Ties That Bind (2 page)

“How long have they been engaged?” Kate
couldn’t quite shake her irritation.

“Two years,” Liz answered that one. “Jack
can’t help, not with the launch coming. I’d offer to help, but I’m
trying not to panic over my own wedding. That reminds me, is anyone
interested in assembling invitations?”

“When are you picking them up from the
printer?” Jessica leaned forward excitedly.

“Two weeks.”

“Count me in.”

“Sure, sounds fun…. How old is she?” Kate’s
frown deepened. Jack had to be 50. This pretty blonde was
definitely not 50.

“Thirty-five, I think.”

“I thought she was thirty-six,” Liz shook her
head.

“Isn’t that a little young for him?” Kate
shifted uncomfortably. That was only four years her senior.

“They are so in love, I’d forgotten the age
difference, honestly,” Jessica shrugged.

“Huh,” Kate practically snorted, earning her
surprised glances from her officemates.

“Kate,” Jack barked her name and she jumped
guiltily.

“Yes sir?” She hopped up and headed to his
office.

“Don’t call me sir,” his face softened to a
smile as he gestured for her to have a seat. “This is my fiancée,
Tara.”

“Pleased to meet you,” the lie nearly burned
her lips.

“I’ve heard so much about you, I’m sorry
we’re meeting with me in such a foul mood,” Tara clasped Kate’s
hand warmly.

“No worries,” Kate shrugged
self-consciously.

“Kate, I know I’ve really put you in a bind
with the launch party being so close,” Jack began, to which Kate
waved him off dismissively. “But I was wondering if I could ask a
favor of you.”

“A favor?” Her throat went dry. Surely he
wouldn’t.

“Do you think you could help Tara wrap up our
wedding plans? It seems our planner has taken a job in Paris.”

He would. He did. Panic clawed at Kate. She
couldn’t possibly. Thoughts of her mom, living and dying with no
one but Kate to care swirled through her mind. Why hadn’t Danielle
Yager deserved a wedding at the Ritz? She couldn’t possibly plan
this viper’s perfect day. There would be no justice in the
world.

“Kate?” Jack’s brow furrowed just a bit,
confused by her hesitation.

“I’d love to,” Kate lied yet again, realizing
this man’s charm could very well be the reason for her own
existence.

Somehow Kate had managed to leave the office
without being struck down by a lightning bolt for the lies she’d
told. Somehow she’d answered the curiosity that met her in her
office. She’d even managed to lighten her mood once she’d escaped
the office to search for open venues with Jessica and Liz.

Their first stop was the Julia Morgan
Ballroom in the Financial District. Kate had instantly fallen in
love with the dark, old-San Francisco cigar club feel. Being on the
fifteenth floor of the Merchant Exchange building meant it had an
amazing view. Its perfection also meant it was booked solid for
months. Kate used her shiny new company credit card to put a
deposit on it for the Christmas party she was sure she’d be asked
to throw, and they headed out in search of other alternatives for
the event they were supposed to be booking.

They visited four more places that weren’t
quite right. Either the lighting was off, or the acoustics weren’t
great, or she just plain old didn’t like the manager. Jessica and
Liz kept up their enthusiasm and emphatically assured her that they
didn’t mind another stop. The last place on the list for the day
was the Bubble Lounge. Kate knew the second she crossed the
threshold that this place was what she wanted. With its lush red
couches and floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookshelves, it was the
perfect blend of sexy and chic. She knew Jack would love it.

“I don’t suppose you could take a peek at
your schedule to be sure you don’t have an opening?” She pleaded
with the event manager.

“We really do fill up quickly,” the woman
shrugged helplessly, her face displaying more sympathy than she
felt.

“But couldn’t you just check? Maybe there was
a cancellation.”

“I would know if there was a cancellation…”
the woman hesitated.

“Come on, Leila, please?” Kate wheedled. She
really didn’t want to take no for an answer.

“Huh. I don’t believe it,” Leila nearly
stuttered. “We do have a cancellation. The company went belly-up. I
have an opening that Monday.”

“We’ll take it,” Liz and Jessica chimed in
with her. Kate wasn’t sure if they liked the venue as much as she
did or if they were just tired of looking. Either way, they
wandered off to order themselves a glass of sparkling wine while
Kate filled out paperwork and put another deposit on the credit
card. She was pretty pleased, if she did say so herself. Two venues
in one day—not half bad. She was too antsy to have a glass of wine
with them just yet; she wanted to tell Jack about her
accomplishments.

With the workday over, her companions would
be heading home from the Bubble Lounge. Of course, they both had
lives to go home to. Kate tried not to feel sorry for herself, but
the feeling still hovered for the briefest of moments. She decided
to head back to the office alone once they parted ways. Maybe she’d
catch Jack before he went home for the evening.

The sleek white space was empty when she let
herself in, though. Even Jen had cleared out for the day. With a
sigh, Kate went to drop the paperwork off at her desk. There was an
accordion file sitting in her chair. Apparently the previous
wedding planner had at least been nice enough to leave his files
and she’d inherited them.

“Great. Just great,” she blew her bangs out
of her eyes and snatched the offensive brown package off the
chair.

Back in her loft, she tried sorting through
the meticulous files while waiting for her microwave meal to finish
cooking but couldn’t seem to concentrate. A few bites into the
tasteless chicken and vegetables, she tossed it in the trash and
went to take a hot bath.

She tried sinking into the bubbles to relax
after shaving her legs. It took her about fifteen ticks of the
clock to realize she was bored. With a little sigh of frustration,
she wrapped herself in her favorite robe and went back to the files
but the clock and its incessant ticking followed her.

Irritated, she went to stand at her window,
looking down at the street below. Even though it was Tuesday, the
night still pulsated with music and lights. San Francisco
apparently didn’t have the same rules about going to bed early on a
work night that the rest of the country did. She toyed with the
idea of dressing up and going out. The longer she watched people
coming and going, seeming so happy and… alive, the more she wanted
to be down there with them.

Temptation won out. With the decision made,
she scurried back to her room to get ready as if afraid the party
would end before she could get there. She found some slimming black
slacks somewhere in the back of her closet. They were remnants from
the days when her size eight was closer to a six. She added a
clingy black knit top with a scoop neck that she normally would
have supplemented with a tank top underneath. With the philosophy
that it was better to feel like a tigress than a fool propelling
her forward, she didn’t allow herself to think too hard as she
hurried through her makeup routine.

She practically skipped down the four flights
of stairs, the gravitational pull of the music growing stronger as
she stepped out of the rehabbed warehouse and onto the street. It
was obvious the crowd was a little younger than she, but Kate
didn’t care tonight. She just wanted to lose herself. The bouncer
smiled and nodded her in. She flashed a smile back at him, the
vibrations from the music seeping up from the soles of her feet and
overriding all sense of caution.

Once inside she paused briefly, wondering
what to do. She didn’t want to dance alone and didn’t want to stand
at the bar like a loser. That’s when she realized this was an art
gallery and she was saved. She ordered a martini and contented
herself to amble along the walls, peering at the familiar
photographs. Although some of the pictures were new to her, the
style was definitely Gavin Nichols. She could see why Jack was so
taken with his work.

She felt the weight of someone’s stare and
self consciously peeked over her shoulder, startled to confirm
there was indeed a man watching her from the far side of the room.
He was surrounded by a crowd, mostly female, and his face was
tilted down and to the side as if he was listening to the woman at
his left. But his eyes were definitely on Kate.

Why? Everything in the room seemed to slow
down under the heat of his gaze – everything except her heart rate.
It was thundering like a runaway train. A blush flooded her cheeks
when his lips twitched into a smile and she turned quickly to study
the next group of photos.

She took a long sip of her drink to cool her
cheeks. She tried to focus on the art, but her mind’s eye kept
conjuring the image of messy brown hair and dark eyes. She wondered
just what color those eyes were.

“Do you like them?” A husky voice asked close
to her ear.

“Very much,” Kate murmured, turning slightly
towards the man who had materialized at her side. She looked up and
thought fleetingly – his eyes are gray.

“Are you a fan of Gavin Nichols? I don’t
think I’ve seen you at any of his other shows.”

“Oh Gavin and I go way back,” Kate joked
flippantly, taking another drink in hopes of calming her nerves.
The man’s eyebrows shot up in question and the corner of his mouth
pulled into a slow smile but he said nothing. “What about you?”
Kate couldn’t for the life of her think of something better to
say.

“I never miss a show,” he grinned in earnest
then. “Which is your favorite?”

“It’s hard to say,” she bit her bottom lip in
thought. “The intensity of the color on that one is almost painful,
in a good kind of way. But the sepia tones in the picture of the
homeless man make it quite beautiful. And the black and whites of
the shoreline make the rocky crags so much more dramatic. I have a
hard time choosing a favorite.”

“Interesting,” he seemed thoughtful. “I like
how you put that.”

“Thank you,” Kate felt her cheeks heat up
again. Maybe it was the British accent. Maybe it was because his
nearness invaded her every sense. She could feel the warmth of his
breath when he spoke; it caressed her neck and made her heart trip
a funny beat. He smelled amazing, too; she had to resist the urge
to reach out and touch him.

“You’re not from here,” he stated. “What
brings you to San Francisco?”

“Work.” It was partially true.

“Ah, work. And where do you work?”

“The San Franciscan,” she answered, as she
waved to the waiter to bring her another drink.

“Really? That’s interesting.”

“Is it? I just started this week so I really
don’t know that much about it yet.” She shrugged and paid the
waiter for the martini.

“Thirsty?” He eyed the empty glass she handed
the waiter.

“It’s awfully warm in here… I’m sorry. I
should have asked if you wanted something.”

“Shouldn’t I be offering to get you the
drink?”

“I don’t know, should you?” She paused
thoughtfully. “You’re not from around here, either.”

“What gave it away?” He arched an eyebrow in
mock-surprise.

“What brings you to San Francisco?”

“Work.”

She meant to ask him where he worked, but
he’d said the word so close to her ear it sent a new wave of sparks
skittering through her nervous system. Instead something along the
lines of “Mmm” was all that found its way to her lips. She took
another long drink, wondering off-handedly when was the last time
she’d consumed this much alcohol this quickly.

“Is this your first time in San Francisco?”
He asked politely.

“Yes.”

“And what do you think so far?”

“It’s fascinating.”

“Truly,” his eyes met hers and the thought
crossed her mind that there was another layer to his answer.

“More fascinating every minute,” she took
another drink.

“Have you seen the upstairs gallery yet?”

“There’s more?”

“Come on. I want to get your take on the
Urban Art series,” without thinking, he placed his hand on the
small of her back, guiding her through the crowd. It was hard to
concentrate on much with the heat radiating from the small of her
back. She was fairly certain she made coherent conversation as they
navigated the winding stairs.

Even after they reached the gallery, both
seemed reluctant to break contact so he held her fingers loosely in
his. The conversation flowed freely between them; Kate likened it
to being on a raft being pulled deeper out to sea. It was too
effortless and enjoyable for her to muster the ability to worry
about how quickly it was happening.

Kate wasn’t sure how much time slipped by as
they debated the merits and downfalls of each portrait in the upper
gallery. She was particularly drawn to the artist’s unusual take on
graffiti, capturing images of others’ art and playing that off the
beauty of nature in the same shot. It made for an interesting
contrast.

“This one feels a little pompous,” she
motioned to a cityscape that stood in stark contrast to the rest of
the work.

“Pompous? How so?”

“Maybe that’s not the right word. It seems
like he’s trying too hard.”

“Really?”

“It’s the sellout shot. Good for postcards
but not for art. But then, I’m not an artist,” she shrugged,
feeling a little self conscious at her sudden outburst of opinion.
“I guess it just doesn’t fit with the other pieces. I wonder what
he was thinking when he shot it.”

“One does have to wonder,” the man eyed the
piece as if seeing it for the first time before turning to Kate
again. “Want a drink?”