Читать книгу One More Night - Jennifer McKenzie - Страница 11

CHAPTER THREE

“I’M AFRAID I must have misheard you.” Owen pretended to tap his ear as though clearing it of water. “You want to repeat that?”

It was Saturday night and Elephants was packed. He was pleased that his initiatives continued to bring people in the door, even if it was in the form of his only sister. Mal merely stared back. “I need you to plan an engagement party for Donovan and Julia.” She said this with a straight face as though it wasn’t the funniest thing in the world.

Since Mal hadn’t been in much of a laughing mood these past few months, Owen did it for her. “Right.”

“I’m not kidding.” Mal pinned him with her patented bratty-kid-sister stare. “Mom and I discussed it.”

“Oh, did you? And what other parts of my life did the two of you plan?” He was only half joking.

“Owen, you’re the best man. Consider it part of your duties.” Owen still wasn’t sure how he’d been roped into being the best man. Sure, he and Donovan were getting along better than they had been a year ago, but they were hardly close. He suspected Julia—who he considered a good friend—and his mother and sister were all conspiring to bring them closer together.

“No, my duty is to plan the bachelor party, ensure Donovan doesn’t freak out last-minute and get cold feet, and make sure I show up on time and in my tux.” And find the sexiest woman at the reception and see if she’d consider going home with him. Though really, that was just being humble. More likely, he’d be the one getting propositioned, which suited him just fine.

Despite her little bomb, Owen was glad to see Mal out on a Saturday night. Since her breakup with her boyfriend a few months ago, she hadn’t been herself. Owen wasn’t sure exactly what had happened, since she wasn’t talking and neither was Travis. Not even when Owen had gone down to Aruba, where Travis now lived, for a visit and asked him point-blank. All either of them would say was that things hadn’t worked out, but Owen noted neither of them had exactly moved on.

“Well, consider the engagement party an added bonus.”

“Bonus for who?” Owen grumbled.

Mal patted him on the shoulder. “For you. Think of it like planning for your own future.”

He snorted again. “I’m not even dating anyone. Kind of a prerequisite.”

“Good. Then you’ll have plenty of free time to plan the engagement party.”

“You know, I think I liked it better when you stayed home on Saturday nights.”

Mal’s hand dropped, as did her head. Owen saw her hands clench in her lap. “You aren’t the only one.”

“Hey.” He reached out and put his arm around her shoulders. He and Mal had always had an easy relationship. Even before she’d started dating one of his closest friends. “I wasn’t serious. You know I love having you here.”

But Mal only sighed.

Owen turned to look at his sister. She’d always been thin, but these days she seemed downright emaciated. Not that he could say anything about it to her. The one time he’d joked that she should eat a sandwich, she’d about taken his head off. Still, despite her extreme thinness, Mal was a good-looking woman. Owen noted the interested glances that were coming her way even if she didn’t. “You okay?”

She sighed again. “Not really, but I don’t want to talk about it.”

She never did. But since Owen wasn’t sure how it would help to force her into discussing the problem, he didn’t push. “If you change your mind...” He left the sentence hanging.

“I know. You, Donovan, Mom and Dad, even Julia the last time I saw her.” Mal sat up, shrugging off his arm. “But I’m fine, really. I’m just adjusting. That’s all.”

Owen didn’t point out that she’d had months to adjust and still hadn’t managed it. If Mal wanted to think she was fooling him, he’d let her. Maybe she’d eventually fool herself and get back to the Mal he knew. “So, how exactly did you and Mom come to the conclusion that I needed to organize the engagement party? Isn’t that something the parents of the groom should do? Or the sister?”

“No.” And some of the tension slid from Mal’s face at the change of subject. At least, the lines around her mouth didn’t look so prominent. “Plus, Mom already tried to pawn it off on me, which is how your name came up.”

“You threw me under the bus.”

“That’s such a cliché. I prefer to think of it as giving you a gift.”

Owen shook his head. “A gift? Please, more like an obligation.” One he didn’t know how to get out of. If Mal and his mother had already joined forces? Game, set and match.

“Oh, I don’t know. Julia mentioned how interested you seemed in the wedding planner.” Mal shot him a smirk.

Owen picked up the water bottle he was drinking from and rolled it back and forth between his palms. He wasn’t embarrassed to have been caught out. He hadn’t exactly been subtle about his appreciation for the cool Grace Monroe. But she’d been pretty clear that even if she found him appealing, nothing would come of it. “I’m not sure what that has to do with anything, but for the record, she wasn’t interested.”

“You didn’t think you’d have to plan the party on your own, did you?” Mal rolled her eyes. “You’d be working with her. Just think—the two of you could join forces. Maybe spend some late nights during the planning stages.”

Owen wasn’t fooled. “Don’t try to distract me. I won’t forget that you used me as a shield.” But he certainly wouldn’t mind the excuse to see Grace—ahem, Ms. Monroe—again. “You don’t care about my dating life. You just don’t want to have to plan it yourself.”

“I see no reason that I can’t care about both things.” And for a moment, with her little smirk and sassy tone, Owen saw the sister he knew. Then it was gone, replaced with something quiet and a little sad. “I know it’s a lot to ask, Owen. But I don’t think I can do it.”

He looked into her eyes to see if she was trying to trick him. Mal would be fully capable of letting a fib trip right off her tongue with no body language to indicate anything but the deepest sincerity, but her eyes always gave her away. A combination of fear, shame and a deep pain stared back at him. Owen felt it in his own stomach.

“It’s just...too close.”

Too close because up until earlier this year, Mal had been the engaged Ford sibling, the one who’d be wedding-planning and holding the ceremony on a beach in Aruba in the near future. But when their father had had his heart attack, everything had changed.

It had changed for all of them. Donovan took over running the company, while Owen began to pay more attention to work instead of treating it like a fun place to hang out in the evening for a few hours and collect a paycheck. But Mal had uprooted her life in Aruba and moved back to Vancouver. Sold her stake in the beach restaurant to Travis and come back to work for the family business.

“Fine. I’ll do it.” Owen huffed out a breath, putting on a show of being put out because he thought Mal needed it. Needed to feel as though things were normal, that her older brother still found her an annoying pest and loved her anyway. They’d all been careful with Mal over the past few months. Doing their best not to upset her, tiptoeing around the question of what had happened between her and Travis because even when it came up indirectly, she got visibly upset. But that clearly wasn’t working and Owen wasn’t about to dump Travis as a friend without cause. “But this means you owe me.”

“I got you alone time with the wedding planner. Consider yourself paid in full.”

“Not enough.” He crossed his arms over his chest and put on his I’m-older-and-know-better-than-you look. “Tell me what’s going on with Travis.”

Mal’s lips pursed and her glare could have melted plastic. Good thing Owen was immune to it, seeing as she’d been using it on him since they were kids. “Nothing is going on.”

Semantics. Owen recognized her answer for the dodge it was, but he wasn’t about to let her use a loophole to get out of this. “Maybe nothing’s going on now, but something happened earlier. Tell me.”

“No.”

“Mal.”

“Drop it, Owen.” And there was sorrow as well as anger in her gaze. “I’m not discussing it.”

Owen drummed his fingers on his water bottle and then shrugged. “Fine. But if you won’t tell me, then I can’t console you with free alcohol and ice cream.”

Mal’s look was withering. “You think I can’t comp myself?”

Owen shrugged again. “I’m the manager here. They do what I say.”

“And you’d tell them not to serve me?” When he nodded, his sister’s eyes narrowed. Owen was glad to see it. At least she wasn’t going to curl up in a ball or slink away the way she would have done a couple of months earlier. Progress. “You’d starve your only sister?”

“I’d do whatever I had to if I thought it would help.”

Her face softened and she reached out to lay a hand on his arm. “I appreciate it, Owen. But I’m okay.”

He wasn’t sure he believed her, but he nodded agreeably. He preferred compromise to conflict. “All right, then. Tell me what I need to know about this party. I’m sure you have some ideas.”

This time, Mal’s smile reached her eyes. “I’m so glad you asked.”

* * *

OWEN CALLED GRACE Sunday morning. A woman like her would spend her Monday morning returning phone calls in order and he hoped to be one of the first. Perhaps he could convince her to go out with him yet. A business meeting. Over lunch. Totally aboveboard.

He was surprised when she answered.

“Grace Monroe.”

But he recovered quickly. “Grace. It’s Owen Ford.”

“Mr. Ford.” He was pretty sure he heard a sigh in her voice, but it was immediately replaced with cool professionalism. “What can I help you with?”

“A party. I need to plan one.”

There was a brief pause. “You’re aware that I specialize in weddings? But I’m happy to send you the names of some other planners in the city who can help. What kind of budget do you have?”

“It’s not for me. An engagement party for Donovan and Julia.” Owen had attended his fair share of parties over the years. More than his fair share and even hosted some. But a couple of blowouts when he’d been in high school, a kegger in his parents’ backyard before he’d told them that he’d officially dropped out of university and a housewarming when he’d bought his apartment that had turned into forty-eight hours of drinks and debauchery weren’t exactly going to cut it. “I’d like to hire you to help.”

Grace exhaled. Owen heard the slow escape of air. “You’ve already hired me, Mr. Ford. I can certainly add the engagement party to the wedding portfolio.”

“No, it’s a surprise.” Another little gem Mal had informed him of once he’d committed to organizing it. He heard the rustling of paper, imagined Grace flipping through a sheaf of them at her desk. “You aren’t at the office, are you?”

“I’m not sure how that concerns you, but yes, I am.”

Owen glanced at the clock. It was only nine in the morning. On a Sunday. He’d been up for an hour and a half, getting a run in before the day got too warm to be comfortable, but most people would still be lounging in bed or treating the worst of their hangovers at a local breakfast café. And Grace was in her office. What a waste on a beautiful weekend morning. “Listen, why don’t I swing by to pick you up. We’ll go for brunch and discuss.”

There was a short pause. Marshaling her resources no doubt. “That’s not necessary, Mr. Ford. Why don’t you tell me what kind of function you have in mind over the phone and I’ll start putting some ideas together that I can send to you.”

“So that I can feel guilty for making you work the entire Sunday? I won’t allow it.” He had a few hours before he needed to go into work himself and he thought spending it with Grace sounded like a fine idea. Better than his original plan, which was to lie on the couch until it was time to leave. The old Owen would have still been in bed, presumably with a gorgeous woman beside him, but since taking on a more involved role, his late nights out with the beautiful people of the city had come to an end. In truth, he didn’t miss it.

While it had been fun for a while—partying all night, sleeping most of the day and then doing it all over again—eventually it had started to bore him. There were only so many times he could see his picture in the paper under a caption proclaiming him one of the city’s most eligible bachelors, only so many times he could get up after only three hours of sleep and pretend that he couldn’t wait to hit the club that night. He’d done it longer than he’d wanted. Partially because he felt obligated to keep up the guise of the playboy Ford. Unlike Donovan and Mal, who’d finished university and then worked in the family offices putting their education to use, he’d dropped out in the middle of his second year and accepted a job as assistant manager at Elephants only because his parents had explained that he’d be cut off financially otherwise. But he’d done as little as possible those first dozen years.

It had gone on for so long that once he realized he’d changed, he didn’t know how to change his situation. His attempts to convince Donovan to give him more responsibility had been met with a steely stare and refusal. It wasn’t until their father’s heart attack that Donovan had been forced to accept Owen’s help. And though there were times that Owen felt overworked and in dire need of a break, he was happier now. He had a reason to get up in the morning, a sense of pride in his life.

But he still liked to have fun.

“Owen—”

He cut Grace off before she could decline again. “It’s just brunch. To discuss work. Or have you eaten already?” She probably had, some dry toast and half a hard-boiled egg with strong tea followed by flossing and the recommended two minutes of teeth-brushing.

She sighed. “Just coffee.”

“Great. Then I won’t take no for an answer. I’ll see you in fifteen.” Which would give him just enough time to shower, throw on some clothes and make the five-minute drive from his condo in Coal Harbor, which overlooked the water and Stanley Park, to her office in Yaletown. On a normal day, Owen would have walked, enjoying the city morning, the way the sun glinted off the buildings and the cool, fresh breeze that swept off the ocean.

But he wasn’t going to give Grace any extra time, any extra opportunity to decline his suggestion.

* * *

SHE SHOULD HAVE turned him down. Grace knew that before she’d even agreed to Owen’s suggestion. But it was a glorious morning and she’d already attended her Pilates class and brunch in the city sounded lovely, even if it was just a work meeting. Which was exactly what she wanted. Nothing more, nothing less.

Still, her heart beat a little faster when she heard the knock on the front door and she rose from the main desk to slide the bolt and let him in. He looked good. Too good. Dressed in dark jeans and a white V-neck tee, he looked every inch the city playboy the blogosphere and papers claimed he was.

Yes, she’d looked him up. Had done a thorough and intensive investigation through internet searches and online newspaper archives. She was merely information-gathering for her wedding portfolio, making sure that she was aware of any possible pitfalls before they could appear. It was simply good management. But the heat warming her cheeks hinted at something else. Something Grace wasn’t quite as comfortable with.

So she pasted on her professional smile, greeted him with a quick air kiss and prepared to step back and gather her purse from the desk drawer. Except Owen pulled her into a loose hug. “It’s good to see you.”

And her pulse jumped before she gathered her composure and stepped out of his embrace. “Yes, well...” She let her sentence drop off, unsure what else to say. She wouldn’t agree that it was good to see him, too, because she wasn’t sure it was. He looked good, that was true enough, but was it actually good to see him? Even if he hadn’t been a client, albeit an indirect one, there was the small matter that he was absolutely not her type. Not even close. And certainly not the kind of man she saw herself settling down with in the future.

Grace strode back to the desk and grabbed her purse, hoping the flames in her cheeks weren’t visible.

“You look good,” Owen noted, leaning against the wall, easily, as though he’d been here a million times and had long since picked out his spot.

She refused to be rattled by the compliment. Since it was a Sunday, a day her office was closed unless she had a meeting scheduled, she’d selected a more casual look than her usual business wear. A racerback sheath dress that reached the tops of her knees in the palest periwinkle and flat gold sandals. Her hair was pulled back into a loose knot and she wore simple gold hoops at her ears and wrist. She did look good, but it was nice that he’d noticed. “Thank you.”

As Grace ushered him out of her office, she wondered again why she had agreed to go out for a meal with him when their time would be much more usefully spent in her boardroom or, better yet, discussing this by email so that she could consider his ideas and then get back to him with a list of possibilities. But she didn’t say anything as they headed down the sidewalk, the morning still cool despite the sun high overhead. It wouldn’t really heat up for a few hours and by then Grace would be back in either her office or her apartment. And it would be good to get some sustenance if she planned to spend the rest of the day working.

She lifted her face to the sun, appreciating the warmth that might disguise any lingering heat in her cheeks. She didn’t often spend time outdoors, a fact that her family—organic farmers—couldn’t understand or value. But then they sort of felt that way about her, too. The one who left home and the business. The one who studied business and commerce in university. The one who stayed on the mainland after graduation and started a business there. A commercial business that, according to her mother, “benefited off the backs of social conventions that no longer had a place in today’s world.”

Grace didn’t agree. She often rebutted her mother’s arguments with some of her own. That marriage created a sort of social stability, provided a cornerstone on which to rest. A minicommunity that spread out to embrace the surrounding areas. But the truth was she liked the romance of it all.

The promise to share a life together, to protect and support each other. Granted her parents had done the same thing without ever getting married. Cedar Matthews and Sparrow Monroe—though they disliked using last names, claiming it supported a patriarchal society—had been together for more than thirty years and fully committed to their family without ever making it official. But it wasn’t the same.

Grace shook the unsettling thoughts away. She was different than her parents, than her younger brother, Sky, who’d always been content to toe the family line, to learn the business of farming, and who, along with his girlfriend, lived in the small guesthouse built beside the main farmhouse where Grace had grown up. And she was okay with that.

They didn’t have to appreciate what she did or recognize the worth of the services she provided. She appreciated herself.

“So, tell me what kind of party you have in mind,” she said as they crossed the street and headed down toward the rows of restaurants and cafés that ringed Yaletown, a popular Vancouver neighborhood. No time like the present to get started.

“Let’s get settled first,” Owen suggested. As though she wasn’t totally unsettled by the mere fact that they were out together.

But Grace kept that insight to herself and nodded as they made their way down the cobblestone sidewalks that were common throughout much of the area. Most restaurants had tables pulled out that were exposed to the sun and already filled with customers eating and drinking.

Owen didn’t stop at any of the ones they passed, continuing down the sloped sidewalks toward False Creek and a view of the water. Grace was content to keep the peace and simply enjoy the silence of companionship. This was the kind of thing she hoped to make a regular part of her life with her future husband—being elegantly dressed for a casual brunch, enjoying a meal of eggs Florentine or seafood crepes while they discussed travel plans, art, music or theater.

Next year, she reminded herself. At the end of the five-year plan when her business was flourishing and she no longer needed to oversee every detail. When she had staff to handle meetings and make certain decisions without coming to her for approval. Then she’d block off some time specifically for finding the right kind of man to marry. She didn’t think it would take longer than a year, eighteen months at most.

She was an attractive woman who kept herself in good shape. She had her own money, a thriving business and a condo in the city. She was a good conversationalist, cultured and well-read. She was, in short, a great catch. Even in a city of great catches, she knew she’d stand out. Just as soon as she put herself out there.

Her eyes darted to Owen. He looked the part, but she knew he wasn’t. According to what she’d uncovered online, he was a regular at the city’s hottest nightclubs and a well-known playboy who rarely showed up to any event with a woman more than once. Not husband material. Not even close.

Owen stopped in front of Gascony, a popular spot for brunch thanks to its location on the water and fabulous food. The place was full even though it was still early for many people, but Owen seemed to know the hostess, who found them a small table for two by a window that looked out at the marina. Grace unfolded the cloth napkin and placed it in her lap.

She left her notebook in her purse, determining that while pulling it out might be useful for remembering everything that was said, it would be considered tacky. Gascony wasn’t the kind of place where people took notes or dictated business deals. As soon as she got back to the office, she’d write down everything she could recall and then follow up with an email to Owen to confirm.

A server came by and filled their water glasses. Owen ordered a pot of coffee and tomato juice, while Grace stuck with the more traditional orange juice. She waited until the drinks arrived and their food orders were taken before returning to the reason for the meeting. “So, about the party.”

Owen smiled. “I wondered how long you’d hold off. I had twenty that you wouldn’t make it to the restaurant.”

“Twenty with whom?”

“With myself.” He offered the cream and sugar to her, but she shook her head. She liked her coffee strong and black. Owen put the small tray near the edge of the table without adding anything to his cup, either. “It was a brilliant bet. I couldn’t lose.”

Grace pressed her lips together so she wouldn’t smile. It didn’t work.

But rather than acknowledge her grin or make another joke, Owen merely smiled back, seemingly content that he’d been able to make it happen. “And for the record, I’ve never planned an engagement party, so I was kind of hoping you’d take the lead.”

She was certainly capable of that. She had more engagement parties under her belt than she could remember. Grace took a sip of her coffee, enjoying the hot sharpness. “Are you sure you should be the one organizing it?” She didn’t mean to be rude, but in her experience, a party was more successful when the organizer had some sort of idea of what they’d like to see occur.

“As it happens, I agree with you.” Owen didn’t lose his relaxed pose. “But the family has decided that it should be my responsibility.” He shrugged.

Grace knew about living up to or not living up to family ideals and demands and didn’t push. “Fair enough. Then let’s talk basics. Time, place, that sort of thing.”

Owen nodded. “Soon, I think. I’d like to take advantage of the summer weather.”

“When? We’ll have to print and send invitations, book the space.” Grace began counting off the multitude of preplanning details that went into throwing a truly great party. “Decide on catering, make sure the bride and groom are available.”

Owen reached out and placed a hand over hers. His fingers were warm when he gave her a gentle squeeze and sent an unanticipated shudder through her. “It’ll work out.”

As it happened, Grace knew that wasn’t the case. Oh, sure, it might seem that way from the outside. That a fantastic party came together naturally and with ease, but that was usually because there was someone like her behind the scenes, making the phone calls, juggling the vendors and putting out fires before they could morph into infernos. If things just “worked out” then she wouldn’t have a career.

She slid her hand out from beneath his and wrapped her fingers around the glass of chilled orange juice instead, allowing the cold and her common sense to seep back into her brain. “It’ll work out because we have a plan in place.” And a contingency plan, as well. But that was her job, not Owen’s. He was simply there to assist in the big picture. She’d be handling the minutiae. “The earliest we can schedule is probably the end of August.” At the surprised lift of Owen’s brow, she clarified. “First we need to select and order invitations. That’ll take a couple of weeks. Then they need to be mailed about a month before the party.”

He blinked.

“And that’s assuming we can book a location. Summer is a popular time. It’s possible nothing will be available.” Or nothing that would fit the type of party Grace expected the engaged couple would appreciate. Though she’d once organized a do that took place on the side of a mountain in a snowstorm, so she suspected she could make something work.

“The location won’t be a problem. We own three wine bars and a restaurant. We’ll use one of them.” He looked at her and Grace felt another shudder. Tinier but still unexpected. “I’ll take you on a tour.”

“Great.” Grace lowered her hands to her lap and curled her fingers into her napkin until the tingle under her skin eased. It really was too bad Owen didn’t tick any of the boxes on her husband list. No office job to let him be home with the future kids when she had a demanding wedding. No long-term relationships in his past, which she took to mean he wouldn’t or couldn’t settle down. And when he wasn’t wearing flip-flops, he was wearing sneakers. She focused on the reason for their meeting. The engagement party. “An evening reception, I assume?”

Owen nodded. “And probably on a Sunday, since Fridays and Saturdays are our peak times. Not that we mind shutting down for something special, but the guests are in the same industry. It’s hard for people to get away on busy nights.”

“Of course.” Grace was impressed he’d thought to mention it. Owen might not seem to be a particularly serious person, but he wasn’t dumb. She mentally upped the percentage of people who were likely to attend from 70 to 80 percent. Although there would still be some who would decline, holding the party on a Sunday meant a prior engagement was unlikely.

“So, what had you in the office bright and early on a Sunday morning?”

“Work.” She had a lot of it and she was grateful. There were many wedding and event planners who barely managed to make enough to pay the rent on their offices, so she wasn’t going to complain about being busy. Of course, she knew it wasn’t a long-term plan. Not only was it an impossible pace to keep up, but she also did have plans for her personal life. Although the money was excellent and it provided her not just the ability to hire more staff, but also the opportunity to have her name and her work on display for other potential clients to enjoy. Grace figured that come the end of summer and her busy season, she could revisit her business plan and make adjustments to get her life in better balance.

Perhaps she could hire another assistant. She could definitely raise her prices. She was good enough at what she did to justify that.

“What else did you do this weekend?”

“Actually, I had a lot of work to catch up on from the week, which is why I was in the office.” She didn’t explain that this had been her life for the past six months. It was both boring and none of his business.

“Well, then it’s a good thing I could convince you to come out for brunch.” Owen’s expression was cheerful, no sign of the admonishment that she’d see from her mother. Her parents understood the value of hard work but not at the expense of her personal life.

Grace nodded slowly. “Yes, it is.” And she wasn’t lying. “What about you?”

“I had to work last night, but I spent yesterday morning hitting some golf balls at the range. Today I went for a run before I called you. I like running in the morning before it gets too hot. And I’ll work tonight.”

So he worked, too, but made some time for himself. Of course, he wasn’t a sole proprietor, nor was he building something from the ground up. He’d taken over a business that was already stable and successful, so really not the same at all. Still, Grace felt a niggle of envy that he seemed to manage both so fluidly. She hoped she’d be able to do the same.

“What do you do when you’re not working?”

It had been so long since she hadn’t worked that Grace wasn’t sure how to answer. She liked gardening, but living in a downtown condo, she was restricted to doing so out of a container. She kept meaning to take advantage of one of the community gardens around the city, joining one close to home where she could avail herself of a larger plot of land to grow something more than herbs and sprawling annuals, but there never seemed to be time. When she was married and had a proper house with a proper backyard, Grace planned to have a full vegetable garden, one where she and the kids could pick ingredients fresh off the vine for that night’s meal. She liked reading, though most nights she fell asleep before she got through a single chapter. She worked out six days a week. Pilates three days and an hour on the elliptical machine the other three. But that was as much for health as for fun.

When she thought about it, it was kind of sad. “I have a patio garden,” she said. “I grew up on a farm, so it’s a way to keep in touch with that.” She wondered why she’d added the last bit. She’d never really thought about it, but she realized after she said it that it was true. She hadn’t followed in the family footsteps, but many of their lessons and beliefs had stuck. Communing with nature, the feel of digging her fingers deep into the dirt below the warm topsoil and into the coolness beneath.

“My mom’s a longtime gardener. And my dad has recently taken it up, too, though I’m not sure my mom always appreciates that.” Owen leaned forward as though to share a secret or private thought. “He took over some of her space and planted vegetables. And now they regularly battle over who actually owns the spot. I think he dug up some peonies to make room for some tomato plants.”

Grace smiled. “I wish him good luck with that.”

“So you’ve met my mother?”

This time she laughed. “I’ve not yet had that pleasure, but peonies are hardy plants and they’re perennials.” When he looked at her blankly, she explained. “They bloom every year and are difficult to get rid of once they’ve rooted. I wouldn’t be surprised if they continue to spring up around the tomato plants.”

Owen laughed. “Dad will love that.”

Grace smiled again. His story reminded her of her own family. Not that her parents ever battled over gardening space, not with twenty acres of land at their disposal, but the idea of working together, of being a team. She felt a small clutch in her stomach. It was a team she didn’t really have a place on.

“I like to run,” Owen offered and Grace was grateful for the distraction. “And golf, though I don’t get out as often as I’d like these days. And I love seeing live music, preferably at one of the smaller, less well-known clubs in the city.”

“I’ve heard,” Grace said, thinking of the photos she’d found of Owen at any number of clubs both well-known and not.

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow. “Have you been checking up on me? I’m flattered, but you could have just asked. I’ll tell you whatever you like.”

Now she felt embarrassed and a little foolish. Not that she’d done the checking up—that was just good business—but that she’d let down her guard enough to admit it. She changed the subject. “What kind of food were you thinking for the party? Will it be a cocktail reception or a full dinner?”

Again, Owen eyed her closely, seeming to understand that he’d landed on something she’d prefer not to talk about. This time, he didn’t let her off the hook. “Have you been internet-stalking me?”

“No, of course not,” Grace lied without a blink. She didn’t like to lie, but she was good at it. A skill learned when she’d still been a teenager. A thirteen-year-old who only wanted to go to her friend’s house to watch Dawson’s Creek, since there was no TV at her house, so that she could be part of the conversation about who was cuter, Pacey or Dawson, that invariably sprung up at school. She hadn’t had a computer or internet access, either, and the only way she got to listen to music that wasn’t performed by a family member was on an old Walkman one of her friends had given her when that friend had gotten a fancy new Discman for her birthday.

Grace had loved that Walkman. She didn’t care that it wasn’t the latest in technology and that the only tapes she had were those donated by the same friend and her parents, and mainly consisted of ’80s hair bands. It provided an audio oasis. A way for her to shut out the rest of her world and indulge in something normal, in a life closer to the ones she saw on TV at her friends’ houses.

“Oh, re-e-ally?” Owen drew the second word out, clearly finding her lying skills lacking.

She met his gaze head-on. “Do you really think I have nothing better to do than plunk your name into a search engine and see how many hits there are?” Answer: about one million in 0.31 seconds.

“I don’t want to sound like I’m bragging.” His dark eyes twinkled with laughter. “But yes, that’s exactly what I think. Did you like what you found?”

Grace exhaled and sipped her coffee, choosing not to answer. The man certainly didn’t need the ego boost. “I thought this was supposed to be a business meeting.”

“It is, and it’s my business to find out if you’ve been researching me.”

“Why?” Grace put the china cup down on the saucer with a click. “Why would it matter?” Who cared if she’d looked him up or not? It had nothing to do with her ability to plan an engagement party, nor did it answer the questions of what kinds of things should be included.

“Because then I’ll know if you’re likely to agree to go out with me or not.”

Grace shook her head. “We’ve been over this. My answer hasn’t changed.”

Owen tilted his head to the side. His hair was a little long and fell across his forehead. “And yet here you are with me now. On a pseudo date.”

“This is a business meeting.”

“With coffee and food and conversations about our families. I don’t know. Seems kind of date-like to me, don’t you think?”

“No.” Grace adjusted her napkin on her lap, though it hadn’t shifted since she’d first put it there. But she was lying again. Here at a beautiful restaurant with the hushed conversation of other couples around them and the gorgeous view of the water, it did feel like a date.

“I like you,” Owen said.

“You don’t know me.” And she wasn’t going out of her way to change that. Owen Ford was dangerous. Dangerous to her life both professionally and personally.

“I’d like to get to know you.”

Grace ignored the flash of heat under her skin. She wasn’t here to be cajoled and flattered. Not even by a man who made her teeth sweat. “I’d like to talk about the party.”

“We can do both.” Owen leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. Grace hated that she noticed the muscles in them. Probably from swinging a golf club. “You answer a question about yourself and then I’ll answer a question about the party.”

“No, that’s not how this is going to go.” She was sure this had worked for him before. Probably many times in the past, but she was no starry-eyed twenty-year-old awed by his charm and banter. She was almost thirty and she had a job to do. “We’ll discuss your ideas for the party while we enjoy a nice meal and then I’ll return to my office and draw up some plans, which I’ll send to you for review.”

“That doesn’t sound nearly as much fun.”

He was right, but to Grace, it sounded infinitely safer.