Jennifer McKenzie - One More Night

Did the bride halt in front of garden photos or rocky cliffs? Did her eyes widen at the clean lines of a regimented wedding party or the scattered cluster of bodies? The photos often gave the couple ideas, as well. Most times, they specifically referred to a photo or two during their second meeting.

Grace noted Julia’s pauses, the hesitation by the cityscapes. Rooftop patios with the buildings laid out below them. Night shots where the streetlights twinkled in the distance. Good. Very good.

But she didn’t feel quite so good when she glanced at Owen. His eyes were on her rather than the pictures. Grace swallowed and kept her gait steady.

She didn’t expect him to study them. Not exactly. He likely would have no say in the choices made, but she didn’t expect him to gawk at her, either. She longed to fiddle with the cuff of her suit jacket or straighten her skirt, but that would betray the uncertainty writhing within her and she wouldn’t do that.

Instead, she took long, slow breaths, the way she’d learned in her Pilates class. The deep and full inhalation and the complete exhalation. It was meant to cleanse and invigorate and Grace generally found this to be true when she was in class. The long, lean bodies stretched around her, each of them working to reach the same goal. But now, she just felt light-headed.

She was glad when they reached the lobby and the safety it provided with both her new hire, Hayley, and the front door.

“Grace, thank you again.” Julia turned with a warm smile and took Grace’s hands in hers. It didn’t surprise Grace, the extra touching. She made connections with her clients—they were entrusting her with one of the most important days of their lives and a connection was natural. But Julia’s sincerity did.

“It’s a pleasure.” Which was pretty much what she said to all her clients, but this time she meant it. “I’ll be in touch by the end of the week.”

But while Julia moved toward the frosted-glass front door that led out to the sidewalk, Owen didn’t follow. Grace felt her molars clamp together, but she made certain there was no other physical indication of her unsettledness. “Mr. Ford? Is there something I can assist you with?”

“I think I forgot something in the boardroom.”

Grace held her tongue. Waspishly asking what that could possibly be wouldn’t win her any points. Not with him, not with Julia, not with Hayley and not with herself. “Of course. I’ll show you back.”

“You go on ahead, Jules,” Owen said to his sister-in-law with a friendly wave. “And tell Donovan he owes me.”

Julia laughed as she pushed the door open and stepped out into the summer afternoon, but Grace didn’t feel like laughing. Or smiling. Exactly what was he on about now? She knew he hadn’t forgotten anything. He hadn’t been carrying anything when he’d arrived and he’d placed nothing on the table or the chair.

It embarrassed Grace that she knew this with such certainty as it meant she’d been watching him, paying close attention even when she hadn’t wanted to. “Exactly what are we looking for?” she asked as they walked back down the hallway to the boardroom.

He didn’t answer until she pushed open the door and he followed her inside. Grace had always loved her boardroom. The round, shiny table, the padded chairs that had been selected for comfort as well as style, the dove-gray walls and crystal chandelier. It wasn’t large because it didn’t need to be. Grace didn’t have a board of directors and she saw no need for more than eight people to ever be in the room at one time. Any more than that and it meant there were too many voices, too many opinions—usually from everyone other than the couple getting married, which was something she tried to avoid.

But right now, the room felt too compact. Too small. Too full of Owen Ford.

“I didn’t forget anything.”

Grace’s toes curled in the points of her high-heeled shoes. She’d known that, but she hadn’t expected him to come right out with it. No, she’d expected a staged search that would end when he suddenly “remembered” that he hadn’t brought along whatever item he’d pretended to leave behind with him in the first place. She moved across the room to straighten the line of water glasses that were slightly off. “Was there something else, then?”

“Yes.” He moved toward her, all warm intent and male conceit.

Grace felt the unwelcome response of her own body. The tug of heat, the whip of interest and the curiosity that flooded her system. She forced herself to hold her ground, not to back up until she bumped into the wall. There was no need to give him the high ground, moral or otherwise. They were in her space. She was in control. She left the glasses—those could be straightened later—and crossed her arms over her chest, stopping him in his tracks. “What is it you want, Mr. Ford?”

“Well, first, I’d like you to call me Owen.” He grinned, a charming, rakish grin that Grace had little doubt got him what he wanted most of the time. “And second, I’d like you to go out with me.”

She didn’t need time to consider her answer. “No.”

“Is that a no to question one or question two?”

“To both.” She didn’t smile or waver. It would only egg him on and she had a feeling Owen would be a handful without any encouragement.

“Now, why is that?” He took another step forward.

He was crowding her, even though he was too far away to touch. “As I’ve already explained, I don’t fraternize with my clients.”

“I’m not a client.”

Grace didn’t bother to correct him, didn’t want to engage him any more than was absolutely necessary. “Is there anything else, Mr. Ford?”

Owen didn’t say anything, but tilted his head and studied her. Grace felt like a bug under a magnifying glass, which had been a favorite pastime of her brother’s growing up until her mother caught him at it and gave him a lecture on respecting the life of all Earth’s creatures.

But if Owen thought she’d flounder, scrabble away or otherwise panic, he was wrong. She did what those little bugs never had—remained completely still and let him look. She knew she looked presentable and put together. She prided herself on it. Not a hair out of place, with understated and expensive jewelry, and artfully applied makeup. He’d find nothing there.

“I can’t quite figure you out,” he finally said.

“I’m not a puzzle.”

Owen shrugged. “And yet I find you puzzling.”

Grace had no doubt he’d used this line before. But she was made of stronger stuff. He was handsome and clearly comfortable in his own skin, but that was hardly enough. “Then I suppose I’ll just have to remain one of life’s little mysteries. I’ll show you out.”

She moved to step around him. He moved with her, their arms brushing. Grace felt his heat through the thin material of her suit jacket and was glad she’d left it on. “Maybe we could go for coffee,” Owen suggested as she led him out of the boardroom and back into the hallway.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

“And why’s that?”

“Mr. Ford.” She leveled a cool look at him as they walked. “As I’ve explained twice, I keep my personal and professional lives separate.”

“I’m not part of your business.”

“You’re in my office as part of a wedding I’ve been hired to plan.” Grace walked a little faster.

“That my brother and sister-in-law hired you for.” He kept up easily, his flip-flops slapping against the soles of his feet. Grace hated the sound, the loud smack disturbing the quiet hush of the space. “I don’t have anything to do with it.”

“You’re family. That makes you a client by association.”