Waking Sleeping Beauty (14 page)

Shaking his head, he said, “Don’t believe everything you read.” Even here he couldn’t escape Francie.

“Daddy, Daddy.” Two little curly brown-haired boys raced to them, wrapping themselves around Stuart’s legs. They pointed at Marcus. “Who’s that?”

“Twins? Man, Stu, you sold out,” Marcus ribbed him, looking from the tiny replicas of Stuart and then back to his buddy.

“Hey guys, this is my friend, Marcus. Go ahead and shake his hand. He’s the one who helped Daddy get this place.” He nodded to Marcus. “Bought into the dream, is more like it. I wised up and married Geena.”

The little guys shook his hand and scurried away again. Marcus said, “I remember her, the ER nurse. How’s she doing?”

“Keeping me on the straight and narrow. She’s picking up the baby from the sitter’s. She’ll be here soon. That’s if the buses are running on time.”

“No more Vette for you, huh?”

Shaking his head, he said, “No, man, traded it in for a four-door.” He held up his hand. “Don’t laugh.” He shrugged. “All right, laugh; it’s in the shop again. No wheels for a week.”

Marcus began to add it up. “Things slow?”

A loud crash of metal hitting the floor stopped them both. Marcus followed his friend to the kitchen. “Yo, Joey and Paulie, easy now. Come on, pick up the pots.” He glanced at Marcus. “They prefer those to toys.” As he watched them, he said, “The economy’s hitting everyone hard. I’m no different.”

Marcus glanced around, sizing it up. He made a quick, heartfelt decision. “Need a partner?”

“What, you? Serious?” Relief and surprise washed over his face.

In the back of his mind, Marcus consoled himself with having a reason to stay put in Dallas. His mother wasn’t getting any younger. He needed to be there, physically there, for her, even if it was just to hold her hand after another heartbreak.

Charlie was still searching for a permanent replacement to steer the helm at King’s, hoping to keep the ship afloat a little longer. His corporation was holding little appeal for him lately. Long-distance meetings and being hands-off had woken him up to a few hard truths. He was bored with his life. His involvement with King’s had shone a light on what was missing: his connection to people. He’d missed that, the daily brainstorming, the creative ideas, quick decision making and seeing it through. There was something to be said about small-scale operations.

Plus he should sell and put an end to his hectic traveling schedule once and for all. He convinced himself it had absolutely nothing to do with being close to Francie.

“We can work out something.” He fished out a business card and jotted down his cell phone number. “Call tomorrow and we’ll set up a meeting to go over the numbers.”

“Wow, this is my lucky day.”

Marcus dug in his coat pocket and pulled off a key from the key chain. He dangled it in front of his friend. “Go pick up your wife and kid.” He nodded to the street. “White Range Rover at the curb. She shouldn’t have to ride the bus, not with a kid and in this weather.”

He looked to the twins and back at him. “You’ll watch them, right?” He must have seen Marcus’ grimace. “By the time I get their car seats loaded in, she’ll have gotten the bus.” He nodded his head to the corner where three car seats lay stacked.

Somehow he agreed. A few minutes later, he stood as four little eyes in round faces gawked at him. “We’re hungry.”

“Now that I can do,” he said, thankful he could feed them at least. He marched to the large refrigerator and pulled the door open. “What would you like?” They were there, leaning on his legs and gazing into the vast array of food items.

“Pizza.”

“Meatballs.”

Scratching his head, he figured it would take too long for even one of their choices. He grabbed the milk and cheese. “Tell you what, I’ll surprise you.”

“I don’t like s’prises.”

“Me, neither.”

“Okay, mac and cheese,” Marcus conceded.

“Yummy, mac an’ cheese,” they said in unison.

Marcus sighed in relief. At least they weren’t fussy eaters. In a few minutes, he had them on stools seated at the island, a mug in front of each of them.

“What’s this for?”

“You’re going to help.”

Both of them looked up at him with wrinkled brows. “Huh? Silly, we don’t know how to cook.”

Chuckling, Marcus shook his head. “I’ll teach you. This is the easy mug mac and cheese.”

“Muggy mac?” The one to his right giggled.

He taught them how to measure out the water and pasta, cook it, and then add the milk and cheese to the top and toss it all together to cook some more. In a few minutes, he withdrew the steaming mugs from the microwave. “It needs to cool down, and then you can eat.”

“It’s got bubbles.”

“No, it’s just gas,” the second one said. They both laughed and slapped their hands on the counter.

Marcus chuckled.

It was nearly an hour later when Marcus sent the entire family away in his Range Rover Peg had selected for him only a few days ago. He stood at the backdoor and waved them off, promising he’d close up and get Stu’s spare key back to him the next day.

“Thanks, man, I owe you,” his friend called out the driver’s side window as they eased out into the ice-covered road.

“No, I think I owe you,” Marcus said, smiling from ear to ear.

He hummed as he put away the clean pots and pans, mugs tucked back in the cupboards, and stools where they belonged, and then shut off the lights.

It had started at the mention of the cooking demo. Something poked at him, needling him. Coming back here tonight, he knew what had been missing. It had shown him just how much he missed being hands-on.

Being at the top was nice, but it kept him too far removed from what he loved to do most: cook and spend time with the customers.

He didn’t dare admit to himself that he wished he could tell Francie, wished she could be a part of it all. No, that would mean his feelings ran deep. Too deep for him to admit.

She loved the fairy tale.

He wasn’t the marrying kind.

Francine rushed into Charlie’s office. “Charlie, I got your message, but what are you doing here on a Saturday?” Her voice petered out when she spotted Marcus rising from one of the chairs in front of the big, oak desk. Looking from her stepsister to him, Francie pasted on a smile. She nodded. “Marcus.”

“Francine,” he said, sending a quiver down her spine. Even his voice made her weak.

“Come in,” Charlie insisted, waving a hand to the other seat next to Marcus’. “I’m glad you were both here today.”

“You want to discuss sales?” Francie avoided his stare as she walked the last few steps, feeling as if she walked the plank on a sinking ship.

Glimpsing at him under her lashes, she slipped into the chair. More casual than normal, he wore charcoal gray dress pants with a dove gray shirt, no suit jacket, no tie and his sleeves rolled up. She yanked her glance away from the gleaming gold watch circling his wrist.

He settled back into his seat. He was so close. If she just reached out, she could touch his knee. The memory of her kissing the long white scar there surged through her now. His heady scent drifted to her. She swallowed hard.

Silence stretched.

Charlie searched Francie’s face, stared at Marcus, and then returned her gaze to her stepsister. “Is there something I should know?”

Francie held her breath, but felt the heat crawl over her cheeks.
What had she found out?
“I don’t understand what you’re talking about.” Her voice squeaked and she longed to slink out the door.

Marcus cut in, “Charlie, if it’s the ad, you know neither one of us were a party to it.”

“The ad, the visit at my house, the chummier than usual cooking demo, Stepmother’s public insinuation.” She tapped a finger against her lips. “Hmmm, let’s see, the whispers amongst the staff. Oh, did I mention that Maude from advertising thinks we should shine the spotlight on the two of you, say for an upcoming ad, just like the position she found you two in on the elevator?” She raised an eyebrow and pinned him with a sharp gaze.

Groaning, Francie caught herself from burying her face in her hands.

“Point taken. I’ll submit my formal resignation immediately,” he said calmly.

She jerked her head toward him. A muscle along his clenched jaw jumped. Turning to Charlie, she pleaded, “No, you can’t do that. Don’t listen to him.”
Why was he being so noble?

“I’m the boss,” he pointed out. “I take full responsibility.” He admitted nothing, yet took the blame for everything.

“It’s me you should fire, Charlie. Not him. I’m expendable. I’ve had more than my share of infractions. Nor should you accept his resignation. For the good of the store, you can’t possibly entertain that idea.”

Francie refused to look at him; however, his stare burned into her. “Francie, you deserve to be here. You’ve earned the right.” His fierceness made her heart leap.

“Oh, Francie.” Charlie heaved out a breath and tossed the pen she held onto the desk. “Marcus, she’s right. I can’t afford to lose you. You are too valuable to King’s right now.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes like it normally did. “Unfortunately, finding a permanent replacement to head up King’s is proving more difficult than I thought. The headhunters are working night and day, but have only found a few unimpressive candidates. The search continues.” She eyed them both. “And so does my dilemma.”

“You can’t afford to lose Francie, either,” he said, nodding toward the papers on the desk. “The numbers don’t lie. The mystery wedding is a huge hit, drawing in more sales than we imagined. She’s the heart and soul of the wedding boutique.”

“Thank you,” Francie said huskily, not able to look his way. She lifted her chin a little higher.
I can do this.
“While I’m flattered at the praise, I believe the interest lies in the mystery wedding itself.” She sucked in a breath before she continued, “Charlie, I suggest we ease Rico out of the salon and into a more permanent position at the boutique. Evelyn is a gem; however, she needs some more fashion and perhaps design experience before she takes on any weddings on her own. But, I believe, since she’s a quick study, she’ll have no problem catching up. We’ve been able to borrow employees from other departments to fill in when we’re busy. I think they’re ready to come on board at the boutique.”

“It sounds all well and good…”

She held up a hand, halting her stepsister. “I think we take the focus off of me at the boutique and put it on me at the mystery wedding.”

“What?” Marcus asked, turning to her. He was whisper close, his thigh nearly grazing hers. “You hate the spotlight.”

Agreeing with his assessment, she cringed at the concept, hating the thought of drawing more public attention to herself. “I have an idea.”

He groaned. “Not another one.”

She chuckled at that. Looking at Charlie, she asked, “Do you remember Dolly’s old board game, My Mystery Date?”

Her stepsister frowned. “Yes, you loved that old, worn-out game.”

Her cheeks burned. She’d played it for hours, opening the door to reveal a different man each time for her mystery date. “Why not put a twist on the old game and use different male models for the possible mystery groom in our ads with me?”

“Are you going to have the customers vote on a groom, too?” Marcus’ sarcasm cut. Tension rolled off him.

“It’s an illusion,” she countered. “It gets them caught up in the ‘game’ and,” she swallowed hard, “off their misconception about Marcus and myself. Also, it calms the employees’ growing concerns about a relationship between…us.”

“You want to do this?” he demanded.

“No,” she said in all honesty, “but the customers are invested in our family. They long for a happy ending for another King daughter. Right now, I’m all they have.”

Marcus cursed under his breath. “And tell me what happens if you can’t deliver, Francie?”

Her heart sank; she hadn’t thought that far ahead. She could have her dream wedding, with King’s footing the bill; however, there was no one else she wanted standing beside her but him. And he didn’t want any part of her or her wedding, perfect or otherwise.

***

Francine smiled weakly as the florist rambled on. Even with the sun shining into the little alcove at his shop, she felt chilled.

What had happened to her?

She loved weddings.

The endless modeling for the ads and promotions were wearing thin, though, one right after the other. Dreamy male models practically draped themselves over her, yet she could barely tolerate their nearness. How could she have gotten herself into this mess?

Decisions, decisions. Hooking each customer vote into a particular department at King’s, creating a buzz to generate sales. Charm bracelets for the bridesmaids gifts, engraved cuff links for the groomsman, hip, chic bridesmaids dresses to die for, cleverly tailored suits for the groom and his guys, the warm, cozy tavern booked for the New Year’s Day wedding, menu still to be decided by the customers, decorations ordered, cake to be voted on…everything was falling into place.

And Francie was stumbling along.

She may have pulled back at the boutique, but this mystery wedding weighed heavily on her shoulders, devoured all her energy and time now. Why couldn’t she handle this?

“Miss, you understand?” The balding man leaned forward. “You paying attention?”

She felt her cheeks warm. “Three choices. It will run in the ad this week. Our customers vote on which flowers they prefer and then we’ll order them.”

“No, no,” he said, shaking his head like a bulldog. She sat back in her chair, hoping she was out of range of the spittle.

“What do you suggest?” She seized on a question she often heard Marcus ask a manager at one of the endless meetings she’d been forced to attend since becoming the wedding consultant.

He calmed down. She sighed, realizing it had had the desired effect. “Too much,” he said. “I don’t have the help for this.” He shoved away the papers she’d presented to him.

She’d gambled. And it looked like she’d lost. “I’m sorry. I just thought since you and my stepfather were good friends, I would include you. He used your shop for decades. ‘Only the best,’ he said. Can you at least do the bouquets and boutonnieres? I can find another florist to do the centerpieces and the decorations. But you’re like family, so I wanted you.”