Boyfriend for Hire Read online

  Laura put the order in her book and closed it. “Hey, you’re the new event planner with NE Event Solutions, aren’t you?”

  “Uh, yeah. How did you know?” Had they taken out an ad or something?

  Laura gave a little laugh and waved off Tawny’s confusion. “Kerri was in here this week and was talking about you. Said you were going to work with her on the Camellia DeSalvo wedding.” She walked around the short counter with a small box in her hand. “Kerri is going to recommend us as their baker. Anyway,” she handed Tawny the box, “these are for you two. You both seemed to enjoy the vanilla with chocolate frosting, so there’s one for each of you for a late-night snack. We appreciate your business, and if you could pass my thanks on to the bride and groom, it’d be appreciated.”

  Oh man, the last thing Tawny needed was a late-night reminder of David and frosting. Then again, she could call it safe sex. No strings attached, no chance of getting your heart broken when it’s just you, a cupcake, and your wildest fantasy.

  Hand in hand, to keep up the pretense, they stepped out into the afternoon sun. Too late for lunch, not that she had room for food. Too early for happy hour, not that she needed alcohol with the path her thoughts were wandering down. Probably best all around if she dropped David off at his place. Give them some distance, and time for her to pull herself back to the person she wanted to be. No, needed to be.

  Without warning David whipped her around to face him. His hands slipped down her back to cup her butt. What the heck?

  He dipped his head to nuzzle the soft spot beneath her ear. “Go with it, we’re being watched by our baker friend. Wouldn’t want her reporting back to your coworker that we’re not the happy couple, right?” His voice dropped down low and husky.

  She let her head drop back, laughing like he’d said the funniest thing ever. “I think it’s safe to get in the car now.” His warm, soft breath tickled, sending delicious shivers down her body. Damn, if only they could engage in a nice, uncomplicated affair.

  “Tawny Maria-Isabella, what are you doing?”

  The two of them jumped a mile apart. Oh, fudge-buckets! Of all the streets in Providence, the two of them had to walk down this one.

  “Mom, Gram, what are you doing here?” She found herself with her hands locked behind her back, fingers twisted, once again a naughty kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

  The squinty eye of displeasure shifted between Tawny and David. Pursed lips said more than a thousand words ever could.

  Squirming under no response, she pointed to the bakery. “We were sampling cakes for Cherry.”

  “Not all you were sampling.” Gram gave a small chuckle. “Find anything you like?”

  Pretty sure she wasn’t talking about cake. “Everything we tried. Um, I mean every flavor they gave us to try was divine.” She told them what they’d ordered, hoping to get her mom’s mind off the show they’d given the neighborhood.

  “Kitty, we’re going to be late for our yoga class. Tawny Maria-Isabella, I expect you at dinner tomorrow night. We have things to discuss.” Her mom didn’t budge. The corners of her mouth remained firmly in the downward dog position.

  Think quick, chica. “I’m sorry, Mama, I can’t tomorrow. Have to work all day and have a dinner appointment. New client. Big, expensive wedding to plan. Wouldn’t want to blow my first assignment at my new job.” Her fingers ached from twisting them.

  “Make time.” And with that final command, the two disappeared into Conley Wharf.

  Chapter Eight

  For once, as Monday reared its ugly head, Dave didn’t mind. It brought him another day closer to his date with Tawny. Pseudo date, she’d called it. Didn’t matter, he planned to take full advantage and sweep her off her feet. By the end of the night, she’d be begging for his kiss. More than likely he’d be the one doing all the begging. He didn’t care; it’d be worth every second to feel her lips on his.

  And if he didn’t do something to ease the ache soon, he’d turn into a walking zombie. Saturday, running into Tawny’s mom killed the playful buzz they’d had going on. Tawny insisted on dropping him off at home. Refused his invitation to drinks, dinner, or a back rub, and claimed she had work to do. Unfortunately, it hadn’t killed the sexual buzz. Sunday he’d worked himself from dawn until well past quitting time, ripping rotted boards up with the intention of being too tired to dream.

  Much to his effing dismay, when it came to keeping Tawny out of his brain, there was no such thing as too tired.

  Memories of her firm ass and soft breasts plagued his nighttime hours. Hell, they filled his daytime hours too.

  He kept telling his brain this wasn’t real. He was only acting. It didn’t care, neither did his body—both wanted Tawny.

  The first time they’d met, she’d captivated his attention with her smile—bright, confident, and sexy as anything. Over the months, rebuilding their old community rec center, he’d learned she was a fierce businesswoman, organized to the last dotted “I,” cool as an iceberg in a crisis, and a loyal friend.

  She worked too much, played too little, and took life too seriously.

  He’d been dying to shake up her world, if only to see her smile more often and hear her warm laugh.

  Besides, life was about balance.

  People thought he worked too little, played too much, and never took life seriously. Wrong. He’d learned at a young age the secret to life was balance. Long hours on the road left no time to play ball with your kid. A clean house didn’t mean anything compared to a killer game of Monopoly. Eighteen-hour days left you tired, cranky, and frustrated with everyone and life in general.

  Not that he blamed his parents. They’d been dealt a crappy hand (namely him) and did the best they could under the circumstances.

  Play too much, spend too much, and you’d find yourself in an early grave, with no way to pay for the dirt over your head. Jason’s dad taught them that lesson.

  Someday when he had kids, he’d be there to tuck them in at night. Find time to read them bedtime stories, not worrying about the toys lying around, and cheer loud on the sidelines. He’d help his wife with the dishes, run the vacuum, and wouldn’t bitch if he had to throw in a load of laundry. He’d remember birthdays and anniversaries. In other words, he’d be everything his dad couldn’t be for him or his mom.

  Not that the old man was an ass like Brody’s dad. Man, compared to Old Man Nichols, his dad was a freaking saint. He wasn’t a drunk like Jason’s either. His dad tried, but it was hard to be there for your family when you drove long-haul. Hard to keep a family together when you were so freaking tired you snapped at every annoyance and person around you. His parents did their best. They loved him, loved each other. They just couldn’t be in the same room without the War of the Roses breaking out.

  Speaking of . . . his phone pinged with a message from his mom as he slid out of the truck.

  Hi honey, heading to the Cape again this weekend. Check on Mr. Fluffnstuff for me, please. Love, Mom.

  Good for her, he thought. It was about time she started living instead of existing and working all the time.

  “Hey, boss, what happened to the third floor?” His number one worker, Bobby, stood on the sidewalk scratching the top of his head.

  Damn, he’d forgotten Saturday to call in the order for new floor planks. Dave slipped out of the truck, grabbed his lunch and cell. “Anyone else here yet?” He led his worker inside to the reception/bar area.

  “Mark, the new guy, should be here any minute, and Tim’s working with Jason today. Carl’s hitting the Dunk on his way in, it’s his turn to spring for coffee and doughnuts.”

  “Sweet. I call dibs on the chocolate glazed.” Not the way to get Tawny off his mind, but damn if he hadn’t been craving chocolate for days now. “Listen, after you left Saturday I was messing around upstairs. Over seventy-five percent of the floor showed signs of dry rot. Spent most of yesterday ripping it up before someone fell through.”

  “Termites?” Bobby scra
tched the top of his head. One of these days he’d dig straight through, Dave was sure of it.

  Dave grabbed his tool belt, slipped it on with ease from years of experience. “Thankfully no. Both this floor and the second floor are sound. So are the walls.”

  “Roof leaking? Bad plumbing?” Bobby crossed his arms, deep in thought. “That third-floor bath looks pretty old. When was the last time they updated?”

  In his haste to keep busy and forget about Tawny, he hadn’t checked either before ripping wood. Two mistakes in two days because he couldn’t keep his mind on the job. Rookie screwups, Fubar.

  “Kitchen was done early fifties, or sixties? Whenever orange and green were considered cool. I’d say the bath up there is a good ten years before. According to the new owner, the previous ones didn’t use the third floor, and before them, the place stood vacant for over twenty years. Who knows who lived here then.”

  He headed for the floor in discussion, turning on the fifth step of the open staircase. “When Mark arrives, the two of you get those appliances out of the kitchen and start the demo. Send Carl up to me. I’m going to need to send him on an emergency supply run.”

  He planned to rectify his screwup before any of the guys, or worse, Jason found out he hadn’t had his head in the game.

  Even after having three weeks off between jobs, Tawny’s brain refused to let her sleep in on a Monday. By the time she’d left for work, she’d already cleaned her tiny apartment from top to bottom and left to right, done all of her laundry, made out a grocery list, and planned her dinners for the week. Around seven she had contemplated taking a jog (for the first time ever in her life) over to Cherry’s to walk the dogs. Yeah, right, walk the dogs. More like hoping for a chance to see David before he headed off to the jobsite.

  Instead, she reined her hormones in check and scrubbed the toilet. If that didn’t deflate the fantasy bubble in her head, nothing would.

  Knowing she had to make a great impression during tonight’s dinner meeting, Tawny grabbed her favorite red blouse, black pencil skirt, and her Louboutins. She might hail from the west end, aka the wrong side of the tracks, but she could dress with the best and hold her own in any crowd. She and Kerri were going to wow the DeSalvos. Saturday after dropping David off at his place, she’d stopped for a pint or two of chocolate Häagen-Dazs and then plopped her butt on her couch to research her new assignment.

  The DeSalvo family was the cream of the crop, longtime residents and permanent fodder for the newspapers and online sites. Rumors that Grandpa DeSalvo used to vacation with the Kennedys, dated Marilyn, and hung out with Sinatra had floated around for years. Personally, Tawny didn’t care one way or the other if it was true. She cared about the current Mrs. DeSalvo and her camera-shy daughter, Camellia. Articles were plentiful on both, but what she found very interesting was that the bride-to-be managed to dodge just about every photo op, while mom was front and center.

  Perhaps it wasn’t a bridezilla she needed to worry about but rather a momster-of the-bride whose claws she’d have to watch for.

  Once she hit the office, the day flew by. Coworkers stopped in and wished her luck on her first venture out into the big bad world of wedding planning. If only they knew this wasn’t her first gig. At least she wouldn’t have to cake test for this bride.

  Taking a few minutes, she checked in with Cherry, who hadn’t been around over the weekend. The cake and cupcake selections were met with moans of approval, and they’d agreed they’d both need to diet leading up the wedding. A little suffering, but so worth it for a sinful bite. Of desserts, that is.

  Ted. No, Phil. Why couldn’t she remember his name? Whatever, the guy from the picnic stopped by to consult with her on a retirement party for some financial bigwig. Figured since she’d been around the type for so long she’d have insight into their personalities. As if all money people were the same. Whatever, it was nice to be asked. Everyone had really gone out of their way to make her feel at home. And if they had all mentioned David’s name once or twice, or a half dozen times in what’s-his-face’s case, it was all good. They were just being friendly. Maybe a little pushy with some of the questions, but hey, they were trying to make her feel like one of the family.

  Before she knew it, time to get ready for her dinner meeting had rolled around. She grabbed her garment bag and makeup case and headed for the ladies’ room.

  The door swung out as she went to reach for it. “Hey, Tawny, ready for your meeting tonight?” asked Felicity, whom she’d met at the picnic.

  Holding up the black bag, she sailed through the door. “Just a few finishing touches and I’m on my way. Any last-minute advice?”

  “Yeah, never let ’em see you sweat. They’ll get this crazy idea they’re in charge and run you ragged.” Her laughter floated on the air, calming Tawny’s nerves. “Actually, I’ve met Camellia at a couple of events before. She’s quiet, too polite, and reminds me of a scared mouse. Her mom? Total opposite. No worries, though, Kerri is a seasoned pro. Catch you tomorrow and you can tell me how it went.”

  An hour later, her suspicions were confirmed when Mrs. DeSalvo ripped the poor hostess’s head off for suggesting they dine al fresco in the courtyard. Didn’t the girl know what kind of toxins were in the air? Clearly not, but they all learned one did not achieve porcelain complexion by dining al fresco. Tawny waited to see if they’d even let them eat or if hotel security would throw them out of Aspire, one of Providence’s finest restaurants.

  The manager, having recognized his unruly, loud guest, came over and apologized and then led them to his best table.

  Yep, definitely a momster-of-the-bride. The bride, on the flip side, mouthed “sorry” to the hostess as they walked away. Tawny knew what it was like to have an overbearing mother, but hers would die before causing a scene in public. Camellia rose several notches in Tawny’s book after that.

  “Ms. DeSalvo, we’re very excited to help you plan your big day. You can count on Tawny and me to be here with you through every step of the planning and to see that everything goes according to plan. Right down to the smallest detail,” Kerri said.

  The bride mumbled thanks, keeping her gaze locked on the pristine white tablecloth.

  Kerri looked to Tawny, giving her an eye roll that Tawny took as “your turn.”

  “Ms. DeSalvo, may I call you Camellia?” When the girl nodded, Tawny went on. “I love your name. Were you by chance named after the flower?”

  The first true smile she’d seen blossomed across their client’s face. “In a way. I was named after my grandmother, who was named after the flower.”

  “She must be very excited to see her namesake walk down the aisle.” Kerri set her menu aside to pull out a small notebook.

  The smile disappeared. “She . . . she passed when I was in my teens.”

  Oops. Awkward silence filled the table as everyone pretended to study the menu. Thankfully, the waitress popped up next to their table and rattled off the night’s specials. Mrs. DeSalvo gave her order of roasted duck. Yuck. Tawny lost most of her appetite thinking of the greasy fowl. The others followed with their orders, and the waitress looked to Tawny last. “I’ll have the caprese salad and crab cakes, please.”

  “Camellia, have you thought about what type of wedding you’d like? Church, outdoors, beach, daytime, nighttime?” Tawny rattled off the options.

  “It will be a church wedding, at eleven a.m. sharp, followed by a reception at either the country club or one of the hotel ballrooms.” Mrs. DeSalvo cut in before her daughter could say one word, and judging by the quiet steam coming out of Camellia’s ears, she wasn’t happy with her mother’s choice.

  “Okay then—”

  Mrs. DeSalvo’s ringing phone cut Tawny off. The woman excused herself to take a terribly important call. Wasn’t her daughter’s wedding important? Kerri took advantage of the lull to excuse herself for the ladies’ room. Sensing Camellia had different thoughts on the wedding, Tawny turned to the bride.

  “Tell
me, what do you envision for your wedding?”

  “Whatever my mom wants is fine with Mitchell and me.”

  Tawny stared at her client. Drop it or persist? Piss off the mom or make the bride happy? Screw it, she’d been hired to plan Camellia DeSalvo’s wedding, not her mother’s.

  “I understand the desire to make your mother happy. Honestly, I do.” She laid a hand on Camellia’s and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You need to ask yourself, in fifty years, when you’re celebrating your golden anniversary, will you look back fondly on your wedding day if we follow your mother’s lead? Or will you be filled with regret for not starting your married life as you and Mitchell pictured it?”

  The bride gazed out the window, shifting from one table to the next. Her serene expression clouded. “I would have loved to sit on the patio, and listen to the sounds of Providence in the summer, and feel the breeze blow across my neck. Conventionality is exhausting, and my mother is not anything if she’s not conventional.”

  “Tradition has its time and place, it brings us comfort and joy. And when it brings stress and unhappiness or stifles our dreams, it’s time to set customs aside and break out of the old mold.” A quick look toward the foyer showed Mrs. DeSalvo busy chatting away on her phone. “Tell me about Mitchell. What does he like to do in his downtime?”

  A sweet, shy grin graced Camellia’s face. “He watches romantic comedies, goes hiking by the sea, and reads. He’ll read any book he comes across, mystery, political dramas, westerns, urban fantasy, and particularly romance. Says he’s studying up for our wedding night.”

  “I like him already. Now what about you? Hobbies?”

  “The same, I guess.” Camellia gave a little shrug, her lips pinched, and she drew her perfectly shaped brows together. “Although I really like action movies and I’m not so crazy about modern literature or political dramas. I want a story with a happy or at least satisfying ending. We actually met in a bookstore. Old cliché. We were reaching for the same book, the last copy. He said if I would have coffee with him at the store café, he’d gladly give up his rights to the book. I was a goner right then and there.”