to be friends.
Pretending to be unaffected, he flipped his tie up and let it fall. “You know, I don’t even dress like this for my own job.”
“That’s because you’re the boss. Here I’m the boss.”
“You never told me you wanted me to dress better.”
“I think it was implied by the way everybody around you dressed. It’s called positive peer pressure.”
He chuckled, then sneaked a peek at her. Man. He’d never seen anybody prettier. Or happier. And what made it even better was knowing he’d played a part in her happiness. She wanted this business to succeed and it would. Because she’d let him help.
Pride shimmied through him, but so did his darned attraction again, stronger and more potent than it had been before she complimented him. But they’d already figured out they wanted two different things. The night before, she’d even offered to listen to his troubles. Smart enough not to want to get involved with him, she’d offered them the safe haven of friendship. He shouldn’t be thinking of her any way, except as a friend.
It took two hours to get to the country club where the reception was being held. The party room of the clubhouse had been decorated in green and ivory, colors that flowed out onto the huge deck. The banister swirled with green and ivory tulle, down stairs that led guests to a covered patio where tables and chairs had been arranged around two large buffet tables.
As they carried the cake into the clubhouse, Missy said, “Wedding was at noon. Lunch will be served around onethirty. Cake right after that, then we’re home.”
He snorted. “After a two-hour drive.”
“Now, don’t be huffy. Because we get home early, I’m making dinner and insisting you eat with us.”
“You are?”
“Yep. And I’m not even cooking something on the grill. I’m making real dinner.”
“Oh, sweetheart. You just said the magic words. Real dinner. You have no idea how hungry I am.”
She laughed. They put the cake together on a table set up in a cool, shaded section of the room. When the wedding guests arrived, however, no one came into the building or even climbed up to the deck. Instead, they gathered on the patio, choosing their lunch seats, getting drinks from the makeshift bar.
The bride and groom followed suit. On the sunny, beautiful May day, no one went any farther than the patio.
“One of two things has to happen here,” Missy said as she looked out the window onto the guests who were a floor below them. “Either we need to get people in here or we need to get the cake out there.”
He headed for the door. “I’ll go talk to somebody.”
She put her hand on his forearm to stop him. “I’ll go talk to somebody.”
She walked through the echoing room and onto the equally empty deck, down the stairs to the covered patio. Wyatt watched her look through the crowd and finally catch the attention of a tuxedo-clad guy.
She smiled at him and began talking. Even from a distance Wyatt saw the sparkle in her eyes, and his gaze narrowed in on the guy she was talking to. Tall, broadshouldered, with dark curly hair, he wasn’t bad looking… Oh, all right, he was good-looking, and was wearing a tux. Wyatt knew how women were about men in tuxes. He’d taken advantage of that a time or two himself. And Missy was a normal woman. A woman he’d rejected. She had every right to be attracted to this guy.
Even if it did make Wyatt want to punch something.
As she and the man in the tux walked up the stairs to the deck, he scrambled away from the window. She opened the door and motioned around the empty room.
“See? No one’s even come in here.”
The man in the tux glanced around, his gaze finally alighting on her creation. “Is that the cake?”
She smiled. “Yes.”
Tux man strolled over. He examined the icing-covered Eiffel Tower, then looked over his shoulder at Missy, who had followed him. “You’re remarkable.”
Her cheeks pinkened prettily. Wyatt’s eyes narrowed again.
“I wouldn’t say remarkable.” She grinned at him. “But I am good at what I do.”
“And beautiful, too.”
Unable to stop himself, Wyatt headed for the cake table.
Missy’s already pink cheeks reddened. “Thanks. But as you can see, the cake—”
“I don’t suppose you’d give a beleaguered best man your phone number?”
Her eyes widened. Wyatt’s did, too. Beleaguered best man? Did he think he was in a Rodgers and Hammerstein play?
“I—”
He slid his hand into his pocket. “I have a pen.”
Wyatt finally reached them. “She’s got a pen, too, bud. If she wanted to give you her phone number, she could. But it seems she doesn’t want to.”
Missy shot Wyatt a stay-out-of-this look, then smiled politely at the best man. “What my assistant is trying to say is that I’m a very busy person. I keep a pen and paper for brides-to-be, who see my cakes and want to talk about me baking for them.”
The best man stiffened. “So you wanting to get the cake downstairs, into the crowd, is all about PR for you?”
“Heavens, no.” She laughed airily. “I want the bride to see the cake she designed.”
But the best man snorted as if he didn’t believe her. He shoved his hands into his pockets, casually, as if he held all the cards and knew it. “I guess you’ll just have to figure out a way to get the bride up here yourself, then.”
But Missy didn’t bite. She smiled professionally and said, “Okay.” Not missing a beat, she walked over to the French doors leading to the deck and went in search of the bride.
His threat ignored, the best man deflated and headed for the door, too.
Wyatt chuckled to himself. She certainly was focused. The best man might have temporarily knocked her off her game, but she’d quickly rebounded.
A few minutes later, Missy returned to the room in the clubhouse, the bride and groom on her heels.
“As you can see, nobody’s here.”
The bride stopped dead in her tracks. “That’s my cake?”
Missy pressed her hand to her throat. “You said you wanted the Eiffel tower.”
The bride slowly walked over. She ambled around the table, examining the cake. Wyatt stifled the urge to pull his collar away from his neck. In the quiet, empty room, the click of the bride’s heels as she rounded the table was the only sound. Her face red, Missy watched helplessly.
