaced teeth. Although his teeth had straightened out somewhat as he grew up, he still tried to keep them hidden as much as he could. His nose, large to begin with, had been broken in a school rugby game when he was fourteen, so was a bit asymmetrical, too. His shoulders were broad, and he was tall; but if he didn’t work out with weights at least four times a week, he could hide behind a lamppost just by turning sideways. He kept his light brown hair short, and several years ago, he’d started to develop wrinkles around his eyes.
Put him in an expensive Mercedes, and the women would look. Stand him beside someone like his employer or Forbes Guidry, and no one saw George Laurence.
“Lord, I know this has been a recurring theme in my prayers, but You know how much I would like to marry and have a family. I cannot ask a woman to live with the kind of schedule I must keep for my current employment. Please show me a way to do something else and still remain in this country.” George looked around to make sure no one saw him talking aloud in an otherwise empty car. What did it matter? It wasn’t as if he were talking to himself. He was talking to Someone more important.
He pulled into a car park just off Town Square. When he stepped out, the air wrapped around him like a sweaty gym sock. Why anyone would choose to live in these conditions baffled him. He’d take the clammy weather of northern England any day.
Following the sidewalk into the traffic-free square, he admired the original late-Victorian architecture. The row houses facing the large central commons had long ago ceased to be residences and were now stores, restaurants, and other businesses. The obvious attention to historic preservation made the commercial area feel more like a small English village and less like the large American city it really was.
Just before he reached Anne’s office, he paused and drew in a deep breath.
Anne’s skin tingled when George Laurence—and only George Laurence—entered her office.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Hawthorne.” Today he wore a light blue button-down with black dress pants. The multicolored tie looked expensive.
“Is Courtney running late?”
“She is in New York. Shopping. She asked me to come in her stead and begin work on the events with you.”
She swallowed hard. Working alone with George Laurence.
Sharp pain shot through Anne’s left temple as she looked down at the paperwork on her desk. She knew better than to skip meals, but she’d been so busy this afternoon that lunchtime had completely passed her by.
She motioned for George to have a seat at the small round conference table beyond the sofa and wing chairs, biting back a smile when he waited until she sat before he did. She moved the vase of purple tulips aside and placed the file on the table facing him. “Here’s the adjusted contract. Negotiated items are printed in blue ink. Items that incur an additional consultant fee are in green.”
He read through the detailed list of services to be provided. “You label and stuff the invitations yourself?” He looked up at her without raising his head.
Bedroom eyes, grandmother would have called the cinnamon-colored orbs burning holes into Anne’s self- consciousness. He was quite a handsome man, in spite of his being
“Yes. I’m also the copywriter, and I will design the programs for the ceremony, as well as other services.”
“We can strike the invitations for the engagement party from the list. I will take care of those myself.” He pulled a black metallic pen out of his shirt pocket and crossed through the line item.
He would do it himself? Was the budget monster rearing its head? “I’ll remove that from the final version, then.” Her stomach churned, and her head throbbed. She knew if she didn’t get something to eat soon, she’d be in serious danger of passing out.
Before she could stop herself, she asked, “I know this will sound like an odd question, seeing that it’s after three thirty, but have you had lunch yet?”
An audible rumble answered her question before he could speak. “No, I have not had lunch yet.”
She couldn’t be certain, but she thought he might have actually blushed. She suppressed her smile. “Would you be interested in walking over to The Wharf with me? I need to talk to the owners about the date for the rehearsal dinner, as it was one of the restaurants on the list Miss Landry e-mailed me yesterday. While we’re there, you and I can discuss the contract and some other paperwork I’ll need you to fill out.”
As they walked across the park in the middle of Town Square, she found herself glad George was just a bit taller than she. Being full-figured was bad enough, but towering over men made her even more uncomfortable. She hadn’t met a man who didn’t find her height intimidating until she’d met Cliff Ballantine in eleventh grade….
No. She wasn’t going to go down that road right now. She was trying to stay positive. “How long have you lived in the United States, Mr. Laurence?”
“Five years.”
“And do you like it?”
“I’m not overly fond of Los Angeles or New York. Montana is very nice, as is New Mexico. Alaska was beautiful. Las Vegas is garish and noisy. And I find your city charming. I’ve been to many other places. Each was unique in its own way.”
His response was the most words Anne had heard him string together since meeting him. She watched him from the corner of her eye as they crossed the cobblestone street. He carried himself regally, broad shoulders high and proud, chin parallel with the ground, eyes forward. He wasn’t a lawyer. He “represented” a client of Forbes’s. Some kind of an agent, maybe?
“You’ve seen a lot more places than I have,” she admitted with a sigh.
“It’s part and parcel of the job. I go where my employer needs me. Since my current employer roams the earth, I must make sure he lands in the correct spot.” He opened the front door of the restaurant and motioned for her to enter ahead of him.
The hostess hugged Anne. “Hey, Miss Anne. You haven’t been in for a couple of weeks. We’ve been worried about you.”
“Hi, Sarah. It’s June—you know, the busiest month for weddings.”
The college student giggled. “I know.” Sarah looked over Anne’s shoulder, and her eyes widened when she saw only George standing there. “Table for
Anne shook her head, exasperated, but smiled. “Yes, please. By the back windows if there’s anything available.”
“Right this way.”
From the expression on the girl’s face, Anne knew that before the server came around, the news that Anne Hawthorne, the spinster who planned everyone else’s weddings, had come in with a man would have gotten back to
