Chapter Nine
It’s not that you can do this, Kimberly Gallagher’s conscience prodded as she strode through the elegantly appointed welcoming area of her mother’s central New York wedding and event-organizing enterprise. It’s that you must do it. And you hate having someone else call the shots. Although having other people call the shots had been her new status update the past few months.
She’d been dumped by a fiancé, had been let go from a job she excelled at and her father’s grim diagnosis of brain cancer had stripped Kimberly of the notion that she was in charge.
She walked into her mother’s office and took a seat to prepare for her only appointment of the day. She was about to meet with the chief security officer for the upcoming pricey wedding of Senator Rick Vandeveld’s oldest daughter. Shelby had organized her special day with Kimberly’s mother months ago. Now they should be able to tweak minor details and put the plan in motion.
Simple, really.
A photo of her parents sat centered on her mother’s desk. Her mother smiled at the camera in typical friendly fashion. Her police chief father ignored the camera and smiled down at his wife, showing his priorities clearly. He didn’t care what others thought.
He cared about his wife.
Staid and solid, in the daily uniform he wore with pride, her father had dedicated decades to the Grace Haven force, an honest cop that bled New York blue even after losing his only son to the uniform more than ten years ago. Pete Gallagher was in the fight of his life right now, with his wife by his side, and anything Kimberly and her sisters could do to make that easier was an honor.
If they didn’t kill one another first.
A soft melodic chime said her appointment had just walked into the reception area.
Dread poked Kimberly’s midsection. It wasn’t the logistics of working Shelby’s wedding that bothered her. It was the fairy-tale headline of Future President’s Daughter Weds Country Star, when Kimberly should have been planning her own wedding, her reception, her happy-ever-after.
That had turned into an epic fail, so today she was handling someone else’s shot at the gold ring. A bride, a groom, a hillside vineyard, a grotto and a sprawling palatial inn overlooking the beauty of Canandaigua Lake.
Envy snaked a cool thread up her spine.
She forced it down and stood as Allison, her mother’s senior assistant, opened the door. Kimberly rounded the desk, turned and came face-to-face with the last person she expected to see back in the Finger Lakes region of upstate New York. The guy who’d lost a partner—her brother—in a sting operation gone bad more than a decade ago.
He stared at her, and the majestic German shepherd walking at his side stared, too.
She stopped, her eyes glued to his, wondering how this could have happened. Hazel eyes, more somber than they used to be. Dark hair, wavy, cut short. Tall enough to make her look up, even in three-inch heels. Her heart went silent. The tips of her fingers buzzed. And if respiration was governed by an autonomous system, why couldn’t she draw a breath?
Andrew Slade breathed first. “When I spoke with your mother on the phone a few weeks ago, you were a bigwig events planner for a successful Nashville record label. What are you doing here?”
A simple enough question to answer in the middle of a convoluted moment. She inhaled, then exhaled to calm her nerves. “Financial restructuring meant downsizing.”
“They fired you?”
He had the nerve to look indignant, as if what happened to others mattered to him. Kimberly knew better. “They’re on a temporary bare-bones budget, but yes.” She kept her gaze cool despite the fact that his look of indignation felt good. She’d worked long and hard at STAC Records, a hot country label that had hit the wall mid-June. The firm’s plan was to hire her back once they’d resolved the books, but in the meantime she was here, facing a man who’d stirred her heart and then her anger many years ago.
“Although the timing is good.” Drew glanced around the office, then at her mother’s chair. “Listen, Kimber, I know this is awkward.”
Nailed it!
“And I’m the last person you expected to see walk through the door.”
Two for two, the guy is on a roll.
He put an easy hand on the dog’s head. “If you’d rather have Emily handle this, I understand completely.”
Her younger sister Emily take charge of a top-tier event like this? Talk about a free fall into catastrophe. “You can’t be serious.”
His expression said he was quite serious. None of the old laugh lines she knew—and liked so well when she was a love-struck teen, crushing on the guy before her—were in evidence now.
“There’s no way that Em—”
Fury erupted beyond the door.
Drew turned, instantly on guard. So did his dog, hackles raised, shoulders up, head strained.
Mags, her mother’s eight-pound Yorkshire terrier, launched into her yipping and yapping, the normally well-behaved pooch streaked across the reception room carpet, feet and fur flying, and when she crested Kate’s glassed-in office door, she braced her front paws, bared her teeth and gave a fairly convincing growl, as if the difference in height, weight, training and attitude between her and the impressive K-9 wasn’t ridiculously obvious.
“Mags!” Kimberly’s sister Emily chased after the dog. “You bad puppy, this is what we get because Mom spoiled you.” She reached down, picked up the dust-mop
