Gretchen turned a corner, all but running toward the parking lot and escape. Her face was red and she was clutching a short length of fabric in one hand. When she saw Jaclyn she skidded to a stop, her jaw clenching for a moment before she let loose.

“She could pay me a million dollars, and I wouldn’t remake her bridesmaids’ dresses. No amount of money is worth putting up with that bitch.” Gretchen was short and plump, fiftyish and attractive, bottle blond and always nicely dressed. She was also normally easygoing and smiling, but not today. “The bridesmaids can be naked, for all I care.”

Well, that was fairly definitive. Jaclyn took a deep breath. “What did she say?”

Gretchen blinked back tears. “Among other things, she said the quality of the work on the dresses is subpar, and I’m lucky she hasn’t fired me. Because my work is so shoddy, she can’t see why I won’t make the new gowns in the next two weeks, because I can’t possibly be that busy, not with so many competent seamstresses in the area.” Gretchen’s chin trembled, then she quickly firmed it. “She said she’d blackball me, that I’d never work on an important wedding again if I didn’t do exactly as she ordered.”

Jaclyn placed a calming hand on Gretchen’s arm and said in a low voice. “You know better than that. Don’t let her intimidate you. No one in her right mind will take a word she says seriously.”

“I hope you’re right.” Gretchen gained control of herself. “We’ll find out soon. No matter what, I’m out. Life’s too short to deal with people like her.”

Jaclyn had to agree, but she was going to do her best to hang in there. The groom’s family was a prominent one; his mother came from an old Georgia family with money up the wazoo, and his father was in state politics. If she could get through the next month, she’d be golden.

Still, if Carrie ever attempted to hire Premier to plan an event again, they would be much too busy. Even if they were destitute and twiddling their thumbs, they’d be too busy.

She found Carrie sitting in the main reception hall, claiming a chair near the single table that was set up for her meetings. The rest of the large room was empty, cavernous and open. The stage at the far end of the room was dark, deserted. The hardwood floor had recently been cleaned and shined to a sparkle, but without the usual arrangement of chairs and tables, it looked a little sad. When everything was in place, the linen-covered tables and fragrant flower arrangements, the hot buffet and cakes, the flickering candlelight casting a magic spell while music flowed over the room, this became the perfect place for a wedding reception.

Right now it just looked empty, but for a crushed fabric sample that had been tossed to the floor, a few feet away from the bride-to-be.

“You’re late,” Carrie snapped without bothering to look at Jaclyn.

One more month …

“I’m five minutes early,” Jaclyn said calmly. “Did you change the time of the meeting with Gretchen and neglect to tell me?”

At that, Carrie flicked her hard gaze upward. “I strongly suggest that you steer your clients away from that unreasonable woman. In fact, I insist—”

Jaclyn placed her briefcase on the table. “I always recommend Gretchen highly, and I’ll continue to do so.”

“She’s incompetent. Her work is shoddy.”

“If I were you, I’d be very careful about making statements like that. She could sue you for damages, and despite your connections, she’d win. She’s made dresses for some very important women in this town, in this state, and every one of them could come out on her side. And let me warn you: she has a lot of close friends in the same business. It’s almost like a guild, and she’s very well respected, especially in the Southeast. If you ever expect to have a gown custom made again, I’d suggest you let this one go. The bridesmaids’ gowns have already been made, they’re lovely, and now it’s time to move on.”

Carrie’s jaw tightened and for a moment Jaclyn thought she’d jump up and physically attack her. Carrie really didn’t like not getting her way. Oh, the poor vendors who were still to come. If she could have warned them away, she would have, but this roller coaster was already going downhill; all she could do was hold on.


Chapter Six

CARRIE STARED STONE-FACED AT THE TABLE BEFORE HER, which was littered with the remnants of samples: cake samples, the remnants of shrimp and scallop kabobs, beef kabobs, lamb kabobs, meatball kabobs. Meatballs. As if she’d ever allow anything so low class at her wedding. They’d been good, as far as that went, but a meatball was still a meatball, no matter how fancy the spices or what kind of meat was used. It could have been an exotic blend of eel and emu, for all she cared; it would still have been a meatball.

“Forget the meatballs,” she said curtly. “I don’t know what you were thinking, bringing them. This isn’t some tacky middle-class wedding where half the women are wearing black hosiery with white shoes.”

“The meatballs are my most requested item,” replied the caterer, a thin, almost masculine-looking woman with short, iron gray hair and a stern face. “But they are the most expensive, because they’re so difficult to make; most people opt for the more economical choices.”

It was all Carrie could do to keep from slapping the bitch. Belatedly she sneaked a glance at the price sheet to make certain the woman wasn’t lying to her, and it was right there in black on heavy cream paper: the meatballs were a third again more expensive than even the shrimp and scallop kabobs. And now she was stuck with the cheap choices, because there was no way she could back down; the only thing she could do was go with something even more expensive, in total, than the meatballs would have been.

“I want three different kinds: the scallops, the lamb, and the beef. That way my guests will have a real choice.”

She wasn’t worried about the money, anyway; Sean’s family was footing most of the bill, because no way could her own parents afford this kind of splash. They were contributing, of course; she refused to let her future mother-in-law think she was a freeloader. For the moment, they were on good terms, and Carrie intended to keep it that way for the time being. Later … who knew?

The caterer didn’t comment on Carrie’s choices, merely made notes, which irritated Carrie even more because the least the woman—and she used the term loosely—could do was say something like Excellent choice. Maybe she should tell the wedding planner to find a different caterer, but, really, Jaclyn was turning difficult about doing as she was told and she’d probably say something about all the really good caterers being booked months in advance.

She wanted to have the wedding of the year; she wanted to have the wedding that every other upcoming bride talked about, enviously, when planning her own wedding. It was frustrating that no one seemed to share her vision of something both stylish and exotic, outlandishly expensive but tasteful enough that no one made fun of her choices, and it was also damned frustrating that so many people seemed determined to let other people shine on the one day when only she was supposed to shine.

Take the bridesmaids’ dresses. Yes, she’d deliberately chosen a style just tacky enough that none of them would come even close to being attractive when posing beside her, but not so tacky that any of them would rebel—well, except for that bitch Taite, but she’d thrown a tantrum because of something else entirely, completely unrelated to the wedding. She would be taken care of when the wedding was over and Carrie had more time; in fact, the first steps of Taite’s comeuppance had already been taken, and Carrie couldn’t be more pleased with the results.

She enjoyed the different reactions she got from people when they found out just what they were up against when dealing with her. Most people were spineless wimps; they simply folded when faced with her greater will, which was fine with her; they were less trouble to deal with. And they amused her, seeing how they got upset, how their feelings were hurt, how they’d scramble to keep from upsetting her again.

The truth was, Carrie was almost never upset, because that would mean she cared. And she didn’t, at least not in any emotional way. She cared about the image she projected, she cared that things were done the way she wanted them done. She wanted what she wanted, when she wanted it, but while her behavior might be over-the-top, inside she was cool and calculating, watching every reaction, judging the best way to get her way.

If Sean’s father won his election to the U.S. Senate, she was set for life. She had the money angle already taken care of, but an entrance to the D.C. social life was almost more than she could have hoped for. Once she was there, and entrenched, she might or might not keep Sean around, depending on the opportunities that came her way, but for right now he was just what she needed. And he was good-natured, which meant he was easy for her to manipulate.

Sean’s mother, Fayre (pronounced “Fair,” and wasn’t that as pretentious as all hell?) Maywell Johnston Dennison, used all four names just often enough to remind people that she was from the Johnston and Maywell families, before marrying Douglas Dennison and working to help his political star rise through local and state governments to now reach the national level. Mrs. Dennison was a calm woman, but Carrie didn’t underestimate her. She was the power behind the throne, the source of the money. Eventually Carrie would have to find a way to neutralize the woman, but for right now she was useful in other ways.

First, though, she had to get through all the annoyances this wedding was throwing at her. The table was too small for all the samples being presented; you’d think this place would be better prepared to accommodate her. The little table had gotten so crowded, she’d moved the wedding planner’s briefcase a while back, shoving it under the table. That briefcase wasn’t the only thing on the floor. Discarded ribbon and fabric samples had been dropped to the side, dismissed, unimportant. It wasn’t as if she was going to clean up the mess.