Joanna's Highlander (Highland Protector #2)(57)
Grant huffed out something under his breath, then gave her a look that fully translated what he’d probably just said but didn’t mean for her to hear. “Aye, love. If ye insist. We shall wed in August—but the first day of the month. I’ll no’ put it off a day longer.”
“Fine.” She’d wanted to wait until the thirty-first because by then, she might have the battle plan to handle her miserable financial state fully figured out and put into play. She wasn’t about to go to Grant for help and she also wasn’t about to saddle him with all her debt. She wouldn’t be debt free by August—Hell, I won’t be debt free ’til ten years after I’m dead—but at least she’d have a plan and hopefully would be on the way to recovery. Student loans had been a great way to get through college, but that debt coupled with several bad financial choices had nearly ruined her when she’d lost her high-dollar Chicago job. “And don’t be pissy. What will people think if we show up at our engagement party fighting?”
“We’re no’ fighting,” Grant said as he pulled her into his arms and stole a long, slow kiss that made Joanna wish they could forget the party altogether. “We’re discussing.” He turned her to one side and playfully swatted her rump. “I must go down and begin greeting our guests now. Hurry and finish readying yerself so ye can join me, aye?”
“I’ll be down before you know it.” She pretended to preen and gave him a mock look of being sorely put upon. “After all, I wouldn’t want to embarrass you in front of all your little helper clans.”
“Little helper clans?” Grant gave her a disbelieving look and shook his head as he straightened his vest and tailored black dress coat, then left the bedroom with his finest kilt swaying with the seductive rhythm of his hips.
Joanna padded barefoot back into the bathroom, stopping to stare at her wide-eyed reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. The redhead in the mirror, the one in the royal-blue dress with the MacDara sash crossing her body from shoulder to hip, looked like she had the world by the tail, but the redhead standing there staring at her wasn’t so sure. Was life really taking a turn for the better?
She swallowed hard and rapidly blinked even harder. Apprehension and the threat of tears closed in on her, stirring her emotions and making her feel as though she couldn’t breathe. Something’s gonna go wrong. It always does. Life always bit her in the ass whenever she let down her guard and relaxed. And marrying Grant…with his history, his story. I’m so afraid…
The not-so-subtle sound of bagpipes, fiddles, and drums interrupted her unreasonable moment of panic. Joanna bowed her head and smiled. She pulled in a deep breath, then stretched to fix her gaze on the skylight above, and shook out her hands and arms as though sloughing off a dousing rain. It’s gonna be all right. Grant and I will make it okay.
Her phone rattled across the marble vanity and vibrated its way off into the sink. “Thank goodness no water.” Joanna snatched up the phone and glanced at the display. Apprehension and fear returned in full force. Chicago area code. Had to be some demon from the past.
“Who the hell are you?” She stared at the phone, so paralyzed by the thought of what might be about to attack her that she couldn’t even hit the button to silence it. “I’m not answering you.” She tossed the phone to the counter and backed away. It finished its ringing cycle, then dinged. Voicemail. Son of a bitch. It’s a real call. Not a telemarketer.
“Shit.” Joanna glared at the phone, debating whether to listen to the message now or wait until after the party. “If I wait, I’ll worry about the damn thing all night and Grant might pick up on it. Might as well get this over with.”
She picked up the phone, punched the button for speakerphone, then closed her eyes and held her breath.
“This is Jonathan Broadbent, attorney for Mrs. Lilian Tasker, and this message is for Ms. Joanna Martin, formerly associated with Asclepius Pharmaceuticals. Please contact me at your earliest convenience at this number. It’s of the utmost importance.”
“Are you coming down or not? Grant’s getting antsy,” Lucia called out from the hallway. When Joanna didn’t answer, she banged so hard on the bedroom door, it nearly rattled in the hinges. “Come on, Joanna! It’s showtime.”
Joanna jumped, thudded back against the wall with her hand to her chest, then slid down to the floor. Fucking life. I knew you were gonna hit me in the gut. She covered her face with both hands and propped her elbows on her bent knees.
“Joanna?” Dead silence, then hurried footsteps across the wood flooring of the bedroom. Lucia stuck her head through the bathroom doorway, then rushed to squat down beside Joanna. “Did you fall? I heard a thud. Are you okay?”
“I don’t know if I’m okay or not.” Joanna didn’t look up from the marble floor tile between her feet. Mrs. Lilian Tasker, a.k.a. Mrs. Matthew Tasker, hidden wife to Matthew the son of a bitch and the mother to his two children. What the hell did she want? “I don’t have anything left for them to take. What the hell do they want now?”
Lucia swept Joanna’s hair back, grabbed hold of her chin, and forced her to look her in the eye. “What are you talking about? What’s wrong?”
“Get my phone.” Joanna pointed up at the bathroom counter. “Listen for yourself.”