Always the Designer, Never the Bride (14 page)

The hotel lobby echoed with an unusual lack of traffic, and the guy behind the front desk greeted her in a somewhat hushed tone.

"I was in the bridal suite," she told him. "I think I was moved to another room during the wedding?"

"Ah, yes, Ms. Regan," he replied, and he handed her a card key. "You're on the second floor in two-ten."

"Thank you."

"I heard about the groom's appendix," he stated. "How's he doing?"

"Bad news travels," she remarked with the twitch of a smile. "He's recovering nicely."

"Very good." He nodded. "Russell Walker was in the lounge earlier, and—"

"No need," she said, turning away from the desk. "That says it all. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Ms. Regan."

The hum of the elevator seemed to accelerate Audrey's desire to close her eyes, and she tilted her head back against the glass. When the doors slipped open, she sighed, pushing herself forward.

Room 210 held all the charm of the bridal suite, on a much smaller scale of course. The tall queen-sized bed looked comfortable and inviting, and Audrey tossed the card key to the table and began shedding her clothes on her way toward it. In bra and panties, she yanked back the linens and dove in, tugging off one boot and tossing it at the chair before sliding her leg under the blanket. The second one came off, crashing against the leg of the chair at the same time that she flipped the switch and bathed the room in blessed darkness.

She moaned as she squirmed down into place and dropped her head into a cloud of pillows. "Longest day in history," she said out loud, and she punctuated it with a sigh as the distant tinkling of harp music lulled her to sleep.

In the next instant, or what seemed like it anyway, Audrey awoke to the clamor of Kat shaking her. The overhead light bore down on her like an interrogator's lamp, and she groaned as she pushed Kat away.

"Stop it! You're fired, okay? You don't work for me any more. Now, go bother a different person."

"Wake up, Audrey. You'll thank me tomorrow, I promise."

"I won't," she objected. "
I promise."

"Kim has been trying to reach you for an hour," she said, dragging her to an upright position. "She wants you to go downtown to some club where she is."

"What time is it?" Audrey whimpered.

"Almost two."

And with that, Audrey folded over and plopped face down into the pillow.

"She wants to talk about her wedding gown, Audrey."

She moaned. "Now?"

"Right now."

"I'm too tired to know for sure. Do I care?"

"I'm almost certain that you do."

Audrey groaned again. "Ah,
maaan."

"I know. But do you want to blow her off tonight and then kick yourself tomorrow?"

"It is tomorrow."

"I can turn off the light and go away." Kat offered, albeit insincerely.

"Okay."

"Really?"

Reluctantly: "No."

Twenty minutes later, Kat and Audrey raced through the lobby for the second time in less than twenty-four hours and pushed through the front doors. Russell revved the engine of an SUV and grinned at them.

"I feel like the getaway driver," he joked as Audrey climbed into the back seat. "Want we should knock over a convenience store on the way?"

"Don't even joke like that," Audrey warned him. "Whose car is this?"

"Russell borrowed it from the wedding planner," Kat said from the front passenger seat.

"Sherilyn?"

"She's a real cobber," he told them.

"Do you know where you're going?" Audrey asked, buckling her seatbelt.

"Oh, yeah," he assured her.

A moment later, Kat leaned over toward Russell. "Is that true?"

"Nah."

Audrey moaned as Kat plucked her cell phone from her bag and began pressing buttons. Another instant, and Kat spoke into the phone. "Find Opera Nightclub, Atlanta."

A computerized voice piped up. "Merge. Georgia four hundred. South."

Audrey knew, but she asked anyway. "Who is that?"

"It's Ramona," Kat replied. "My GPS."

"She has a name?"

"She never fails me. Always gets me where I'm going."

"She sounds right tasty," Russell threw in, and Audrey fell back against the seat and sighed.

"Really? You're evaluating the wiles of the GPS?"

Kat giggled, and Audrey imagined Russell had pulled some sort of face about her but felt too tired to care. Her eyes burned and she closed them, against better judgment. As anticipated, she drifted off. In what felt like the next minute, Kat called her name, and they all hopped out of Sherilyn the wedding planner's Ford Explorer.

Opera had all the noise and flair of a New York nightclub. Audrey felt the throbbing bass of the very loud music in the center of her chest as they bobbed through throngs of attractive, well-dressed people. She couldn't hear what Russell said to the large muscular man ahead of them, but the guy nudged them inside, and Audrey followed.

"She's in a private room," Kat mouthed back at her, and Audrey nodded as Kat gently grabbed her wrist and led her along behind Russell.

The thump of the bass kicked down a couple of notches once they reached the exclusive VIP area. They passed myriad groupings on their way past the opera boxes, and Audrey couldn't help naming them as she moved by.

Diddy and his crew.

Paris Hilton and her BFFs.

Charlie Sheen and the goddesses.

At the end of the row, surrounded by half a dozen people, sat Kim Renfroe. She flicked her long dark hair over her shoulder when she saw Audrey, and said something softly indecipherible to the woman to her left.

"Russell?" Kim cried when she saw him. "What are you doing here?"

"Hey, Kimmy," he said, scooting into the booth before the girl on the end had a chance to give him room.

"You know Audrey?" she asked, somewhat shrill.

The confused glances as she tried to put it together made Audrey feel oddly vindicated.

"Oh, yeah. When Kit-Kat told me they were coming over to see you, I had to throw myself in. Who're all your mates here?"

Audrey wanted to laugh out loud at the way Russell looked from one to the other, that big innocent grin on his handsome face, only partially masking the mischief in his eyes.

"Oh. Well." Kim looked around, then tilted her head slightly. "This is Maddie and Joe, Carrie Anne Russo. And this is Weston LaMont."

Audrey bristled. Had she heard that right?

"I'm sorry," she said, stepping up to the table. "Did you say Weston LaMont? The designer?"

"I did tell you I'd be meeting with him while I'm here." Kim flashed a very white smile that didn't quite reach her dark eyes. "Wes, this is Audrey Regan, her assistant Kat, and I guess you recognize Russell Walker."

LaMont's spiked black hair shimmered bluish as he tipped his head and grinned. "Audrey Regan," he repeated, and he tapped the leather seat next to him in the booth. "Come sit down."

"Well, actually, Kim asked me to come and meet with her—" She chuckled at the realization and added, "I'm not entirely sure why, now that I see you here too."

"Kimmy," Russell chided. "Are you playing a game of musical designers? Not too cool, hey?"

"Looks more like Designer Fight Club," LaMont cracked. "Is that it? You want to put us in the ring and see who's the last one standing?"

"
It is
my wedding dress, Wes," Kim replied in a strange form of baby talk. "I have to make sure it's perfection, don't I?"

"And you determine that by pitting them against each other at two in the morning?" Kat exclaimed.

"Kat," Audrey said softly.

"No!" And with that, Audrey's calm, level-headed assistant lost it. Her head, that is. "Are you kidding me with this? How many hoops do you want her to jump through for you, Kim? You told me on the phone—"

"Kat."

"—that you'd had a change of heart, that you wanted to talk it over with Audrey."

"Well, that's not entirely untrue," Kim defended. "But it took you so long to call me back that, while I was waiting, I called Wes. He was here at Opera, and so I hopped in a cab and—"

Audrey caught Russell's eye, and she locked in on him for a moment. "Are you going to drive me back to The Tanglewood?"

"You bet," he answered, and he hopped to his feet. "Let's bounce, Kit-Kat."

With one arm looped through Audrey's and the other through Kat's, Russell led them away from the table.

"Audrey, come on," Kim sang from behind them, and it set Audrey's teeth to grinding.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Regan, but your credit card was declined."

Audrey felt something heavy drop through her until it thudded at the bottom of her stomach. "Okay," she said, producing another one and sliding it toward him. "Try this one?"

He did, and the expression on his face ignited a churning, warbling panic within her.

"That one too?" she asked him, and the clerk nodded. "I . . . don't know how that's . . . possible. I . . ." Humiliated, she dropped her warm face. "All right. I . . . I'm . . . sorry."

"Sorry for what?"

Audrey spun around to find Emma standing behind her at the desk. She didn't have a clue what to say, and her heart began to race so fast that the hum of it filled her ears.

"Is there a problem here?" Emma asked.

The man behind the desk looked to Audrey for clarification.

"Carly asked me to stay a few more days, but—"

"Oh, right. Sherilyn mentioned a small party to cut the wedding cake since they missed out on their reception."

"Right."

"That's so great that you can stick around. I know it will mean the world to Carly."

"Well," Audrey began, and she looked away with a sigh. "I'm sort of short on funds these days, and . . . well . . ."

Emma looked at the man behind the desk, and he nodded at the credit card in his hand.

". . . I'm afraid I just don't have the funds available to do it."

"Ohh." Emma was silent for a moment before reaching over and squeezing Audrey's hand. "Listen, this is an unexpected expense. I get that. Don't worry about a thing. Roger, will you comp the rest of Ms. Regan's stay, please?"

He didn't even hesitate. "Of course," he replied, and he set Audrey's credit card on the glossy counter with a click.

"Emma, no, I can't ask you—"

"You didn't. I offered."

"But what about Jackson?"

"I have some pull with the owner of the hotel," she said with a grin. "It's not a problem."

Audrey heaved a ragged sigh. "Thank you. I'll repay it as soon as I can."

"You know what you can do to repay it, Audrey? Come somewhere with me and Sherilyn. Kat's coming. You join us too, okay?"

"Join you where?"

Emma smiled. "Just change into some comfy clothes— something you can move around in—and meet me here in the lobby in about half an hour. Are you in?"

How could she refuse? Audrey nodded.

"Oh, and Emma? Could we keep this between us?"

"Absolutely. I'll see you in a bit?"

"Yes."

After Emma had gone, Audrey returned her worthless credit cards to her wallet and thanked the clerk behind the desk. Wondering what Emma had in mind, she headed back upstairs to change clothes.

Less than an hour later: "Are you kidding me with this?"

"What do you mean?" Sherilyn asked. "I'm telling you, you'll feel so much better after a really strong workout."

"Have we met?" Audrey muttered.

"I know, I know. The first time Emma dragged me to her kickboxing class, I thought the same thing. But before you could say
Kick butt and take names!,
I was really into it."

Sherilyn, Emma, and Kat stood before a line of punching bags, feet apart, gloved hands raised, while Fee sat sprawled on a sofa angled into the corner of the room. Working on a ragged fingernail with a torn emery board, she paid little attention to them until Emma smacked her gloves together and exclaimed, "Fiona. A little punching music, if you please?"

Fee flicked the switch on the boom box propped beside the couch, and the room swelled with music she'd never heard before. The chorus seemed to repeat something again and again, and Audrey strained to make it out.

"Bryan Duncan?" Kat asked Emma. "I love him."

"Yep." Emma turned to Audrey and smiled. "The song is called 'Yes I Will.' And it restores the will to fight like nothing else can."

Kat laughed, but Audrey remained glazed by the scene before her.

Sherilyn tightened the gloves on Audrey's hands and smacked them with her own. "Just watch Emma and me," she told Audrey, and she nodded at Kat. "Dive in whenever you're ready."

Emma and Sherilyn raised their gloves. Sherilyn stretched her head down to one shoulder and then the other, and on the same note of music they stepped into a sort of practiced choreography.

Punch-jab-kick, punch-jab-kick.

By the second verse of the song, Kat stepped right into line and joined them, leaving Audrey standing on the edge of the activity like a lost cat. She glanced at Fee, who stared at her over the bridge of dark angular glasses.

"Dude," she said over the music. "You may as well just surrender to the wave. It's a twelve-footer."