Stand-In Groom (27 page)

She shook her head. Keeping secrets again? Or just fatigue? Maybe she was overreacting, but she couldn’t take that chance. Disheartened, she took a swig of her latte to try to wash down the lump in her throat. She didn’t know him well enough to discern if his blue funk was because of her or something else he didn’t want her to know about. Truth be told, she hardly knew anything personal about him. She wanted to remedy that, but when he wouldn’t open up to her…

Exhaustion pushed her emotions to their limit, and she blinked back sudden tears. She’d gone and done exactly what she’d feared— given in to her feelings and made herself vulnerable to him. Just like before, she’d end up with a broken heart after he’d gotten everything from her that he wanted. Just what did he want from her?

She jolted when his fingers touched hers. She pulled her hand away and rested it in her lap, focusing on the now unappetizing lump of muffin on her plate.

“Anne? Anne, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to shut you out.” He let out a deep breath. “I discovered this morning that some confidential documents may have been stolen from my computer. Documents containing information about the wedding.”

Her gaze snapped to his. “Someone hacked into your computer at home?”

“Not exactly. Someone got into my office and may have copied the files onto a CD. I don’t think they can do anything with them. But…”

She no longer felt sorry for herself, but for him. “Oh. George. What happens if they figure it out? Will you lose your job?”

He shrugged. “There’s nothing for it now. We can just pray.…”

“Yes.” She nodded and reached across to take his hand. “Let’s pray. That’s why everything feels so overwhelming to me. I didn’t start my day in the presence of God.” She closed her eyes and bowed over the small round table. George lowered his head, his forehead nearly touching hers. She took a deep breath and cleared her thoughts. “Most merciful and gracious Father, only through the grace of the blood of
Your Son, Jesus Christ, can we come before Your throne. Humbly we give You thanks for Your goodness and mercy, for the blessing of life, and most especially for Your grace and love. Please give us strength today to do what needs to be done, to put aside fatigue and concerns, to make this the best event for the client. Help George to set aside his worries over the crime committed against him. We ask that You keep the thieves from ruining his employer’s special day and endangering George’s employment. Help me to be a conduit of Your Spirit of love and hospitality with everyone who crosses my path today. Amen.”

George squeezed her hand. “Almighty God, I come before You with a humble heart this morning. Grant that I may be able to put aside all anxiety to be prepared to be of service to You and to Anne today. Help us to trust Your guidance and not be carried away by our own plans or preoccupations. Drive away wrong desires, incline our hearts to keep Your law, and guide our feet in the way of peace; that, having done Your will with cheerfulness throughout the day, when the night comes, we may rejoice and give You all the glory. Amen.”

H
ave you seen George?” Anne looped a gold-beaded garland around her neck and picked up a string of white twinkle-lights.

“Not recently.” Her cousin Bryan came down a few rungs and reached for the end of the light cord. He scrambled back up the ladder to complete the faux starry sky. “You might try in the office. Last time I saw him, he was griping about not being able to get a good signal on his cell phone. He might’ve gone in there to use the landline.”

What could possibly be so important as to take him away from the work he’d promised to help with? “How long ago?”

“Probably more than an hour ago.”

“Thanks.” She crossed the ballroom to deliver the strand of beads to the student workers decorating the parade float. Continuing through the heavy pine door, she tried to get hold of her anger. How could he disappear on her like this? She’d hoped to turn things over to him for half an hour so she could sit down and regroup— and maybe close her eyes for a few minutes. She was getting too old to keep these kinds of hours. With her business’s financial future secure, she needed an assistant—or a partner.

The office door stood open. No George. Frustrated, she dropped into the tall executive chair behind the desk, picked up the phone, and dialed his number.

He answered on the third ring. “George Laurence here.”

“Where are you?” She grimaced at the accusation that managed to slip into her voice despite her best efforts to affect a light tone.

“I am in the hot sun at the top of a very tall ladder trying to hang purple, gold, and green garlands while talking on the phone without plunging to an early and grizzly demise.”

Embarrassed relief washed through her. “Oh. I thought…”

“Anne.” His deep voice caressed her jumbled emotions. “I promised I would be here for you. Unlike…other people, I always hold true to my word.”

Her throat tightened. His ability to understand what she was thinking continued to amaze—and comfort—her. “I’m sorry I doubted you.”

“No apology necessary. Why don’t you close the office door and rest for a few minutes? I’ll fetch you should any problems arise.”

The idea of being “fetched” by him like a stick by a golden retriever brought her to irrepressible laughter. She couldn’t explain her mirth to him at his inquiry. She repeated his “Ta-ta for now” and hung up.

Indecision hit her when she crossed to the door. Three o’clock, and so much left to do. Could she afford to disappear for fifteen minutes? Or, being honest with herself, could she depend on George? Happy Endings, Inc., and her reputation as an event planner represented what she valued most in life, outside of her family.

She closed the door. If the relationship between them stood any chance of developing into…something, she must learn to trust him. Besides, what could happen in the few minutes she needed to get her second—or was she already on her third—wind?

8

At five o’clock, George found Major O’Hara and asked him to bring all of the workers together in the break room behind the kitchen. Cliff’s press conference would begin in half an hour, and George wanted the staff to be made aware of the ground rules for tonight’s event.

He found one of Anne’s cousins in the crowd of student workers. “Have you seen Anne recently?”

Jonathan shook his head. “Not for a couple of hours. I thought maybe she’d gone to run some errands.”

“Thanks.” George asked O’Hara to keep everyone together until he returned. He jogged across the ballroom-turned-French Quarter and down the hall to the administrative office. He turned the knob softly and swung the door open.

Anne never stirred. Even when she was sound asleep, stress drew her forehead into worry lines. He eased the door closed and released the handle centimeter by centimeter until it latched. He wanted to reveal the guest of honor’s identity to her in private anyway. Best let her get all the rest she could. She’d need it. As soon as he finished with the staff, he’d come back and tell her.

The buzz of voices in the break room stilled when George entered. “I know many of you have been curious as to whom this event is for. That’s why I wanted to call you together. Our guest of honor this evening is Mr. Cliff Ballantine.”

Astonishment swept through the room, and the initial gasp turned to excited whispering, especially among the females. He held his hands up to regain their attention. “Obviously I don’t have to explain who he is. There are, however, some ground rules everyone must agree to before his arrival. If you cannot agree, or if you break any of these rules, you will be asked to leave.”

He pulled a manila folder from his bag. “First, Mr. Ballantine will not be signing any autographs tonight. Please do not approach him with any such request. He has been kind enough to supply autographed photos for each of you instead.” He passed the stack of black-and-white head shots to the young woman at his right. “Second, you may not, under any circumstances, call anyone to let them know he will be here tonight. You are more than welcome to talk about it after the event to whomever you please.” He reached for a cardboard box on top of a stack of chairs. “Please deposit your cell phones in this box. They will be locked in the office until the end of the event.”

Excited twittering turned to groans. George gave them his sternest look. “If you cannot abide by these rules…” The thud of phones dropping into the box drowned out the complaints. “Third, there will be many other people here tonight whom you may be tempted to ask for autographs. Don’t. After the event is over, if they offer to sign something for you, that is permissible. But don’t solicit them. Finally, for those of you who will be greeting guests at the door, if they do not have an invitation, please call me over the radio before allowing them admittance.”

A hand shot up at the back of the room.

“Yes?”

“Even if it’s someone we recognize, we’re not to let them in?”

He didn’t want any of the guests offended, but he didn’t want any paparazzi or reporters gaining entrance, either. Most of the guests would understand. “Please call me no matter what.” He pulled another stack of papers out of his bag, split it in half, and started them around the room. “This is a release stating that you have heard and understood the guidelines I’ve just enumerated for you. Please sign it and return it to Mr. O’Hara or me, and then you can go back to your duties.”

They were signing the releases when Anne’s cousin Jonathan burst through the doors. “George, I think you should come outside.”

He left Major to gather the paperwork and ran across the building. His phone beeped and he pulled it out to answer the call from Cliff’s publicist.

“We were on our way to the hotel in downtown, and Mr. Ballantine decided he wanted to have the press conference at Lafitte’s Landing instead.” Tracie’s voice betrayed her state of near-panic. “You’ll need to figure out a podium and some sound quickly.” A black stretch limousine, followed by innumerable vehicles, wound its way up the long drive toward Lafitte’s Landing.

“Oh, my sainted aunt!” He spun and ran back inside. “Keep Mr. Ballantine in the car until we get everything set up,” he called into the phone, then disconnected and clipped it back in place.

One of the staff directed George to a storage room where he found a large lectern and portable sound system. As the boys who’d worked with the equipment before rushed to get everything plugged in, George arranged the stanchions and black velvet rope, originally set out to line the red carpet leading to the entrance, as a barrier to keep the reporters and cameras out of Mr. Ballantine’s face. Like locusts, they swarmed toward the building, but the college students did an admirable job of keeping them behind the barricade.

After a thumbs-up from Jonathan, George descended the porch steps and crossed to the limousine. Blinding flashes combined with yelling reporters competed for Cliff’s attention as George opened the door and the movie star stepped out.

What was he wearing? Blue jeans and a University of Louisiana baseball jersey? George shook his head. If he hadn’t been here all day… But he’d promised Anne.

Anne! She still didn’t know. He whirled to return to the building and find her before she woke up and walked out into the middle of her worst nightmare.

Cliff grabbed George’s shoulder to stop him. “Tracie, call the hotel and have them send over any other reporters still waiting for me there. Laurence, show me what’s been done inside.”

No, no, no! He had to get to Anne. He had to tell her himself.
Please, dear Lord, let her sleep through this. Let her stay in the office until I can get to her
. “Yes, Mr. Ballantine.”

The diminutive, dark-haired publicist stepped up to the lectern to announce that Mr. Ballantine would give his statement in approximately fifteen minutes.

As soon as his eyes adjusted to the dim interior, George’s gaze scoured the room for the statuesque blonde he’d come to love in the last month. He sighed when he couldn’t spot her.

Like a politician, Cliff greeted the college students still working on the decorations, table settings, and final preparations. George kept his eyes trained on the door at the back of the room. When Tracie gave him the word, he’d get Cliff back out front and go tell
Anne. He couldn’t let her hear this from someone else.

Standing in the middle of the ballroom, Cliff turned in a full circle, nodding his head. “Looks great, Laurie. Good job.”

“I can take no credit, sir. Your wedding planner, An—”

“Why aren’t any of them asking for my autograph?” A fierce frown marred Cliff’s world-famous face.

Oh no! A worker, with the box holding everyone’s cell phones under her arm, went through the door at the back of the room. George moved to stop her, but Cliff grabbed his shoulder again.
God, please don’t let Anne wake up!
“Everyone working here tonight signed a release that they wouldn’t. We gave them signed head shots a few minutes ago.”

The frown melted into relief. “Oh. Good. I thought I was losing my touch for a minute there.” He inhaled deeply. “Take me to the kitchen. I want to sample what we’re eating tonight.”

Yes. The kitchen. Anne probably wouldn’t go in there.

The frenetic preparations in the kitchen came to a dead stop when Cliff entered. Major O’Hara commanded them all back to work and came toward him, his face a study in granite.

“As I live and breathe, Major O’Hara.” Cliff extended his hand jovially.

The caterer’s smile seemed forced. “Cliff Ballantine. It’s been a long time. Welcome.”

“So what’s on the menu?” Cliff seemed not to notice the frosty reception.

George followed them as Major allowed Cliff a taste of each of the dishes. He knew why Anne and her family would give Cliff a frigid greeting. What had happened with Major O’Hara?

Tracie beeped through on his phone while Cliff taste-tested the jambalaya. George stepped to the double doors and peered out into the ballroom. No sign of Anne. “Tracie, please tell me everyone is here and we can get started.”

“Yes. The natives are getting restless. They’re ready for the human sacrifice.”