She found it, stacked the rest, and pulled out a green ballpoint pen. Her gaze darted to the clock as she lifted the phone receiver and dialed. Fifteen more minutes and
“Bonneterre Rentals.”
“Hi, Joe, it’s Anne.”
“Hey, gal. How’s it going?”
She chatted with Joe Delacroix for a few minutes. “I’m just calling to confirm delivery time of the tent, tables, and chairs for the Boutte wedding on Saturday.”
“Amanda Boutte who went to high school with us?”
“Yep. She’s finally giving up on the single life.”
“Good for her.”
Papers rustled on the other end as he looked up the information for her. She glanced at the clock again. Thirteen more minutes until George Laurence arrived. His milk chocolate eyes burned in her memory, as did his baritone voice and the accent that sent shivers up her spine every time he spoke.
What had he been doing at the church Saturday morning? She hadn’t noticed him until after the phone call from Brittney Graves. She’d stood and turned to run down to the fellowship hall to get a bottle of water out of the vending machine. The retreating figure exiting through the wide-open doors had startled her at first…until she recognized the sharp yet enticing profile of her newest client.
Had he been checking up on her? Did he not trust her ability to handle a wedding as large as his? Dared she ask him? Her heart fluttered. Why did he have to be so handsome, so charming?
“Saturday at 10:00 a.m.”
What was happening Saturday at 10:00 a.m.? “What’s that?”
“Delivery of your rentals, goose. Isn’t that why you called?”
Anne banged her forehead with the heel of her right hand. “Of course. Sorry, hon’. I just got distracted.” She wrote the time on her list. “I’ll see you then.”
“All right. Look, don’t work too hard, okay?”
She let out a rueful laugh. “I’ll try, but that’s the best I can promise. Talk to you later.”
“Bye, Anne-girl.”
She grinned at the nickname Amanda had started everyone using for her when they were teenagers. “Bye, Joey.”
Hanging up the phone, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Pull yourself together, woman!”
She shook her head and returned her attention to the file in front of her. Four vendors left to call and only ten—no, nine minutes in which to do it.
Aunt Maggie, catering Amanda’s reception at cost, was filling Anne in on the latest family news when the bell above the front door chimed and George Laurence entered.
“I’ll have to call you back later about Amanda’s cake. B’bye.” Anne hung up, stood, and extended her right hand across the desk, proud it didn’t tremble. “Mr. Laurence, thank you for coming in today.”
“My pleasure, Miss Hawthorne.” He nodded, returned her firm grip, and then sat in the chair she indicated. “At this juncture of our work relationship, I see no need for us to be so formal as to use titles and surnames. I’d be pleased if you’d consider calling me George.”
Tingles climbed up the back of her neck to her scalp at the sound of his voice. “Thank you, George. I agree.” She closed the red folder and swapped it for a blue one. “Why don’t we begin with the registration form?”
She took the six-page questionnaire from him, surprised by how little he’d filled in.
“I know you were hoping for more information,” George said, “but my…there are reasons I cannot discuss for withholding some data. I have included a preliminary head count for the ceremony and the reception. I have detailed Courtney’s desires.”
Anne flipped to the third page. “A formal, late-afternoon wedding with one hundred fifty guests, and a black- tie, invitation-only reception for seven hundred.” She removed her reading glasses as she looked at him. “Are these solid numbers that I can use in my budget?”
He nodded—a quick, crisp movement, almost as if he were saluting her. “Yes, with a margin of error of no more than ten for the wedding and fifty for the reception.”
Anne made a notation on the form. “I notice there are two names written down for Miss Landry’s honor attendant. Does she plan on having two maids of honor?”
A slow smile spread over his face, bringing an indulgent twinkle into the Englishman’s light brown eyes. “She…decided she couldn’t do without both ladies in her bridal party. Is that problematic?”
“No, I’ve planned a few weddings with two honor attendants.” She looked down at the form and turned to the fourth page. Indulgent…again, more like a father than a fiancé.
She choked when she saw the dollar amount written on the estimated budget line. Her eyes teared up as she wheezed and reached for her bottle of water. Surely he’d scrawled at least one too many zeros. He’d doubled her original estimate, and she hadn’t counted on that number being true.
She cleared her throat and took another sip of water. She could work around her attraction to the Englishman. With what he was willing to pay for his wedding, her business’s future was assured. And her business was the only future she could count on.
George leaned forward in concern as Anne took another sip of water. “Are you all right?” Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes watered from the vehemence of her coughing.
She held up her hand in front of her and nodded. After another sip of bottled water, she took a deep breath and cleared her throat. “Just got a tickle,” she said in a hoarse whisper.
Her azure eyes glittered as she returned her gaze to the paperwork in front of her. He felt like a schoolboy who had failed an examination, dissatisfied he couldn’t give her complete information. He’d spent hours on the phone with Courtney yesterday trying to get her to make up her mind about the major details.
“Ten attendants each. Does that number include the honor attendants?” She looked at him, her fine brows arched high.
George’s heart thumped. Her gaze could pierce a man’s heart with its intensity. “Yes, that number includes the honorables.”
She looked down, but not fast enough to keep him from seeing the corners of her mouth turn up in an amused smile. His face burned at the realization he’d gotten the terminology wrong.
“What’s this list?” she asked when she got to the back page—his addendum.
“Those are restaurants in New York and Los Angeles my—we would like for you to contact regarding specific food items for both the engagement party and the reception. I have not yet had time to research them to find the phone numbers and contact names for you, but listed under each is the item my—we would like shipped in.”
She looked down the page. “Oh. I see.”
Uneasiness settled in George’s mind. He had to get over this attraction to the beautiful woman sitting opposite him. Twice he’d nearly slipped up and said “my employer.” If he wasn’t careful, his employer’s name could pop out of his mouth before he could stop himself. Fear of losing his job if he slipped up and revealed too much made him sit straighter and try to reconstruct the barrier around his heart to keep Anne Hawthorne’s big blue eyes from getting under his defenses.
He watched Anne carefully as she read through the details Courtney had given him over the phone. Most of the outlandish requests—such as having caviar flown in from an importer in San Francisco for the engagement party—were from his employer, not Courtney. Over the years, George had heard all about the extravagances other wealthy American couples had included in their weddings.
But while his employer wanted to best them all, he’d left the task of hiring a wedding planner in Courtney’s hands. As much as George respected Anne Hawthorne’s abilities, she might not be the correct person to pull it off. Although the article Courtney had shown him boasted of the number of weddings Anne Hawthorne had planned in her career, was she capable of organizing and executing an event of this magnitude?
