Winning Back His Bride. Teresa Southwick

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would do the trick. Might be just what he needed to get her out of his system.

      The best part was that she wouldn’t like it.

      CHAPTER TWO

      “HI, TERI.” Geneva cradled the phone between her ear and shoulder, then swiveled her office chair around to look out the window. “Thanks for calling me back.”

      She still couldn’t believe she’d actually agreed to plan this wedding. Although agreed was stretching reality. She’d been backed into a corner—damned if she did, damned if she didn’t. Refusing would have the same results as walking out—breach of contract and goodbye career. Still, Michael had all but said this would help him and somehow that made it different. The man she remembered hadn’t needed her. Which made her wonder if Michael had something up his sleeve besides a very muscular arm.

      “Your message said you wanted to discuss wedding plans.” Teri Sullivan’s voice was cool, but that was to be expected.

      Michael’s sister was a beautiful brunette, tall, slim, dark-eyed. Her fiancé, Geneva had learned, was Michael’s best friend Dexter Smith, a good-looking geek and chief numbers cruncher for Sullivan, Inc. They’d looked especially spectacular a year ago in their maid of honor and best man ensembles. And both of them loved Michael. Working with them wouldn’t be easy. Which might be what Michael wanted. Whoever said payback was a bitch hadn’t exaggerated.

      Geneva let out a long breath. “I wanted to talk to you because we have to start making decisions.”

      “Like what?”

      “For starters, you should be shopping for a dress. I can recommend some designers who will bring sketches to you.”

      “That would be great.”

      “Next on the list would be the location. We need to find a place you love that can also accommodate your guest list.”

      Big sigh on the other end of the phone. “I don’t have time for that.”

      Teri worked with Dex in the financial end of the corporation and chances were good that the two were deeply involved in securing the necessary funding for Sullivan Towers.

      “If you’d like, I can look and gather information, then report back to you.”

      “Again, great.”

      “Okay. Good. I’ll take care of all the details. I want to assure you that the wedding will be perfect.”

      “I have no doubt.” There was steel and sarcasm in her voice. “You owe Michael.”

      He’d told Geneva the same thing. And he was right. “I’m aware of the debt.”

      “I’m not talking financially,” Teri added. “Dex told me about the check you sent to reimburse my brother for the wedding costs. What’s that about?”

      “It was the right thing.” Michael knew all about doing the right thing. She swiveled around, saw Michael standing in the doorway and dropped the phone. “Good grief.”

      “What’s the right thing?” he asked.

      “That would be you wearing a bell around your neck,” she said as she repositioned the receiver.

      “For the wedding?” Teri sounded surprised.

      “No. The fashion police would be all over that. I was talking to your brother. He sneaked up on me.”

      And it was becoming an annoying habit. Every day he dropped in and lounged in her doorway—early morning, just before quitting time, or, like now, lunchtime when her assistant Chloe was out of the office. Probably just as well. Chloe thought Geneva needed therapy for dumping such a hottie. Geneva agreed that she needed her head examined. The childhood from hell tended to do that to a girl.

      “Tell him hi for me.” Teri’s tone was noticeably warmer and it was hard to tell whether that was about what she’d learned from Dex or for her brother.

      “Teri says hi.” She watched him nod, then forced herself to ignore him, which wasn’t easy, what with her pulse going a mile a minute. “Okay, here’s the plan. I’ll do some research on chapels, then get back to you.”

      “Okay. Gotta go.”

      “Bye,” she said as the line went dead, and wished she could say the same for her hormones. But they had a mind of their own and disobeyed orders every time she saw Michael. How she wished he would stay away.

      “To what do I owe the pleasure?” she asked.

      It was better phrasing than, “What the heck are you doing here,” which had been on the tip of her tongue.

      He held up a bag. “I brought you a sandwich.”

      “Why?” That sounded suspicious and ungrateful, but from her point of view perfectly appropriate.

      “Because it’s time for lunch.”

      Why didn’t he just go away and quit bugging her? “How do you know I don’t have a stash of candy in my desk drawer?”

      He let his gaze wander over her bare arms and settle on her breasts. If she wasn’t sitting at her desk she just knew he’d have dragged that look all the way to her ankles and toes. The thought made her shiver.

      “I don’t think so.” He scanned her desk, searching for a spot to set the bag. “Where do you want this?”

      Geneva’s workspace was always cluttered. If anything was put away, she couldn’t find what she needed when she needed it. Her desk was teak and glass, although she couldn’t prove it at the moment. But she knew it was there somewhere.

      She eyed the bag suspiciously. “If it’s going to blow up, you can chuck it down the hallway.”

      “Turkey and tomato isn’t explosive.” He stared down at her, his expression infuriatingly unreadable. “You have to let the whole retaliation thing go.”

      “No, I don’t.” She moved a stack of papers and he set down the bag. “I can hang onto my paranoia just as long as I want.”

      Retribution could come at any time, in any form. Like just before Sullivan Towers grand opening where she could publicly take the blame if the event tanked. That would seriously undermine her reputation and in her line of work that was everything. But so far, Michael only showed up in her office every day, just long enough to stir her up. Advance and retreat. To her that spelled guerrilla warfare. Only, instead of camouflage, he wore gray slacks, a white shirt and a pewter and black striped tie. As commandos went, he sure knew how to dress.

      “Paranoia it is then.” He stared at her desk, probably looking for an uncluttered place to lean against.

      For once Geneva was grateful to her inner slob. It kept him out of her space and set up a perimeter. “Thanks for the sandwich,” she said, trying to be gracious.

      “You’re welcome.” He sat in one of the chrome and tweed upholstered chairs in front of her. “So, you were talking to Teri. How are the wedding plans coming?”

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