eyes of Clarissa’s personal assistant, who was still nibbling on buttery flaky pastry courtesy of Edlers Bakery. ‘You can take over these weddings. You were doing most of the work yourself, weren’t you?’
Fragments of pastry scattered onto the paperwork as the older woman’s hand paused in midair. ‘Yes, I suppose so. Clarissa was so busy entertaining clients she relied on me to make the actual bookings and talk to the suppliers—like yourself. Boring things like that.’
‘Not boring,’ Amy insisted. ‘Important. Especially to the brides-to-be out there with their mothers.’
Amy sat down next to the terrified woman on a pale pink sofa, and tried to ignore the fact that the icing blobs on the back of her trousers would probably ruin the pink silk.
‘You want to be a wedding planner, don’t you? Was that a nod? Right!’ She reached across and took shaking but beautifully manicured hands in her still-sticky, grubby paw. ‘This is your chance. You have the power to give those girls the weddings they have always dreamed of. You created the files. You did that. Not Clarissa. You. Now all you have to do is to convince your clients that it’s business as usual. The plans are in place and on track. What do you say?’
‘Well, I don’t know. I’ve only been working here two years. Until then Clarissa organised everything herself. I’ll need to go through each box…’ The panic came back into her eyes as she gasped. ‘The Shaw-Gerard wedding! You’re making the cake! That’s next weekend, and I haven’t even looked at the file. The box is still here. What if…?’ There was terror in the unspoken words as she reached for the box, only to find that Amy had got there first.
‘Don’t you worry about that. I’m going to take Lucy’s file home with me. I’ll go through the plan myself, check the details, and meet you back here during the week. Okay?’
‘Well, I don’t know. I mean, Clarissa is pretty strict about the files not leaving the office without the client’s permission.’ She paused, gulped, and looked into Amy’s face.
‘That’s not a problem. Mr Shaw here is the person who signed the contract—so he is the client, after all.’
Elspeth looked up at Jared, who was guarding the door, and gave a faint smile. ‘Well, that’s true. We have met before. How about four p.m. Thursday?’
Amy smiled back. ‘Done. And you can do this. Seriously. You can. You’re the new wedding planner. Ready to face the music? Head up, shoulders back. Show them who is in charge here.’
She leapt to her feet, helped pull the woman up from the sofa, and watched as she tugged at her pink pencil skirt. With one single nod, Amy took a firm grip on Lucy’s pink-flowered box file, clutched it to her chest, flung open the door with her other hand, and beamed a smile to the cluster of women who leapt to their feet and started crowding in at the door.
Jared seized the opportunity to take back control of the situation, and he rested his arm lightly on Amy’s back before calling back casually to the terrified-looking PA.
‘Thank you so much! We have every confidence in you. See you on Thursday!’
Amy was so startled that she looked up at him in awe. And in that moment her heart skipped a beat. No wonder Lucy boasted that her brother could charm the birds from the trees.
He was grinning the kind of grin toothpaste manufacturers would kill for, his white teeth contrasting with his blue eyes against a light natural tan. His mouth creased up at the corners, creating what could almost pass as dimples. If hard-nosed CEOs were allowed to have dimples. She could almost hear the women around her swoon as his gaze fell on the lucky girls at the front of the pack.
She didn’t blame them.
Jared Shaw truly was gorgeous.
And then he did it.
He casually turned his spotlight smile on her, bent his head a few inches, and kissed her. On the brow. Just a light pressure of hot lips on her skin, before he dropped his arm a few inches lower and stepped forward.
Her knees turned to jelly.
She was caught in his embrace with nowhere for her spare arm to go except around his middle, against the fine linen cloth that covered an impressively taut muscular lower back.
There was nothing for it but to breathe in the aroma that only a man who had been on a hot pavement followed by her hot kitchen at the end of a long day travelling could generate. It was sweet, spicy, and intoxicating.
For a second—just for one, precious moment—Amy luxuriated in the illusion that they were trying to create and made herself believe that Jared was her fiancé, and she was carrying his baby—that his relaxed lover’s kiss had been real and for her.
Dangerous. Way too dangerous.
She forced herself to glance up at that handsome strong face, and the icy-cold realisation that this was a man who could have any woman he wanted sent her tumbling back to earth from dreamland.
That dream was for other women. That chance had been snatched away from her. She was an idiot for daring to think otherwise. And an even bigger idiot for thinking back to that moment when they’d been getting into the car. The feeling of his warm shirt under the palms of her hands. The beating chest that lay beneath.
What was she doing?
This was Lucy’s big brother. In town for a few days for his sister’s wedding. That was all.
And with that positive thought Amy squeezed into his waist a little closer, wrapped her fingers firmly onto his belt, and flashed a smile up into his face.
Luckily he took it as part of her star performance, gave a quick nod and, smiling at the closest cluster of ladies, the unlikely pair slowly shuffled as convincingly as they could down the corridor, with the pretend baby bump leading the way.
Jared gave one quick glance back at the building, before launching himself into the Rolls-Royce through the door Frank was holding open. He sighed out loud in relief to have escaped unscathed, as he collapsed back in his seat.
‘That was horrendous. Why would someone actually want to be a wedding planner? I mean, why? What chance has that poor girl got with those women at her throat? What did you call them?’
‘Bridezillas. Elspeth is quite capable of handling the work—but she has my telephone number if she needs it. And I have Lucy’s box.’ Amy waved it triumphantly towards Frank, before pulling the squashed cushions out from beneath her top. ‘Sorry, Jarella. What’s next?’
It was Jared who answered.
‘Apart from ten hours’ sleep? Coffee, telephones, a photocopier and a computer. It appears that I have a wedding to organise.’
CHAPTER THREE
‘THAT’S ten strawberry tarts, twelve apple strudel, and six fresh cream chocolate éclairs. Well, that should keep you going, girls! Just pop back if you need more.’
Amy passed the emergency order to the two waitresses from the French pavement café down the road, and held open the shop door. Their jovial teenage chatter echoed around the warm room and blended with the traffic noise from the busy London street on the other side of the glass this lovely Saturday
