A Convenient Arrangement (7 page)

Nope. She didn’t have the necessary cool exterior to take a dip in the fuck-buddy pool without breaking her heart and blowing her cover, at least not with this guy, not with Leo Travati.

“Maybe,” she said and straightened her spine, pretending once again that she was sophisticated and unmoved by the heat that raged between them. “But it’s a mistake I’m willing to make.” She ran her hand over her hair to tame the tiny wisps that had escaped her chignon during their lip lock. Then she turned, and walked out the door.

Before Gwen knew it, New Year’s Day had slid into the second week of the year. Aubrey had started having contractions on New Year’s Day, and her doctor had put her on bed rest to calm them, which had worked. However, Aubrey was not enjoying being stuck in one spot doing nothing. Gwen was stopping by nearly every day to make certain she didn’t lose her mind with boredom.

Usually January was Gwen’s slow time at work. Holiday parties were finally finished, people were recovering from endless rounds of champagne and hors d’oeuvres, and nobody was ready to cue up another round of festivities just yet. Not this year, though. Gwen was actually juggling six events. The biggest was Leo’s launch party at the end of March and the nearest was Aubrey’s baby shower the first week of March. Gwen’s late winter and early spring would be busy.

She was still searching for the perfect venue for Leo’s launch party. His creative partners, Ilko and Todd, had nixed the last three potential venues, and they were running out of time and options. She leaned over her kitchen table toward her computer as Mr. Mouse circled her legs. She clicked past location after location and sipped her coffee. Flannel pajama bottoms, hair in a sloppy bun, and glasses—it was good to be able to work from home. Her phone buzzed and she picked it up, frowning at the unfamiliar number.

“Gwen Fleming.”

“Gwen, darling, it’s been ages!”

Gwen furrowed her brow and took a moment to place the lilting voice.

“Mrs. Delmont?” Anita Delmont had been one of Gwen’s first clients. If not for her, Gwen might still be extolling the virtues of ugly bridesmaid dresses to picky brides. “So good to hear your voice! I just saw Bianca last week at the Travatis’ New Year’s Eve party.”

“I know, can you believe? How is it possible I have a daughter that old? Do tell me—no, don’t. Bianca is interning at
Vogue
right now and loving every second. She mentioned seeing you. And how are you, darling? You’re just the rage right now in your business, aren’t you? Completely in demand.”

Heat flamed through Gwen’s cheeks. She was in high demand right now. The years of working and pleasing all her clients were finally paying off.  “Thank you. I’m very lucky.”

“No luck about it, darling, you’re good at what you do. You’re professional and timely. I don’t think you realize how many of your peers are flakes, nearly impossible to deal with.”

She’d heard as much from her clients. Horror stories about party planners who promised the stars and the moon but delivered a tired cake and wilted flowers.

“So darling, I’ve called to request a favor, and please do understand that you can say no.”

Gwen tensed slightly, hearing a distinct emphasis on the word
no
and a change in Mrs. Delmont’s voice. “Okay.”

“Bianca unfortunately mentioned you in front of my goddaughter, Milan Vanderpelk, who
just
got engaged. Milan says that she simply
must
have you for her wedding planning. Says she’ll lay down and absolutely die if you’re booked.”

“Oh…” Gwen didn’t plan weddings professionally anymore. She was handling Shelly and Anthony’s, of course, but only because the wedding was small and the Travati family such close friends of hers. “Well,” Gwen ran her hand over her messy bun, “you know I’m not really doing weddings anymore.”

“Oh darling, fine, really, not another word—”

“But for you I will. I mean, this is your goddaughter.”

Mrs. Delmont sighed. “Darling, truly, you do not have to do this, Milan is quite a—”

“I’m certain she must be lovely.”

“Hmm…must be. Yes, well, if you’re absolutely sure. The wedding is in June—”

“That’s awfully soon.”

“Of next year,” Mrs. Delmont continued. “Milan is nothing if not thorough. The budget will be enormous and the guest list huge. An absolute who’s-who of east coast society.”

Gwen would have died for such a piece of business three years ago, but now? Wedding planning came with its own sort of challenges: controlling brides, panicked brides, indecisive brides…basically the primary hurdle was always the bride.

“Shall I call her? Will you send me her contact info?”

“Oh darling,” Mrs. Delmont cooed, “there’s no need. She’s right outside your building.”

Gwen’s stomach wobbled. She got up and pressed her nose to her kitchen window, peering down toward the sidewalk below. “What? How—”

“She’s been cyberstalking you for weeks, trying to figure out her best approach. I did mention that Milan is thorough, did I not?”

Gwen swallowed. “You did.”

“Great, my job is done. Good luck, my darling. I fear you’ll need it.”

Mrs. Delmont clicked off the line. My God, Gwen was wearing pajama bottoms with penguins in red scarves. The remnants of breakfast still littered the kitchen table. She hadn’t showered and hadn’t made her bed…she didn’t meet with clients at her place, ever. In fact, she’d recently been looking for a new office and hadn’t yet—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Was this happening? How was this really happening? Gwen scrambled toward the front door, wiping the back of her hand over her mouth and patting her hair. Deep breath. Well, this client was here, unannounced, and she could do this, she absolutely could. She straightened her spine and clutched the door knob for a moment before she pulled the door open.

In front of Gwen stood a blonde-haired near-skeleton in all her Chanel and Birkin glory.

“Gwen?” Milan asked with a lilt in her voice, as though they were long-lost sorority sisters.

“You must be Milan.” Gwen leaned forward and reached out her hand, and Milan, who was shockingly strong for a creature who couldn’t weigh more than a hundred pounds, yanked her in for a hug. God, please let her have gotten the entire splotch of oatmeal off her shirt. What kind of cleaning bill would it take to get an oatmeal stain out of a Chanel blouse?

Milan pulled back and placed a hand on each of Gwen’s shoulders. “Thank goodness you said yes. I don’t know what I would have done if you’d told Binky no.”

“Binky?”

“Oh, my godmother, Mrs. Delmont, silly! She loves the nickname really, I’ve called her that for years.” Milan sauntered past Gwen as though she owned the apartment. Her gaze traveled up and down the walls and the hall, toward the kitchen and into the tiny living room.

“So quaint,” she said, cocking her head to glance at the prints on the wall. She ran her hand over the sofa, dusting away any unseen crumbs, before she perched on the edge of the couch. Perhaps if Gwen wore Chanel suits, she’d do the same.

“So, I wanted to tell you there is absolutely no other planner I can trust. Mother isn’t here today, she’s still in Saint Barts, but she knows we’re meeting and she is absolutely on board. My wedding simply must be
the
wedding of the season. I have a file and a PowerPoint prepared that will give you an overall feel for the concept and look I’m after.”

“A PowerPoint?” Gwen’s eyes widened. Usually she was the one creating slides to try and capture the aesthetic for the bride. Yes, indeedy, Milan was thorough.

“I’ll email all the information as well as the budget. Daddy is being very generous, although I wish he’d loosen up a bit on the amount for the gown. I do believe six figures is the minimum for getting the right kind of dress.” Milan leaned forward and smiled. “I’ll simply have to keep working on him.”

Gwen nodded and reached out to take the file folder Milan had liberated from her Birkin. Yes, oh my, exceptionally thorough. Milan passed Gwen her cell phone so Gwen could type in her email address.

“Excellent.” Milan tossed her phone back into her bag. “Now, of course we’ll need to meet—” She took a short, quick breath and her eyes began to water. She pressed a finger beneath her nose. “Aaaa-choo! Excuse me. Weekly and—aaaaa-choo—and—aaa, aaa, aaa, aaa-choo! You don’t have a—”

Mr. Mouse jumped onto the couch beside Milan and placed a paw on her Chanel skirt.

“Cat!” Milan jumped to her feet. Mr. Mouse scrambled over the back of the couch and raced down the hall toward the bedroom. “A cat, oh no.” Milan slipped her hand into her bag and pulled out a compact mirror. “And I have lunch in an hour.” She tilted her head back and forth, examining her eyes. “Some of us dress for lunch,” Gwen thought she heard Milan mumble. “My eyes, my nose.” Fury lodged in Milan’s eyes, at odds with the smile she kept pasted on her face. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a cat?”

Why didn’t you tell me you were coming to my home?
Gwen wanted to volley back, but she didn’t. The party-planning business was also the people-pleasing business. Gwen didn’t say any of the snarky comments that flashed through her mind.

“I’m sorry.” Gwen stood. She grabbed a box of tissues from the end table and held them out to Milan.

“I have to…to…to…” Milan blinked rapidly as another sneeze built up. “Aaa-choo! Go! We’ll meet at my place next Monday at three. Mother will be back by then.” Without waiting for a response from Gwen, she darted down the hall with the tissue pressed to her nose. “My God, how many cats do you have? The entire place is infested.”

“Just the one,” Gwen said, trailing Milan to the front door. A quick wave and Milan fled without another word. Gwen would have to remember to give Mr. Mouse a treat. One thing was certain, he had gotten rid of Milan.

*

Leo’s call to Gwen went straight to voicemail on the second ring. His brow creased. Women didn’t decline his calls. Women jumped through hoops to answer his calls and meet him and see him and…well, the ladies were something Leo never had to put forth much effort to acquire. He couldn’t believe it had been twelve days since he’d spoken to Gwen, and he hadn’t heard from her yet.

The voice mailbox beep threw him. He didn’t leave messages on women’s voicemail because…well…he never had to. He could call morning, noon, and night and be pretty sure that the woman he was ringing, no matter the time or the day, would pick up.

“Uhhhh…” he stumbled. “This is…this is Leo.” He paused, unsure what to say. What did he want to say? Why was he calling…“Leo Travati,” he added, then smacked his palm to his forehead. He sounded like a thirteen-year-old boy with a crush. “So, I wanted to—” The phone beeped again and cut him off. A warm female voice told him if he was happy with his message, press 1. Happy? No, he was absolutely not happy with his message. He had hardly even left a message. He pressed the second option, to rerecord it. Again the beep. “Uhhhh.” Same great start. “This is Leo. Leo Travati.” He was a billionaire who successfully negotiated international deals, so why the hell couldn’t he leave Gwen Fleming a message? “I just wondered if you’d given any more thought to…uh…to what we’d talked about the other day, to my idea about…” Again with the beep. He was not leaving another message, not at all. He pressed the off button on his phone.

“Having trouble with voicemail?” Justin, his oldest brother, stood just inside the door to Leo’s office, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Who knows,” Leo grumbled. He turned back to his computer. “What’s up?”

“I wanted to check in with you on the Convenient Arrangement app. Launch is in a little over eight weeks. You’ve been steering the deal, working with Todd and Ilko. Is everything is on track?” Justin sat in the chair opposite Leo’s desk.

“Same as the run down at the meeting earlier this week. We’ve tested, we’ve finalized, we’re working on the promo and marketing for the launch.” Leo scrutinized Justin’s impassive expression. Something was off. His brother wasn’t here just about the app; he had something else on his mind.

“Great, great.” Justin leaned forward and steepled his fingertips. “I just got feelers for a couple of businesses looking for a buyer.”

“Where?”

Justin raised an eyebrow. “Russia.”

Leo leaned back in his chair. “Coincidence?”

Devon, their youngest brother, was preparing to turn state’s witness against a deadly Russian mobster who was the youngest brother to one of the biggest billionaires on the planet. Physical and business safety for Devon and possibly the entire Travati family was at risk. Now, with women and children and extended family to look out for, the Travatis were more vulnerable than they’d ever been.

“The businesses are almost too perfect, exactly what we’re looking to get into. One is durable goods and the other has contracts in China already on the books. It’s almost as if someone put companies on the market that perfectly matched our needs.”

“Then somebody did,” Leo said. “Things that seem too good to be true, usually are.”

“My thoughts exactly, but we need to do our due diligence. We have to suss them out, see if they’re real or just a Trojan horse to take us down.”

Business was suddenly getting personal. Much more personal than Leo wanted. Business was meant to be business, but with Devon about to put his life on the line so that he could walk away without being indicted and these two new businesses… “You usually go to Anthony with research.”

“Anthony’s got something new he’s dealing with.”

“New? What the hell? We haven’t had an acquisition since second quarter last year.”

“Not in business, dumbass, at home. His head won’t be in the game for at least a month or so. I need someone completely focused, not a newly engaged man who just had the love of his life move into his place.”

“So you admit that you two dumbasses lost your ever-loving minds when you fell in love?”

“I admit, now, with some time and perspective, that last summer I wasn’t in my best form where business was concerned, but I also know that me at 85 percent is better than 90 percent of our competition at 110 percent.”