Born to Be Wild
Authors: Patti Berg
Born to Be Wild
by
Patti Berg
USA Today
Bestselling Author
Copyright
© 2013 by Patti Berg
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems without permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review. This book may not be resold or uploaded for distribution to others.
This is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.
First published in the United States by Avon Books: February 2001
First e-book
edition: January 2013
Cover design: Dar Albert
Stock
photo © Piccia Neri
Author photo: Bob Berg
For Bob,
for a million and one
wild and wonderful reasons.
One
There is a charm about the forbidden
that makes it unspeakably desirable.
—Mark Twain
“
Oh, dear
!”
Lauren Remington drew a fine line through Zippo’s Delicatessen, the last caterer listed in the
Palm Beach Yellow Pages. She couldn’t possibly hire a deli—especially one called Zippo’s—to prepare and serve the fine food for Betsy Endicott’s wedding to Richard W. D. Stribling IV.
Henri’s, the most in-demand purveyor of fine cuisine in Palm Beach, had been Betsy’s choice. She’d wanted to serve her guests Henri’s fabulous poached quail eggs with Beluga caviar, his medallions of grilled salmon with citrus dressing, and prawns with curry sauce and mango chutney. She’d wanted Henri’s celebrated tall, dark, and handsome waiters, who never dressed in anything more common than Armani, strolling
across the lawns as they attended each honored guest. Betsy had wanted her wedding to be the most marvelous event of the season.
Poor Betsy. She’s in for a big disappointment
,
Lauren mused, drumming the end of her pen on the Yellow Pages.
Henri, sadly, had passed away yesterday morning, an act of God that no contract could overrule. This meant he would not be preparing the ultimate in canapés for Betsy’s reception. As if that wasn’t bad enough, Henri’s entire staff, not to mention the best chefs for miles around, planned to attend his funeral, which, unfortunately, was scheduled for the same day and time as Betsy Endicott’s wedding.
Lauren sighed. Who on earth could she possibly get to prepare the luscious feast that needed to be served in three days?
Staring at the blue ink running through Zippo’s Delicatessen, she tried to imagine the hors d’oeuvres a place called Zippo’s would concoct. Suddenly, visions of a six-foot-long submarine sandwich oozing with mayonnaise, American cheese, and salami came to mind. And then she imagined the garlic on everyone’s breath!
She hastily scribbled a zigzag line through Zippo’s, and spun around in the kitchen chair to face her butler. “This isn’t going too well, is it, Charles?”
The only person she trusted enough to confide in about this dilemma came toward her, the soles of his wing tips silent on the gleaming black and white tiled kitchen floor. His face was totally
devoid of expression, the look he usually wore when contemplating what to say. The tall, always slender, white-haired Englishman, who’d been part of her life for all but the first of her twenty-nine years, rarely spoke without careful consideration of his words, not even now, when she longed to hear him say that she’d only imagined the disastrous occurrences of the past few hours.
Crossing her legs, Lauren absently smoothed the ice-blue silk of her slacks over her knee as she watched Charles stir tea in a delicate Limoges cup. Steam from the Earl Grey whirled before him. It smelled delicious, but she had the feeling an entire box of rich, dark Godivas would be more comforting at the moment.
Charles set the saucer on the kitchen table and walked away, stopping when he reached the outside door. Lauren wondered if he planned to leave her alone, with this entire mess to straighten out on her own. She’d always—well, most of the time—valued his advice, and she needed it now. Thankfully he turned to face her.
Linking his hands behind the back of his crisp white jacket, Charles cleared his throat, which, Lauren knew from past experience, was not a good sign. “Pardon me for saying this, Miss Remington, but no, things are not going well.”
“Those aren’t the words I wanted to hear.”
He cleared his throat again. “Have you considered contacting Miss Endicott and informing her that you’ve encountered a slight complication in her wedding plans?”
Lauren’s eyes narrowed at the ludicrous sug
gestion. She’d failed at many things in her life, but she would not fail as a wedding planner!
“Betsy’s wedding is three days away,” she reminded Charles. “She’s flying back from Paris today with her gown, and tomorrow the yacht and crew Dickie hired for their round-the-world honeymoon sails into port.”
She pushed out of the chair and crossed the kitchen. Gripping the edge of the counter, she stared out the window at the swaying palms, at the lawn running down to the sandy beach, and across the dark blue ocean. Lauren remembered Betsy’s happiness when she’d talked about getting married, remembered the wistful look in her eyes when she’d said, “Dickie really loves me.” Lauren had mistakenly thought the same thing a time or two, but she would never burst Betsy’s bubble. She wasn’t that jaded by the misfortunes of love and matrimony to think that all marriages ended in divorce.
Besides, she truly believed that Dickie did love Betsy and that they were perfect for each other. And perfect people deserved an exquisite, flawless wedding.
She walked back to the table and sat down, resolved to succeed. “No, Charles, I’m not going to tell Betsy that the caterer died,
or
that I can’t find a suitable replacement for the lavish event I talked her into letting me plan.” She didn’t add that Betsy had agreed to hire her in spite of her family’s protests, which furthered Lauren’s resolve. “Betsy is one of my dearest and oldest
friends, and one way or another, I’ll make sure her wedding goes without a hitch.”
“I have every faith in you, Miss Remington.”
Charles had never been good at telling lies. Still, she appreciated his effort.
“Do you have any cookies to go with this tea?” she asked, taking another sip of the Earl Grey as she turned toward the table once again. “Something chocolate would be lovely.”
Determined to find a solution to the problem, she slid an index finger down the column of caterers to make sure she hadn’t missed anyone, or crossed out one by accident. When that proved fruitless, she skimmed the list of other people she’d already contacted: chefs she knew, every country club she’d ever been a member of or visited, and cooks Charles had recommended. She’d come up empty-handed everywhere she’d turned because no one wanted to handle a wedding of this magnitude on such short notice. Obviously she had to look beyond the norm—but definitely not Zippo’s.
She plucked a heavily-dipped-in-chocolate cookie from the plate Charles set before her and nibbled the edge as she watched Charles moving expertly around the kitchen. She’d never noticed how comfortable he seemed in this room. She wondered if he kept company with Mrs. Fisk, her cook, who, unfortunately, was on vacation in Tahiti. Could there be a possibility that Charles dabbled in the culinary arts, that he could prepare a meal as well as serve it?
Dunking her cookie in the tea, she studied the vast array of cookbooks filling a cabinet on the far side of the kitchen. Time and time again she’d watched Mrs. Fisk look up recipes and whip out seemingly effortless masterpieces. How hard, she wondered, could fixing canapés possibly be?
“I think I’ve come up with a solution to the problem,” she announced to Charles.
“You have?”
“Of course. You and I will do the cooking.”
Charles cocked his head toward her, and one of his bushy white eyebrows rose. “
You,
Miss Remington?”
