Kiss Me Forever (Bachelors & Bridesmaids #1) (5 page)

"I'm not trying to catch him. He's not my type."

"A handsome millionaire isn't your type?" her mother asked in astonishment. "What is wrong with you?"

"Nothing. He's a player, Mom. All those guys are."

"He might not be."

"You're always such an optimist when it comes to men."

"And you're a pessimist."

She had good reason to be.

"I ran into Douglas the other day," her mom continued. "He and Cassie just had a baby."

"Great." The last person she wanted to talk about was her ex-boyfriend.

"They seem quite happy together. But I still think he should have married you."

"Well, he didn't. And if you want grandchildren, I'd work on Laurel." She grinned at her sister, who stuck her tongue out at her. "I really have to go, Mom."

"Just give Alexander Donovan a chance," her mother pleaded.

"The only thing I want from Alexander Donovan is a good cover story that will take my career to the next level."

"You and your career," her mom said with a sigh. "You're just like your father. I never understood him, and I never seem to understand you."

"Well, at least you have one daughter you do understand," she said lightly, feeling a little pain at her mom's words. "I'll talk to you later."

She ended the call and tossed her phone down on the coffee table.

"Mom called you about the bridal shower, didn't she?" Laurel asked with a knowing smile.

She smiled back at her twin. She and Laurel were fraternal twins, and while they loved each other to death, they looked nothing alike. Laurel had brown hair and blue eyes and was three inches taller and quite a bit bustier. Laurel was also a girly girl. She loved make-up, clothes, going shopping and having parties. While she enjoyed her job as a recruiter for a tech company, she was much more interested in her upcoming wedding and her plans for marriage and a family with her soon-to-be husband Greg than she was in her job.

Andrea took a sip of her coffee as she sat down in the chair across from Laurel. "Mom is worried that I'm not going to plan your shower."

"Well, you're not, are you?" Laurel asked, giving her a pointed glance. "I figured you were going to let Mom do it."

"She'll do it whether I want her to do it or not, but I should get more involved. It's not that I don't want to. I want you to have the perfect shower, bachelorette party, wedding—the whole shebang. I know I've been a little crazed with work, but I promise to put all of your events on the front burner as soon as I get through this weekend of interviews."

"I'm not worried."

"Really? Then why are you here so early in the morning?"

"I wanted to ask you something."

The serious note in her sister's voice surprised her. "Okay. Go ahead."

"Do you think I'm crazy for marrying Greg without having had a few more serious relationships?"

"You're having doubts about Greg?" she asked slowly, taken aback by the question. Laurel had been in love with Greg since their first date six years ago.

"The doubts are more about me. I'm twenty-seven years old, and I've been with Greg since I was twenty-one. I haven't been single in the city like you and the rest of our friends. Sometimes I listen to everyone's dating adventure stories and wonder if I'm missing out."

"Of course you're missing out. You're missing out on a lot of losers. It's not all that great to be single, Laurel." She paused. "What's really the problem?"

"I don't know," she said with a sigh. "I just feel jittery. And for some reason when Kate told me you were going out with a sexy billionaire, I felt kind of—jealous."

"It wasn't a date. It was an interview. You're all making this out to be more than it is. And I think you and Greg are perfect together. He wants everything you want. He accepts you for who you are. And he's a good man with a good heart. Plus, you've been hot for him since your first date."

"That's true. I'm being stupid, aren't I?"

"You are. But I'm you're sister, and I will stand by you no matter what you decide. I'll even drive the getaway car if you can't make it down the aisle at the last minute."

"Mom would die if I ran out on my wedding."

"That's very true, but it's your life, not hers."

Laurel met her gaze. "You're a good sister—horrible at being a maid of honor, but really good at everything else."

"I'll do better," she promised. "So the wedding is still on?"

Laurel nodded. "It's on."

"Great. I need to take a shower, so…"

"I'm going. I have a bunch of errands to run. I have to find a new wedding photographer."

"Why? I thought all those plans were made."

"The one I had signed up is now pregnant and suffering horrendous morning sickness. Mom doesn’t want to take a chance that she might not feel well the day of my wedding."

"I guess I see her point."

"Kate has been trying to get me a sub from her list of photographers, but everyone is booked so close to the date. I talked to Liz, and she has a few photographers she's worked with at her P.R. agency, so she set up some meetings for me today."

Kate was not only a bridesmaid but also Laurel's official wedding planner. Still, Andrea felt a twinge of guilt that Laurel had had to turn to not only Kate but also Liz for help. Liz was one of the bridesmaids, but she wasn't the maid of honor. "I could probably ask the guy who shoots for the magazine. He might have some contacts who do weddings."

"I may take you up on that," Laurel replied as she got to her feet. "But let me see what happens today."

"Okay," she said, following her sister to the door. "How is Liz doing? I haven't spoken to her in a few weeks. I know her dad hasn't been well."

"Unfortunately, he's still not well. Liz is trying to take over his responsibilities at the firm, but it's a lot of work, and I guess her father's partners are giving her crap. They're figuring that her dad will be out soon, and they'd just as soon get her out, too."

"But Liz's dad founded that company."

"He had some sort of falling out with his partners. Liz is caught in the middle. Her dad wants her to take over his part of the partnership, but the other men don't want that."

"That sounds horrible." She made a mental note to call Liz later and catch up.

Laurel paused at the door. "I know you're going to do whatever you want, Andrea, but I just have to say one thing…"

"What's that?" she asked warily.

"It wouldn't kill you to give Alex Donovan a chance to be something more than an interview subject, Andrea."

"Alex doesn't want that chance. He just wants me to write a fluff piece about his life, and I have no intention of doing that. I need to make this story good. My job is kind of on the line."

"Really?" Laurel asked in surprise. "But you always work so hard."

"Unfortunately, I haven't had a lot of results to show for that work. But I have a cover story now, and I'm going to make the most of it. I'm going to find out who Alex Donovan really is, whatever it takes."

"Maybe the real Alex Donovan will be even more interesting than the one the rest of the world knows."

"I would love to be that lucky."

* * *

An hour later, Andrea rang the doorbell to Alex's impressive Victorian mansion in Pacific Heights. It was a far cry from her small one-bedroom apartment in the Sunset, but she didn't care. While she liked money as much as anyone else, she was more interested in doing something that would influence people and the way they thought about the world, not that this piece would do anything more than raise the blood pressure of American women everywhere.

With a sigh, she pushed the button again.

Alex opened the door with a cheerful smile. He wore tan slacks and short-sleeved cream-colored polo shirt. He looked just as good in casual attire as he had in the suit he'd had on the night before.

"You're right on time," he said.

"As ordered."

"Come in." He held the door open for her, and Andrea walked into the impressive entryway. The floor was marble title. Oil paintings adorned the walls, and an enormous staircase curved around a pillar as it rose up to the second floor.

"Wow," she muttered. "Nice digs."

He grinned. "You haven't seen the rest of the house."

"I doubt I'll be disappointed. Can I have a tour?"

"Another time. We need to leave now to meet my friends."

"Are you sure we don't have a few moments?" She was itching to take a look around his personal space, because nothing about the front rooms seemed remotely personal. Off to one side, the living room was in shadows, but she could see the same kind of luxurious furniture and art through the archway.

"Don't worry. You'll have a chance to see the house later." He opened the front door, and she followed him out to the circular drive where his Mercedes was waiting.

"Where are we going?" she asked, as she got into the passenger seat.

"A small party some friends of mine are throwing."

"That's rather vague. At some point, the two of us need to sit down and talk privately."

"Of course."

"So, do you live alone?" she asked, as he pulled out of the driveway.

"I do."

"No live-in staff?"

He shook his head. "I have a cleaning service that comes in once a week, and a personal chef that makes meals for me when I'm going to be home."

She wasn't surprised to hear that. Still she couldn't help wondering how fun it was to live in such a big house all alone.

"What about you?" he asked. "Where do you live?"

"I have a one-bedroom apartment in the Sunset. I moved in about three months ago, and I'm excited to have my own place. While I've loved all my roommates, I've been living with different women for the past eight years, and I shared my last apartment with four women. It was a little too chaotic."

"It sounds crazy. I can't imagine."

She doubted he could imagine. His life was quite different from hers. "My entire apartment would probably fit into your living room. Don't you ever feel a little lost living in a mansion by yourself? How many bedrooms are there?"

"Six. I have visitors, but like you, I also prefer to be on my own."

"You've never had a woman move in with you?"

"That's a personal question," he returned.

"Well, I'm a reporter. I ask personal questions."

"No."

"That's it?" she prodded.

"You asked, I answered."

"Elaboration always makes for a better article."

"Then ask a more interesting question."

She sighed. Alex Donovan was definitely not going to make this easy. As he turned down the next block, she realized they were heading toward the Marina, and memories of a fateful fourth-grade fishing trip flashed through her mind. "We're not going out on a boat, are we?" she asked.

He turned into the harbor parking lot. "We are. My friend has a beautiful yacht. You'll love it."

She was absolutely sure she would not love it. But she couldn't back out of the trip now. She wouldn't have too many chances to talk to Alex, and she only had ten days to put the story together.

After he parked the car, she got out and met him on the sidewalk. There was a brisk wind, which did not make her feel any better about the upcoming trip.

Alex gave her a sharp look as she zipped her jacket. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," she said with determination. She told herself she wasn't ten years old anymore and sailing on a yacht would be nothing like going out in a small fishing boat.

Two hours later she knew it was worse.

* * *

While the yacht was massive in size, it was no match for the wind-driven waves that lifted the boat up and down in joyful glee. The first hour had been okay. Andrea had concentrated on getting to know Alex's friends, and the party of twenty had remained docked at the pier with several waiters passing out appetizers and champagne.

Everything had changed when they sailed out into the bay, gliding slowly along the shoreline, taking a good view of Alcatraz Island before heading out for the turbulent ocean waters on the other side of the Golden Gate Bridge. She'd come out on the deck fifteen minutes earlier, desperately needing some air to quell the queasiness, but being outside wasn't really any better. Along with feeling like she might throw up, she was now a little concerned that she might also get tossed off the boat.

A splash of water hit her in the face as the boat came down at a particularly vicious angle, and she held on to the rail in a death grip. She didn't know how everyone else was doing it, but all she could hear from down below was music and laugher. The rest of the party seemed able to maintain their balance while eating liver pate and munching on sculpted vegetables.

"Andrea. You look..." Alex paused by her side, studying her face with genuine concern. "You're green. I've heard people described that way, but I've never actually seen it before."

"Thanks for the update." She pushed her hair out of her face in a futile gesture. A second later, the wind whipped the damp strands that had escaped from her ponytail across her eyes.

"Maybe you need some food," Alex suggested.

She groaned. "Don't even mention food to me."

"Sorry." He put an arm around her shoulders, steadying her as the boat rocked back and forth. "It's rougher than usual today."

"Is it? The last time I was on a boat I was ten, and it felt very much like this. Only then I threw up all over Johnny Carmichael's tennis shoes." She took a breath as bile rose in her throat. "You might want to back up."

"I'll take my chances," he said with a small smile. "You should have told me you get seasick. Why didn't you?"

She sent him an irritated look. "Following you around is my job. I go where the story goes. And I was hoping I'd outgrown it. But I'll be fine. I just need to breathe." She tightened her grip on the rail as the boat took another dive. "How much longer are we going to be out here?"

"We're heading back now, but it will probably be another twenty minutes before we dock."

"Okay. Twenty minutes. I can handle that." She silently repeated the words, trying to will the nausea out of her stomach.