Sometimes she felt as if she was instructing a wayward, willful child in manners, but the gleam that was still in Carrie’s eyes was too calculating. She was so demanding because, all too often, she’d gotten away with it. Probably a lot of people finally gave up and took the loss rather than keep dealing with Carrie, which meant she’d learned to double-down whenever anyone called her on her behavior. Acting badly usually got her what she wanted.

Now she wrinkled her nose and sniffed, before waving away Jaclyn’s point, petulantly. “We’ll discuss it with the florist tomorrow. I’m sure he’ll be reasonable. At the moment, my main concern is fixing the problem with the bridesmaids’ dresses.”

Jaclyn took a deep breath. In. Out. She was not going to let this spoiled, nasty little twit get the best of her. “Why don’t we meet with the dressmaker tomorrow and discuss our options?” Maybe together, she and Gretchen could convince Carrie that it was much too late to make this change, that there simply wasn’t time to order the fabric and get the dresses made—not that reason and the bridezilla were well-acquainted. Jaclyn wasn’t sure they’d ever even met. In order to save Gretchen from another phone call, she said, “I’ll call this afternoon and make the arrangements.”

Carrie rolled her eyes. “Well, duh. That’s your job.”

Jaclyn had dealt with difficult brides in the past, but Carrie was a one-in-a-million pain in the ass. One of the advantages of being her own boss, however, was that she could decide when enough was enough. She very slowly stood, planted her hands on her desk, and said, “It’s also a job I can walk away from. I won’t take any abuse, and my assistant won’t take any abuse. Are we clear on that?”

Carrie gave her an affronted glare. “Abuse? I haven’t abused anyone. I simply want my wedding to be spectacular, and I don’t see why—”

“Instead of spectacular, it’s going to be a disaster if you don’t stop changing your mind,” Jaclyn said bluntly. “I’m saying this because it’s my job to make things run smoothly, which means pointing out when you’re about to go off a cliff. I’m not saying the floral designer absolutely won’t be able to change the flowers at this late date, I’m saying that doing so might cost you quite a bit more, and you should really find out from Gretchen if it’s physically possible to have new bridesmaids’ dresses made before you do anything about the flowers. You might also check with your bridesmaids, because no matter what color you’ve decided you prefer, one or more might drop out rather than pay for another dress they’ll never wear again. Now, if you want to pick up the expense for new dresses, I’m sure none of them would mind—”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Carrie snapped. “The bride doesn’t pay for the bridesmaids’ dresses.”

“Under certain circumstances, she most certainly does. Changing her mind at the last minute is one of those certain circumstances.” Maybe, Jaclyn thought optimistically, if she started playing hardball with Carrie, the young woman would either stop being such a pain in the ass or fire Premier. Jaclyn could heave a sigh of relief, and Carrie would set her sights on some other poor event planner who would let the promise of a big paycheck blind her to the true situation.

“I know my friends,” Carrie said. “None of them would be that petty.” She tossed her long blond hair, then reached into her handbag and pulled out the sample menu she’d already decided on for the reception—if she could only make up her mind about the kabobs. Beef or lamb. How freakin’ hard could it be? “And another thing …”

Jaclyn kept her expression calm, but as Carrie went on and on about what was acceptable and what wasn’t, she mentally checked out and made one very firm decision: before this day was over, she was going to need a good, stiff drink.


Chapter Two

DETECTIVE ERIC WILDER SAT AT THE BAR IN HIS FAVORITE watering hole, Sadie’s, which was his favorite because it was the closest to city hall and the police department, therefore the most convenient. For most of the other cops in the long, dim, narrow room, that was the main attraction for them, too.

Over time, business and clientele had adjusted to each other, so now Sadie’s made allowances for the cops, and the cops made allowances for “Sadie,” who happened to be the scrawny redneck bartender. “Sadie” obviously wasn’t his name—that was Will Aster—and whatever ambience he’d been trying to project by choosing a woman’s name for his bar had long since been swamped under a tide of uniforms, weaponry, and testosterone. Sure, some of the female cops came in, and sometimes one of the guys would bring in a wife or girlfriend, or civilians would wander in, but Sadie’s was now solidly a cop bar.

If Will had ever intended his bar to be more sophisticated, he’d long since given up on the effort. The drinks served were mainly beer and bourbon, and the food offerings didn’t have much variety but tended toward the hefty side. You could get a basket of fried chicken fingers and fries in Sadie’s, but you couldn’t get a salad; peanuts were available, but not popcorn. Occasionally, if Will was in the mood, there would be “Wing Night,” and nothing was served except hot wings. The limited menu was fine with Eric, because he didn’t come to Sadie’s to eat.

He liked the place, liked the way he could relax here. The atmosphere was almost cavelike, with dim lighting, dark redbrick walls, rough tile flooring, and a row of small black tables along the wall. An aisle about six feet wide separated the long bar from the tables, giving the two waitresses room to maneuver. A jukebox stood in one corner, and that was Sadie’s nod to the idea of entertainment. There wasn’t a dance floor, but if enough people were in the mood they’d shove the tables to the back of the bar and make themselves a space for gyrating. The bar was usually noisy with loud laughter and sick jokes, which was how cops unwound after a rough day. Whenever Eric stepped through that door, he could almost feel the tension begin to ease from his neck and shoulders. By the time he’d made it to the bar, Will would have pulled him a Bud and was ready to slide the foamy glass to him. You couldn’t beat service like that.

After a day spent testifying in court, he needed a beer before he headed home. There were few things that frustrated him as much as lawyers and the entire court system, even when the outcome was a good one. A bad outcome was when some slick legal eagle got a drug case dismissed because some unimportant i hadn’t been dotted, which pissed him off big-time, and he wasn’t above hoping that the druggie would then burgle the lawyer’s house looking for quick-sell items to support his habit. Today, though the cases had been relatively minor and justice had prevailed, he’d still had to spend too many hours hanging around just to give five minutes of testimony when he could have been out working cases. It was all part of the job, but it was the part he liked least.

He’d been there about fifteen minutes, long enough for the pleasure of not doing anything to begin seeping into his muscles, when the outside door opened, letting in street noise and warm humid air. All the cops in the bar automatically glanced over to check out the new arrival. It was reflex, an unconscious threat assessment: Was the new arrival friend or foe, cop or civilian? Eric did the same, and immediately recognized the newcomer. A warm jolt hit his midsection. No doubt about it: she was the woman he’d bumped into that morning in city hall, just outside one of the municipal courtrooms. She was still wearing the same stylish black suit, which meant her day had been as long as his.

He liked what he saw now just as much as he had in the hallway at city hall. Everything about her said “classy,” from the suit she wore to the way she pulled her thick black hair into a smooth, heavy knot at the back of her head. She had legs, capital L, holy-shit, wrap-them-around-me Legs: long, shapely, nicely muscled and toned. He could almost feel the interest level in the bar rising several notches as the guys looked her over. The women cops who came in almost always dressed down, suppressing their femininity not only so they’d fit in better with the guys but so they’d be taken more seriously by the disorderly element of citizenry they dealt with the most. This woman didn’t downplay anything. Neither was there anything gaudy or obvious about her, which made her even more attractive, because “class” and “Sadie’s” didn’t usually collide.

She paused briefly in the doorway, scanning the row of tables as if looking for someone, then she strode toward the back where there were two unoccupied tables close to the restrooms. The three-inch heels she wore meant she wouldn’t be able to run, but she sure as hell had a way of walking in them that made it almost impossible for him to look away from the sway of her hips. This morning in city hall when she’d walked away he’d had the same problem looking away from her ass, but then again, a sight like that was worth savoring.

She chose an empty table and sank into one of the chairs, positioned so that he had a view of her profile and her back was to most of the bar, which told him she either didn’t have the survivor instinct to watch the door or she didn’t want to make eye contact with anyone. When she was seated she visibly exhaled, rolling her shoulders and tilting her head from side to side to ease tense muscles, as if her purpose in being there jibed a hundred percent with that of most of the patrons.

From where he sat at the end of the bar, Eric could easily keep her in his field of vision without turning his head. She wasn’t paying attention to any of the other patrons, had chosen her seat so she actually couldn’t without turning around in her chair. She was probably waiting for someone else to arrive. He found himself surprisingly interested in who she might be meeting in a cop bar. Was she dating a cop? Or had she and a boyfriend simply arranged to meet here for convenience, then they’d move on to their dinner date, or whatever?