No Groom Like Him. Jeanie London

from Vassar College. He plugged the hardware store, too.

      But his account of the Carmichael/Girard wedding was factual—currently under inquiry. And while he detailed his brother-in-law’s intention to campaign for governor, Max was very clear on the fact the wedding hadn’t been contracted yet.

      She couldn’t fault him anywhere.

      And she wanted to, so badly.

      Why was he under her skin so completely? Because he was bullying her? Must be. Tossing the section on her dad’s pile, she headed toward the coffeepot while dialing Mara again.

      “I had a thought,” Mara said. “Could the blogger be monitoring the wire services? If so, he or she might have read what happened when you got off the plane yesterday.”

      “That was my thought. We need to see what time the entry posted.” Grabbing a mug from the drain board, she poured coffee then headed to the enclosed porch so she could talk without disturbing her dad.

      “You know what bothers me, Mara? The way the legit media is monitoring that nobody blog. That’s worrisome.”

      “Agreed, but don’t be too surprised. It’s dog-eat-dog out there. Print media is fighting to survive in the digital age. They’re monitoring everything to get a jump on everyone else.”

      “Tabloid reporters, maybe.”

      A chuckle on the other end. “You wish. If you didn’t want to risk a leak, then you should have kept your arrival quiet like you said you were going to.”

      “I did.”

      There was a beat of silence. “Oh, my apologies. I assumed you changed your mind and didn’t see fit to notify me.”

      Lily was already tired of assumptions and the sun wasn’t even up yet. “Why would you think that? If I didn’t tell you, how would you keep me organized on this trip?”

      “Like you need my help with that. You’re a machine, and you know it. I’m just making it possible for you to take on more work than humanly possible when you’re already superhumanly tired.” Mara gave a short laugh. “Any clue who sprung the leak? You told everyone to keep their mouths shut. I can’t imagine anyone deliberately… Max didn’t say anything, did he? Is this a strong-arm tactic?”

      “I thought so at first, too, but he received an email about my arrival. I don’t think he’d lie.”

      “This has gone beyond the mere celebrity stalker with nothing better to do than rant online,” Mara said. “I’m getting a sense this blogger has a bitch to square with you. What about your ex? Or his new girlfriend?”

      “I can’t imagine he’d stoop that low.” At least, she hoped not. Could she honestly have missed that the man was that depraved? “And Lucas doesn’t have a new girlfriend from what I understand. He dropped the fling as soon as he found out she was the one to give the story to the press. He doesn’t want the bad publicity any more than I do. His company has taken an even worse hit. So what possible bitch could the ex-fling have to square with me? I’m not the morally bankrupt gold digger, remember?”

      “You make her look bad.”

      “I didn’t say one word.” Lily rested her forehead against the chilled glass. “All I’ve said is no comment.”

      “Of course. You’ve been brilliant. That’s why she looks so bad. Try to come at it from her point of view. She makes a bid for the big leagues by getting involved with your fiancé. She tips off the paparazzi, so they’re caught and she’s suddenly all over the news. You dump the jerk and call off the wedding. The jerk freaks with the media explosion and dumps the fling. The whole situation is Emmelina in reverse. Look at what that fiasco has done for Drew Hatcher’s ex-wife. She jumped from television to movies and landed a fifteen-million-dollar deal.”

      Just what Lily wanted to do—go from the media’s favorite wedding planner to their favorite victim. “Shoot. Me. Now.”

      “Oh, come on, now. If Martha can weather jail, you can weather a breakup and some bad press.” Mara was nothing if not pragmatic. “Now what do you want me to do about the exclusive?”

      “Give it to them. Tell them not to put so much stock in worthless internet speculation.” She heaved a sigh. “Tell them I reviewed the inquiry last night. It’s official if they want to go to print. I’ll be hammering out the details today and will make them available by their first deadline. If they break the news online, all I can tell them now is the function will be at Overlook around Thanksgiving and will launch Raymond Girard’s political career. Max’s article will prove I didn’t give the jump to anyone.”

      She might have to thank him instead of blame him for keeping her in the news. The front page? Honestly.

      “Got it,” Mara said. “When will you get the details to me?”

      “As soon as I track down Max.” Which meant she wouldn’t be doing much work on Riley’s wedding today. Wonderful. And she had a grand total of three and a half weeks to plan that one.

      Lily sipped her coffee and stared as the sunrise slowly lit the swing and the trees. How did she wind up back here again?

      “How in the world am I going to pull this off?” A rhetorical question that echoed dully in the predawn quiet. “I’m going to need a miracle.”

      “You’re the angel. I don’t think a miracle will be a problem.”

      Lily found herself smiling. “I’ll be by later so I can start delegating. Will you be around? What do you have on your plate with the Eversham/Raichle event today?”

      “I’m in the office, so come at your convenience.”

      “Great. See you then.” Lily disconnected then set the cup on the windowsill. With the smile still on her face, she tweeted:

      I don’t believe in luck. I believe in blessings, common sense, a strong work ethic and surrounding myself with wonderful, competent people—my life is filled with them.

      That was as much of a rebuttal as her followers would get today, and Mara would know how much she was appreciated.

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      MAX SQUINTED at the computer monitor. Leaning in closer to the display, he scanned the dummy Riley had sent detailing the proposed layout of copy and photos for tomorrow’s edition. Of course it was still early in the day yet, so the layout was bound to change as reporters returned from the field and news broke over the wire services. But Riley was never one to save things until the last minute, and that lent a level of calm to the newsroom that Max enjoyed a great deal.

      Promoting her to managing editor had been a smart move, as he’d known it would be. They’d been friends since Riley had interned at the Herald as an undergrad at Vassar. He knew her work. Knew the friend she was. Life had dealt both of them hard blows with death and grief, and that had made their friendship even stronger.

      He’d met resistance from his family over Riley’s lack of actual experience, of course, but she knew her way around the newsroom and Max knew Riley. She learned on her feet and was the best person for the job.

      He’d won that skirmish. Largely because his grandfather had supported the decision. He may have retired from the Herald, but he hadn’t stepped down from his role of family patriarch yet.

      An electronic screech cut through the quiet, and Max reached for the intercom. He didn’t get a chance to say a word before his assistant’s voice said, “Code 125.”

      His mother swept into his office the way she always did—as if she owned the place. She did, so her refusal to knock wasn’t personal. And she wasn’t the only one with that sense of entitlement, either. Various Downey family members could be counted on to show up unannounced at any time of the day or night, which was a job hazard of working in any of the family businesses. His clever assistant had come up with a series of codes to give Max a heads-up on who was about