Twisted in Tulips (5 page)

Chapter Six

“The pavilion you’ve chosen for your reception is casual.” Misty pulled a couple of square vases of varying heights from her shelves, along with some rainbow foam in cantaloupe orange, honeydew green and lemon yellow and moved to the round conference table where her clients sat. “You’re a young couple who loves fun outside. That’s why you’re having an outdoor wedding in the early summer. So you don’t want anything too elaborate.”

“Right.” Drea smiled hesitantly. “Our budget is…modest.”

“And shrinking with every new addition,” her fiancé Connor added.

“We’ve been watching that,” Misty assured. It was common for couples to hear elaborate, but miss the qualifier before the word. “That’s why I would suggest you do flowers for the bouquets, but for your centerpieces we fill vases like this of different sizes with this rainbow foam cut into cubes.” While talking, she cut off a section of each colored cube to demonstrate. “We’ll layer them in the vases with fresh fruit of the corresponding color mixed in.”

“How do you mean?”

“We’d slice limes to go with the green, lemons to go with the yellow, oranges to go with the orange. In the center of the taller vase we’d put a couple of calla lilies to go with your bouquet as well as those for your bridal party and the flowers you’ve chosen for the ceremony. And in the bouquets we could wrap the stems with something that looks like orange peel or lime rind.”

“And you think that’s good enough for a wedding?”

“I do. The colors support your summer theme and the lightness of your spirits. The lilies and fruit will add a touch of casual class. And it all helps keep the focus of the day where it belongs. On you.”

“I like the idea of that,” Drea whispered. “Even if some people will still find fault.”

“Some people thrive on judgment and making others unhappy.” Misty rested a hand on Drea’s and infused her tone with soft reassurance. “Others are too deeply wounded, or too entrenched in a contentious misunderstanding or too afraid of something to see a way out of their personal unhappiness. The only thing you can do is find your own happiness.”

Jace was one of those people, or a combination of them, and though Misty had been warned he would be gone when she woke, she’d hoped to find him there. She’d hoped to have the chance to figure out which kind of person he was and why he appealed to her so profoundly.

“It would be easier if your arrangements would magically fix them.”

Drea’s chuckle pulled Misty from her thoughts of Jace. “Yes, it would, but sometimes those quirks are the things that make people interesting.”

Connor took Drea’s hand and squeezed affectionately. They stared at each other, lost in the dewy film of love, but Misty didn’t look away. She wondered what it would feel like to be the woman whose man looked at her that way. Wondered what power the stark love gleaming back at her would hold.

She’d played with the same question every time she saw Lori and Trevor together, and she’d allowed herself to pretend for a brief span of time last night that Jace would be her answer. Reality made a different claim and she needed to respect it.

“The fruit can be purchased in bulk at the local farmer’s market.” Misty jumped back into the discussion they were all here for, hopeful it would derail her Jace-centric thoughts. “With your invitation list sitting near a hundred and fifty, you’re looking at eighteen tables.”

Connor made it clear in the beginning he wanted Drea to have the wedding of her dreams, but that it needed to happen within the budget they’d agreed on. To show that they were keeping those goals in mind, Misty walked Drea and Connor through the math. She broke out the cost of the foam, fruit and flowers, as well as the rental for the vases. She kept the rental and the labor of putting them all together as minimal as possible.

“I can do three vases on each table for just under a thousand dollars. While I think the three vases per table, with linens in a corresponding color, would look best we can just as easily do two. Your cost would drop to around six fifty.”

Connor lit up at the six-fifty option. Drea lit up at the thought of the three vases.

It hadn’t taken Misty long to discover the key to keeping a bride happy within a budget was with compromise. In this case she was taking a hit to her bottom line with the small profit margin she was going with, but the vases were part of her inventory and would be rented out again and again by people filling them with more elaborate arrangements.

The goal of Tulle and Tulips Designer Weddings was to make sure every bride had her dream wedding, regardless of her budget. Misty would do her part.

Drea and Connor were paying for their wedding without the help of their non-supportive parents. Misty couldn’t stand the idea of being a cause of stress in their already stressful wedding. “We can put it in the budget for the three vases, but if you find later that you need the money elsewhere we can cut back.”

“But don’t you have to place the orders soon?”

“The flowers, yes.” Misty typed notes into the shared database so Tabatha, the venue coordinator, would know where they were heading with their flowers. Tabatha would use the color scheme of the flowers to help them plan their linens and lighting.

“I’ll get the fruits last minute so they’re fresh. It’s easy to change that quantity. As for the foam, I can always put extra into inventory.” Not that she wanted a huge inventory until she was turning more of a profit, but she wouldn’t share that detail.

With their agreement to start with three vases, she escorted them to reception where Tabatha waited to work with them. Misty gave a quick rundown of what they were planning so Drea and Connor heard one more time that she was keeping their plans and intentions in mind.

As she watched them walk away, pleased that she’d eased some of their tension, awareness washed over her.

Jace.

She pivoted slowly on the ball of her high heel. On the other side of the double doors closing Tulle and Tulips Designer Weddings off from the lobby area stood the man who’d dominated her attention since yesterday morning. The jeans and heavy boots of yesterday had been replaced with a perfectly fitted suit and tie. An array of feelings she couldn’t name crossed his face before something militant settled in his eyes. It abolished the polished façade of his fancy clothes. It awakened her.

Misty didn’t remember crossing the reception area, but she placed a palm on the door handle just as he reached the other side. Captivated by his magnetism, she froze. Unable to push the door open for him or expel the breath locked in her lungs.

Jace pulled the door open with a quick jerk.

Her breath burst with a gasp. Her hand dropped.

“It was you.” His voice, harsh and accusatory, whipped at her.

“What was me?”

“How?” Confusion tangled his brow. “How’d you know who I was? That I was meeting with Masters?”

Oh. His missed interview yesterday.
“I didn’t. Not until I saw Trevor with a file on you.”

“And you took it upon yourself to convince him to call me again.” The harsh accusation was back in his words, as if he couldn’t decide what mood to be in or how to feel. If she had intervened, why should it anger him?

“No.” She wouldn’t tell him how shaken up she’d been. It would probably just give him a reason to act more pissed off at her. “Trevor was in here yesterday morning, carrying your file. I mentioned that you’d helped me out of a situation.”

“You didn’t ask him to call me? To give me a second chance?”

“No.” His rage was rubbing off on her, stiffening her spine and making her want to fight, which was an odd sensation for her. She didn’t like to fight. She’d never had a man want to fight with her before. Fluttering filled her belly, much like it had when he’d kissed her in the bar. “I would have though if I’d thought it was necessary.”

“I don’t need you intervening on my behalf.”

“I didn’t, so you shouldn’t feel the need to interrupt me at work to behave like a miserable human being.” She shrugged, not feeling remotely as calm as the movement would suggest. “Not that you seem to know another way.”

Conflicted with the desire to throttle him and drag him into the privacy of her office for a wicked round of quickie sex, she spun and walked away. He followed. Misty ignored the curious gaze of their receptionist Jenny, Leigh, their registration expert, and the clients waiting for appointments with other coordinators.

Jace closed the door to her office behind them with deliberate slowness. When he turned, Misty suddenly sympathized with a defenseless creature cornered by a predator.

“You’re an irritating woman, Misty Morgan.”

“I guess you bring it out in me.” She could escape into the warehouse behind her office, but the idea of retreat stank of cowardice.

“You should dress more like her.”

“What? Who?” The man was impossible to keep up with.

“The woman in that couple you were just with.”

“Drea?” Misty considered the outfit Drea had been wearing—a long skirt with a high slit in the thigh and a snug-fitting blouse with the first few buttons undone. She looked down at herself with a similarly cut blouse. Her skirt was mid-thigh today, but that’s where Drea’s had split open at. “It was the same basic outfit.”

Jace stood inches away, shrinking the size of her office with his attitude. “She’s in a committed relationship.”

“Oooh.” Realization setting in, Misty drew the single syllable into five. “It’s okay for a woman to wear form-fitting outfits that showcase her legs if she’s wearing them for one man’s pleasure. But if she’s single and wears them for her own pleasure she’s less than virtuous.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You did.” And damn if it wasn’t part of what was appealing about him. Her clothes irritated him and he didn’t like it. “It’s what you’ve been saying every time you mention my clothes, or even look at me.”

“I have not.” He stepped closer.

“It’s very chauvinistic of you.” She wanted to smile because she could see through his denial. He was going to snap like he had last night, and that had led to…deliciousness.

He stepped closer still. Close enough to touch. “I am not a chauvinist.”

“A chauvinist with archaic and conflicting views on women.”

“You’re irritating.”

“So you’ve said, but consider yourself as the source.”

“You’re mouthy.”

“You’re not exactly tight lipped with your views.”

“I’ll show you tight lipped.” He grabbed her hips and jerked her to him. The hook of his left hand dug a little into her. His mouth descended and instead of anger or the tight-lipped kiss she’d expected, he gave her tense passion.

His lips coaxed. His tongue sought entry. His body melded with hers.

Recalling the way he’d handled her attacker, the way he’d touched her and kissed her, awakened her and driven her to abandon beyond logic, she arched against him. She parted her lips to allow him entry.

As quick as he’d started it, he pushed her away with a scowl hardening his face. “You surrender too easily.”

Only to you.
“You need to make up your mind, Jace. Either like me or hate me.”

“Misty.” He reached out, aiming for her hand.

“No.” She shook her head and backed away. If she didn’t put space between them she’d give in again. Hell, she’d probably offer him the quickie she’d imagined. “Until you can see the chauvinistic slant to your views, until you can change your view of me, I don’t want to see you.”

A man she barely knew shouldn’t have the power to make her want with such desperation. She should be able to resist him just as she could every other man. Sure, she went on dates and enjoyed sex, but never until she felt she knew a man. And never with someone she wasn’t sure she really liked. She wasn’t sure she remotely liked Jace.

“Misty.” He moved toward her with his hand outstretched.

“I mean it, Jace.” She went to the door and opened it. “I’m more than the clothes I wear. As long as you view me with derision you can stay away. I have weddings to plan.”

He stood motionless for so long she was sure he had something more to say. Finally, he blew out a frustrated breath and walked away.

“You were harsh with him.” Leigh spoke from the left after Jace let himself out of the office.

The woman who’d become a pretty good friend was, as always, the definition of conservative. Her dark hair was pulled into its habitual bun without a wisp uncontrolled. Her flat shoes, wide-legged slacks and flowy blouse barely suggested at a figure. She was the kind of woman Jace would like, and the thought raised Misty’s hackles.

“You shouldn’t eavesdrop.”

“You didn’t exactly keep your voice low.”

“What?” Misty tore her gaze from Jace’s retreating back and faced Leigh. “Was I yelling?”

“Not quite yelling, but definitely not speaking normally.”

“Damn it.”

“He rouses your passion.” Leigh grinned with a wicked glee she rarely showed. She loved being able to say that to women, claiming she was waiting for the day for someone to say it about her. “Challenges you.”

“He has no respect for me outside the bed.”