He patted her back, trying to soothe her. “No one could possibly hate you. What happened?” He directed the question at Anne.
“Apparently she overheard some not-so-kind remarks about herself in the restroom.”
“They called me a gold-digging, trailer-park redneck.” Courtney pulled away enough to look in his eyes. “I did everything just like you taught me.”
“I’m certain you did.” He disentangled himself and sat her in the chair again. He knelt on the tile floor in front of her while Anne perched on the edge of the other chair. “Courtney, I wish there were some way I could protect you from people saying terrible things about you. But this is the life you’ve chosen by agreeing to marry Cliff. You must become inured to being insulted for no reason.”
Courtney’s fine brows pinched together in confusion. He looked to Anne for assistance.
Her lips twitched, and she wouldn’t meet his gaze. “What George means is that you have to get used to people insulting you. You’re going to be in the public eye, and you’re the envy of every woman in this country.” What had it cost for her to say that? “Hell hath no fury like a scorned—or jealous—woman. I’m certain you remember what it was like when you were in high school. Everyone hated the girl who dated the most popular guy, and said horrible things about her behind her back, and made up stuff to make her look bad.”
Courtney ducked her head and blushed. “Yeah. I remember. I was like that. I guess it’s payback time now, huh?”
Anne patted her hand. “Whenever you hear or read bad things about yourself, just remember the people who love you and think you’re one of the most wonderful people in the world—like us.”
Courtney looked from Anne to George, moisture still glittering in her brown eyes. “Really?”
With a tissue, Anne dried the young woman’s tears. “Really.” She handed her a makeup compact. “Now. Powder your nose and go show those jealous biddies what you’re made of.”
Courtney giggled and did as instructed, then swept out of the office with her chin up, shoulders straight.
George tried to get Anne to meet his gaze. “You’re very good at what you do, Miss Hawthorne.”
“Thank you for your assistance. I don’t know if I could have handled her on my own.” She turned her back on him, reaching for the doorknob.
Disappointment filled him. He’d hoped when she called him in here that she might have gotten over her anger and decided to forgive him. “You would have managed one way or another.”
Anne surveyed the crowd milling in the ballroom, exclaiming over the genuine Mardi Gras parade float, admiring the life-size murals of the historic buildings lining the French Quarter, and devouring Major’s excellent Cajun food nearly to the exclusion of the caviar and other delicacies she’d worked so hard to get brought in from the New York and Los Angeles restaurants. Of course, the list had been Cliff’s idea. No way would Courtney have ever come up with that.
George came out of the kitchen, and her heart thumped even as she narrowed her eyes. How could she feel so torn about him? Part of her was ready to forgive him, while the other part never wanted to talk to him again.
Halfway to the front door, a vaguely familiar young woman grabbed George’s arm.
“George, you have to introduce me to the event planner!” The girl’s voice carried over the din of guests and the zydeco band playing their hearts out on the other side of the room.
His tight smile and the slight bow he made gave a good indication the girl wasn’t an acquaintance of his. He led the girl to Anne. “Miss Alicia Humphrey, I’m pleased to present Miss Anne Hawthorne, who is solely responsible for planning this gala.”
Embarrassment crept up to burn her cheeks. “I wouldn’t say
The girl, who couldn’t be any older than Courtney, took Anne’s proffered hand in both of hers. “I want to hire you to plan my wedding. Court’s been telling me all about what you’re doing for her, and I just have to have you do mine. I’m getting married at Christmas at home in Baton Rouge. With me living in Malibu, I can’t do it myself.”
Anne’s heart raced. Another celebrity wedding meant another influx of income. She really would have to take on a partner. George bowed and excused himself.
George. She didn’t know another person who possessed more experience in planning high-profile social events. He wanted to stay in America but disliked his current employment. Would he consider… ? More to the point, would she consider taking him on as a partner? Could she trust him?
“Miss Hawthorne?”
“I’m terribly sorry—my mind wandered there for a moment.” She smiled at her newest potential client. “Tell me about what you want for your wedding.”
Twenty minutes later, Alicia Humphrey floated away on her director-fiancé’s arm, Anne’s card in her hand. Although Anne didn’t usually make house calls, nor appointments to meet with clients on Saturdays, she’d be visiting Miss Humphrey at her hotel at eleven tomorrow morning.
Throughout the evening, she made a point of speaking with the local VIPs in attendance, including the mayor and the state senator from their district, just so they might keep her in mind should they need any event-planning services.
As the locals began to leave, more of the Hollywood crowd trickled in. She walked past the food tables, pleased to see all the dishes were as full as if the party had just started. As usual, she’d been impressed by Major O’Hara’s staff. All evening, she’d switched over to the frequency channel they’d chosen and listened to the constant chatter between the kitchen and the table staff. He’d also taken charge of the student employees working as servers and made them part of his battle-ready army.
At midnight, as the crowd waned, she signaled Major to pare down the savory foods and put out more sweets and coffees.
She stifled a yawn. Speaking of coffee… Slipping into the kitchen, she smiled at the sous-chef, then stopped at each of the four commercial coffeemakers and inhaled the fragrance of each.
There, the one that was still brewing. Cinnamon hazelnut. Had to be. Like a pro, she slipped the carafe out and slid a cup under the basket, not letting a drop of the precious liquid go to waste. She turned with her stolen treasure to find Major standing behind her, hands clasped behind his back like a drill sergeant.
“Hi.”
“Anne Hawthorne, you know no one is allowed in my kitchen except my staff.”
She held the mug toward him. “You don’t happen to have any cream on hand, do you?”
He tried to stare her down, but she knew him too well. His frown broke, and he pulled a carton of half-and- half from behind his back. He even poured it and produced a spoon and crystal bowl of sugar. “I’d started to wonder how long it would be before you had to have a caffeine fix. You know I only make that sissy-flavored coffee because of you. Why a Louisiana gal like you can’t be happy with good ol’ chicory.”
She leaned against the counter beside him. “Thanks, Major. I love you, too.” She sipped her treat while he reviewed his evening. Around them, his staff cleaned up their work areas and packed away equipment, leftover food, and unused ingredients.
“I can return a lot of the unused items.”
“No.” Anne downed the last of her coffee and poured another cup, letting Major doctor it for her again. “Donate it to University Chapel’s food closet. Put the cost for all of it on the invoice. He can afford it.”
“He? You mean Cliff?” Major spat the name out.
Anne leaned into his side. “I know why I’m angry at him. Can I assume your bad feelings are on my behalf?”
“He stole my girlfriend.” He put his arm around her shoulders.
“I was never your girlfriend.”
“I wanted you to be.”
“You never asked.”
“I didn’t think your aunt and uncle would approve.”
“Aunt Maggie loved you like a son—still does, even though you’re her competition now instead of her favorite employee.”
“Am I going to have to hate this George character now, too?”
Anne leaned her head to the side to gaze at her friend. “What are you talking about?”
