Hers By Request Read online

  “Have you found a band yet?”

  “I’ve got two possibilities. I’m just praying one of them isn’t already booked for that Saturday. Dev has already agreed to deejay in between sets.”

  Zoe frowned. “Dev?”

  “The deejay at the radio station. I talked to him on Monday. He not only agreed to do the party, he hired me as his accountant as well.”

  “Well, that’s nice. I don’t suppose—” Zoe eyed her friend closely. “Are you blushing?”

  “Of course not.” Amanda busied herself with annotating her spreadsheets.

  “Really? You could’ve fooled me.”

  Her friend was worse than a barnacle. Once she got interested in something there was no prying her away from it until she was satisfied. Redirection rarely worked, but Amanda gave it her best shot anyway. She picked up one of Zoe’s drawings. “This will knock Mrs. W’s socks off, Zoe. If we don’t win this bid it won’t be for lack of effort on your part. Are we taking all of your illustrations tomorrow?”

  “Mmm, three I think. The main deck, the pavilion, and a close-up of a table setting.” She separated the corresponding drawings from of the assortment on the bed. “So, how hard was it to convince the radio man to do our party?”

  Yeah, no dice on the distraction.

  “Not too hard at all really. Did I mention that he is the guy from my accident?”

  “No kidding?”

  “Yeah. Turns out he’s in desperate need of an accountant so I leveraged my talents in that department to convince him to help us out. You’ll like him, Zoe, after you spend a little time around him. He got injured in Iraq and has only been out of the hospital for a month or so. He actually owns the radio station now.”

  As soon as she said the word Iraq she saw Zoe flinch and knew she’d drop the subject of Dev like a live grenade. Ever since Amanda had told her about Danny dying over there, Zoe avoided any conversations about the war. For once Amanda was grateful for her friend’s restraint, though she usually was okay with talking about Danny. He was gone but certainly not forgotten, and she didn’t want him to be relegated to the past and only spoken of in whispers around her. He was, and always would be, her hero.

  Amanda parked in front of the Silvercreek Gallery, debating whether to shut the car off and risk not being able to start it again or keep it running and use up what little gas she had left. Believe, she admonished herself, and turned the key. Trim and sleek in her navy pantsuit, she entered the gallery, the tinkle of the little bell over the door drowned out by the raised voices coming from the back.

  “I told you, Jeff, it’s not happening this afternoon. Don’t ask me again.”

  “Aw, come on, Babe.”

  A lithe Lothario in tattered, clay-splattered jeans and an Eagles T-shirt leaned against the counter. His tousled brown hair, full lips, and smoldering eyes put Amanda in mind of a satyr.

  “Just an hour or so. I won’t be long, I promise.” He reached out and tucked a strand of Zoe’s waist-length mink brown hair behind her ear. “I’ll keep the studio really warm, put on that music you like. . .”

  Zoe batted his hand away. “What part of ‘no’ don’t you understand? For the last time, I will not pose in the nude for you today. I have too much to do.”

  She glanced up and saw Amanda trying not to smile as she pretended an interest in one of Jeff’s sea-life sculptures.

  “I gotta go. Which means you have to go, too. I’m locking up for an hour to . . .” She mumbled, “ . . . to run an errand.”

  Jeff straightened away from the glass case. “Okay, Sweet Cheeks, we’ll finish this discussion later.” He brushed a thumb over her high, delicate cheekbone and turned to leave.

  “The discussion is finished,” Zoe declared to his retreating back. She rolled her eyes and huffed.

  “Hi, Beautiful.” He winked at Amanda on his way out the door.

  “He seems pretty determined.” Amanda couldn’t hide a grin.

  Zoe’s dark brown eyes flashed with annoyance. “I love the man to death, but when he gets a wild hair about seeing me naked, I’m supposed to drop everything and strip so he can do sketches for the secret project he won’t let me see. It’s not like he doesn’t see me naked every night in bed, for pity’s sake.”

  “True enough. But I’m sure he’s distracted by other things then. Besides, anybody with that kind of persistence deserves a reward every now and then.”

  “The only reward he’s getting from me this afternoon is a swift kick.” She drew three twenty-by-thirty-inch illustration boards from behind the counter. Each displayed one of Zoe’s design concepts for the party.

  “Wow, Zoe, these are amazing.”

  Amanda held up the one of the deck. Tables dressed in white linens with black toppers were scattered across the area. Centerpieces of crystal hurricanes surrounded by dramatic red amaryllis nestled in beds of needlepoint ivy graced each table, while garlands of ivy twined with tiny white lights wrapped around the deck railings. A white tent at one end would showcase the five-piece band, while its mirror image at the other would house the bar. Both would be outlined in more ivy and white-lighted garlands. A red carpet continued down the boardwalk to the pavilion by the water where a portable dance floor would cover the decking. Again garlands of ivy and white lights would drape posts and railings and pots of red amaryllis would provide splashes of color. As it turned out, Mother Nature would cooperate and supply them with a full moon—free of charge.

  “You have done a wonderful job on these, partner.” Amanda gave Zoe a hug. “You may not be a smooth talker but these pictures are worth more than a thousand words. Mrs. Wyndham is going to be blown away.”

  “I hope so.”

  Me, too. I’m already ten days late on my student loan payment and the government has absolutely no sense of humor about these things.

  Zoe played nervously with the ties on her white peasant blouse. They had decided to play up their differences to accentuate their respective talents. Amanda, ever the professional, her blond hair in a neat French twist, her navy suit unadorned, would exemplify organization, attention to detail, and planning. Zoe, in a long denim skirt, poet-sleeved white blouse and snug black vest, her long straight hair a river of glossy brown down her back, silver hoops in her ears, would provide the contrast of artistic talent, imaginative design, and a flair for the dramatic.

  Amanda had her laptop, complete with PowerPoint presentation and spreadsheets plus hard copies of all the estimates to leave with Mrs. Wyndham. Zoe had her beautiful illustrations. They were as ready as they were going to get.

  Amanda’s little blue Civic stuttered a few times before the engine caught but finally cooperated and they arrived at the Wyndham ‘Cottage’ exactly on time. A shiny white mini-van was already in the driveway. ‘Call Us For An Affair To Remember’ was lettered in gold on the back and sides.

  Amanda’s eyes narrowed and her pulse quickened. She parked far enough to the side to allow room for the van to get by which let her heels sink into the soft dirt when she got out. Annoyed, she grabbed her briefcase while Zoe retrieved her illustrations from the back.

  Before they climbed the steps to the entrance, the door opened and a woman wearing a smartly tailored black suit stepped out, followed by a younger man who pulled a wheeled metal case and had a collapsible easel tucked under one arm.

  The woman turned back to Mrs. Wyndham and offered her hand. “Thank you so much for this opportunity, Mrs. Wyndham. You won’t regret it. I’ll keep in touch.”

  She started down the steps, the young man following her like a puppy on a leash. When she passed Amanda, she regarded the tired but trusty Civic and smirked.

  Amanda restrained a very unladylike urge to trip her and heard Zoe mutter, “Bitch” under her breath. She pasted a confident smile on her face and squared her shoulders as
Zoe followed her up the steps.

  As usual, Mrs. Wyndham was impeccably dressed, her silver hair stylishly cut to accentuate her patrician features. She smiled and invited them in. This time she led them into the dining room where one end of the table had a number of brochures spread out upon it. Next to them was a contract that Amanda could see was unsigned. Adept at reading figures upside down from working across a desk from her clients, she managed to check the total on the bottom line as she walked by. The bid was significantly higher than theirs and she wondered what the rival company had promised to justify the cost.

  Mrs. Wyndham offered them seats at the opposite end of the table.

  “Amanda, Zoe, I appreciate your promptness. My earlier appointment arrived late, so you’ve already made a point in your favor. As you can see, I’ve been requesting bids from other event specialists—doing my due diligence, if you will. While my husband has left most of the arrangements in my hands, he has given me a budget.” A little quirk of her mouth indicated some annoyance with her husband’s monetary restrictions. “I intend to comparison shop to see who will give me the best value for my money.”

  She sat down at the head of the table and glanced at the gold Rolex on her wrist, then awarded them pleasant smile. “All right, ladies. You asked for an opportunity to do a presentation. Let’s see what you can do.”

  Amanda opened her laptop and spun it around to face Mrs. Wyndham. Crossing her fingers behind her back, she clicked on the icon to open the PowerPoint presentation.

  Amanda began with their main concept—the glamorous late forties—when the Admiral was a young man facing a future full of promise. Using Zoe’s beautiful illustrations to set the scene, Amanda played up the magic of Hollywood glitz and glamour, plus the music of a live band, to transform The Cottage into an open-air nightclub so posh no one would be surprised if they saw Fred Astaire on the dance floor or Ella Fitzgerald at the microphone.

  Then she walked through a detailed timetable from set-up to clean-up. Every conceivable item, from toothpicks for the hors d’oeuvres to the 200 cubic feet of pine bark mulch they would use to create a parking area for thirty-plus cars, was included on one of Amanda’s spreadsheets. For the next thirty minutes, Amanda covered the personnel she intended to hire. Every person, every item, had a price range and when she totaled the entire package, she used the high-end figure to give herself some bargaining room if Mrs. Wyndham felt the estimate was too high. Her cost was still lower than the amount she had read on the other company’s contract.

  As the last slide of the PowerPoint presentation faded from the screen, Amanda opened her briefcase and retrieved the printed version of her proposal along with the contract. She laid them in front of Mrs. Wyndham.

  “Are there any questions I can answer for you, Ma’am?”

  Mrs. Wyndham raised a single eyebrow. “I don’t believe you ladies have been completely honest with me.”

  Before either of them could voice a protest, she smiled. “It’s hard for me to believe you could have produced such an exceptional presentation on your first attempt. I am impressed. I am very impressed. I do have a few questions, however.”

  Amanda managed to hide her exultation at Mrs. Wyndham’s praise, schooling her expression to one of polite interest in the woman’s questions. Across the table, Zoe’s excitement was almost palpable.

  “Yes, Ma’am?”

  “The band you intend to hire? How did you find them? I hope it’s not some young rock group who’ve agreed to play music from that era on their electric guitars and blast the guests with over-amplified percussion.”

  “No, Ma’am. It’s not a rock group. I asked one of the men from my dad’s old group for suggestions. They gave me a few names and I’ve checked their credentials. The five-man group I intend to use have an extensive repertoire of songs from the forties and fifties.”

  Mrs. Wyndham nodded, but her expression was bit regretful. “It’s such a shame your father’s group has stopped performing. They were wonderful.”

  “You heard my dad’s quintet play?” Amanda couldn’t hide her surprise.

  “Oh, yes, dear. The Admiral and I attended an affair in Annapolis where they played. They were so good.” She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Your father in particular. When he put his lips on that saxophone, he was amazing. Every woman in the room was riveted. He was so handsome, you know. By the time he finished playing all of us ladies were ‘In The Mood’.” She winked at the play on words. “After that, the Admiral and I often went to that little club downtown where his combo played regularly.” She reached out and patted Amanda’s hand. “His disappearance was such a tragedy. I’m sure it must have been terribly hard on you and your mother. You were quite young as I recall.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.” Amanda had to fight to keep her eyes from tearing up. The older woman’s praise for her father’s playing was unexpected but heartwarming. “I was eleven. I still miss him.” Squelching the sadness that always came when she talked about her father, Amanda finished, “I’m glad you got to hear him play, though.”

  “Yes, well.” Mrs. Wyndham directed the conversation back to the matter at hand. She steepled her hands in front of her face and tapped her lips with the index fingers while she held an internal debate. “First, I love the theme you’ve chosen. So far the others all went with a nautical one—for obvious reasons. So unimaginative. Second, and I guess this would be first on my husband’s list, your pricing is reasonable enough that I might upgrade some of the menu items and still stay within the budget.” Again she made a disparaging face at the word. She glanced from Amanda to Zoe. “I hope your execution is as good as your planning, ladies, because I believe your proposal is the best. Congratulations. You’ve just landed your first job as event planners.”

  Stay cool. Be professional. Don’t blow it now. But inside she was jumping up and down like a five-year-old who’d been told she was going to Disneyland. She knew Zoe must be struggling to maintain her poise as well and refrained from even glancing in her direction.

  “Thank you so much, Mrs. Wyndham. You won’t regret it.” Amanda gloated internally at her repetition of the other event planner’s words. She slid the contract in front of her new client and offered a pen. “If you’ll sign here, please? I’ll have this copied and back to you within twenty-four hours. Then we’ll need a deposit so we can begin to order supplies. Oh, and I’ll need to arrange some time to take accurate measurements of the outside spaces and to go over the menu with you if you plan on making some changes there.”

  Mrs. Wyndham signed the contract with a flourish. “Certainly, dear. I need to get back to Annapolis by the end of next week, so I’d like to get the details firmed up as soon as possible. I’ll check my calendar and call you to set up the schedule.”

  They made it to the end of the Wyndham’s winding driveway before Amanda had to stop and cheer. Laughing and hugging, they congratulated each other. Instead of turning back toward town, Amanda pointed the car in the other direction and followed the winding road toward the turn off to her house. The ins and outs of the shoreline had the trip taking ten minutes, even though, as the crow flew, it was less than a mile from Mrs. Wyndham’s home to hers.

  “We have to celebrate,” she announced. “This is too momentous an occasion to let go by without at least a toast.” She waggled her eyebrows like Groucho Marx and whispered conspiratorially, “I bought champagne.”

  “You were that sure?”

  “You gotta believe, Zo. I’m convinced that believing you can do something is more than half the battle.” She shrugged. “I believed. I bought. It worked.” She parked in front of her little house, happier than she’d been in months. Maybe her dad had been watching over her. It seemed more than just coincidence that Mrs. Wyndham had brought up having met him. She sent up a silent prayer. Thanks, Dad.

  CHAPTER 6

  Dev had not bee
n able to sleep all afternoon, Monday’s meeting with Amanda playing over and over behind closed eyelids.

  He should never have agreed to do her party gig. Should never have hired her as his accountant. At least not without full disclosure. The more interaction he had with the woman the more difficult it would be to come clean and tell her who he was. At which point he had no doubt she would banish him from her life forever.