The Wedding Planner

“She worries about you, sweetie. We all do.”

Meredith smiled at her employee. “That’s good, because that leaves me to worry about more important things. Speaking of which, we’d better get back to work. I’ve got to prepare myself for my meeting with Morgan tomorrow. I’m bearding the lion at ten.”

He arched a brow. “Hmm. Sounds interesting.”

“Interesting isn’t the word for it, Randall. Nauseating, aggravating, but definitely not interesting.”

ATTORNEY PETER WEBBER leaned back in his tufted, red-leather swivel chair and noted the unusually high color on Adam Morgan’s cheeks. As his lawyer for the past ten years, and best friend long before that, Peter was quite attuned to the man’s shifting and often foul moods. Adam was displeased or distracted about something, and he would no doubt let him know soon enough what it was that was bothering him.

“As you suggested, I hired the wedding planner. We’ll be meeting tomorrow morning to iron out the specifics of the upcoming wedding.”

“What’s he like?” Peter began making notes on a yellow legal pad. Adam was a stickler for recording even the most mundane details of every conversation.

“He is a she. Meredith Baxter from Best Laid Plans.”

“Cute.”

“She’s attractive enough, I guess.” Adam had always been intrigued by redheads. And she had the best-looking legs he’d seen in a very long time. Well-defined calves, shapely ankles. He adored the way her cheeks filled with color whenever she became embarrassed, which, judging by what he’d already observed, was often.

“I meant the name of her business.”

“Oh.”

Adam squirmed restlessly in his seat, and Peter swallowed his smile. He hadn’t seen the man this distracted in a while. “What does Miss Baxter think of your plan to wed?”

“From the peculiar way she was staring at me, my guess is she thinks I’m a first-class nut.”

“You are known for your eccentricities, Adam. The woman sounds astute. And did you litter her floor with sunflower seeds, as is your usual habit?”

Taking the handful of seed husks he was about to toss on the floor, Adam shoved them into his suit pocket and ignored the question. “Meredith Baxter is young and hopefully malleable. I don’t want someone who’s going to question my every decision. The most important thing is for me to gain permanent custody of Allison’s children. I don’t care if the whole world thinks I’m nuts. I’ll do whatever it takes, spend however much money is necessary, to adopt Andrew and Megan. I promised Allison I would.”

And Adam never went back on a promise. The attorney was living proof of that. At fourteen, Peter’s parents had been killed in a car accident, leaving the young man virtually penniless. The Webbers’ lavish lifestyle and opulent house on the hill had been a facade for a mountain of debt and unpaid bills.

Adam had convinced his father to take custody of Peter and see to his welfare and schooling. Allistair Morgan had never been a substitute father to Peter—he’d barely been a real one to Adam—but he had provided the monetary means for him to obtain a law degree. With the stipulation, of course, that upon passing the bar exam he would become the Morgans’ family attorney.

The Morgans had a slew of business lawyers and financial advisors, but the shrewd old man wanted someone he could trust implicitly, someone who would look out for his children’s interests after he was gone. That someone had been Peter, and it was a role he performed with dedication and devotion.

“I’m sure once Miss Baxter is apprised of the seriousness of your situation,” Peter said finally, “she will view you in a different light.”

Staring out the window, Adam watched the bustling traffic below. Thinking another light needed to be installed in the intersection, he made a mental note to suggest it at the next meeting of the Morgantown Planning Commission.

Frowning, he turned back to answer Peter’s question. “The woman’s a dreamer, a romantic. Besides, I don’t care if she approves of what I’m doing or not. I’m paying her to plan and perform, not to ponder and pontificate.”

The attorney’s interest was piqued. Adam was usually nonplussed about most things. “Perhaps I’ll stop by your house tomorrow morning and take a look at this wedding planner firsthand. She sounds intriguing.”

“Meredith Baxter is not your type, Webb. She’s a redhead, not a blonde.”

“A redhead!” Peter’s smile turned mischievous. “I’ve always been a sucker for redheads. They blush so charmingly, don’t you think?”

Adam didn’t know why, but for some reason Peter’s comment grated on him. “I don’t have time to discuss your taste in women. I’ve got more pressing problems at the moment.”

Adam’s mood had been foul and erratic of late, which worried Peter. The man hadn’t had a date in six months; his sister’s recent death had only complicated matters. Aside from business meetings and obligatory social engagements relating to the charities he funded, and that damned model train set he fiddled with, he didn’t have much of a life.

“Maybe your problems and your attitude would improve if you went out with a woman. How long’s it been since you’ve had sex? You live like a damn monk up there in that monastery you call a house. Engineer Adam must be running low on steam by now.”

The gray eyes flashed annoyance. Adam hated being teased about his passion for model trains. His father had tormented him most of his adult life about his hobby. And he sure as heck didn’t like being quizzed about his nonexistent sex life. “My sexual needs are not a topic of discussion, not even with you, Webb.” Adam lowered himself onto a nearby chair. “So let’s drop it. Maybe if you channeled your sexual desire into your work, you’d get more of it done.”

“Is that what you’re doing? Using your work and your business as a substitute? Because let me tell you, Adam, old buddy, that’s not going to work. One of these days when you’re least expecting it—boom! You’re going to explode like a damn volcano.”

Adam smiled condescendingly. “My, my, that is an interesting metaphor. It seems you and Miss Baxter have something in common. She likes to read torrid romance novels. I’m sure the eruption of a volcano has been used countless times to describe sexual climax in one or more of those lurid tales.”

“Sounds to me like you’re the one who should be reading them, Adam. You might learn something. And you might be able to experience love and romance vicariously through the pages of a book, since you’re not performing it for real.”

“You’re starting to sound like my mother, Peter, and that’s the deadliest of mistakes.”

Peter was wise enough to know when he’d pushed too far, and from the dangerous expression on his best friend’s face, that time had come. “How is Lilah? Still exploring the mysteries of India?”

Adam’s mother had left West Virginia shortly after her husband’s death six years ago to travel the continent. She had not seen fit to return, not even for her only daughter’s funeral, which was in keeping with Lilah Morgan’s personality. She’d always loved herself more than anyone else.

Bitter at the slight she had shown his sister, Adam had also been relieved. He had no desire to see his mother, who would likely muck up the adoption proceedings with her histrionics, at any rate.

“Yes, thank God! She’s still there. I just hope she stays away for the next three months, until we can get everything finalized.”

Peter hesitated before bringing up the next subject, which he knew would bring pain to his friend. But he also knew there was no getting around it. Adam wanted to be apprised of any and all developments concerning the murder of his sister. “There’s been no word on Curtis Tremayne. The district attorney’s office doesn’t have any new leads as to his whereabouts, and the private investigator we hired hasn’t turned up anything yet. It’s as if he’s fallen off the face of the earth.”

At the mention of his former brother-in-law, Adam’s eyes flashed quicksilver. He had warned Allison about marrying the handsome gold digger, but she’d fancied herself in love with Tremayne and hadn’t listened.

Now she was dead.

The bastard had strangled the sweet, lovely woman with his bare hands after beating her viciously beforehand. The sight of Allison’s battered body, when she was dying, had sickened Adam’s stomach and his mind. He would never forget what his sister had endured for the sake of love.

The only good that had come out of Allison’s relationship with Curtis Tremayne had been their daughter, Megan, and son, Andrew. Adam had promised Allison on her deathbed that he would keep the children from Tremayne and adopt them as his own.

“Hire more investigators. I want that guy found. It’s been three months since my sister’s murder, and we’ve had no justice, no closure. I want him to pay for what he’s done.”

Peter scribbled on his notepad. “I’ll get right on it. Anything else?”

“I want the media contacted about my plans to marry. You can coordinate your efforts with Miss Baxter. You’ve probably had more experience in dealing with the press than she has. Though she looks a damn sight better than you.”

The good-natured lawyer grinned. “You want national coverage—Good Morning America, the Today Show?”

Adam nodded. “I want the world to know that Adam Morgan is looking for a wife.”

“You’re going to make yourself a target for those who won’t agree with what you’re doing.”

The tall man shrugged. “It’s a small enough price to pay to honor my sister’s last request, don’t you think? And I’ve got you and Miss Baxter to run interference for me.” Adam finally smiled. “I think the woman is up for the challenge. How about you?”

Chapter Two