Читать книгу RSVP with Love - Sandra Kitt - Страница 10

“Hey, girl! It’s good to see you.”

Chloe was in midstride to shake hands with the gregarious petite young woman who greeted her but was never given the chance. Kyra Dixon ignored her outstretched hand and, instead, reached out her arms. She was expecting a hug that Chloe found herself obliged to give.

“Oh…okay. Hi,” Chloe managed awkwardly, as she hugged Kyra back and found herself engulfed in the whiff of floral perfume.

Kyra laughed. “You forgot the Hollington Hello? What’s this shaking hands stuff? I want some sugar, girl.”

Chloe tried to glance around the other guests having lunch in the faculty dining room and was relieved to see that no one was paying attention to this dramatic greeting. Not at all used to this from someone she hadn’t seen in ten years, Chloe nonetheless gave in and followed Kyra’s lead. Even as she would have withdrawn after they touched cheek to cheek and air-kissed, Chloe found Kyra’s hello more suited to a favorite girlfriend or a beloved relative. They had not really been friends as undergraduates and certainly hadn’t moved in the same circles.

With a gentle push Kyra directed Chloe to the empty chair opposite her at the large square table. Chloe settled herself in the comfortable high-back chair and, in the thirty seconds it took Kyra to take her own seat again, she closely observed the other woman.

Kyra was dressed in an eye-catching broad floral-print black-and-red silk blouse, worn with a black skirt. She wore black two-inch heels, probably in the hope that they would add height to her petite frame. She managed to look professional, feminine and cheerful. Her hair was worn straight to chin level and was parted off center so that it curved gently to frame her pretty face. As if on cue Kyra was making her own observations of Chloe.

“Your hair used to be short.”

Chloe sat back and spread her napkin over her lap.

“Actually, I wore it mostly cornrowed. It was easier to take care of and cost less than going to the beauty parlor every two weeks. I stopped wearing the cornrows when I got my first job. I wanted to look—”

“More mainstream.” Kyra nodded, knowingly. She eyed Chloe thoughtfully. “Is it all yours or a weave?”

“Mine,” Chloe said with a small, satisfied smile. “Every strand.”

“I know what you’re thinking.” Kyra sighed, settling back in her chair that seemed to swallow her small frame. She crossed her legs. “We’re still putting ourselves through hoops to be taken seriously in business. I can tell you I would not be PR director if I appeared Afrocentric. Hollington has a different message to send out about its students.”

“So did I. For myself,” Chloe said.

“I hear you. So…when I was told that the Alumni Association had asked you to organize the homecoming this fall, I said Chloe who?” Kyra remarked, chuckling at her own humor. “It took a while before I could recall you. Then I remembered you and I were tortured together in that African dance class with that professor who was eighty if she was a day!”

Kyra broke out in a merry giggle, making it impossible for Chloe to take offense. To her Kyra’s observation was proof that she’d done a good job of staying under the radar as an undergraduate. Chloe knew she had good reasons to be cautious, but Kyra didn’t need to know what they were.

Anyway, she remembered Kyra from the aforementioned dance class but only because Kyra had been terrible at the ritual movements that called for a looseness of limbs and gyration of hips and butt. Instead, Kyra treated the class lightly, becoming the loveable uncoordinated participant who broke into laughter at her own mistakes and was accused of not having any natural rhythm. Crossing her legs and straightening the hem of her summer linen dress, Chloe also recalled that at first she’d thought Kyra was silly. But she’d come to admire that, rather than take a two-point elective class too seriously, Kyra had set about simply having fun and probably enjoying herself more than anyone. And she passed the class.

“It was either that dance class or the history of textiles,” Chloe contributed to the memory.

“Right!” Kyra nodded, rolling her eyes. “I figured with the dancing maybe I’d get into my African roots. Forget that!” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand, giggling again.

Having been presented with the single-paged menu for the day, both Chloe and Kyra selected the grilled salmon with julienne carrots and saffron rice.

Chloe’s assumption of a straightforward business meeting with Kyra had to be revisited as her former Hollington College classmate proceeded to treat her like a long-lost friend, gossiping about other classmates, school scandals and changes in college policies.

“I was also surprised to hear from you,” Chloe said. “I didn’t know you’d been hired by Hollington. How long have you been here?”

Kyra sighed as their moment of levity faded away. “Six years. I was just another assistant before they made me PR director. Let me tell you, it feels so strange to be back here and not have to worry about term papers and grades. As an administrator I have a whole ’nother perspective,” she said wryly. “Remember how much we held the faculty and staff with suspicion? They were all, ‘the other.’ Now I’m one of them.”

Chloe remembered no such thing—only how grateful she was to have been chosen to attend Hollington on a full scholarship. She hadn’t treated any of those four years lightly.

“That’s fine. You can see and appreciate both sides.”

“That’s true, but it’s an interesting balancing act. I totally empathize with the students, having survived myself as one here at Hollington. But I also understand the responsibility from the college point of view. And there are other memories.” Kyra shrugged.

Chloe watched Kyra, the girlish giggling replaced by an articulate but animated and attractive young woman.

“So, what is it you do, exactly?”

“I advocate for the college. I look for ways, and people, to keep up our reputation and profile as a contender in the higher academic community, especially for African-American students. I work to get us good press and try to find high schools with the caliber of student who’d be a good fit for Hollington.”

Their lunch was served, and both women busied themselves with enjoying it. Finally, after more light conversation and as they were finishing, Kyra sat back in her chair. Her expression became thoughtful, her voice quiet.

“Remember Terrence Franklin?”

Chloe considered a moment. “I think so. Hot athlete, right? Very popular. I think he’s a pro football player.”

“Was,” Kyra corrected. “He got cut after his last serious injury. Messed up his knee. The boy is out of the game,” she ended flippantly.

“Oh,” Chloe said. She wasn’t a football fan, herself.

“Anyway, Hollington would like to have him come back to the college. We want to offer Terrence the position of head coach or even athletic director. It’s my job to try and sign him up. It’s not going to be easy,” she said, frowning slightly.

“Why not?”

“Oh…lots of reasons. Money and title and benefits. Let’s face it. Being a coach at a college is a huge step down from being watched by zillions of fans on Monday Night Football. Terrence and I…we have a history.”

“Oh,” Chloe said again. She didn’t know anything about that, either.

“Yeah…” She paused. “We were engaged when we were students. So, it could get complicated.”

“Maybe not. Who knows? Terrence may be looking for something stable and comfortable now that his pro career is over.”

Kyra quickly revived herself and smiled brightly. “Not your problem. And that’s not why I wanted to meet with you today. I wanted to talk about the homecoming. You do realize it’s also the tenth anniversary of our graduation in 1999?”

“Yes, I know,” Chloe said, absently watching their plates being removed. She declined the dessert menu. “That’s one of the reasons why I agreed to take it on. You know, I own and manage an event planning business. I’ve been thinking a lot about October.”

“Well, I hope you haven’t just been thinking about it. It’s already July, and homecoming is on the calendar for the second weekend of October. That’s three months.”

Chloe smiled confidently. “I’m on it. The weekend schedule is pretty much set. The invitations went out in June.”

“I saw it. Fabulous! You used the school colors very well. The invitation looked classy but fun. I like that the Hollington Lion mascot is silhouetted on the front, with a crown tilted at an angle on his head. He looks large and in charge.” She laughed and said, “The varsity guys will appreciate that.”

“We’re already starting to get registration RSVPs. I think it’s up to about two hundred.”

“Good. Now, what do you have in mind for Friday night?”

“Well, I thought there should be a private cocktail party for the elite alumni who are big contributors to the college. You know…the president can tell them how important and wonderful they are. I’ve invited the trustees.”

“Make sure you have Lucius Gray on the list. He’s an alumni and a very successful attorney in Atlanta. Also Beverly Clark. Her mother and a cousin graduated Hollington.”

“I’m glad you mentioned Beverly. You know she was homecoming queen in 1998, the fall before we graduated, and I want her to ride in the parade float on Sunday again as homecoming queen. I’m having trouble reaching her. She hasn’t returned any of my e-mails or phone calls.”

Kyra pursed her lips. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll talk to Beverly. She and I were best friends in college. We were in the same sorority.” Kyra glanced briefly at her. “What sorority were you in?”

Chloe was not about to admit to the embarrassment and rejection she’d experienced when she hadn’t been asked to pledge by any of the sororities. With her limited resources, cheap clothes and troubled background, it was probably just as well. The less anyone knew about her the better.

“Oh, I didn’t bother,” Chloe said, trying to appear a little indifferent. “I didn’t have time. I worked several part-time jobs. I was on scholarship so I had to keep up good grades.” She chuckled lightly, to cover that encroaching reminder that she didn’t fit in and never really belonged.

“Oh, but you were valedictorian at graduation, right? So it all paid off.”

“Yes. It all paid off,” Chloe reflected quietly.

Kyra signed for their lunch, and they left the small elegantly appointed room and headed back to her office. It was in one of the newer administration buildings along the south side of the college quad. On their walk back Kyra pointed out to Chloe other changes to the campus. Chloe admitted that since graduating she’d only been back on campus a few times. Kyra talked about the new stadium and science building with state-of-the-art labs and equipment. There was also restoration taking place on one of the original buildings, designed in the style of Stanford White.

As Kyra accepted messages from her assistant and walked into her office, she went back to the subject of the first night of homecoming weekend.

“Okay, so I know about the Friday reception with President Morrow. What about everybody else that night?”

“A meet and greet in the library gallery followed by Night Owl chats. I’m setting up rooms for many of the special interest clubs or groups so people can easily find classmates who had similar interests. Like, one for the sports jocks, one for the humanities. You know, art and creative writing students, music majors. And one for gays and lesbians—”

“Whoa. I don’t know about that last one. Just acknowledging them didn’t fly with the trustees last year,” Kyra warned.

“Well, I’ll have to remind them and the president that a very well-known gay journalist who graduated from Hollington with top honors and has a flourishing career gives to the college. He’s going to be at the Friday night party. We can’t leave him out or make him invisible.” Kyra continued to look skeptical and raised her brows. “Don’t worry. It’ll happen,” Chloe said confidently.

“If you say so. Now,” Kyra said, getting comfortable in her desk chair, scooting closer to the desk and staring at Chloe with an almost-childlike excitement, “what about the big dance on Saturday after the game? Have you found a place for that yet?”

“I’m considering several—”

“Don’t need to. Book Bollito.”

Chloe felt an odd little flutter in her chest at the mention of one of the hottest clubs in Atlanta. Housed in what appeared to be an industrial box that was formerly a manufacturing warehouse, the club had opened to rave reviews just a few years earlier.

“I know you’ve been there. Everybody within a hundred miles of Atlanta has come in for dinner and dancing. It’s a huge club space, but you don’t get that feeling. There are five full floors and each floor has its own kind of decor and music. The concept is brilliant, but that’s Kevin for you. He always comes up with the big ideas. You have to talk with him and get him to agree to use Bollito for the Saturday night dance. It’s perfect.”

Chloe was glad that Kyra had so much to say about Kevin Stayton’s club in downtown Atlanta. It gave her enough time to gather her wits and come up with a response. Of course Bollito was a great choice of venues. She didn’t object to that. She was having an adolescentlike moment at the thought of dealing with Kevin. And it wasn’t like they’d known each other as students. But their few encounters together had been profound. Simple and as brief as the moments had been, Chloe realized that she had lived with the memories of those moments for ten years.

“Like I was about to say, it’s on the list—”

“No, no, no, no…” Kyra said repeatedly, shaking her head and dismissing Chloe’s explanations. “That was not a suggestion, Chloe. You have to book Bollito. Think about what it’s going to be like to have it listed on the program. Think about the press. Bollito is way hot right now. It’s impossible to book it for private functions, but Kevin is one of us. A ninety-niner!”

Chloe found herself laughing at Kyra’s enthusiasm and logic. The truth of the matter was, Bollito would be perfect. But Bollito was not the problem.

“If it makes you feel better, I’m working on a proposal to send to Kevin.”

“You need to talk to Kevin. I can’t imagine him saying no. He better not.” Kyra brightened suddenly. “You know what? I’m going to call him right now and set it up.”

Despite Kyra’s small size it was clear to Chloe that Hollington had chosen well in making her the director of PR. She had exactly what the job needed. Not taking no for an answer but with charm and good humor.

“Hi. This is Kyra Dixon. I’m PR director for Hollington College.”

Chloe stared down at her hands, feigning indifference but listening to every word of the one-way conversation.

“Is Kevin available?…Oh…Will he be back soon?…You’re not sure.”

Suddenly, Chloe reached over the desk and, to Kyra’s obvious surprise, took the phone out of her hand.

“Hi. I’m sorry to interrupt. I’m Chloe Jackson, president of RSVP. I’m an event planner here in Atlanta. Perhaps I should be asking about Mr. Stayton, although I appreciate Ms. Dixon making the call. I understand he’s not in, but I’m hoping he’ll spare me some time this afternoon. Tell him—” she glanced at Kyra “—tell Kevin that I have a business proposition for him. It’s about our homecoming weekend in October. We graduated from Hollington the same year…Yes, yes, that is kind of funny, isn’t it?”

Chloe looked at Kyra and found her rolling her eyes. She had to grin.

“I’m hoping that Kevin can see me this afternoon…Yes, I know how busy he is. The man practically supports the economy of Atlanta all by himself. But, this is important, and I know Kevin would want to be in on the discussions. Why don’t I come over in say…” She looked at her watch. “About an hour?…No, I won’t stay long. This is just a getting-back-in-touch meeting. Yes, I really appreciate your assistance.”

Sensing that the call was about to end, Kyra snatched back the phone.

“Now, don’t let Kevin yell at you because you messed with his schedule this afternoon.” She smiled and laughed into her phone. Winking at Chloe she gave her a thumbs-up.

“This is so kind of you. Ms. Jackson will be over within the hour. Bye.”

“Well, that wasn’t very businesslike,” Chloe mused. “I probably should have asked to stop by tomorrow, give myself more time to prepare.”

“Girl, you don’t need any more time. You need to get over to Kevin’s office, tell him we want to use his club for a party and send him a contract. And tell him if he’s going to be difficult he’ll have to deal with me!”

Chloe decided that however Kevin Stayton managed his multimillion-dollar enterprise, Stayton Investments, he certainly didn’t stand on ceremony. Upon arriving at Kevin’s office his assistant, Peg, didn’t hesitate to show her directly into his office and leave her on her own. Unasked, Peg had returned five minutes later with a bottle of chilled mineral water, a cut Baccarat crystal glass and a linen cocktail napkin on a glass tray. Chloe’s eyebrows had shot up in surprise and appreciation. The offering showed a lot of class.

Kevin’s offices turned out to be a full floor with several rooms and a comfortable, if small, reception area. It was above Flavor, the first restaurant he’d opened in Atlanta. It was the business that had put him on the map, built his customer base and garnered regional reviews. Chloe was surprised by how modest, but attractive, professional and efficient the office was. It wasn’t at all what she’d expected from someone with Kevin’s level of success.

Left alone Chloe remained standing, pacing and looking around. The office was comfortable with a good modern desk and chair. Against an adjacent wall was a leather love seat, a glass-and-chrome coffee table and two more side chairs to create a more informal area to receive guests. Just above the back of the love seat was a gallery of framed photographs, most taken of Kevin with, Chloe could see, entertainment royalty. She recognized Alicia Keys, Jesse Jackson, Adam Sandler, Scarlett Johansson, Jada Pinkett Smith and Will Smith.

The office was neat and orderly; “a place for everything, and everything in its place” went through her mind. There were contracts, delivery receipts and inventory lists on his desk. There was a window-ledge-high bookcase behind Kevin’s chair organized with business magazines. At the base, strangely out of place, was a pair of soft leather loafers. A number of fancy glass and silver awards sat on his desk. With irreverence two were being used as paperweights. That made Chloe grin, and she attempted to relax. But she was ever mindful of the last time she and Kevin Stayton had seen one another. Without conscious thought her fingers touched her lips and she briefly enjoyed a memory that held steadfast and refused to go away.

The door suddenly opened, making Chloe start, and a man stood in the doorway clearly surprised at her presence. It was Kevin Stayton, dressed in running shorts, a sleeveless athletic tank top, a bandanna tied around his forehead and perspiration wet and shiny on his handsome face.

Dressed as he was it was easy to see Kevin was in superb shape. He hadn’t let his body go to fat as often happened in post-college years. If anything Kevin was even more handsome than the image that had been stored ten years in her memory bank. She started to speak, but Kevin turned in the doorway and called out.

“Peg? I don’t recall a meeting this…”

“You didn’t have one planned,” Chloe said, having recaptured her poise and confidence. “I’m sorry if I caught you—”

“Undressed?” Kevin said with an unexpected show of humor.

“Unprepared. I understood you were expecting me.”

“You’re right. I probably forgot. Sorry for showing up hot and sweaty and in need of something cold to drink.”

Chloe blinked at him. He sounded more amused than annoyed by her appearance. And she reacted instinctively to his comment. She reached for the bottled water on the tray, opened it and held it out.

Kevin, whose gaze had barely left her face since he entered the room, glanced briefly at the water before accepting it. He took a swig that emptied half the contents. As Chloe watched, fascinated, the water rushed down his throat as was evident by his swallowing muscles. He let out a short satisfied sigh of repletion and ran his forearm along his chin to wipe the sweat away.

“Thanks.”

He turned in the open door to speak to someone waiting in the reception area—someone Chloe could not see.

“That’s it, CB. I’m cool. I’ll catch you later.”

Kevin turned back to Chloe, his gaze again openly studying her.

“I’m Chloe Jackson,” she announced, holding out her slender hand to him. It was a little disconcerting to have Kevin stare so blatantly at her. Immediately, however, she could tell her name meant nothing to him. He took the hand but rather than shake it, he simply held it.

“Hello, Chloe Jackson.”

“Kyra Dixon and I called earlier and spoke to your assistant who arranged for me to stop by. Kyra and I had lunch together. I assumed your assistant would have told you…I can see now this is not a good time.”

Kevin let her hand go, indicated a chair she was to sit in and closed his office door.

“I decided to go for a run. Not her fault I’m meeting you like this. Kind of funky.” He flapped his elbows up and down and grinned broadly.

“I’m not offended,” Chloe said carefully.

Kevin took his seat. He pulled off the sweat-soaked bandanna and tossed it on his desk.

“So what’s this about Kyra?”

Briefly, Chloe outlined the lunch meeting with Kyra, the discussion about homecoming and the tentative plans for each day of the weekend. All the time she was talking she wasn’t sure if Kevin was actually paying attention, and he continued to stare. But she’d found her balance and decided she wasn’t going to feel intimidated, or giddy, just because she was sitting opposite Kevin Stayton, once the object of her daydreams and affections.

“I’m planning a dance party on Saturday night of homecoming. I think it will be a great way to bring the weekend to an end, before everybody heads home on Sunday after service and brunch. So…”

“So Kyra sent you to persuade me to use one of my clubs.”

Suddenly Chloe didn’t like the slight derision she heard in Kevin’s voice, as if the idea was laughable.

“Not exactly,” she said clearly. “I’m in charge of the planning and arrangements for the weekend. In case you don’t remember it’s also the tenth anniversary for the class of ninety-nine.”

“I got the invitation,” he said and nodded.

“Kyra and I are on the same page about how to celebrate the occasion. I’m the one who will persuade you to let us book one of your clubs. Bollito, to be exact.”

Kevin arched a brow and a sardonic smile lifted a corner of his mouth. “You aim high.”

“Why not? You don’t get what you don’t ask for.”

“Or demand,” Kevin added, a glint in his eyes as he squared off with her.

“I never demand,” Chloe said calmly. “I don’t have to. I can give you not only sound business reasons why using Bollito for a homecoming party makes sense, but I can tell you why personally you’ll even enjoy it.”

Kevin sat back in his chair, lifted his sneaker-shod feet onto the edge of the desk and crossed them at the ankles. “I doubt that. The thought of over-aged former coeds let loose on my best club doesn’t work for me. But, you have my undivided attention. Go.”

Chloe arched a brow herself. It was actually something she’d taught herself to do, recognizing that the simple gesture implied everything from surprise, to skepticism, to contempt. At the moment Chloe used it to show Kevin that she was going to beat him at his own game. She knew how to negotiate a deal.

“To begin with, we’re expecting seven, maybe eight hundred graduates from our class, plus spouses and dates. Of course homecoming events will be open in general to all Hollington students, but the anniversary celebration on Saturday night is just for our class. I think it’s safe to say you were very popular on campus…” Again his eyebrows rose, although his expression remained otherwise impassive. “The party is an amazing opportunity to see folks you haven’t seen in ten years. It will be a big reunion.

“As to the business part. Really, Kevin, I think you know them better than I do. First of all I plan on charging an admission to the party. I’ll have a way built in to make sure that only those from the class of ninety-nine will attend. Second, your club serves alcohol. You get a bunch of overaged former coeds, as you call them, together who haven’t seen each other in years, it’s a chance to talk and spend money on liquor.”

Chloe had the satisfaction of seeing the interest grow in Kevin’s appraising gaze.

“You can throw in a selection of finger foods to serve butler-style. And nothing cheap. Provide the kind of foods we like. Make them delicious and well prepared and easy to manage with a drink in hand and the attendees will be raving long after the weekend. They’ll be talking not only about Bollito but what a great job Kevin Stayton did. Third, provide good music. You know we love to dance. Bollito has five dance floors. They’ll be put to good use. Give everyone a chance to shake their booty.”

He was smiling slightly now. With his elbows on his chair arms and his hands clasped together, he considered her over his knuckles.

“Fourth, we could set a time limit for the party, if you still want to open it to the public late in the evening. Maybe nine to midnight or eight to eleven. You decide.”

She stopped for a moment to let what she’d said sink in. Slowly, Kevin lifted his feet back to the floor. He turned his chair into the desk and leaned across the top to face her.

Chloe was taken with the maturity she now saw in Kevin’s face. During their last year at Hollington he’d been tall and thin but toned. He’d been smart and popular but never allowed his social life to take over his grades. He had a future planned, and he stayed on point. But Kevin was also known to be a serial dater, never without a girlfriend or two his entire four years of college. She counted it as astonishing that Kevin had once confused her for one of his girlfriends.

His face was a little bit long with a high forehead and a square chin. It had filled out just a bit, grown more expressive. His phase beard—just a dusting of facial hair—added an inordinate amount of masculine appeal to his brown skin, shadowy…and sexy.

Chloe remembered Kevin as being a fun-loving guy. He laughed easily and had been open, cocky and full of himself but not in an obnoxious way. Everybody liked Kevin Stayton. What was not to like?

But she could also detect that there was more caution now behind the direct gaze. It was assessing. Thoughtful. A kind of “show me” aura. Well, he was a highly successful businessman. Listening to all the facts before making a decision was part of his responsibility.

Kevin considered her for another few seconds before sitting back. He began to gently swivel his chair from side to side.

“Okay, I like the plan. There are a couple of things I want stipulated, but…”

“You’ll do it? We can use Bollito?”

He grinned. “I’m sure you didn’t come in here expecting me to say no.”

“Of course not,” she hastened to say. “But I did expect more of an argument.”

“I try not to argue about anything. Too exhausting and generally doesn’t accomplish much.”

She agreed, and nodded silently to show it.

“I’ll want a contract, of course.”

“Naturally.”

“But all in all I’m confident this can work out to everyone’s satisfaction.”

“And pleasure. I want this to be a fun evening for everyone. Memorable.”

“Hearing you talk sounds like it will be. Okay, let’s see if we can knock out the contract terms. Let me get Peg—”

“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Kevin, but I have to go.”

“Just like that? This shouldn’t take long. I’m willing to bet you’ve considered everything,” Kevin told her with a smile.

She smiled graciously. “I have other appointments.”

He pursed his lips and stood as well. “Busy lady. So when do I see you again?”

“At your convenience.”

“Dinner tonight.”

Chloe’s gaze targeted him abruptly. “What?”

“Dinner,” Kevin repeated, ignoring the surprised expression on her face. “At Bollito, if you like. I’ll show you around. You can see what you’re getting.”

“No. But thank you,” Chloe finally managed. “I do want to see the club but maybe another time. With dinner, if you insist.”

“It’s part of sealing the deal. How about breakfast tomorrow morning? Or lunch. Or dinner. That’s twenty-four hours. At some point you’ll have to stop and eat.”

Chloe moistened her lips and gave Kevin her best “let’s keep this business” look. He shrugged as if to say that he couldn’t be blamed for trying.

He gave in with a slight shrug. Bending over a desk calendar he ran his finger down a list of time slots for the next day. “I can see you at nine-thirty or eleven tomorrow morning.”

“Eleven. My office,” Chloe decided. She reached into her bag and took out a small silver case. Extracting a business card she handed it to Kevin.

Kevin was staring at her, hard and skeptical. “How did you get into the event planning business?”

Chloe smiled, not offended by his need to know. “I started out taking over the details of parties in my dorm. It spread beyond that to helping people I worked with. After graduation I spent almost five years in New York working for the wedding planner at the Plaza. What began as an internship turned into a career. I’m good at it,” she added. He arched a brow.

“Chloe Jackson,” Kevin murmured, almost to himself as he stood beside her at his office door. “The name does sound familiar. Class of 1999?”

“Yes.”

He narrowed his gaze on her. “Did we know each other?”

Chloe gave him what she hoped was a mysterious smile, one that didn’t give away any of what she was feeling or remembering.

“In a way,” she said, walking past him and out of the office.