The Cocktail Collection Read online

  I sat back in my seat, putting the cap on my pen.

  “And that’s exactly what you’ll get with Jillian Designs,” I finished. Hoping that no one noticed that I’d been struggling under the table to get back into my left shoe. I’d lost it somewhere between harkening back and nodding toward the future. When I was nervous, my feet tended to go pigeon-toed.

  The room was quiet.

  Camden looked at me for another moment, his eyes indecipherable.

  We all sat, waiting for him to say something. Finally, he sighed.

  My heart sank. And there went my right shoe.

  “Well, Max,” Jillian said, breaking the silence. “I’m sure you’ve got a lot to think about, so we’ll make sure you and your people have everything you need to—”

  “You can bring this project in on time, young lady?” he asked me directly as everyone on his side of the table had started to get up.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And you think you can get this done with the budget you’ve set out here?”

  “Yes, sir,” I answered, toes frozen in their quest for my shoe. Everyone else hovered in their half-standing poses.

  He smiled at me, then stood up . . .

  • • •

  “. . . and then he said, ‘Okay, you’ve got the job,’ and walked out! Just like that!” I squealed. “I got the job!”

  I was recounting the story to Simon, who had called me as soon as his plane landed in Cape Town. The biggest news of my professional career, and I had to share it with him over the phone. Ah, well.

  “That’s great! Oh, babe, that’s fantastic! Damn, I wish I was there to take you out to celebrate.”

  “I know, I wish you were here too. But you can kiss on me when you get back—we’ll celebrate then.”

  “I’ll for sure kiss on you, plus other things.”

  “Right now I’d settle for the kissing. Let me fantasize about the other things.” I sighed into the phone. I could hear him exhaling. That was his tell, right before things got out of hand . . .

  “Anyway, before things get out of hand—”

  “You mean before I take things in hand?” he replied in a husky tone.

  “Simon, control yourself. Pretty sure you’re still in the airport, aren’t you?” I asked, my face blushing when I thought of him walking through customs with a bone diddy.

  “You’re getting off on a technicality. So talk me down. You got the job, what’s next?” he asked, his voice taking on a businesslike tone. I could tell he was struggling to maintain, so I went easy on him.

  “What’s next is I won’t come back up for air until the wedding, then go right back into the thick of it. Seriously, I can’t even begin to tell you how busy I’m going to be. It’s a good thing this is your busy season, because I will be swamped for the foreseeable future. I’m interviewing final candidates for the new intern tomorrow, I’m simultaneously putting the final touches on several projects that I’d normally deal with one at a time—it’s insane.”

  “Insane good, though, right?” he asked, and I grinned broadly.

  “Insane good, yes. I’m so glad you understand what it’s like to be wrapped up in your work. You’re kind of the best, Wallbanger.”

  “I aim to please.”

  “You do please; often,” I whispered, my voice taking on a husky tone.

  “Getting ready to go through customs now, Caroline.”

  “Do you have any idea how much you please me, Simon? Over and over again. Just the thought of you almost makes me want to please myself,” I murmured, and heard him groan.

  “Business or pleasure, Mr. Parker?” I could hear an official-sounding voice say.

  “Pleasure, please,” I answered naughtily, and Simon hissed.

  “Hanging up on you now.” And he did just that.

  I fell back into the pillows, flushed and giggly. The things that Wallbanger made me do.

  • • •

  Text from Simon to Caroline fifteen minutes later:

  Someone’s in trouble when I get home.

  Promise?

  Woman, you give me ideas.

  Do I, now?

  Seriously though, all sexting aside, congratulations. I’m proud of you.

  I’m proud of me too. Thanks.

  Now then, what are you wearing?

  Go chum the water, Wallbanger.

  That’s what we’re calling it now?

  Sigh. You remember the first time you texted me? From Ireland?

  I do.

  And you remember when I went across the hall and kicked your door?

  There was a short pause. Then:

  You just did, didn’t you?

  Maybe.

  Love you.

  Love you more. Be careful with Jaws.

  • • •

  “You got a minute?” I asked, standing in Jillian’s doorway. I’d been trying to pin her down all week to make a final decision about the intern I wanted to bring on board, but she was booked solid with clients and last-minute wedding appointments.

  “I’ve got my last dress fitting in twenty minutes; what’s up?” she asked, looking frazzled.

  “Well, I’ve interviewed all the interns and narrowed it down to three that I think you’ll want to meet with, and one is actually—”

  “You pick, Caroline. This is going to be mainly your intern, so you pick.” She smiled, turning off her computer and grabbing her jacket off the coatrack.

  “Um, okay, I can do that, but—wait! Are you leaving now? I thought I had twenty minutes!”

  “I have to be there in twenty minutes, which means with traffic, I’ll actually be late. Walk me out?” She gestured for me to follow her.

  “Jillian, I need to talk to you about some stuff. There’s a few things that need to be taken care of before you—”

  “Caroline. You’ve got this. I trust you. Hire the intern you think is best and I’ll sign off on it, okay?” she called out, walking past me and out into the hallway.

  She’s getting married, she’s getting married, be happy, be happy, I chanted in my head.

  “Okay, but we need to have a serious powwow about some things before you leave. I don’t know if—”

  “Make a list of everything we need to go through, then e-mail it to me, okay? I’ll read it tonight and we’ll talk first thing tomorrow morning, I promise,” she replied, sailing down the stairs and out the front door, calling back over her shoulder, “And congratulations on your first intern!”

  I smiled in spite of myself, watching her get into a waiting car. Hair perfectly done, killer heels, off to try on the wedding gown she was going to marry her Prince Charming in.

  Spinning on my own slightly less expensive but still somewhat lethal heels, I caught the eye of our receptionist. “Hey, Ashley, can you call that last one, Monica, from Berkeley? Let her know she’s our new intern,” I said. One task down, I headed back to my office to tackle the next thousand.

  chapter five

  The next morning I was waiting in Jillian’s office when she arrived. As asked, I’d sent her my list of questions and tasks that needed her approval or input before the wedding. We had lots to discuss, but foremost was getting a better idea of when she was coming back.

  “Wow, you’re here early,” she exclaimed, shrugging out of her coat and unwrapping her scarf.

  I arched an eyebrow at her. “Hey, my boss is all over the map—she’s getting married this weekend, you know. Figured I better nab her while I could.”

  She sighed, sinking down into her chair. “Have I been a bridezilla?”

  “Nah, I’d characterize you more like the phantom boss,” I joked.

  “Watch it, Reynolds; I’d hate to have to write up my maid of honor for insubordination,” she warned, a twinkle in her eye but enough steel to tell me I was pushing it. “So I read your list. It’s long.”

  “It is. And I can handle practically everything on there. I just need to know what your plans are, and what your expectations are of me
so I can manage things.”

  “I know, kiddo; sorry I’ve been a little absent lately. Who knew weddings had so many arms and legs?” She grinned. “I can’t wait to watch when you go through all this. It’s a lot to have on your plate.” She picked up the list and grabbed a pen.

  “When I go through this?” I asked, my breathing going a little, well, breathy.

  “Sure. Don’t you think you and Simon are heading that way eventually?” she asked, putting on her glasses and positioning them so she could look down at me. Cheeky.

  “Um, I don’t, well, I mean, how can I, Jillian!” I stuttered, blood rushing to my face at the thought. Picket fence territory.

  “Whoa, strike a nerve there?” she asked, a twinkle growing in her eye. “Don’t you think Simon’s the marrying kind?”

  “I don’t . . . I mean . . . he’s never had a relationship longer than the one he’s currently in, I don’t think we need to push the issue, and besides, it’s good the way it is now and—I don’t know that I, I mean, what if I don’t want—”

  “Easy there, Trigger, settle down.” She grinned, pleased that she’d rattled me off course.

  “Okay, this isn’t what we’re here to talk about this morning. We need to go through this list and put out some fires, and I need to know when you’re coming back from your honeymoon, woman!” Simon and me getting married. Pffft.

  “Not sure,” she said calmly.

  “Wait, what?”

  “We’re not sure when we’re coming back. Wanna house-sit too?”

  “House-sit too?” I asked, my eyes crossing.

  She sighed, sitting back in her chair.

  “The thing is, Caroline, I need a break. I love my job, you know how much this business means to me, and I’m so very proud that I’ve been able to carve out a niche for myself. But I need a break, and Benjamin and I just want to go wherever we feel like for a while. Does that make any sense?”

  It made perfect sense. A gorgeous man and his gorgeous new bride, with all that money burning a hole in their bonds or funds or whatever really wealthy people had their money in. They wanted to see the world while they were young enough and sexy enough to do it right.

  Hell, I’d do it if I had the chance. A never-ending vacation with Simon? Gondola rides in Venice? Yodeling in Saint Moritz? Fucking in Frankfurt?

  But I couldn’t afford to think like that. I had to think about the person left behind, the person left behind holding the design bag. How could Jillian Designs function without Jillian?

  “I’ve already talked to my accountant, who can walk you through any weird payroll issues that might come up. And it’s not like I’ll be in a cave somewhere. We’ll do weekly conference calls; I can assist with whatever you need. You’ll see, it’ll be fine,” she assured me, her face filled with a confidence in me that I didn’t share.

  Could I do this? Jillian seemed to think so. Plus I’d have a new intern. I didn’t want to say no, not when I knew she was counting on me.

  This is too much.

  This is also an opportunity. One that would likely never come along again.

  Shit yes, I could do this.

  “So tell me about this house-sitting gig. Does it come with the Mercedes in the garage?”

  “It sure does.”

  “I’m in!”

  “That’s great! Now, back to you and Simon. So no marriage just yet, but have you talked about living together?”

  I bit through my colored pencil.

  • • •

  “How’s the sexiest interior designer on the West Coast?”

  “You flatter me. Have you been keeping your bits and pieces tucked into your wet suit and away from shark week?”

  “Best as I can. How’re things going at work? You ever pin Jillian down about how long they’re going to be away on their honeymoon?” Simon asked, calling in for his nightly chat. Which was really breakfast, his time. It’s amazing how fast you learn all the time zones when your boyfriend was usually running across all of them in any given month.

  I sank back against the bed pillows. “I got a vague idea. Somewhere between indefinite and sabbatical.”

  “Wow, really? What does that mean for you?”

  “In a word? Fucking busy.”

  “That’s two words, nightie girl.”

  “I’m so busy it can’t possibly be contained to just one word. The good news is, I scored us a house with a killer view of the bay.”

  “Huh?”

  “Jillian asked if I wanted to house-sit for them while they’re gone.”

  “And you said yes?”

  “I did; how could I turn that down? Why, do you not want to stay there? It’ll be fun.”

  “It’ll be boring.” He groaned.

  I rolled my eyes. Simon loved his city living. “Oh please, it’ll be great. Besides, I don’t think we need to stay out there every night. I think they just don’t want the place sitting empty for all that time.”

  “Humph,” was his response.

  “We can go hot tubbing.”

  “Humph?” was his more interested response.

  “As you recall, I tend to lose all control when bubbles are involved,” I said, thinking back to the first time we hot tubbed in Tahoe.

  “True. Will there be skinny-dipping?”

  “You bet your sweet bippy.”

  “Mmm, you’re killing me.” He groaned, but this time in a very different way.

  “Anyway, as busy as I’m going to be, it’ll be nice to have a change of pace. It’ll feel a little like a vacation just across the bridge. I’m barely going to be able to come up for air in the next few months.”

  “Speaking of vacation, I just booked a job in Bora Bora. Wanna go?”

  “What?”

  “Yep, after the wedding. What do you say? Thatched hut over the water? Coconut bikinis? Actual sex on the beach?”

  I clenched my hands in frustration.

  “Have you been listening to anything I’ve said? I’m swamped, and about to get even swampier. I can’t go to Bora Bora. I couldn’t even go to Napa if I wanted—” I stopped myself from going on a full tirade and took a deep breath. “Simon, that’s very sweet of you, and you know there’s nothing I’d like more than to run off to the South Pacific with you. But I just can’t. I literally can’t even think about that right now, okay?”

  He was silent for a minute. The line was a bit crackly, and I imagined how far he truly was from me that night. How far that phone connection was, stretching halfway around the world to reach me. I sighed into my half of that connection.

  “You’re right, babe, I wasn’t thinking. I do know how important this is to you. You know that.”

  “I do know that.”

  “Maybe this isn’t a good year for Rio?” he asked, his voice quiet, but with an underlying tone.

  “Don’t you dare—I’m looking forward to that trip more than I can say! Things will have settled down by then. But in the meantime, I just can’t drop everything and island hop.”

  He was silent.

  “I love you,” I whispered, wishing he was here to hug and hold.

  “I love you too. I’m glad I’ll be home soon.” His voice had mellowed some.

  “We’ll have fun at the wedding,” I said, changing the subject. “You gonna dance with me?”

  “You bet your sweet bippy. I’ll even get them to play us some Glen Miller.”

  “That always works.” I giggled.

  “Caroline?”

  “Yes, Simon?”

  “I know it works.” He chuckled.

  We said good night, then I went across the hall and let myself into his apartment. Putting the phonograph needle down, I slipped back to my apartment and into bed. Glen Miller played me to sleep through the walls, and I dreamed I was dancing on a beach in Brazil with my photographer.

  • • •

  Three nights before the wedding, I was still at work at eight thirty and I’d just canceled dinner with Sophia and Mimi.

&n
bsp; Bring a grown-up sucked sometimes.

  I’d been in meetings all day with Camden’s people, finalizing details on the construction that was beginning next week. We weren’t doing a complete teardown, just a gut rehab, using the existing lines of the hotel but reworking the layout of nearly everything.

  Monica, the new intern, was enjoying a first week of trial by fire. She’d been thrown into the deep end headfirst, but she was swimming. She’d run errands, she’d delivered paperwork, she’d filed for permits; she’d really taken a lot off my plate. And speaking of plate . . .

  My tummy was grumbling. I padded into the kitchenette, pretty sure I had a burrito stashed somewhere in the freezer, when my phone rang. Sophia.

  “Still can’t believe you ditched us, Reynolds,” she sniped in my ear, and I bit back a snipe of my own. Seriously, did no one understand how busy I was?

  “You’ll get over it, I promise. Where’d you guys end up going?”

  “Your favorite restaurant in Chinatown. You missed out, sister. We got that shrimp thingie with the noodles, what’s it called? The one you love more than anything?”

  My stomach rumbled even louder, and I gritted my teeth. “Mei Fun.”

  “We did have fun, thanks for asking!” She laughed in my ear. “Now let us in the front door—it’s freezing out here.”

  “I’m still at work; I told you I was working late. Why are you at my apartment?”

  “We’re not at your apartment, you idiot, we’re outside your work. Let us in,” she said. I could hear Mimi grumbling in the background.

  “You’re outside my—oh, for God’s sake.” I walked down the stairs to the front door, and there on the other side of the glass were Mimi and Sophia. With Chinese take-out containers.

  “I’m hanging up on you now.” I grinned into the phone, unlocking the door and throwing it wide. “What in the world are you two up to?”

  “It’s dinner, silly, and we promise we’ll only stay a little while,” Mimi answered, walking inside and heading straight up for my office. With arms full of the most heavenly scented food on earth.

  Sophia posed in the doorway, a vision. No more sad sacking for her, she was dressed to the nines and looking lethal. Red hair piled high on her head, makeup flawless, just the barest hint of leg peeking out from under her trench coat. “You’re not gonna, like, flash me, are you?” I asked.