For Better or Worse (25 page)

“Sounds like a plan. Maybe we can throw banana bread into the mix?”

She chucked her phone at him before heading into the bathroom, and he laughed, only to stop abruptly at the slight discomfort on his left side.

Josh's smile slowly dropped as icy dread ripped through him. Another symptom that he was all too familiar with. A harmless twinge that he knew from experience could mean something very harmful ­indeed.

Josh didn't move.

Not as he listened to Heather mutter obscenities in the shower. Not as he listened to her—rightfully so—rage at Danica Robinson as she threw on jeans and a sweater and boots.

Only when she approached the side of the bed, leaning down to kiss his cheek, did he manage to move, his need for Heather stronger than the weakness in his limbs.

He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her awkwardly to his chest. Needing to hold her. Needing to be held, just for a second.

She didn't protest. She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his hot skin. “You're burning up,” she said, sounding worried. “I should stay.”

“Nah, just get me a couple pills to combat the fever. I'm just going to sleep,” he said, still not releasing her.

“I don't want to leave you,” she whispered.

His eyes shut as he stroked her hair, but he didn't say anything.

Finally he let his arm fall away, and she gave him a concerned look as she went into the bathroom and came back with two more pills. “This should help with the fever and the headache, but you need to make sure you're getting enough fluids.”

Fluids wouldn't help with what was ailing him, but he played along, rolling his eyes at her bossiness even as he agreed to follow her directions.

She went into the kitchen, and he watched in amusement as she put three water bottles on his
nightstand. “I want those all to be gone by the time I get back,” she ordered.

“Can we put some whisky in them?” he asked hopefully.

She ignored him, leaning down and kissing his forehead. “I'll be back soon. I hope.”

Josh said her name as she was about to leave the bedroom, and she glanced back expectantly, one hand on the doorjamb.

“Yeah?” she said.

Josh swallowed and it hurt. He wanted to tell her how he felt.

“I'm sorry about the Danica thing,” he said instead. Lame.

“Eh.” She lifted her shoulders. “It stings, but it'll pass. Not life or death, you know?”

Oh, he knew. He definitely knew.

Josh waited until he heard her close the front door, waited until he heard the click of the lock before he forced himself to do what needed to be done.

Slowly, he lifted his hand to his throat, his fingers knowing exactly what to look for.

And he found it.

His hand fell back to the bed as he stared straight ahead, terror mingling with resignation. The sore throat, he could explain away. The headache, a relatively common ailment. Even the body aches and the fever—they happened, right? Grown men got that shit all the time.

But all that plus the fatigue of the past few weeks and the swollen lymph nodes in his neck?

Shit, hell, and
fuck
.

Josh threw the covers back, forcing his stiff limbs over the side of the bed as he walked toward the closet door where Heather had hung his suit the night before.

He found his cell phone in the breast pocket of his suit jacket and scrolled through his contacts until he found the one number he'd hoped he'd never have to call again.

Chapter Thirty

H
OW MUCH PETTY CASH
do the Belles keep on hand?” Heather said as she gratefully accepted the large mug of coffee Alexis handed her.

Her boss merely tilted her head in question.

“Bail money,” Heather said. “I'm thinking we may need it if and when I ever run into Danica Robinson on the street.”

“I'd sell the whole building if I had to,” Alexis said grimly. “This woman is dead to me.”

“Somehow it's so much scarier when you say that than hearing it from anyone else,” Heather said, taking a gulp of the coffee. She'd been at the office for two hours now, and the caffeine from her first cup of coffee back at the apartment was starting to fade.

“I mean it,” Alexis said, crossing her arms. “We've had our fair share of called-off weddings, but never anything like this. Never anything so malicious and callous.”

“Yeah, well, lifestyles of the rich and famous and all that.”

“How are the vendors taking it?” Alexis asked, leaning against the door. She was wearing a pale lavender knit dress, her makeup impeccable as always, belying the fact that Heather knew full well she hadn't gone to bed until the early hours of the morning, and had been awake by six given the time stamp on the texts she'd sent to Heather to break the news.

Heather waved her hand over the iPad and file folders on her desk. “Hardly anyone's picking up. Damn holiday.”

“Well, the only good news about this happening with such a famous client is that they'll probably have figured it out by the time they all get back to work tomorrow.”

“So they'll be pissed, but not surprised.”

“Yes, but not pissed at you,” Alexis said.

“I don't know about that. I just keep thinking that a good wedding planner would have figured this out. That
you
would have figured this out.”

“Don't be ridiculous. Nobody goes into a wedding-­planning endeavor suspecting that it's all a publicity stunt.”

“You know what pisses me off the most,” Heather said. “That I knew something was up early on, but that I let her play me. I totally bought all that bollocks about her promising her fiancé to be low-key.”

“‘Bollocks'?” Alexis smirked. “Someone's been spending too much time with Logan.”

Heather spun around in her chair, happy to have a change of topic, however brief. “Speaking of Logan,
any idea who the boob-tastic broad all over him last night was?”

Alexis lifted her shoulders. “Nope. And I don't care. I
don't
,” she insisted when Heather gave her a skeptical look. “He's allowed to date.”

“Sure,” Heather said. “But he came with
you
.”

“Our cabs arrived at the same time and we walked in together,” Alexis said in amusement. “What is it with you and Brooke trying to turn us into some grand love story?”

Heather sighed. “I can't help it. I love love.”

“Speaking of . . .” Alexis sat down opposite Heather's desk and grinned. “You and Josh seemed mighty cozy at midnight.”

Heather looked down at her mug. “I was having . . . an epiphany.”

“That you love him,” Alexis said in a matter-of-fact tone.

“That obvious?”

“Yes. But it was lovely to see. Did he, ah . . . have a similar epiphany?”

“I thought so? Maybe?” Heather shook her head. “I have no idea. He wanted to say something, and I know that he cares about me. I know it. But he's still holding back. I thought it was just classic bachelor-itis, but I think it's more than that.”

“You didn't talk about it after the fact? Or this morning?”

“Nah, he's sick with some nasty cold,” Heather said. “I left him in bed with medicine and fluids. One more reason to hate Danica Robinson. It killed me to
leave him looking so miserable, which tells you how far gone I am over the guy. I wanted to take care of him and tuck blankets around him and make him homemade soup.”

“Why don't you let me take care of all of this,” Alexis said, gesturing at Heather's office.

“No way. She was my client. I'm the one that failed to see the signs. The least I can do is take point on my own cleanup duty.”

“What do you mean the least you can do?”

Heather bit her lip. “This is bad for the Belles, isn't it?”

“What?”

“We scored the most famous wedding of the year, and then the wedding didn't happen. That can't be good for business.”

“Don't take this the wrong way,” Alexis said slowly, coming into Heather's office and leaning against her desk, “but it's possible you're taking on a bit too much responsibility here. This reflects badly on two people, and two people only: Danica and Troy. And maybe her team of people who knew about the charade. But it doesn't reflect poorly on you. And certainly not on the company.”

“Thousands of dollars,” Heather said glumly. “Like thousands and thousands, all for nothing.”

“Yes, but we're not taking the hit. That's what Danica's deposit was for, and if the deposit doesn't cover it, you can rest assured she'll be getting an invoice for any spillover, especially for your time.”

“It's not the money.” Heather fiddled with a paper clip. “This was a test. And I failed.”

Alexis frowned. “What do you mean, a test?”

Heather met her boss's eyes. “This was my chance to show you I could make it as a full-blown wedding planner. And I blew it.”

“You most definitely did not,” Alexis said indignantly. “You honestly think I'd ignore all the hard work you did simply because you got stuck with a bum client? Heck, if anything, the way this turned out and the way you're handling it just proves even more how ready you are for that promotion.”

Heather's spine straightened. “Seriously?”

Alexis smiled. “Congratulations. Wedding planner.”

Holy crap.

Just like that, she had The Dream. It's what she wanted forever, and she was happy, she really was, it was just . . .

“There's something else,” Alexis said quietly.

“I'm thrilled,” Heather rushed to say. “Seriously. But there's this weird sadness that this wedding isn't happening. Like I'm taking it personally.”

“I can understand that,” Alexis said slowly. “This was a unique situation in which you were asked to plan a wedding your way rather than the client's way. You can't keep from putting a bit of yourself into it.”

Heather gave an embarrassed nod. “I think somewhere along the line, I planned
my
dream wedding. I mean, not entirely. The dress she picked was way too fussy. I'd have gone with a simple white sheath, cap sleeves, clean lines . . . Pippa Middleton style.”

“To show off your great butt,” Alexis said with a smile.

Heather snorted. “Well, I don't know about
great
, but it's about the only feature I have to work with. Anyway, the dress wasn't me. And I've always envisioned that my bridal party would just be my mom, not something like Danica's party of twelve. I'd want to honor her, you know? But everything else . . . yeah, pretty much my dream wedding. I figured I might as well do it here, given the unlimited budget.”

“Which makes it extra painful to undo,” Alexis concluded.

Heather shrugged. “I keep telling myself that this was just the trial run. A chance to work through it all so that when it comes time for me to walk down the aisle, I'll have everything figured out. But the truth is, I'm secretly glad nobody's picking up the phone today. It lets me live in the illusion just a little bit longer that my vision will come to light next week.”

“Heather. Let me take care of it, please,” Alexis said. “Not as a boss taking over for an employee, but as a friend.”

Heather looked up in surprise. She considered Alexis a friend, definitely, but if she was totally honest, she'd never been completely sure that Alexis considered her the same. Alexis was hardly the demonstrative type.

And she was tempted. Tempted to lean on her, to admit that the dissolving of the Robinson wedding felt like a punch to her professional pride
and
her heart.

“You know, there's another way of thinking about it. Relief that your dream wedding won't be wasted on someone who doesn't believe it.”

Admittedly, the thought
did
perk Heather up a bit. Come to think of it, it would have been positively wretched to watch someone else go through with her wedding, even if that person wasn't a manipulative socialite.

“Seriously, Heather, let Brooke and me take care of this. Jessie can help, too. Put this behind you and focus on the Sheldon wedding. You're excited about that one, right?”

Heather nodded. Amelia Sheldon was her ­latest customer and, in addition to being a complete doll, wanted to do a Texas-themed wedding in the ­middle of the city to honor her and her fiancé's Texas roots. It was a huge challenge and a welcome break from the usual city-esque themes most NYC brides ­preferred.

As much as Heather chafed at the thought of being a quitter, Alexis's offer was tempting. What would be the harm, really, of leaning on her colleagues to make a few phone calls and unravel the Robinson wedding? It would be a minimal time investment, and unlike her, their hearts weren't all tangled up in the business.

“Let me think about it,” Heather said. “At the very least I'll finish putting together the list of everyone who needs to be contacted so starting tomorrow one of us can start making the calls.”

“Sure,” Alexis said, standing. “Just so you know that when tomorrow comes, it's going to be me making the calls.”

Heather was about to protest one last time when her phone rang. She grinned when she saw Josh's
name come up on the caller ID and, prompted by Alexis's nod, swiped the green arrow.

“Hey there, sicky, how are you feeling? Which water bottle are you on?”

But it wasn't Josh on the other line.

Heather sat numbly listening to the panicked voice on the other end of the phone for several minutes before she hung up, her hand falling limply to her lap.

“Heather? What's wrong?” Alexis's voice was sharp as she came to Heather's side, kneeling beside her chair. “Talk to me.”

Heather turned and looked at her friend. “That was Josh's mom.” Her voice cracked as she abruptly stood up from her chair and started gathering papers, stuffing everything into her purse. “He's in the ­hospital.”