Embarrassed relief washed through her. “Oh. I thought…”
“Anne.” His deep voice caressed her jumbled emotions. “I promised I would be here for you. Unlike…other people, I always hold true to my word.”
Her throat tightened. His ability to understand what she was thinking continued to amaze—and comfort—her. “I’m sorry I doubted you.”
“No apology necessary. Why don’t you close the office door and rest for a few minutes? I’ll fetch you should any problems arise.”
The idea of being “fetched” by him like a stick by a golden retriever brought her to irrepressible laughter. She couldn’t explain her mirth to him at his inquiry. She repeated his “Ta-ta for now” and hung up.
Indecision hit her when she crossed to the door. Three o’clock, and so much left to do. Could she afford to disappear for fifteen minutes? Or, being honest with herself, could she depend on George? Happy Endings, Inc., and her reputation as an event planner represented what she valued most in life, outside of her family.
She closed the door. If the relationship between them stood any chance of developing into…something, she must learn to trust him. Besides, what could happen in the few minutes she needed to get her second—or was she already on her third—wind?
At five o’clock, George found Major O’Hara and asked him to bring all of the workers together in the break room behind the kitchen. Cliff’s press conference would begin in half an hour, and George wanted the staff to be made aware of the ground rules for tonight’s event.
He found one of Anne’s cousins in the crowd of student workers. “Have you seen Anne recently?”
Jonathan shook his head. “Not for a couple of hours. I thought maybe she’d gone to run some errands.”
“Thanks.” George asked O’Hara to keep everyone together until he returned. He jogged across the ballroom-turned-French Quarter and down the hall to the administrative office. He turned the knob softly and swung the door open.
Anne never stirred. Even when she was sound asleep, stress drew her forehead into worry lines. He eased the door closed and released the handle centimeter by centimeter until it latched. He wanted to reveal the guest of honor’s identity to her in private anyway. Best let her get all the rest she could. She’d need it. As soon as he finished with the staff, he’d come back and tell her.
The buzz of voices in the break room stilled when George entered. “I know many of you have been curious as to whom this event is for. That’s why I wanted to call you together. Our guest of honor this evening is Mr. Cliff Ballantine.”
Astonishment swept through the room, and the initial gasp turned to excited whispering, especially among the females. He held his hands up to regain their attention. “Obviously I don’t have to explain who he is. There are, however, some ground rules everyone must agree to before his arrival. If you cannot agree, or if you break any of these rules, you will be asked to leave.”
He pulled a manila folder from his bag. “First, Mr. Ballantine will not be signing any autographs tonight. Please do not approach him with any such request. He has been kind enough to supply autographed photos for each of you instead.” He passed the stack of black-and-white head shots to the young woman at his right. “Second, you may not, under any circumstances, call anyone to let them know he will be here tonight. You are more than welcome to talk about it after the event to whomever you please.” He reached for a cardboard box on top of a stack of chairs. “Please deposit your cell phones in this box. They will be locked in the office until the end of the event.”
Excited twittering turned to groans. George gave them his sternest look. “If you cannot abide by these rules…” The thud of phones dropping into the box drowned out the complaints. “Third, there will be many other people here tonight whom you may be tempted to ask for autographs. Don’t. After the event is over, if they offer to sign something for you, that is permissible. But don’t solicit them. Finally, for those of you who will be greeting guests at the door, if they do not have an invitation, please call me over the radio before allowing them admittance.”
A hand shot up at the back of the room.
“Yes?”
“Even if it’s someone we recognize, we’re not to let them in?”
He didn’t want any of the guests offended, but he didn’t want any paparazzi or reporters gaining entrance, either. Most of the guests would understand. “Please call me no matter what.” He pulled another stack of papers out of his bag, split it in half, and started them around the room. “This is a release stating that you have heard and understood the guidelines I’ve just enumerated for you. Please sign it and return it to Mr. O’Hara or me, and then you can go back to your duties.”
They were signing the releases when Anne’s cousin Jonathan burst through the doors. “George, I think you should come outside.”
He left Major to gather the paperwork and ran across the building. His phone beeped and he pulled it out to answer the call from Cliff’s publicist.
“We were on our way to the hotel in downtown, and Mr. Ballantine decided he wanted to have the press conference at Lafitte’s Landing instead.” Tracie’s voice betrayed her state of near-panic. “You’ll need to figure out a podium and some sound quickly.” A black stretch limousine, followed by innumerable vehicles, wound its way up the long drive toward Lafitte’s Landing.
“Oh, my sainted aunt!” He spun and ran back inside. “Keep Mr. Ballantine in the car until we get everything set up,” he called into the phone, then disconnected and clipped it back in place.
One of the staff directed George to a storage room where he found a large lectern and portable sound system. As the boys who’d worked with the equipment before rushed to get everything plugged in, George arranged the stanchions and black velvet rope, originally set out to line the red carpet leading to the entrance, as a barrier to keep the reporters and cameras out of Mr. Ballantine’s face. Like locusts, they swarmed toward the building, but the college students did an admirable job of keeping them behind the barricade.
After a thumbs-up from Jonathan, George descended the porch steps and crossed to the limousine. Blinding flashes combined with yelling reporters competed for Cliff’s attention as George opened the door and the movie star stepped out.
What was he wearing? Blue jeans and a University of Louisiana baseball jersey? George shook his head. If he hadn’t been here all day… But he’d promised Anne.
Anne! She still didn’t know. He whirled to return to the building and find her before she woke up and walked out into the middle of her worst nightmare.
Cliff grabbed George’s shoulder to stop him. “Tracie, call the hotel and have them send over any other reporters still waiting for me there. Laurence, show me what’s been done inside.”
No, no, no! He had to get to Anne. He had to tell her himself. Please, dear Lord, let her sleep through this. Let her stay in the office until I can get to her. “Yes, Mr. Ballantine.”
The diminutive, dark-haired publicist stepped up to the lectern to announce that Mr. Ballantine would give his statement in approximately fifteen minutes.
As soon as his eyes adjusted to the dim interior, George’s gaze scoured the room for the statuesque blonde he’d come to love in the last month. He sighed when he couldn’t spot her.
Like a politician, Cliff greeted the college students still working on the decorations, table settings, and final preparations. George kept his eyes trained on the door at the back of the room. When Tracie gave him the word, he’d get Cliff back out front and go tell Anne. He couldn’t let her hear this from someone else.
Standing in the middle of the ballroom, Cliff turned in a full circle, nodding his head. “Looks great, Laurie. Good job.”
“I can take no credit, sir. Your wedding planner, An—”