Take Two (The Jilted Bride #1)(36)

“Because I like you.”

What?

“I—”

“I told you not to believe everything you read,” he fiddled with a strand of my hair. “And I’d really like the chance to outdo our last kiss.”

He’s so sexy…Stay focused!

“I don’t think we—”

“Shhhh,” he ran his fingers through my hair and caressed my face.

“I can’t do this,” I backed away. “This isn’t one of your movies. This is reality. I’m still hurt from being dumped at my wedding, and you’re in love with Selena. You’re just having last second doubts. St. Bart’s with you was…fun. Let’s just leave it at that okay?”

“Melody, listen. I need to tell you—”

“I saw a preview for your movie that comes out in December. It looks worse than Summer Nights,” I put on my headphones and jogged away.

I didn’t stop or look back. I kept my eyes on the trees, on the lake in the distance. When I made it back to the city, I sat in a Starbucks for a couple hours before asking to borrow a copy of The New York Appeal.

I nervously flipped through the sheets, hoping to find a better article under my byline. I spotted my page near the back: “What We Ladies Can Learn from Princess Laila and Anakin Skywalker.”

Okay, that’s it!

I left the paper on the table and headed for the subway station. I could barely contain my anger. I practically ran out of the subway tunnel when the tram stopped.

I marched right past the main floor’s reception desk and onto the elevator.

I could hear a faint, “Miss Carter, you’re not supposed to be—” as the doors closed.

I stepped off the elevator and looked both ways. There was no one in sight, not even Sophie. I knocked on Mr. Maxwell’s door.

“Come in!”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Maxwell.”

“Melody? I thought I—”

“Just stop. Let me talk,” I shut the door. “I appreciate you looking out for me, Mr. Maxwell. I really do. For your information, I went to St. Bart’s and enjoyed all two weeks of my vacation. I even enjoyed the past couple weeks I spent decorating my apartment. That said, I’m coming back to work tomorrow. And you better let me. I’ve worked too damn hard to be the best critic this city has ever had to see it slip down the sewer with love references to Han Solo and the Galactic Empire.”

He held the temple tips of his glasses in his mouth and sighed. “I’m glad you’re back. Phil was killing us.”

Chapter 18

Matt

“And here is where the guests’ cocktail hour would be,” a woman swept her hand across the air. “How many guests are you expecting again?”

I couldn’t remember the woman’s name, and I was only halfway paying attention to what she was saying. My focus was fleeting between her dark green eyes and her sleek red hair. There was a soft shine to it; anytime she nodded her head, her curls bounced up and down with it. It reminded me of Melody’s hair.

“About four hundred, not including OWN network’s people. They haven’t given us an exact number yet,” Selena looked up at me and smiled.

I smiled back even though I hated her guts, thought she was an utter psycho, and often fantasized about her dropping dead. I didn’t want to give the venue manager a clue as to how I really felt about my “wife to be.”

“Okay, well we here at The Lighthouse can definitely accommodate that number and four hundred more if you were to need it,” the woman wrote on her pad. “Shall we take a look outside?”

Selena tugged my arm and we followed the woman out onto the deck. As she and Selena talked about potential set up ideas, I leaned against the railing.

I couldn’t deny that The Lighthouse at Chelsea Piers was a beautiful place to have a wedding. Its floor to ceiling windows overlooked a large stretch of the Hudson River, its gleaming hardwood floors stretched from room to room, and its exposed ceilings with oil burning lamps added a bit of authenticity to the place.

I just didn’t want to waste such a lovely space on mock nuptials with Selena.

“Thank you for having us,” I extended my hand to the woman. “Miss?”

“Miss Davidson. It’s been a pleasure sir.”

“Wait,” Selena popped her gum. “Mr. Sterling and I wanted to discuss food arrangements. Is it true you only have one exclusive caterer?”

Here we go…

“Yes. Abigail Kirsch,” Miss Davidson suddenly looked nervous.

“I’ll need to see some of her work, and not in a photo book or online. I want it delivered to me and Mr. Sterling sometime next week. I’ll give you the address.”

“Miss Ross,” Miss Davidson shifted her weight from foot to foot, “I can assure you that Miss Abigail Kirsch is the best caterer in all of New York City.”

“And I can assure you that I’ll be the judge of that. If she’s amazing we’ll keep her, but I have guests with all types of palettes so we may need to bring other chefs on board.”

“What do you mean, Miss Ross?”

“I mean that I’ve spoken to other chefs who would love to cater my wedding, and they’re willing to be here in person. From what I understand, Miss Kirsch may not be available the day of my wedding. I need someone who can give each meal personal attention, not a bunch of bumbling staff members and a junior chef.”