Debbie Macomber - The Summer Wedding

Although she knew Jordan was impatient, Jill took an extra few minutes to freshen her makeup and run a brush through her shoulder-length brown hair. Using a gold clip, she pinned it up in a simple chignon. Despite herself, she couldn’t help feeling excited about this small adventure. There was no telling whom she might meet tonight.

Drawing in a deep breath to calm herself, she smoothed the skirt of her dress, then walked slowly to the door. Jordan was waiting for her, his back against the opposite wall. He straightened when she appeared.

“Do I look okay?”

His gaze narrowed assessingly. His scrutiny made Jill uncomfortable, and she held herself stiffly. At last he nodded.

“You look fine,” was all he said.

Jill heaved a sigh of relief, returned to her room to retrieve her purse and then joined Jordan.

The dinner party, as he’d explained earlier, was in a private room in one of the hotel’s restaurants. Jordan led the way to the elevator, his pace urgent.

“You’d better tell me what you want me to do,” she said.

“Do?” he repeated with a frown. “Just do whatever you women do to let one another know a certain man is off-limits, and make sure Suzi understands.” He hesitated. “Only do it without fawning all over me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Jill said, gazing up at him in mock adoration and fluttering her lashes.

Jordan’s frown deepened. “None of that, either.”

“Of what?”

“That thing with the eyes.” He motioned with his hand, looking annoyed.

“Should I know something about who’s attending the party?”

“Not really,” he said impatiently.

“What about you?” He shot her a puzzled look, and Jill elaborated. “If I’m your date, it makes sense I’d know who you are—something beyond your name, I mean—and what you do.”

“I suppose it does.” He buried his hands in his pockets. “I’m the CEO for a large development company based in Seattle. Simply put, we develop projects, gather together the financing, arrange for the construction, and then once the project’s completed, we sell.”

“That sounds interesting.” If you thrived on tension and pressure, that is.

“It can be,” was his only response. He looked her over once more, but his glance revealed neither approval nor reproach.

“I didn’t like you when we first met.” Jill wasn’t sure why she felt obliged to tell him this. In fact, she still didn’t like him, although she had to admit he was a very attractive man indeed. “When I sat next to you during the flight, I thought you were very unfriendly,” she continued.

“I take it your opinion of me hasn’t changed?” He cocked one brow with the question, as if to suggest her answer wouldn’t trouble him one way or the other.

Jill ignored him. “You don’t like women very much, do you?”

“They have their uses.”

He said it in such a belittling, negative way that Jill felt a flash of hot color invade her cheeks. She turned to look at him, feeling almost sorry for a man who had everything yet seemed so empty inside. “What’s made you so cynical?”

He glanced at her again, a bit scornfully. “Life.”

Jill didn’t know what to make of that response, but luckily the elevator arrived just then.

“Is there anything else I should know before we get there?” she asked once they were inside. Her role, Jill understood, was to protect him from an associate’s daughter. She had no idea how she was supposed to manage that, but she’d think of something when the time came.

“Nothing important.” He paused, frowning. “I’m afraid the two of us might arouse some curiosity, though.”

“Why’s that?”

“I don’t generally associate with … innocents.”

“Innocents?” He made her sound like one of the preschool crowd. No one she’d ever known could insult her with less effort. “I am over twenty-one, in case you didn’t realize it.”

He laughed outright at that, and Jill stiffened, regretting—probably not for the last time—that she’d actually agreed to this.

“I think you’re wonderful, too,” she said sarcastically.

“So you told me before.”

The elevator arrived at the top floor of the hotel, where the restaurant was located. Jordan spoke briefly to the maître d’, who led them to the dinner party.

Jill glanced around the simple, elegant room, and her heart did a tiny somersault. All the guests were executive types, the men in dark suits, the women in sophisticated dresses that could all have been bought at the little boutique downstairs. Everyone had an aura of prosperity and power.

Jill’s breath came in shallow gasps. She was miles out of her league. These people had money, real money, whereas she’d spent months just saving for this vacation. Her money was invested in panty hose and frozen dinners, not property and office towers and massive stock portfolios.

Jordan must have felt her unease, because he turned to her and smiled briefly. “You’ll be fine.”

It astonished Jill that three little words from him could give her an immeasurable boost of confidence. She smiled and drew herself up as tall as her five-foot-three-inch frame would allow.

Waiters carried trays of delicate hors d’oeuvres and narrow etched-glass flutes filled with sparkling, golden champagne. Jill reached for a glass and took her first sip, widening her eyes in surprise. Never had she tasted anything better.

“This is excellent.”

“It should be, at three hundred dollars a bottle.”

Before Jill could comment, an older, distinguished-looking gentleman detached himself from a younger colleague and made his way across the room toward them. He looked close to sixty, but could have stepped off the pages of Gentlemen’s Quarterly .

“Jordan,” he said in a hearty voice, extending his hand, “I’m delighted you could make it.”

“I am, too.”

“I trust your flight was uneventful.”

Jordan’s gaze briefly met Jill’s. “It was fine. I’d like you to meet Jill Morrison. Jill, Dean Lundquist.”

“Hello,” she said pleasantly, giving him her hand.

“Delighted,” Dean said again, turning to smile at her. He held her hand considerably longer than good manners required. Jill had the impression she was being carefully inspected and did her utmost to appear composed.

Finally, he released her and nodded toward the entrance. “If you’ll both excuse me for a moment, Nicholson’s just arrived.”

“Of course,” Jordan agreed politely.

Jill waited until Dean Lundquist was out of earshot. Then she leaned toward Jordan and whispered, “Suzi’s dad?”

Jordan made a wry face. “Smart girl.”

Not really, since few other men would have had cause to inspect her so closely, but Jill didn’t discount the compliment. She wasn’t likely to receive that many, at least not from Jordan.

“Who was that standing with him?” She inclined her head in the direction of a tall, good-looking young man. Something about him didn’t seem quite right. Nothing she could put her finger on, but it was a feeling she couldn’t shake.

“That’s Dean Junior,” Jordan explained.

Jill noticed the way Jordan’s mouth thinned and the thoughtful, preoccupied look that came into his eyes. “He’s being groomed by Daddy to take my place.”

“Junior?” Jill studied the younger man a second time. “I don’t think you’ll have much of a problem.”

“Why’s that?”

She shrugged, not sure why she felt so confident of that. “I can’t picture you losing at anything.”

His gaze swept her warmly. “I have no intention of giving Junior the opportunity, but I’m going to have a real fight on my hands soon.”