The Sparkling One

“I come bearing paperwork,” she said calmly, holding up her stuffed briefcase. In her other hand she held a portable file box.



Zach led her to the desk, then offered coffee, which she accepted. While he walked over to a small tea tray by his credenza and poured her a cup, she unloaded her briefcase and started on the file folder.



“Cream? Sugar?”



“Just black,” she said.



By the time he returned to sit next to her, she had spread out several sample invitations.



“We need to get the order into the printer,” she said. “I like this one.” She pointed to a thick paper invitation edged in black and gold.



Zach laughed. “The last invitations I picked out had toy soldiers on them. I think it was for David’s eleventh birthday party. You go with what you like.”



“I’m happy to pick, but do you want to run the selections by your partners?”



“Not even on a bet.”



She forgot herself for a second and smiled. “Okay. So you’re not party planners.”



She pulled out her master list and noted the invitation number. “Now, before I can do anything, I will need one thing from you. And that’s budget approval.”



The five-page document listed every possible expense, although some items, such as liquor, had to be estimated. Zach took the document and scanned it.



“You’re very thorough,” he said after a minute.



“I try to be. As I noted at the bottom, should there be an unexpected expense of more than three hundred dollars, I’ll send out written notice immediately.”



“Fair enough.” He read a little more. “Goody bags for adults. Isn’t that a kid thing?”



“Not at all. I’ll do a smaller, less expensive bag for the regular guests and a dynamite one for our high rollers.” She shrugged. “I can’t explain it, but there is a serious thrill in getting something for free. I practically shimmy in delight when my favorite makeup lady offers me a sample, even if it’s something I’ll never use. I thought a goody bag would be a fun way to leave our guests with warm fuzzies about the party.”



He continued to study the budget. As he read, she watched him. There was something so sexy about his eyes, she thought. And of course, his smile. She also liked the way he seemed comfortable in his own skin all the time.



She groaned silently. Damn. What happened to being ice? Ignore him. Which was easier said than done, considering how the man turned her on. Her resolve seemed to have all the tensile strength of potato chips.



He tossed the budget down on the desk. “I’ll take it to my partners right away. When do you need to hear back?”



“Within a week. The invitations need to be engraved. Some of the food has to be ordered well in advance, and I won’t even go into the trauma of picking out flowers.”



“Please don’t.” He leaned back in his chair. “I guess this means I need to get my tux into the dry cleaner.”



“Don’t complain to me about that,” she told him. “You know exactly what you’re going to wear, while I have the challenge of finding the perfect dress. I need to fit in, and yet not look like a guest.”



He raised his dark eyebrows. “What about your date?”



She hardly needed the pressure. “It’s a working night for me.”



“No Mr. Right?”



She couldn’t tell if he was making idle chitchat or trying to figure out if she was seeing someone. The possibility of the latter made her thighs tingle.



“Not even a Mr. Adequate. And you? Who will you bring?”



“I haven’t decided. How’s Brenna doing?” he asked.



“She’s hanging in there. Her mood seems to swing between a strong desire to get revenge and feelings of devastation.”



“The loss of a marriage is like a death. It takes time to move through the grieving process.”



His insight surprised her until she reminded herself that this was what the man did for a living. Of course he would be familiar with the process.



“Brenna said you won’t be meeting with her for a few weeks.”



He nodded. “We’ll speak regularly, but there’s no need for a face-to-face. I’ve filed all the papers. We’re going to have to deal with the settlement, and that’s what’s going to take the planning.”



“Do you know Jeff’s lawyer?”



Zach smiled again, but it wasn’t the least bit friendly. “I’ve dealt with him before. Not to worry. I’m a whole lot better.”



“Will you think I’m a complete bitch if I say ‘good’?”



“No. She’s your sister. She’s in pain and you want blood for that.” He studied her. “You can’t have it both ways, Katie. You can’t complain about my tactics, then use them for your own self-interest.”



“Actually, I can, but it’s tacky.” She shuffled through the papers she’d brought, pulling out three more sets of the budget. “So you don’t have to make copies.”



“Very thoughtful.”



She returned to the issue of her sister’s divorce. “While there might have been a snag in the ‘all Marcellis stay married forever’ theory, I’m still not on your side about breaking off Mia and David’s engagement.”



“I’m okay with that. However, I reserve the right to use any means at my disposal to change your mind.”



Hardly news, she thought wryly. “Why me?”



He leaned back in his chair and considered the question. “Two reasons. No, three. First, I have the most access to you. That means plenty of time to work my charm.”



She widened her eyes in surprise. “Is this charm? I hadn’t noticed.”



He grinned. “Second, your family listens to you. If I convince you, you’ll convince them, or at least Mia, and she’s the one who matters.”



“Never going to happen.”



“I’m taking bets.”



“Sure you are. What’s number three?”



He turned his gaze fully on her. Dark blue eyes narrowed slightly, and his expression turned predatory. “You’re the Marcelli who interests me the most.”



Two parts intrigued and one part terrified, she did her best to act unconcerned. “You’re saying spending this much time with Grandpa Lorenzo wouldn’t blow your skirt up?”



“I don’t wear a skirt, but if I did, no.”



“Those are really fabulous reasons. Thanks for sharing.” She began to pack up her briefcase.



“Leaving so soon?”



“I have another meeting.”



“What if I wanted to take a few minutes to work on convincing you?”



“No, thanks.”



He chuckled. “You haven’t heard what I had in mind.”



Oh, but she could imagine. “I don’t need to know.”



“You’re tempted.”



“Not even close.”



She had a feeling they both knew she was lying. She finished with her briefcase and went to work on the file box. When she was done, she turned back to him.



“Thanks for taking the time to see me today, Zach.”



He leaned forward and rested his hand on hers. “I’m always happy to see you, Katie. You know that.”



Was it her or had it just gotten really hot in here?



“How nice,” she said primly and stood. She’d wondered if he would kiss her again. Now that he hadn’t, she told herself she was happy. Really.



He stood. “You’re not easy.”



“That’s not much of a compliment, but thank you anyway.”



He grinned. “I’m not easy, either. If we manage to get through the next couple of months without killing each other, I’d like you to be my date for the fund-raiser.”



The phrase about being knocked over by a feather had never been more appropriate. A date? With Zach? Only a fool would say yes.



“I’ll be working,” she said instead.



“That’s okay with me.” He winked. “I like to watch.”



Zach never left work early and he almost never took Pacific Coast Highway home. But at three o’clock that afternoon, he did both. He drove west to Lincoln and turned south. The congested street met up with PCH in Marina Del Rey. It was a warm, sunny afternoon, with a hint of salt in the air. He opened his car’s sunroof, as well as the windows, inhaling deeply.



Despite his busy schedule, he felt restless. As he headed toward the airport, he saw jets taking off toward the ocean, heading west. Where were they going? Who was on board and what would they do when they arrived? He didn’t want to be going with them, but he did want something…A woman?



He had an answer to the question before he even asked it. Yes. A woman. And not just in bed, although he wouldn’t mind an hour or two of pleasure in a pair of willing arms. No, what he wanted was more than sex. He wanted to talk to someone long enough to grow comfortable. He wanted rhythms and patterns and familiarity.



How long had it been since he’d had a relationship that lasted more than two dates? A year? Longer, he thought. Although he’d never been interested in getting married again—Ainsley and his belief that long-term relationships didn’t work had cured him of that particular desire—he’d always enjoyed the company of women. Generally one at a time, and often for as long as a few months, then he walked away. He might not do marriage, but he was deeply committed to serial monogamy.



It had been a long time since anyone had tempted him for more than a night or two. He couldn’t remember the last woman who had surprised and challenged him. Some of it was his own fault. His position in a prominent law firm and his growing bank balance brought out a certain kind of woman. Those who were more interested in what he had than who he was. He’d gone out with enough of them to earn a reputation. Once he’d dated the shallow, those with substance didn’t think he was worth the effort. Which meant he had to go find them.



Or wait on fate.



Is that what had happened with Katie Marcelli? Had fate dropped her into his lap? Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, he intended to take advantage of the situation, because that was what he did. Fate might have brought her to him, but he would be the one getting her into his bed.



9



“M aybe we could figure out a way you could just borrow my hips and thighs,” Brenna said as she shifted to get more comfortable on her sister’s lumpy double bed. Not only was the mattress more like a rocky path than a place for restful sleep, the only light in the room was diffused by heavy lampshades, making it difficult for Brenna to bead as neatly as she would like. She had no doubt that if she did a less than perfect job, Katie would reject the lace appliqué out of hand.



Francesca smiled in response to Brenna’s comment, but didn’t speak as she continued to work on her face. Not her makeup…her face. While the light in the bedroom might be dim enough to qualify for a mood-lit nightclub, that in the bathroom rivaled the intensity of an operating room. Several bulbs illuminated the bathroom mirror from nearly every angle possible. Francesca had placed an eighteen-inch-wide board over her pedestal sink to give herself a work area for her array of cosmetics.



While Brenna found the various pots, jars, and pencils interesting, what really captured her attention was the fat suit hanging in the open doorway. The foam…what, she thought—Garment? Creation? Outfit—consisted of padded shoulders, full breasts, a bulging tummy and thick thighs. Actually it was everything Brenna hated about her own body. If only she could unzip the extra fifteen or twenty pounds she carried around.



Talk about a miracle, she thought glumly.



She reached for another bead from the small bag and sewed it into place. So far she’d completed fifteen lace flowers. She hadn’t been back to L.A. since Jeff had announced he wanted a divorce. She’d called in her resignation to the job she’d always hated and had only taken because the pay was decent. She clenched her teeth. Just thinking about all she’d gone through with Jeff made her furious. She wanted to scream. She wanted to throw something. She wanted to stab an ice pick through his two-timing heart.