Play to Win (26 page)

H
ave a glass of champagne,” Mom said, handing me a flute of bubbly golden liquid.

“I don't want to get married drunk, Mom!”

“Please,” she said with a wave of her hand. “If one glass of champagne gets you drunk, then you're not your father's daughter.”

Okay, she had a point. I took a long swallow.

“Sip it, don't gulp it,” she chastised me. “Now hold still and let Jeffrey finish your hair.”

Jeffrey was cursing under his breath at my thick mass of hair, which he'd spent the past two hours painstakingly curling and arranging into an artful up-do with a mountain of bobby pins. Ten minutes later and he was finally through.

“Voilà!” he pronounced with a flourish. “You look amazing!”

I surveyed the stranger in the mirror, a way better-looking version of the usual me, in an Oscar de la Renta wedding gown. My eyes caught on the diamond necklace at my throat.

“They were your grandmother's,” Mom had said when she'd put them on me. She and Parker had colluded ahead of time and he'd had matching earrings made. Something old and something new. He'd given them to me last night after the rehearsal dinner, before he'd gone back to his apartment (alone—Mom had been quite adamant about our being apart from then until the ceremony).

“Oh, Sage,” Megan breathed, clasping her hands in delight. “You look like a princess!”

She was my Maid of Honor. I had six other attendants who were all various cousins and second cousins on my dad's side, but they were all getting ready in another room. Only Megan, Jeffrey, and my mom were in here. Thank goodness Catholic churches like this one were huge.

I hadn't wanted a big wedding, but Dad had cajoled and begged and even at one point broke down and cried (which I'd been sure were crocodile tears since once I'd caved they'd magically disappeared). So now Parker and I had fourteen attendants, a flower girl and ring bearer, plus a miniature bride and groom.

Okay, the miniature bride and groom were super cute.

“You're going to be just as beautiful on your wedding day,” I said. Brian had proposed at Christmas.

She grinned. “Maybe. But my wedding won't include half of Chicago.”

She was referring to the over five hundred guests currently waiting in the nave. I started to sweat.

“No no no!” Jeffrey cried, grabbing a tissue and carefully blotting my forehead. “The makeup is perfect!” He gestured to my mother and Megan. “Quick, fan her.”

“Shit! I'm sorry, Sage!” Megan said, hurrying to obey him.

The sight of three people grabbing the nearest hymnal or Bible and using it to fan a nervous bride-to-be had me bursting out laughing.

“Well, laughing is better than sweating,” Mom said, setting aside her hymnal and tossing back the rest of her champagne.

“I thought you said to sip it!” I said.

She covered a delicate burp. “The bride should sip it. The mother of the bride should drink a gallon before seeing her only daughter walk down the aisle.” Her eyes shone with tears as she looked at me, but Jeffrey began
tut-tut
ting and muttering things about mascara, so she blinked them back with a smile. Which was a good thing because I was pretty sure if my mom started crying, I would, too.

There was a knock on the door. “Ten minutes!” Ah. The wedding planner.

“We'd better go,” Mom said. “I'll send your dad in.” I nodded and she left along with Megan and Jeffrey.

I took deep breaths. I wasn't nervous about marrying Parker. I was nervous about
getting married
. All those people out there watching me walk down the aisle…I could feel the sweat coming on again.

“Dammit,” I muttered, grabbing for more tissues as the door opened. I turned around, expecting my father, but it was Ryker.

I smiled. “Hey! You know you're not supposed to be in here.” He looked great in the tuxedos I'd picked out.

“Shh. Don't tell the dragon lady,” he said.

“The wedding planner is the best in the city,” I said. “I can't help it if you don't take orders well.”

He shrugged, not looking a bit repentant at the teasing he'd given our planner last night. It was lucky for him he was good-looking and a cop, otherwise I think she would've boxed his ears.

“I just wanted to say how happy I am for you and Parker,” he said. “He's like a brother to me and now, well, now I get a new sister.” He smiled.

It was sweet of him and felt genuine. It had been almost nine months since we'd been together, but it felt like a lifetime ago. His heart and mine had moved on, but there would always be a special tenderness between us.

“Thanks, Ryker.” I reached to give him a hug, but he jumped back, evading my arms.

“No way am I messing up the bride,” he said. Leaning forward, he gave me the merest brush of his lips on my cheek. “Good luck, sweetheart.”

He turned back at the door. “Wait. Do you have all your ‘something old, something new' stuff?”

“Megan let me borrow her Jimmy Choos,” I said. “But I didn't find anything blue.”

Ryker stepped back toward me. “Please, allow me.” Reaching in his pocket, he pulled out a tiny bottle of Bombay Sapphire gin.

I laughed in surprise and delight. “Where the heck am I supposed to put that?” I asked. “Down my cleavage?”

Ryker glanced around and spied my bouquet, still in the florist box and waiting for me. He picked it up, nestled the gin deep among the peach roses, eucalyptus, and greenery, so only a bit of it peeked out. He handed it to me.

“It's perfect,” I said with a smile. “Thank you.”

He smiled, then went out the door.

My dad was a blubbering mess when he saw me, his eyes red as he manfully tried to hold back the tears. I hugged him and patted him on the back, so glad I had parents who loved me so much.

Butterflies filled my stomach as we headed for the nave, with me on my dad's arm. The music was beckoning—my dad had somehow gotten ten members of the Chicago Symphony to play for our wedding—which made my stomach turn somersaults. Then we turned the corner and I looked down the aisle…and saw Parker. Ryker stood at his side.

Our eyes met and I smiled. The butterflies settled down as I walked down the aisle to my groom.

“You are the most beautiful bride I've ever seen,” Parker said, slowly turning me around the dance floor.

“And how many brides have you come across?” I teased.

He laughed, his eyes shining as he looked at me, the look on his face one I wanted to memorize. As though I indeed was the most beautiful, perfect thing he'd ever seen.

The wedding had been perfect. The dinner and reception had gone off without a hitch. Now we were dancing and enjoying the celebration.

“What a lovely wedding!”

I looked over my shoulder and saw Natalie in Ryker's arms as they danced next to us. I smiled.

“Thank you,” I said. “I'm glad you came.”

Natalie and I had buried the hatchet. I'd saved her life. She'd saved mine. She and Ryker had been dating steadily ever since Thanksgiving. They both looked happy and I hoped things worked out for them. I had a feeling it would.

Ryker had held a torch for Natalie for a decade. He wouldn't let her go now. And she'd been amazed that he still loved her, crying to me one night over too many bottles of wine that she didn't deserve him. I'd told her not to be stupid, of course she deserved him, and to have another piece of chocolate cake. Then I'd eaten half her piece of cake.

“So where's the honeymoon?” I asked Parker as Natalie and Ryker spun away. He'd refused to tell me, saying it was a surprise. He'd even had Megan do the packing for me so I didn't know if it was somewhere warm or cold.

“You'll see,” he said. “You don't want to ruin my surprise now, do you?”

“Well, when do we get to leave?”

“As soon as you want.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Really? Are we driving?” Hmm…what was within driving distance…

“Nope.”

“So we're flying.”

“Yep.”

“But we can leave anytime?”

His eyes twinkled at me. “Yep.”

That could only mean…“Someone loaned you their private plane,” I guessed.

He winked at me.

I squealed. That was so cool. “Let's go now,” I said. “Is that okay?”

“Now would be perfect,” he said. “Because I really don't want to wait any longer to start the rest of my life…with you.” And he kissed me.

Y
ou're dumping me?”

I couldn't believe it—not that it was completely out of the blue—but I hadn't even had a chance to order dessert.

“Listen, Sage, I just don't think it's working out,” Brandon said. “I mean I like you, I really do, but it just doesn't seem as though you have time for a relationship—”

The buzzing of my cell phone cut him off. I didn't have to look to know who it was. Fighting my instinct to pick it up, I said, “I have plenty of time for a relationship!”

“Sage, we've been dating for three months and we've yet to have a dinner that wasn't interrupted by your cell.”

“That is not true,” I protested, frantically trying to remember a time when I'd had
any
meal without my phone ringing. My phone buzzed again, and I swear my eye twitched with the need to answer it.

But Brandon was shaking his head, a resigned look on his face. “I'm sorry. I really am.” He took some money out of his wallet and placed it on the table.

More insistent buzzing, as if the person on the other end knew I was there and not picking up. I clenched my hands into fists in my lap.

“Brandon,” I tried again as he stood. He nodded toward my phone.

“Sage, you may not want to admit it, but you're already in a committed relationship. And he doesn't share.”

I stared in dismay at Brandon's retreating back as he left the restaurant. The phone buzzed. Glaring at it, I reached out and snatched it up, knowing it could only be one person.

“What?” I snapped, allowing the hovering waiter to remove my plate. I grabbed the wine bottle and emptied the rest into my glass.

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “Excuse me?”

I held in a sigh and rubbed my forehead. I felt a headache coming on. “I'm sorry, I thought it was someone else,” I lied, modulating my voice into the usual pleasant tone I used for work. “What can I do for you, sir?”

Sir
was Parker Anderson, and Parker Anderson was my boss.

“I need the margin projections on the Layne acquisition. Where are they?”

“Lyle brought them by this afternoon,” I said. “I put them on your desk.”

“I'm looking and I don't see them.”

“They're underneath the stack of quarterlies that I printed off this morning,” I guessed.

There was a shuffling of paper. “Okay. Found it. Thanks.” He ended the call.

“You're welcome,” I muttered, tossing down my phone. Parker never apologized for calling me after official work hours. I thought it was because he worked so much. He never considered any hour as being free from work, for either himself or those who worked for him. Usually, I didn't mind because…well, it was complicated.

The wind had picked up and I pulled my wrap tighter around my bare arms as I gazed out at Lake Michigan. Brandon had picked one of the nicest restaurants in Chicago to break up with me, a place with outdoor seating and a great view. I guessed that was something.

I watched as the last bit of twilight faded into evening and sipped my wine. Brandon had already paid for it so no sense letting it go to waste. We'd met on Valentine's Day of all things and over the next three months I'd become more and more convinced that maybe he could be Mr. Right.

Apparently, I was Ms. Wrong.

On that depressing thought, I got drunk. Well at least I
think
I got drunk. I was vaguely aware of the valet calling me a cab and me stumbling into my apartment. I may or may not have taken a bubble bath—a weird predilection that came out when I was very drunk, no matter the time of night—since I had little memory of anything up to my head hitting the pillow. Some might say I passed out, but I'm a lady and ladies don't
pass out
. I just…slept very deeply.

The alarm woke me at the usual time and I groaned, slamming my hand on the button to silence it. My head ached from too much wine and I stood too long in the shower. By the time I was rummaging through my closet trying to find the match to the shoes I wanted to wear, I was already going to be late.

“Damn it!” I yelled in frustration, then heard my mom in my head.

Ladies don't use vulgar language.

“Ladies probably never have to take the bus to work either,” I groused to no one.

The bus was just closing its doors when I ran up, out of breath and carrying my shoes. I rapped on the door and the driver opened it for me.

“Running late today?” he asked with a grin.

I was too out of breath to reply so I just smiled. He was a nice guy and knew all the regulars on this route.

Work was just under five miles away and I was one of the first off the bus, shoes now on my feet. It was a cool spring morning and probably too early in the season for the peep-toe sunny yellow heels, but I'd worn them anyway. I'd added a matching yellow scarf around my neck to go with the navy skirt and white blouse I wore. The yellow added a touch of whimsy to the otherwise staid clothes. I didn't mind. It was expected attire for the assistant to the Director of Investment Analytics at KLP Capital, which was
the
investment bank in Chicago.

Robin worked the morning shift at Starbucks and had my standing order ready when I walked in.

“Thank you!” I said, blowing an air-kiss in her direction as I grabbed the two cups and paper bag. A second later I was out the door and scurrying across the street. The wind whipped at my hair, but I always kept it pulled back tight. My hair was dark, thick, and long, and I never wore it down to work. A French braid tucked up into a bun kept it from getting in my way.

Used to juggling coffee, Parker's breakfast, and my purse, I showed my pass to Security, who let me by to the elevators. Thirty-five floors later, I stepped out.

It was still early enough for me to get things set the way Parker liked. I hurried to drop off my purse and coffee before getting a plate and silverware from the kitchen. After placing the scone on the plate and setting the coffee in precisely the right spot, I hurried back to my desk to listen to his voice mails, taking notes as I scrolled through them. Finally setting down the telephone, I let out a sigh. All set for Parker's arrival in—I looked at my watch—three minutes.

At eight o'clock on the dot, Parker Anderson stepped off the elevators and headed my way.

It was secretly my favorite part of the day.

Parker Anderson wore five-thousand-dollar suits and walked like he owned half the city. There was no one he couldn't intimidate, and he knew it. Some called him arrogant; he said it was confidence.

This morning he'd worn his usual kind of power suit, this one a dark gray pinstripe with a light gray shirt and what I recognized as a Burberry tie. His dark hair was long on top, parted on the side, and lay in a smooth wave back off his high forehead. It made a nice contrast to the clear blue of his eyes. His face was perfect symmetry, an oval with a straight nose that conjured adjectives like
aristocratic
. A strong jaw and chin were the perfect complement, while his lips—his lips were in the sweet spot between too-thin and too-feminine, not that I spent much time staring at his lips. At least, I tried not to stare. He was thirty-five, incredibly handsome, successful, wealthy—and as unobtainable as the moon.

But that didn't mean I couldn't enjoy the view.

“Good morning, Sage,” he said, the deep baritone of his voice as smooth as a shot of twenty-year-old scotch. He took the stack of messages I handed him and glanced through them. This was our morning routine, too.

“Good morning,” I replied with a smile. I caught a whiff of his cologne mixed with his aftershave. I'd become so accustomed to the slightly spicy scent that I didn't think I'd ever be able to smell it and not think of Parker.

Usually he'd give me a polite smile, then disappear into his office, but today he hesitated.

“I, um, I didn't get you at a bad time last night, did I?” he asked, still looking through his messages.

My eyes widened. He had never asked me that before and there had been plenty of times that had been “bad.” I was gonna have to mark this one down on my calendar.

I was so surprised, I blurted out the truth. “I'd just gotten dumped.”

Parker looked up at that. If my candor had shocked him, I couldn't tell. His blue eyes were steady on mine for a long moment in which I may have stopped breathing. He rarely ever focused that intently on me and I found myself wishing for the umpteenth time that Parker were a less attractive man. It would make concentrating at work a helluva lot easier.

“I'm sorry to hear that,” he said at last.

My smile was as fake as the name-brand purse I'd bought off a street vendor on Michigan Avenue.

“It's fine,” I said quickly with a nervous wave of my hand as I tried to figure out what to say. It wasn't like Parker and I often chatted about our personal lives. “He was bad in bed anyway.”

Oh. My. God. Had I just said that? To
my boss
?

I gasped in dismay, both my hands flying to cover my mouth. Talk about too much information.

His lips twitched slightly and I swear his eyes crinkled at the corners, as though he were holding back a full-blown grin. He cleared his throat.

“Yes, well, um, that's…too bad. Guess you're better off then.” With another fleeting smile, he headed into his office, the glass door swinging closed behind him.

If he couldn't see me through the glass wall, I would have put my head down on my desk and moaned in sheer mortification. I'd mentioned sex to my boss. And that I'd been having
bad
sex. Maybe he thought it was me? What if he thought I was bad in bed?

“It doesn't matter!” I hissed to myself, grabbing my coffee and taking a steadying swig as though it were bourbon rather than a nonfat-grande-caramel-no-foam-latte (add whip). Who cared if Parker thought I was bad in bed? It wasn't like I'd ever get the opportunity to—

Nope. Not going there. I was not a secretary-with-the-hots-for-her-boss cliché. Any woman with eyes could appreciate the many wonderful attributes of Parker Anderson. I was just…normal.

Right.

It was business as usual after that and I made myself put aside my embarrassment and stop thinking inappropriate thoughts. Parker was as normal as ever as I transcribed from his voice memo recorder, edited a Power Point presentation he was giving in New York next week, coordinated the quarterly performance reviews, and all the usual things that made the day fly by. Mondays were busy so Parker always ate lunch at his desk. At noon, I ran out to get his usual from the restaurant four blocks down. He had their Monday special of Tuscan-style salmon with rosemary orzo.

I had a hot dog from a street vendor that I scarfed down while hurrying back from the restaurant. I always ate it plain because one time I'd dropped mustard on my blouse, which had sent me into a panicked tizzy and resulted in thirty minutes in the bathroom trying to unsuccessfully scrub it out. I'd tried to hide the stain, but Parker had seen when I'd had to take him some files.

“Problems at lunch?” he'd inquired with a pointed look at my stained blouse.

I hadn't eaten mustard, or anything else, on my hot dog since.

Parker was still in a meeting when I set the tray on his desk, arranging the plate and cutlery just so. The mouthwatering aroma of the salmon filled the air, making my stomach growl even after my hot dog.

I was just finishing folding the napkin into a bird of paradise when the door to Parker's office swung open. Surprised, I glanced up…and promptly forgot all about the napkin fold.

Holy shit.

Bradley Cooper all buff and badass in
The A-Team
immediately sprang to mind.

He was over six feet tall, his broad shoulders encased in a white T-shirt and leather jacket, with the outline of dog tags underneath the thin fabric stretched across his chest. Chestnut hair that had a hint of curl in it was slicked back from his face and begged for a woman's fingers to run through it. His jaw was grizzled with two days of whiskers while his eyes were obscured behind mirrored sunglasses.

The man slipped the sunglasses off and I swear my knees went weak. His eyes were a bright blue, the corners showing fine lines from either smiling or squinting. I chose to think it was from smiling because with looks like his, why would he
not
smile?

“Where's your boss, sweetheart?” he asked, hooking his sunglasses on the front of his shirt. He glanced curiously around the office.

I realized I was gaping and closed my mouth with a snap. The “sweetheart” set my teeth on edge. I wasn't his sweetheart—at least, not without dinner first.

My smile was like saccharine. “Who's asking,
sugar pie
?”

His eyebrows shot up and his gaze whipped around to mine. Then he gave a low chuckle and took a few steps toward me until he stood right in front of the desk. He held up a badge.

“Detective Ryker, CPD.”

Now it was my turn to be taken aback. The police? Here to see Parker?

“Oh, um, are you sure you're looking for Parker Anderson?” I asked.

The detective snorted in derision as he pocketed his ID. I glimpsed a gun and holster. “Oh yeah. I'm sure. Where is he?”

“He's in a meeting,” I said, hurrying to finish folding the napkin. “He'll be back any minute for his lunch.”

Detective Ryker glanced at the tray as I carefully set the bird of paradise napkin to the side. I frowned, nervously chewing my lip. If Parker didn't hurry, the salmon would be cold and I'd have to nuke it in the microwave. And if this cop was here to talk to him, chances were that might take a while so he wouldn't get the chance to eat until later. Maybe I should take the tray to the kitchen for now?

My thoughts were interrupted by the detective. “You've got to be fucking kidding me.”

Shocked, I glanced around to see what he was talking about; then I realized he was referring to the lunch, or me, or maybe both.