He could take lessons on professional demeanor from Anne Hawthorne. She worked harder to ensure her clients’ happiness than any butler, valet, or majordomo he’d seen in the entirety of Britain, including his father.
Needing someone to talk with about the security concerns for when the party guests arrived, he called Forbes Guidry. He couldn’t remember when he’d had time to build a friendship with another man. The lawyer had come to mind each time George prayed God would bring new friendships into his life. He liked the Southern gentleman, who was his best resource in town. Aside from professional considerations, though, he had to find out all he could about Anne. Because once he no longer had to carry on this charade, George planned to get to know her better, too.
Chapter 7
Multicolored folders littered the top of Anne’s desk Monday morning, each containing pieces of someone’s dream. Dreams she shared but knew would never come true for her.
With a sigh, she rummaged for the red folder containing the list of vendors for her friend Amanda’s wedding. She found it, stacked the rest, and pulled out a green ballpoint pen. Her gaze darted to the clock as she lifted the phone receiver and dialed. Fifteen more minutes and he would be here. Her heart beat a little faster as George Laurence’s image formed in her mind. She shook her head and turned her attention to the phone as someone answered.
“Bonneterre Rentals.”
“Hi, Joe, it’s Anne.”
“Hey, gal. How’s it going?”
She chatted with Joe Delacroix for a few minutes. “I’m just calling to confirm delivery time of the tent, tables, and chairs for the Boutte wedding on Saturday.”
“Amanda Boutte who went to high school with us?”
“Yep. She’s finally giving up on the single life.”
“Good for her.”
Papers rustled on the other end as he looked up the information for her. She glanced at the clock again. Thirteen more minutes until George Laurence arrived. His milk chocolate eyes burned in her memory, as did his baritone voice and the accent that sent shivers up her spine every time he spoke.
What had he been doing at the church Saturday morning? She hadn’t noticed him until after the phone call from Brittney Graves. She’d stood and turned to run down to the fellowship hall to get a bottle of water out of the vending machine. The retreating figure exiting through the wide-open doors had startled her at first…until she recognized the sharp yet enticing profile of her newest client.
Had he been checking up on her? Did he not trust her ability to handle a wedding as large as his? Dared she ask him? Her heart fluttered. Why did he have to be so handsome, so charming?
“Saturday at 10:00 a.m.”
What was happening Saturday at 10:00 a.m.? “What’s that?”
“Delivery of your rentals, goose. Isn’t that why you called?”
Anne banged her forehead with the heel of her right hand. “Of course. Sorry, hon’. I just got distracted.” She wrote the time on her list. “I’ll see you then.”
“All right. Look, don’t work too hard, okay?”
She let out a rueful laugh. “I’ll try, but that’s the best I can promise. Talk to you later.”
“Bye, Anne-girl.”
She grinned at the nickname Amanda had started everyone using for her when they were teenagers. “Bye, Joey.”
Hanging up the phone, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Pull yourself together, woman!”
She shook her head and returned her attention to the file in front of her. Four vendors left to call and only ten—no, nine minutes in which to do it.
Aunt Maggie, catering Amanda’s reception at cost, was filling Anne in on the latest family news when the bell above the front door chimed and George Laurence entered.
“I’ll have to call you back later about Amanda’s cake. B’bye.” Anne hung up, stood, and extended her right hand across the desk, proud it didn’t tremble. “Mr. Laurence, thank you for coming in today.”
“My pleasure, Miss Hawthorne.” He nodded, returned her firm grip, and then sat in the chair she indicated. “At this juncture of our work relationship, I see no need for us to be so formal as to use titles and surnames. I’d be pleased if you’d consider calling me George.”
Tingles climbed up the back of her neck to her scalp at the sound of his voice. “Thank you, George. I agree.” She closed the red folder and swapped it for a blue one. “Why don’t we begin with the registration form?”
Why now, Lord? Did You bring him into my life just to taunt me? Why do I feel so attracted to someone I can never have? She swallowed hard as the prayer she’d repeated fifty times in the last two days ran through her mind.
She took the six-page questionnaire from him, surprised by how little he’d filled in.
“I know you were hoping for more information,” George said, “but my…there are reasons I cannot discuss for withholding some data. I have included a preliminary head count for the ceremony and the reception. I have detailed Courtney’s desires.”
Anne flipped to the third page. “A formal, late-afternoon wedding with one hundred fifty guests, and a black-tie, invitation-only reception for seven hundred.” She removed her reading glasses as she looked at him. “Are these solid numbers that I can use in my budget?”
He nodded—a quick, crisp movement, almost as if he were saluting her. “Yes, with a margin of error of no more than ten for the wedding and fifty for the reception.”
Anne made a notation on the form. “I notice there are two names written down for Miss Landry’s honor attendant. Does she plan on having two maids of honor?”
A slow smile spread over his face, bringing an indulgent twinkle into the Englishman’s light brown eyes. “She…decided she couldn’t do without both ladies in her bridal party. Is that problematic?”
“No, I’ve planned a few weddings with two honor attendants.” She looked down at the form and turned to the fourth page. Indulgent…again, more like a father than a fiancé.
She choked when she saw the dollar amount written on the estimated budget line. Her eyes teared up as she wheezed and reached for her bottle of water. Surely he’d scrawled at least one too many zeros. He’d doubled her original estimate, and she hadn’t counted on that number being true.
She cleared her throat and took another sip of water. She could work around her attraction to the Englishman. With what he was willing to pay for his wedding, her business’s future was assured. And her business was the only future she could count on.
George leaned forward in concern as Anne took another sip of water. “Are you all right?” Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes watered from the vehemence of her coughing.
She held up her hand in front of her and nodded. After another sip of bottled water, she took a deep breath and cleared her throat. “Just got a tickle,” she said in a hoarse whisper.
Her azure eyes glittered as she returned her gaze to the paperwork in front of her. He felt like a schoolboy who had failed an examination, dissatisfied he couldn’t give her complete information. He’d spent hours on the phone with Courtney yesterday trying to get her to make up her mind about the major details.
“Ten attendants each. Does that number include the honor attendants?” She looked at him, her fine brows arched high.
George’s heart thumped. Her gaze could pierce a man’s heart with its intensity. “Yes, that number includes the honorables.”
She looked down, but not fast enough to keep him from seeing the corners of her mouth turn up in an amused smile. His face burned at the realization he’d gotten the terminology wrong.
“What’s this list?” she asked when she got to the back page—his addendum.
“Those are restaurants in New York and Los Angeles my—we would like for you to contact regarding specific food items for both the engagement party and the reception. I have not yet had time to research them to find the phone numbers and contact names for you, but listed under each is the item my—we would like shipped in.”