She choked on her latte when she flipped a page and was faced with a double-spread layout of photos of Cliff Ballantine. Pushing aside her distaste for the man, Anne found the long caption at the bottom of the page: Hollywood is abuzz with rumors that America’s most eligible bachelor, and this year’s “Sexiest Man Alive,” is no longer eligible. According to sources close to the actor, his recent solo appearance at premieres and events may be due to a relationship he’s managed to keep out of the tabloids.
A few months ago, she’d thrown the local newspaper across her office after opening it to see Cliff’s face in full color on the front page when he’d come to town for his college fraternity’s one hundredth anniversary. Thank God his visit had coincided with her trip to Shreveport as an exhibitor at a bridal show. She didn’t know what she would have done or said if she’d run into him while he was in town.
She chewed the inside of her lip as she looked at the photos of Cliff at different red-carpet events in Hollywood and New York. His hair was shorter than he’d worn it ten years ago, his body more sculpted, his wardrobe top-of-the-line. But he was still the same full-of-himself Cliff with the smile that had charmed her out of all good sense…and thousands of dollars. To think that she was the one who’d enabled him to become what he was today—but no, she didn’t want to go there.
The surprise came from seeing him alone in all the pictures. In the past when the magazines featured him on the cover so that she couldn’t avoid seeing him, he had a buxom blond starlet hanging off his arm.
Anne shook her head and turned the page. She was tempted to send a letter to the editor expressing her condolences to the anonymous girlfriend.
Her cell phone began playing the theme song from The Pink Panther. She grabbed it out of her briefcase. “Hey, Mere. What’s up?”
“Didn’t see you at church this morning and you didn’t come to family dinner, so I wanted to make sure you’re okay,” Meredith said.
Anne arched her back to ease her bunched muscles and found a more comfortable position in the cushy chair. “I overslept, so I slipped into the back, and then I had lunch with David and Amanda before they left town.”
“Stayed up too late partying last night, huh?” A crackle of static sounded through the phone connection as lightning flashed outside.
“It’s not every day one of my friends gets married. Even a wedding planner is allowed to cut loose once in a while.” Anne tore out a page that listed restaurants that had catered celebrity events.
Meredith chuckled. “It was a gorgeous wedding. I thought it was so sweet that David got choked up when he was repeating his vows.”
“It was the first wedding in a long time where I’ve shed a few tears. They’re so cute together.” She pressed the phone to her ear with her shoulder to free her hands and cut out a photo of a gorgeous wedding cake that Aunt Maggie would adore trying to recreate.
“Hey.” Jenn’s voice replaced Meredith’s. “Do you have plans for dinner tonight?”
“I’m not going on another blind date.” Anne pulled the magazine closer to try to see someone in the background of a picture.
“What makes you think I’m trying to set you up on a blind date?” A hint of laughter betrayed the falsely innocent tone Jenn tried to adopt.
“Because you asked if I have ‘plans for dinner.’ That’s what you always say when you’re trying to set me up. What an awful dress.” Anne tore the page out of the magazine for her file of what not to do.
“What are you talking about?” Jenn asked.
“Oh, it’s a celebrity who got married in a dress that looks like strips of toilet paper strung together with silver shoelaces.”
Jenn’s laugh mixed with the static crackling through the phone. “Annie, he’s a really nice guy. He works in Forbes’s law firm.”
“No, Jenn. I…” Why not? She wanted to get married, didn’t she? Then why did the thought of another blind date set off her panic alarm? “This is the busiest time of the year for me. You know that. I don’t have time to think about dating right now.”
“Okay. You just remember that was your excuse this time. Come fall, you won’t be able to use that one.”
Anne laughed. “I’ll remember. I’ll think of a better excuse by then.”
“I know you will. We’ll catch ya later, gal.”
“Bye.” She closed the phone and dropped it back into her bag.
Outside, thunder rumbled, vibrating through the building. Anne nestled down into the chair and sipped her latte, amused by the amount of money celebrities were willing to spend on simple items. Dresses that cost more than most normal people’s entire weddings. Florists who charged more for one event than most flower shops’ annual incomes. Imported crystal and china. Flamboyant gifts for attendants. And all of this for marriages that would last only a few years before they did it all over again with someone else.
Lord, thank You that Cliff broke off our relationship before we actually got married. I don’t think I would have survived a divorce. It was a painful reminder that people aren’t trustworthy, but I’m glad I learned it sooner rather than later.
“May I join you?”
Startled out of her prayer, she looked up. George Laurence stood in front of her, a shopping bag tucked under one arm, a grande cup in his free hand. His hair was damp, and he wore jeans, a dark T-shirt, and a long-sleeved denim shirt. Water spots on his shirt and pants betrayed his lack of preparation for the unpredictable Louisiana weather. Anne swallowed hard. He was even handsomer dressed down than in his expensive, tailored suits.
Her skin tingled. She should say no. She should remind him that he had a fiancée. She should insist their meetings be chaperoned. “Yes, please do.”
“Catching up on some reading?” He nodded toward the stack of magazines beside her chair.
She showed him the wedding-themed front of the one in her hand. “Research.”
“Ah. No one gets married like the rich and famous.” He settled down onto the adjacent love seat.
“Been to many celebrity weddings, have you?” She had to know who this guy was and for whom he worked. Coming right out and asking wouldn’t work.
“I’ve witnessed several—shall we call them events?—in my time.” He grinned, and Anne tried to keep her heart from flipping out of her chest. “Of course,” he continued, “the weddings here are much different than those I’ve seen in England.”
“Did you do the same type of work there?” She laid the magazine on her lap and sipped her latte.
He crossed his legs, his left ankle resting on his right knee. “In a way. Working for a member of Parliament is much different than working for someone…not in government service.”
He didn’t work for a politician. She hadn’t thought so, but it was nice to know for sure. “Which do you enjoy more?”
His expression turned thoughtful. “It’s hard to say. In the years since I’ve worked at this level, I’ve enjoyed postings because I liked the person I worked for, or I’ve enjoyed postings because of where I lived, or I just haven’t liked postings at all.”
“Postings? Does that mean that you get assignments as to whom you’re going to work for?”
“Oh, no.” He sipped his coffee and pulled a hardback book from the shopping bag. “I suppose it’s just a difference in British and American terminology. A posting is the same as a job, a position.”
She grinned. “I’ll bet there’re a lot of differences in what you’re used to in England and how we do things here.” To see him like this—relaxed, casual, and chatty—was addictive. She could imagine spending every Sunday afternoon like this with him. He’s engaged to Courtney Landry.
“Most of the cultural differences are minor. Though the distances one has to travel to do anything—and the lack of public transport in most places—was a rather difficult transition.”
Anne slipped off her shoes and pulled her feet up under her. “What would you say is the strangest thing you had to get used to over here?” Get up. Leave now. He’s not available. He’s already spoken for.