The Wedding Planner. Millie Criswell

the last person he wanted to talk to, especially now that he knew his so-called best friend hadn’t wasted any time putting the moves on the wedding planner he’d hired. “No. I don’t need to talk to Peter.”

      “Oh? Was there something else you needed?”

      A gross misunderstatement, if ever he heard one. “I was just calling to—” What? Hear the sound of your voice? Talk you into going to bed with me? “Get your reaction on the interview I did today. I thought it went well. Did you see it?”

      “Yes. I was at the nursing home visiting my mother when it aired. I thought you did very well.”

      “I hear chimpanzees from all over the country are calling the station at this very moment trying to get a date with me.” His attempt at humor was met with momentary silence, then she finally laughed, and Adam released the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

      She laughed! Adam’s forehead broke out in a cold sweat. He’d never felt such relief, not even when Fergus Industries’ bid to take over his corporation had failed last year.

      “Did you make a joke, Mr. Morgan?” The teasing note in her voice was unmistakable. “I’m impressed. There’s hope for you yet.”

      “I have my moments.”

      “Mmm.”

      The X-rated murmur went straight to Adam’s lap, but was quickly dispelled when she giggled and said, “Harrison, stop that! You’re tickling my ear.”

      Harrison? Who the hell was Harrison? Was the woman having a party? First Peter, now Harrison. How many men were at her house? He felt annoyed, left out, and wished he’d never called.

      “Harrison gets off on licking my ears and feet,” she explained. “He’s such a pervert, but really very cute. He’s also a bit too affectionate. I’m thinking of having him pruned. It may lessen his urges a bit, if you get my drift.”

      Adam’s loins tightened, and he felt the strongest urge to cross his legs. He developed an instant empathy for poor Harrison, whoever that poor, lovesick fool might be. “That’s rather drastic, don’t you think? Perhaps you should just tell him no. That’s been known to work on occasion.”

      “Believe me, I’ve tried. But it just makes him all the more aggressive and amorous. He paws my chest, tries to rub against my leg. I—”

      A strangled sound emitted from his throat. “Ah, there’s my call waiting,” he lied. “Gotta go.”

      Slamming down the phone, Adam took a deep breath, then poured himself a huge tumbler of bourbon and gulped it down, nearly choking in the process. He was as stiff as a two-week-old corpse.

      The woman had no shame. She spoke of intimacies as if they were front-page news, as if she were working at one of those phone-sex hotlines, where all you needed was a preprogrammed phone dialer and a healthy imagination.

      Unfortunately, Adam had both.

      Chapter Four

      “I quit!”

      Meredith threw her purse down on the counter, knocking several bridal magazines onto the floor in the process, dropped her portfolio at her feet and dared Randall, who was staring wide-eyed at her, to object to her decision. Which, of course, he did.

      “You can’t quit, sweetie. You own the place.” He came around from behind the counter and shoved a mug of coffee in her face. It was warm and steaming and smelled utterly delicious. “Here, drink this. It’s mocha almond fudge and it’s guaranteed to make even the most hideous problem dissolve straight away.”

      “Thanks.” The chocolate aroma soothed her immediately. Why did anyone need tranquilizers when chocolate was so readily available? “I know I’m being childish,” Meredith admitted, taking a sip and murmuring her approval. “But that—that man makes me nuts. He’s so damn arrogant, so damn…rich.”

      She’d thought after last night that maybe he had some semblance of common decency and, well…normalcy about him. Granted their phone conversation had been strange and disjointed, and she’d never truly figured out why he’d called—the lame excuse he’d given about the interview just didn’t wash—but she’d enjoyed their brief talk, even though he’d rudely slammed the phone in her ear. But every time she formed the opinion that maybe there was more to Adam Morgan than just a large bank account and an overabundance of arrogance, he went and did something stupid.

      Guiding Meredith to the consultation area, usually reserved for prospective clients, Randall took a seat on the green-and-rose-flowered-chintz love seat and urged his distraught employer to do the same.

      “At least he can pay the exorbitant bill we’re going to charge him, right?” His grin was infectious, and Meredith finally smiled.

      “I’m gonna stick it to him, Randall. You’d better believe it. I’m gonna nail that arrogant piece of pomposity for every grain of rice, every inch of ribbon, every damn candle that illuminates his glorious day.”

      “So, what’d he do? Make a pass? Try and molest you while you were strolling the sacred grounds of the Morgantown Country Club?”

      Meredith pulled a face. “Hardly. I doubt Morgan has enough animal instinct to recognize that I’m of the opposite sex.” Though she’d certainly recognized his gender right off, especially after a whiff of the heady musk aftershave he’d worn to their appointment. A fact that had made his rude comments seem all the worse.

      With a disappointed sigh she explained, “We met in the grand ballroom of the country club, where the reception will most likely take place. It’s a lovely room with huge crystal chandeliers, delicate French wallpaper and an oak parquet dance floor. Anyway, I wasn’t there fifteen minutes when he looked me over from top to bottom in the most insulting way possible, mind you, and suggested in that superior way he has that I might want to wear something different to our next appointment.”

      She looked down at her royal-blue suit. “What’s wrong with this? I know it’s the same suit I wore last time we met, but my green one’s at the cleaners, and I don’t have the money right now to buy another.”

      Randall patted her hand in a consoling fashion, his aggrieved expression clearly stating that Adam Morgan had overstepped his bounds and committed the cardinal sin: criticizing one’s wearing apparel. “What is he, the fashion police or something?”

      “What he is, is a rich, snooty society snob who expects everyone to have had the same advantages as he. Well, I told Daddy Warbucks what he could do with his arrogant, rude and unwanted opinion. Then I did the only sensible thing I could think of.”

      “Uh-oh.” Shutting his eyes, Meredith’s assistant braced for the worst, knowing the woman, as sweet as she was, had a wicked temper when pushed. “Which was?”

      “I dumped a pitcher of water onto his lap, told him to get over himself and stalked out.”

      “Sacrebleu!” Randall, who was taking French lessons, liked interjecting new words he’d learned into the conversation whenever he could. Sacrebleu and mon dieu were at the top of his list at the moment.

      “Sacrebleu, is right! I think I just blew our ten thousand dollar deposit and the future of this business.”

      “I don’t suppose you’d consider apologizing.”

      Meredith jumped to her feet. “Apologize? To him? Absolutely not! Are you crazy? The man is a Neanderthal. He has no social graces whatsoever, despite his privileged upbringing and fat bank account. I’m sorry I ever accepted the job in the first place.”

      Meredith’s adamant feelings were reinforced a few hours later while seated at the mahogany table with one of her most important clients, who’d come into the store to discuss possibilities for a mother-of-the-groom dress for her son’s upcoming wedding.

      The door flung open and a blast of cold air entered,