of paperwork…and a misty pink business card.
Turning the card over in his hands, he read the name and phone number written in scrunched and scribbled letters of black ink across the back. Kate—or was it Katie? He couldn’t quite make out the letters—Canton. The name meant nothing to him and he wondered why Ilsa Fairchild would have given it to him. But…wait. The birthday party. They’d talked about the birthday party. The one he’d given not a single thought since. Adam vaguely recalled asking Ilsa if she could recommend an events planner. And she’d said…yes? Yes, she did know someone. That must be the reason he’d tucked her card into his pocket and tossed it onto his desk upon his return to the office. She’d written down the name on the back of her business card. He’d intended to give it to Lara, who would have passed it on to Nell, his personal secretary, who would have called this Kate Canton and gotten the party plans underway. But other concerns had pushed the information—and the need for it—out of his mind. Parties were never top priority for him under the best of circumstances.
And now, it was six weeks and counting until Archer’s birthday. Adam realized he’d better take some action…and quickly. A glance at his watch brought a frown. Nine-thirty. Too late to call? Probably he’d get an answering machine, which would be perfect. He could leave a message to call his office Monday morning. Nell would handle everything from there and he wouldn’t have to give the matter another thought. Good idea. He dialed the number then began going over yet another financial report on the Wallace Company as he waited for Kate Canton’s machine to pick up.
“Hello?”
A person. Adam put down the report, momentarily taken aback. “Kate Canton?” he asked.
“Yes?” Her tone turned cool, cautious.
“This is Adam Braddock.”
“Who?”
“Adam Braddock,” he repeated. “Ilsa Fairchild gave me your name.”
“Why would she do that?”
Okay, so maybe he shouldn’t have called after office hours. He warmed his tone to compensate for the suspicious note in her voice. “She thought you might be able to help me. I’m sorry to phone so late in the evening, but I’m in desperate need of a party planner.”
“A what?”
Maybe Ms. Canton was a trifle hard of hearing. “A party planner. I need someone to put together a party for me.”
“You have the wrong number.”
“I don’t think so,” he said, infusing his tone with the old Braddock charm as he repeated the phone number written on the card, waited for her confirmation, then added, “And you are Kate Canton?”
“Yes, but I’m not a party planner.”
Women were so touchy about job titles these days. “Coordinator, then,” he said. “Events coordinator. And I mean for this to be quite an event. It’s in honor of my grandfather’s seventy-ninth birthday at the end of June. There’ll be somewhere in the neighborhood of two hundred guests, and—”
“Two hundred,” she repeated. “That’s a lot of party hats.”
She was already calculating expenses. That was a good sign. “I’m sure you’re up to the challenge, Ms. Canton. You came highly recommended.”
“Someone recommended me to plan your birthday party?”
Hard of hearing and a little thick, too, perhaps. Or falsely modest. Or clever enough to string him along, playing hard to get. Of course, it was also just possible she was simply intimidated by the Braddock name. He’d experienced some strange reactions from people when they realized who he was and the powerful family and fortune he represented. He’d had women hang up on him from sheer nervousness. He’d known some men—and women—to pretend not to recognize the name, as if that somehow put them all on a more level playing field. Whatever Ms. Canton was experiencing, Adam was determined not to lose patience with her. He cleared his throat, dispatching any hint of impatience. “Ilsa Fairchild gave me your name and number and a favorable recommendation.”
“Mr. Braddock, you have the wrong number. I don’t know why Mrs. Fairchild gave you my number, but I’m not the person you want.”
Adam frowned. He didn’t normally have this much trouble convincing someone to work for him. “You’ll have a free hand with the plans,” he said persuasively. “And a very generous budget.”
“Money is not the point,” she responded quickly.
Money was always the point. “I realize you must be very busy and may prefer to keep your business centered in Providence, but I can assure you, Ms. Canton, that my family is not without influence in this area, and we do host a number of social events every year. I can’t guarantee your business will increase overnight because you do this one party for us, but I believe it is a great opportunity for you. Sea Change is barely a half-hour drive and I’m quite willing to compensate you for any inconvenience. I’ll make it well worth your while.”
There was a pause, a considering silence, and Adam relaxed. The tide, he suspected, was turning. “You’re offering me a great opportunity?” she repeated, a note of humor, a softer touch in her words. “To plan a party?”
“Yes.” Ms. Canton was on the hook, ready to make a deal, and Adam was suddenly, resolutely eager to cinch this one. “I haven’t much time and I understand that this is very last minute for you,” he said. “So let’s cut to the chase. What will it take to get you?”
KATIE COULDN’T DECIDE if she was more offended or flattered that Adam Braddock was so eager to get her. She remembered him from that day at the restaurant, of course, although clearly he didn’t remember her. She’d thought he was quite seriously handsome…and quite seriously underimpressed with her. He’d been a bit arrogant for her tastes, way too sure of himself to allow any woman equal footing. Something of a stuffed shirt, actually, and when a smile might have changed her mind, he’d seemed determined to keep frowning. She’d wondered at the time how—and why—the vibrant Mrs. Fairchild had hooked up with him. A family friend, she’d said, which could cover a multitude of sins. People couldn’t be held responsible for the friends someone else in their family made. But none of that explained how he’d come to have her phone number. Katie guarded the number of her cell phone—her only concession to practicality and convenience—with a religious zeal and had given it to only a handful of people in the six months she’d been living in Providence. Ilsa Fairchild might have given it out by mistake, but she wouldn’t have done so on purpose…not without clearing it with Katie first. And she definitely wouldn’t have given her a recommendation as a party planner. No one who knew Katie at all would have done that.
“There’s been a mistake, Mr. Braddock,” she began. “I’m not the person you meant to call.”
“Please, Ms. Canton, don’t be coy. I’m a busy man. The party’s only six weeks away and I don’t have the time or the inclination to track down another coordinator. Name your price and let’s get this settled.”
His tone was so serious, his manner so “Let’s Make a Deal” that Katie wanted to laugh. What kind of man got so worked up over a birthday party? A busy man. A man who made lists and marked off items with a superior sense of self-satisfaction. A man with a singular mind-set, who was completely determined to refute her every denial. “Five thousand dollars,” she said, positive he’d hang up on her
