her problem. He would take them out for that.
Before then she had to make sure everything was in place. That the party would be perfect. Nothing less was allowed. Titans did things well or they didn’t do them at all.
She walked into her downstairs office, the one she used to coordinate the social events that made Glory’s Gate sparkle five or six times a month. White dry-erase board covered two of the walls. A grid had been painted in place, allowing her to write in the details for each event. She could look at four different parties at the same time.
Her desk was simple—a long, low surface with a computer and plenty of storage trays for files. She had a Rolodex with the name of every florist, caterer, musician and party planner in a two-hundred-mile radius.
In the closet were hard copies of the details of all the parties she’d given in this house. With an average of five a month over eight years, she was in need of more storage. Because those files contained more than just menus. They listed guests, drinks, decorations, musical selections, the caterer and staff along with any notable particulars—press clippings and even social connections that had been made.
The same information was on her computer and could be sorted by any variation. Two years ago the new White House social secretary had come for a two-day visit and taken continuous notes as Skye explained her process.
It wasn’t rocket science, Skye thought as she sank into her chair and turned on her computer. It wasn’t even more than mildly interesting. It was just what she did. Skye Titan—master party planner.
“That’s not fair,” she murmured aloud, knowing that her day job was important. If Jed had remarried, his wife would have taken over, but as he hadn’t, it made sense that one of his daughters would step into the breach. Neither Lexi nor Izzy were the least bit interested and there was the tiny fact that Skye had attended Swiss finishing school for nearly two years.
None of this really mattered, she thought, but at least it was a distraction. Because if she didn’t think about napkin colors and garnishes she might think about Mitch again.
She knew he’d wanted to hurt her and she even knew why. He’d won that round. So what? She would survive. Eventually the harsh words wouldn’t burn so deeply. As for the sex, she would consider that nothing more than a welcome-home present. Slightly more personal than flowers.
She teetered on the knife’s edge of emotion. On one side lay cynical humor, on the other, an emotional breakdown. She did her best to fall into sarcastically funny because tears wouldn’t solve anything.
Oh, but she’d missed him. She knew he wouldn’t believe that and if he did, he wouldn’t care. After all, she’d been the one to walk away from him to marry a man she didn’t love. She’d been the one to break both their hearts.
“Enough,” she said aloud, and pushed to her feet. A quick glance at the clock told her the catering staff should be arriving any second. She returned to the kitchen in time to see three vans pull up.
She welcomed them and chatted with Diane, the catering manager. They’d handled dozens of parties for her and knew what to do. Ten minutes later she climbed the stairs to get ready.
With each step, she felt an ache inside—a physical reminder of what she and Mitch had done.
Sex in the dirt? In the middle of the afternoon? That wasn’t her. She was careful and reserved. She was very aware of her position as the head of a charitable foundation and a single mother. She hadn’t been on a date since before she’d married Ray. Certainly not since his death. She wouldn’t ever allow herself to…
Except she had allowed. She’d done more than that. She’d taken and given and lost herself in a wave of pleasure she hadn’t experienced in nearly nine years. The fire had always burned with Mitch and it still smoldered inside.
“What on earth was I thinking?” she asked herself as she reached the landing. There wasn’t an answer, probably because she hadn’t been thinking.
She walked into her bedroom to find Izzy stretched out on the bed, again watching her TV.
“If you don’t like your bedroom, we can find you another one,” Skye told her.
Izzy sat up. “There’s nothing wrong with my room. I wanted to talk to you before the party.”
“The party you’re not coming to?”
Izzy grinned. “Not even for money. Come on, Skye. Jed’s parties are boring. He expects me to behave.”
“Not an area in which you excel.”
“Exactly.”
Izzy bounced to her feet.
Skye studied her sister. Izzy was the wild child—physically free, emotionally flighty. She feared nothing except getting tied down. Since barely finishing high school, she’d held jobs ranging from ski instructor to underwater welder, the latter being her current position on an oil rig in the Gulf of Mexico.
“I met T.J. last night,” Izzy said.
Skye kicked off her sandals. “After you and I talked about what happened?” She groaned. Izzy was very protective and not exactly rational in her approach. “Tell me you didn’t do something that’s going to humiliate me.”
“Would I do that?”
“Not on purpose.”
“I was totally well mannered. You would have been impressed.”
“Doubtful,” Skye murmured, wondering what part of this conversation was going to make her cringe. “What happened?”
“We talked. He’s good-looking. You didn’t mention that.”
“I guess. Not my type. Not yours, either. He’s borderline normal. You know how you hate that.”
Izzy crossed to the mirror above the dresser and studied her reflection. “Is he from around here? I get the feeling I’ve seen him before.”
“Yes. He’s a couple of years older than Lexi. We all went to the same high school.”
“Interesting.” Izzy turned to face Skye. “Local rich boy wants to be richer. Jed Titan can help with that. It’s an old story, but one I never get tired of hearing. He came on to me.”
Skye carefully unzipped her jeans, then pushed them down and stepped out of them. In Izzy’s world, every guy came on to her.
“You might want to swing by the kitchen after the party,” she said as she headed for the bathroom. “We’re having those mini pizza appetizers you like. I’m sure there will be leftovers.”
Izzy followed her. “He came on to me, Skye. Seriously. He wants me.”
Skye told herself she was too mature to roll her eyes, however much she really wanted to. “Okay. Thanks for the share.”
“I’m telling you for your own good. Your sense of duty means you won’t blow this guy off on general principle. He’s a jerk. Be careful.”
Skye’s afternoon had been a roller coaster of emotion. The
