His Off Limits Best Friend - Vivian Wood Page 0,64

asked. She wanted to take it back. It sounded too much like she was fishing for compliments.

“You think I’d hire anything else?” Mrs. Whiteworth asked.

She went over the roster of employees in her head. Mrs. Whiteworth was right. There were elements to all of them that were impressive. How else would this agency have so quickly become the powerhouse in the industry it was?

“Just remember,” Mrs. Whiteworth said as she stood up. “You can talk to me.”

“Mrs. Whiteworth?” she asked as the woman was halfway to the door. She turned in her flawlessly tailored Chanel and looked at Sam. “Why event management?” she asked.

The woman laughed. “Turns out I was shit in the kitchen,” she said. “I went to culinary school when I was forty. Or tried, at least. This is the next closest thing. As it turns out, I never wanted to be a chef. What I wanted was to throw one hell of a party.”

Sam smiled. The woman was forty before she even gave what she really wanted a chance. There was time. There was time to decide. “And the boy?” she asked. “What happened to him?”

Mrs. Whiteworth sighed. “I wish I could tell you I don’t know,” she said. “That he disappeared into the great wild, that all I carry of him are romantic notions of what he could be doing. Who he could be. But this is a small town at its core,” she said. “All I can tell you is he followed, diligently, in his family’s footsteps. Although, do you want to know something?” she asked.

Sam leaned forward, the promise of a secret way too tempting to pass up. “What?”

“He got bald and fat before he was thirty-five,” she said with a conspiratorial grin. “My torch for him went out long ago. That doesn’t happen with real love, does it? Believe me, you’re not too old to still be confusing lust for love.”

Sam sat back and let that soak in. Was she right? Is that all this was?

The glass doors to her office swung shut in silence.

Sam leaned back in her white leather chair and wondered about the self-imposed deadline. It was just a few days away. When she’d said she’d just finish up the month, she’d meant it. She didn’t care that she hadn’t told Connor. Who was he to deserve a notice, anyway?

That’s it, she thought to herself. You have until the end of the month. Either you get him to see things your way, or let him go.

That was easier said than done. Sam searched Connor’s name and a plethora of images popped up of the two of them together. A few local bloggers guessed at their potential wedding date. Some completely made up how the two of them met. Journalism at its finest, she thought.

Still, she had to admit they looked more than good together. They looked right.

She knew she shouldn’t do it as soon as her fingers started to type the name. Sandra Brewer. It took her a few minutes to narrow down the search—but there she was.

Moderately pretty and largely unassuming. Sam was surprised. It wasn’t the airhead hot blonde she’d expected.

The girl had gone to Vassar, worked at an NGO, and was from a town in Connecticut she’d never heard of. She seemed moderately well-off and educated, but not leaps and bounds “better” than Sam in any regard. Why her and not me?

Sam stared at a photo of Sandra until her image had to be permanently burned into her brain. She just couldn’t figure it out.

Why did she get the real engagement?

28

Connor

Connor couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this nervous. With every ring of the phone, he prayed that she wouldn’t answer. Not that he wanted to leave a voicemail, either, though.

“What?” Sam said for an answer.

“Hi,” he said. “Um, I know it’s last minute, but my family is having an overnight retreat—”

She gave a mean laugh. “And let me guess, I’m expected to accompany you.”

“Well, yeah.”

“What kind of family has a ‘retreat’ anyway?” she asked.

“Apparently mine,” he said. “I know it sounds ridiculous, and it’s usually in the autumn, but due to a ton of stuff, it got changed last minute to tomorrow.”

She sighed. “And what exactly does such a ‘retreat’ entail?”

“You’ll be somewhat happy to know it’s simply an overnight stay at The Cottage.”

“Really?” she asked. Sam seemed to warm to the idea that it was nearby, only required a thirty minute drive, and The Cottage was known for the saltwater pools, massages and pampering,