InHap*pily Ever After (Incidental Happenstance) (40 page)

“Since
your fiancé will be standing up in the wedding, there’ll likely be an odd
number at your table. Certainly as such a close personal friend he wouldn’t
mind if you brought one extra guest.” She must have gotten a look at the
incredulousness on Ryan’s face because she lowered her nose, putting her eyes
at Ryan’s level, and her voice dropped. “I give a great deal of business to
this firm and have never had to lower myself to asking for favors. I don’t see
any other connection to the families, however, so I’m here to ask for one now.”

What…the…hell?
Ryan thought.
Is she serious?
But he only had
to look at her pinched-up smirk to know that this was no joke. She really
thought that even if he was a ‘close personal friend,’ that put him in a
position to affect the guest list for their fucking wedding? He took a deep
breath, counted to ten, and hoped to hell that what he was about to say wasn’t
going to come out the way he meant it.            “I’m terribly sorry, Ms.
Damon,” he said, biting his tongue between words, “but as you know from your
own work, people are invited to a wedding at the sole discretion of the bride
and groom, and not their guests.” It was time to fess up. “I mean no
disrespect, but I really don’t see any way I can help you. My fiancé and Tia
are great friends, but I’ve really only met Dylan a few times—no one except for
Lexi even knew that he and Tia were a couple until a month ago, and then they
were only here a few days before they went to California, New York, Australia…”

“I
know where they’ve been,” she said. “And now that he’s back, I’m sure you’ll be
seeing more of them both.  All you need to do is to ask if you can bring an
important guest…”

“It’s
not my wedding,” Ryan insisted. “I have no control over their guest list.”

A
slight smile turned up the corners of her lips, and Ryan felt the ambush coming
before she even spoke. “Ah, well, I guess I should have expected that, and you
are correct—it is the bride and groom’s decision—you know that well, don’t you,
as you’re no doubt working on the guest lists for your own wedding.” Ryan knew
instantly that he’d been had. He should have seen it coming, but instead he
fell in headfirst. “I assume that Tia will be standing up in your wedding as
well, which will leave an odd number at Dylan’s table. Can I expect to be
seated there?”

Ryan
bit his tongue hard enough to draw blood, but it didn’t even begin to cover the
bitter taste that was already in his mouth. What could he say to that? The
Demon actually smiled then, her face seeming to crack where the skin so rarely
folded, and he had a vision of reaching across the desk and grabbing her by the
throat in much the same way she now had him once again by the balls. She was
using him, and had no qualms whatsoever about doing it.

What
was with people and their obsession with celebrities? He’d been too pissed off
believing that Lexi had slept with Miller to be in awe of his fame when they’d
first met, but he was already sick of the way people fell down at his fucking
feet everywhere he went and the way everyone else was pretty much invisible. Or
maybe it was just him who ceased to exist whenever Dylan Miller shared the same
space. Either way, it sucked to be Ryan Stallworth. Anger bubbled up in him and
his bladder threatened to explode, but he couldn’t let The Demon see how
tightly she was clutching his nuts.

“I
can’t make any promises, Ms. Damon, as family and friends have to be seated
first,” he said quietly, “but I’ll see what I can do.” 

“I’ll
look forward to hearing from you then,” she said, handing him one of her gold
cards. “You can contact me directly at that number,” she said, and she stood up
and walked out without another word, leaving Ryan dumbfounded and completely
pissed off.

He
meant to have words with Shannon before he hit the toilet, but he saw one of his
own clients seated in the little waiting area, and had to hold his tongue.

“Miss
Van Dyke here to see you,” she said coldly, giving him a dark stare.

The
woman who’d been sitting jumped up and offered Ryan her hand. “I don’t have an
appointment, Ryan,” she said, “but I was in the neighborhood and hope you’ll do
me the courtesy.”

 Donna
Van Dyke was young, good looking, energetic, and successful; thanks to her
parents handing over their company. She had a reputation as a party girl,
though, and she spent money like it was going out of style. Ryan had done a lot
more than manage her company’s finances over the past three years; he’d had to
help her with her own, as well. No matter how many ways he laid it out for her,
he just wasn’t able to make her understand that she couldn’t spend the
company’s cash on her own indulgences. Donna refused to take no for an answer
if there was something she wanted; whether it be a car, a boat, a vacation, or
a business venture. The fact that she showed up without an appointment probably
meant that he was going to have to do some financial juggling—she had that
familiar gleam in her eye; the one she got when she locked onto something she
simply had to have. He shook her hand, and motioned for her to go into his
office. “Of course Donna,” he said kindly, “come on in. I’ve just come out of
back-to-back meetings and need to use the restroom. I’ll be with you in just a
moment.” He offered her a drink, then made a beeline for the men’s room.

He
couldn’t believe the exquisite agony as he released the aching muscle and
emptied his bladder.
Piss on you, Demon, piss on you,
he thought as he
tried to tame down the anger that coursed through his veins at the nerve of
Victoria Damon; who did a hell of a job living up to her nickname. He took his
time washing his hands, splashing some cold water on his face to ease the burn
there and took a few deep breaths before returning to his office and an actual
client.

“Ryan,”
she began, taking a small sip of her mineral water. “I need your help.”

“Anything,”
he said with a smile. “You know that. I’m at your service.”

“This
is a little unconventional…I have a bit of a personal business proposal for
you, actually.” 

“I’m
listening.”

“We’ve
known each other a lot of years, Ryan, and you’ve helped me out a great deal. I
want you to know that I consider you a friend.”

“I’m
glad to hear that, Donna.”
A friend?
he thought.
As if.

“So,”
she began, “One of my friends told me that your future wife is best friends
with Dylan Miller’s fiancé. Was she really the only one who knew they were a
couple? She didn’t even tell you?”

Like
he needed to be reminded of that. “They didn’t even tell Tia’s parents,” he
said. “It was all very hush-hush.”

“Oh,
how exciting! Is it true that your fiancé and Tia will be standing up in each
other’s weddings?”

Shit!
he thought.
Seriously? Another one?

“Yes.
They’ve been friends since middle school,” he said, working hard to keep his
cool. There was no use lying about it—like everything else Miller, it would be
public knowledge soon, if it wasn’t already. “She’s the maid of honor.”

“Oh
my gosh; I really,
really
, want to meet him,” she said,
uncharacteristically capricious. She’d always at least tried to maintain a
professional demeanor when she was in his office, but apparently, where Dylan
was concerned, it was all out the window. “I’ve been a huge fan of his for like
ever, and I’m prepared to offer you a generous wedding gift if I can attend,
and an even better one if I can sit at his table.” She paused for a moment.
“I’m prepared to offer you five thousand dollars for a seat next to his.”

Ryan
held his breath and bit his tongue to avoid saying all the nasty words running
through his mind. Now he was being bribed? By a client? He couldn’t believe the
nerve, but once again, he had to maintain his cool even as he was about to
erupt on the inside. He exhaled slowly through his teeth before speaking.

“Wow.
I’m not even sure how to respond to that, Donna,” he began. “We have worked
together a lot over the past few years, but we’ve never done anything socially
before, and our guest list is already over the limit.”

“Make
it ten thousand, then,” she countered without so much as a blink. Ryan slowly
counted to ten once again in his mind, but it didn’t make him feel any less
like exploding.

“I’m
afraid that money won’t affect the outcome of my guest list. I’ll also tell you
that you’re not the first one to make this request, and that I can’t possibly
accommodate everyone who wants to meet Dylan. Certainly not at my own wedding.
” To get rid of her, he forced a smile and added, “I’ll see what I can do, but
I can’t guarantee anything.”

“It’s
one seat, Ryan. You’ll pay maybe, what, fifty or sixty bucks a head, and I’ll
give you ten grand? You’ll make out like a bandit. It’s good business.”

“It’s
my
wedding
, Donna,” he spat, unable to control his frustration any
longer, “not business. I’m not selling tickets.”

“And
I’ll
tell
you,”
she said, her smile fading, “that you’re going to
have party crashers, regardless of whether you invite them or not. And I just
might be one of them. So the choice is yours—a generous gift for an invitation,
or none at all if I crash.” The look in her eyes morphed from friendly to
downright menacing, but Ryan refused to flinch. His head was pounding worse
than ever and he was in no mood or physical state to deal with this kind of
bullshit at the moment.

“Thank
you for stopping in, Miss Van Dyke,” he said, purposely using her surname. “If
I can be of any assistance to you in a legal matter, please don’t hesitate to call
on me.”

She
turned on her heel, shot daggers at him with her eyes, and left without another
word.

He
waited about four heartbeats, then burst from his office to lay into Shannon.
“No more impromptu meetings,” he bellowed at her. “The next time someone walks
into that door unannounced, you make sure you let me know…and you do NOT let
someone into my office without my approval!”

Shannon
just looked at him wide-eyed, more than a little surprised by his outburst.
Hearing the commotion, Wes poked his head out of his office, beckoning with a
curl of his index finger. “A word, Ryan?” he said.

Flustered,
Ryan stormed to Wes’s door and walked inside, falling onto the chair in front
of his desk.

“Sorry
Wes, but I…” he began, but his boss was quick to interrupt.

“Do
you want to tell me what the hell is going on with you today, Ryan?” he
demanded. “You drag your ass in late for a meeting, you look like a goddamn
zombie, and now you’re bitching out the secretary?” Ryan opened his mouth to
speak, but was silenced by the look in his boss’s eyes and the finger pointed
angrily at his chest. He dropped his shoulders and bowed his head, waiting for
the verbal beating to be over. “I’ll tell you this, Stallworth…anytime Victoria
Damon walks into this office and requests an audience with you, you will grant
it, and you’ll do it with a smile! Same goes for Donna Van Dyke. You better get
your shit together, and do it quick.”

Ryan
took a deep breath and nodded. “I’m sorry Wes, really. I just had a really long
night and a miserable start to the day.”

“Yeah?
Well I’m going all mushy inside,” he said sarcastically. “I don’t give a shit
what kind of night you had; you don’t take it out on our best clients. Am I
clear?” He took in Ryan’s face, and shook his head. “Aw, hell, what’s going
on?” he said more sympathetically.

“Damn
it, it’s not that he’s a bad guy—he isn’t at all. He doesn’t rub anybody’s nose
in it, you know? But this is absolute bullshit.” he said after he’d recounted
for Wes the demands made by the clients.

“You
know, Ryan, you might want to consider hiring some security for your wedding,”
Wes replied. “Donna’s probably right--you’re likely to have all kinds of party
crashers showing up uninvited.”

“Security?
Are you serious?” he asked incredulously.

“I’m
absolutely serious,” Wes said. “If you have someone you barely know telling you
that they’ll crash your reception, you think there aren’t dozens more who would
do it? Miller’s big news thanks to this love triangle thing, plus he’s some
kind of sex symbol, or something. Lots of the ladies are going to want to meet
him.”

“But
he’s engaged to my fiancé’s best friend,” he said, “and she’s going to be
there. Hell, if everything goes according to plan, they’ll already be married!
What do they think is going to happen?”

“Who
knows?” he smiled. “They just want to be able to say they rubbed elbows with a
celebrity and that there was a chance that something could happen. His wife’ll
be seated with the wedding party, so he’ll be all by his sexy lonesome self.
Maybe you should just take the money and invite them—you could make a fortune!”

“It’s
my goddamn wedding, Wes, not a fucking rock concert. I’m not selling front row
tickets to the highest bidder, and I’m not hiring a bunch of thugs to keep my
reception under control!” He raked his fingers roughly through his hair. “I
don’t know if you’ve been to any weddings lately,” he said sarcastically, “but
the focus is supposed to be on the bride and groom—not one of the guests.”