Marie Ferrarella - Her Red-Carpet Romance

Yohanna took another deep breath, as if that could somehow shield her from the wave of pain that came with the words. Being laid off was a whole new experience for her and she felt awful.

“Mr. McGuire sold the company to Walters & Sons,” she told Cecilia, referring to the man who had owned the company where she had worked. “The deal went through two days ago, before any of us knew about it. Their head of Human Resources called me into her office yesterday morning and said that they wouldn’t be needing my services since they already had someone who could do my job.”

Cecilia could just imagine how hard that must have been for the young woman to hear. One moment the future looked bright and secure, the next there was nothing around her but chaos and upheavals.

“That’s simply awful,” Cecilia sympathized. “Let me make you some tea and you can tell me everything.” She rose from the sofa. “Did you know any of this was coming?” Cecilia asked as she walked into the kitchen.

Yohanna followed, looking, in Cecilia’s estimation, like a lost puppy trying to find its way home.

“No, I didn’t. None of us did,” she said, referring to some of the other people she worked with. “I went to work for the company the year before I graduated college. Nine years. I was there nine years,” she proclaimed. “McGuire’s was like home to me. More,” she emphasized, and then added in a quiet voice, “No one there berated me for not having a love life.”

Cecilia took a wild guess as to the source of the berating Yohanna was referring to. It wasn’t really much of a stretch. “Not like your mother does?”

Yohanna nodded and pressed her lips together, trying to get hold of herself. “I’m sorry I’m such a mess,” she apologized, “but I just got off the phone with her.”

Admittedly, when she’d told her mother about being suddenly laid off, she’d been hoping for a positive suggestion. Or, at the very least, sympathy. She’d received neither. “My mother’s solution for everything is to get married.”

“She just wants to see you happy,” Cecilia told her as she filled the kettle with water from the tap.

“She just wants grandchildren,” Yohanna contradicted. “I don’t think she’d care if I married Godzilla as long as she got grandchildren out of it.”

An amused smile played on Cecilia’s lips. “The subsequent grandchildren from that union would be much too hairy for her liking,” she quipped. Placing the kettle on the stove, she switched on the burner beneath it.

“But the immediate problem right now is to get you back into the work force.” Cecilia had never been one to beat around the bush. That was for people like Maizie Sommers and Theresa Manetti, her two best friends since the third grade. They were far more delicate and eloquent in their approach to things. She had always been more of a blunt straight shooter. “What is it you do again, dear?”

“A little bit of everything and anything. Make sure that everything is running smoothly, keep track of appointments, meetings, suppliers. Make calls... In short, I guess you could call me an organizer. I take—took,” she corrected herself, “care of all the details and made sure that everything at the office was running smoothly.”

Cecilia nodded, the wheels in her head turning quickly. “I know people who know people who know people,” she said, making something vague sound positive. “Let me make a few calls. We’ll see if we can’t get you back in the game.”

In more ways than one , Cecilia thought. Wait until I tell the girls we might have another project on our hands. The mention of the young woman’s mother’s mindset had not gone unnoticed.

“You really think so?” Yohanna asked, brightening a little. “I’d be eternally grateful for anything you can do to help.”

Cecilia smiled at the young woman. “Leave it to me,” she promised confidently. Among all the people she and her friends currently knew—and that was a lot, given the nature of their businesses—there had to be someone who could use a sharp young go-getter like Yohanna.

Just then, the kettle emitted a high-pitched whistle. The tea was brewed.

“Ah, I believe it’s playing our song,” Cecilia said cheerfully, crossing back to the stove. In her head she was already calling Maizie and Theresa. They were going to want to hear all about Yohanna and her present predicament. “Everything’s going to be just fine, dear,” she promised, filling the teacup to the brim. “You just wait and see.”

“I hope so,” Yohanna murmured. But at the present moment she was having trouble mustering enthusiasm.

Chapter One

“You know, for a man who currently has the number one movie at the box office for the past three weeks, you really don’t look very happy,” Theresa Manetti commented to her client as she paused for a moment to stand by Lukkas Spader.

In the catering business for more than twelve years now, Theresa quickly surveyed the large room where she was presently catering the popular producer’s impromptu party, a last-minute send-off that he was throwing for his departing assistant, Janice Brooks.

Tall, with broad shoulders and a broader smile—a smile that was conspicuously absent at the moment, Theresa noted—the thirty-six-year-old wunderkind, as those in higher places tended to dub him, shrugged.

“I can’t rest on my laurels, Theresa. In this cutthroat business, you’re only as good as your next project.”

Theresa narrowed her eyes as she studied the young man. That wasn’t at the heart of his problem. She could tell by the lost look in his eyes.

“There’s something else, isn’t there?” the woman asked. “Don’t bother denying it, Lukkas. I raised two silver-tongued lawyers, I can see beyond the facade. You’re young, good-looking—I’m old so I’m allowed to say that—and the world is currently at your feet. Yet you look as if you’ve just lost your best friend. What’s bothering you?”

Lukkas shrugged. Admitting that the woman had guessed correctly wasn’t going to cost him anything. Besides, he liked this woman whose catering service he’d used half a dozen times or so. There was something about Theresa Manetti that reminded him of his late mother.

“You’re not old,” he told her and then grew more serious when he said, “She’s leaving.”

“She,” Theresa repeated, looking around the room to see if she could spot the woman Lukkas was talking about.

He nodded. “Jan.”

Theresa looked at him in surprise. “You mean the young woman you threw the going-away party for?”

She couldn’t see them as a pair, but if he didn’t want this Jan leaving, why was he throwing this party for her? Why wasn’t he trying to convince the young woman to stay?

Lukkas frowned as he nodded. “She’s following her heart and marrying some guy in England she met while we were in production on My Wild Irish Rose .” As if a lightbulb had suddenly gone off in his head, he realized what his caterer was probably thinking. That this was a matter of the heart. Nothing could have been further from the truth.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he said, quickly setting Theresa straight. “I’m happy that Jan’s happy, but I don’t know what I’m going to do without her.”

“Why?” Theresa asked, curious. “What is it that she does?”

“She keeps me honest and organized,” he told her with a dry laugh. Because the woman was still looking at him, waiting for a viable answer, Lukkas elaborated, “I’m the one with the ideas and the energy, the inspiration. Jan’s the one who makes sense of it all, who simplifies my chaos and makes sure that everything gets done on time.”

Aware of the level of work involved in what Lukkas did, that certainly sounded like a taxing job, Theresa thought.