Aimee Carson - Don't Tell the Wedding Planner

“Let me know how much to put down as a deposit. I’ll get you my email so you can send me the invoices as we go.” He slipped his wallet from his pocket and pulled out his card, filling in the contacts. “And here are Tommy and my cell phone numbers too, just in case you have any questions—”

“Wait.” Her brown eyes grew even wider as she took his card. “You’re not leaving, are you?”

Concern edged up his back, making his shoulders feel stiff. “I have a hot date with the king-size bed in my hotel room—a rendezvous I’m really looking forward to. And Sunday I have to head back home.”

Callie leaned closer, bringing that lovely view in a more direct line of vision. “Listen, Mr. Paulson.”

How was he supposed to listen, much less concentrate, with a view like that? And clearly the stress of the upcoming event had knocked them back to a last-name basis instead of first.

“You’re lucky I have a light enough schedule and an assistant to help me,” Callie said. “But I can’t do this alone. There are too many decisions that need to be made, and made quickly, too. I won’t take responsibility for making the wrong ones. Someone needs to be around to help.”

“Both me and my brother will be available by phone and internet.”

“Not good enough. We can’t afford to play phone tag. Not with so little time and so many big choices to be made.”

“What choices?”

“Venue, for one. This won’t be your average setting. We’ll need a large outdoor park with adequate parking. Food, for another. A menu based on medieval times? Complicated. And from what I remember about LARP, there are games revolving around the video. And they’ll need to be authentic.”

“Tommy and Penny won’t care about the details,” he lied.

They would care. In fact, they’d care too much. That’s what made a fan crazy enough to base their entire wedding around a video game. An obsession about even the minutest of details.

“I once had a client who said she didn’t care. But she did,” Callie said. “Despite the fact the bride and groom were thrilled with my work, the one paying the bills wasn’t.” She tipped her head. “Who’s paying for all of this?”

“Me.”

Something flashed in her eyes that he didn’t recognize. Probably questions and comments and opinions about a wedding being paid for by the brother of the groom. Not your traditional arrangement. But then again, who else was there? No one.

And there hadn’t been for a long time.

Callie, to her credit, didn’t pry. “Then, officially, you’d be my boss. If you want me to agree to plan this event, you’re going to have to at least stick around long enough to make a few of the major decisions.”

“How long?”

“Depends on how our hunt for a venue goes. Can’t say for sure. Maybe a week?”

Damn. That would mean he’d go almost a month without physically checking in on Tommy. The last time Matt had done that, he’d missed some early clues, and Tommy had wound up in rehab again.

But that was two years ago and he’d promised Tommy he’d take care of this.

Matt turned his options over in his head. As far as he could see, he didn’t have any. He’d only just convinced the woman to take this project on. Refusing her now would be counterproductive. And finding someone else to participate in this harebrained idea would be absolutely impossible.

“All right,” he said, raking a frustrated hand through his hair. “I’ll give you until Tuesday and then we can reassess from there.”

“Fine. But we need to get started right away, beginning with a meeting to list exactly what y’all want. I have to go out of town tomorrow, family stuff I have to take care of. But I’ll put together a list of potential park sites and Sunday we can make the rounds to check them out. We can use the drive to put together our ideas for the wedding weekend.”

Sticking around to help nail down the details for this crazy event? Not exactly what he’d had in mind when he’d climbed on the plane today. Matt could afford two more days in New Orleans before heading home. And Callie’s brilliant smile helped ease the frustrating turn of events.

“Sunday morning it is,” he said.

“Forecast calls for a heat wave the next few days or so.” Callie’s grin grew bigger. “Hope you like the weather hot, Mr. Paulson.”

The playful grin brought about one of his own.

“Ms. LaBeau,” Matt said, leaning close. “I like everything hot.”

* * *

Matt entered his hotel room and toed off his shoes, unbuttoning his shirt as he headed toward the bathroom. Fatigue made his movement clumsy as he flicked open the front of his pants. After tossing his clothes aside, he flipped on the water and stepped inside the marble shower, groaning as hot water coursed over his hair and down his skin.

The ache in his muscles had started during the cramped four-hour flight, and now finally eased. Matt leaned his hand against the wall and bowed his head, letting the wet heat wash away the remainder of the stress of the past thirty-six hours.

It looked like his plans to get in and out of New Orleans quickly so he could check on Tommy had just bitten the dust. As a consolation, he now had a little more time to spend with Callie LaBeau. And the next time they saw each other, he will have had a full night’s sleep.

As far as screwed-up plans went, this one could have been worse.

But the time had come to rethink his approach.

First up, place a call to Tommy. A phone check never gave as much information as a face-to-face interaction, but it beat no contact at all. Unfortunately, no one could assess weight loss and skin color over the phone. Of course, the first sign Tommy was slipping was the way he refused to look Matt in the eyes.

Second, the trip around town to locate an available park. Matt ignored the tightening in his groin as he considered a day in the car. With Callie. Alone. Awareness definitely hung in the air around them, though he sensed a hint of reluctance on her part. A reluctance that could have meant anything.

Because they were working together.

Because she had a boyfriend, though Matt doubted that to be the case.

Because she still carried a torch for Colin...

Matt soaped himself clean, picturing the golden skin and the honey-colored hair and big brown eyes. The little dip in her upper lip. The way she nibbled on the inside of her cheek while lost in thought. The pink tongue that licked the corner of her wide mouth.

He pictured that mouth on his skin. The teeth. The tongue traveling down his chest. Past his abdomen. The lips closing around his—

He slammed his eyes shut.

Fifteen minutes later, clean and refreshed and a whole lot more relaxed, Matt padded from the bathroom and into his bedroom. He dried his hair and wrapped the towel around his waist, heading to the window and pulling back the curtain. The lights of New Orleans spread out before him. As much as he dreaded the conversation, he picked up his cell phone and punched speed dial.

He hated the way his stomach tightened before every contact. After two years of a sober Tommy, Matt should have stopped bracing for the worst every time. Only problem was, Tommy had achieved sobriety before. Six times total. Every relapse had gotten harder than the one before. And had broken Matt’s heart a little more.

“Hello?”

Despite everything, as always his brother’s voice made Matt smile.

“Tommy. Fought any good dragons lately?”

The laugh on the other end sounded robust, easing a little of Matt’s nerves.

“Dude, you should have seen the troll that Penny took down the other day,” Tommy said.

“Big?”

“Massive.”

“Hope her cooking isn’t going to your waist. Your chain mail still fit?”