The Taking (40 page)

Which made the whole thing damned funny now that she had asked Ty to be a groomsman in her upcoming nuptials.

“Screw you,” Ty told him, lifting his bottle to his lips, his head propped up on the worn bar with his hand.

“None of us want to be in this wedding,” Elec Monroe said, sitting on Ryder’s right side, tossing peanut after peanut in his mouth. “But at least we can all hang out together at the reception.”

“This is your fault,” Ty told him, pointing a finger at him. “You’re the one who was friends with Jonas first. You’re the one who invited him to your party where he met Nikki.”

“And that’s where you met your fiancée,” Ryder reminded him. “So I can’t see how you’re figuring it’s a bad thing, because if Nikki hadn’t met Jonas, you’d still be with her instead of Imogen. Do you want to be dating Nikki ‘Where’s My Brain’ Borden?”

Ty’s face contorted in horror and he gave a mock shudder. “Point taken. But it’s still weird as hell.”

“Nobody’s arguing with that.” None of them were close to Strickland, yet all of them had been invited to participate in his circus of a wedding.

“I don’t mean to be a dick or anything,” Evan Monroe, Elec’s brother, piped up from down at the end. “But doesn’t Strickland have real friends? It’s not like any of us are really all that tight with him.”

“I’m sure he does,” Elec said. “But the truth is, Nikki’s pulling the strings here and she wants a splashy media wedding. She has half the top ten drivers in stock car racing in her wedding party. Talk about a photo op.”

Ryder had already figured out that was her motivation. He didn’t really care all that much, but he did have better things to do than waste a whole weekend wearing a monkey suit. Like watching TV and tossing a load of laundry in. And other stuff, none of which he could think of at the moment. But the truth was, he would do it, and not for Nikki or Jonas.

“Well, I for one feel cheapened and used,” he said, amused by the whole situation. He also had a nice beer buzz going, which made him feel much more prosaic about the whole thing.

“You know what? I’m not doing it,” Evan declared. “I hate wearing a tux and I always get stuck with the married bridesmaid, so there’s no chance of even scoring post-reception sex.”

“I’m not doing it either,” Ty said, slapping his fist down on the bar. “I mean, what the hell? It’s like incestuous or something for me to be standing there, in church, with Nikki and Jonas, and my fiancée sitting on the bench behind us ... I’m not doing it. Screw it. No one can make me.”

“Well, if you all aren’t going to be there, I’m out, too.” Elec rattled the peanuts around in his hand and wrinkled his nose. “I hate having my picture taken.”

“That’s because you’re ugly,” Evan told him, with all the love and affection only a brother can have.

“So it’s settled then.” Ty sat up and adjusted his ball cap. “We all bail.”

Ryder hated to break up this anti-wedding sit-in, but he was going to have to own it. “Not me, guys. I can’t bail.”

“What? Why the hell not?” Ty asked.

“Because of Suzanne. She’s the wedding planner for this crazy-ass mockery of a marriage, and I have to do it. I’ve gotta support her.” He did. He had to support Suzanne whatever way he could since his ex-wife had refused further alimony from him.

He had been busted up about that for weeks, worrying about Suz. She was stubborn to the point where she made the mule look like a pansy-boy.

If she wouldn’t take any money directly from him, he was going to do whatever he could to ensure her fledging wedding planning business got off to a solid start. Even if that meant he had to suffer through a whole day of watching Nikki and Jonas delude themselves into thinking their marriage would last forever.

“Sorry, boys, I have to be there.”

His friends and fellow stock car drivers gave him various expressions of understanding, overlaid with obvious irritation that he wasn’t falling in line with their plan.

“Damn it,” Ty said. “Truth is, I have to go, too. Imogen says if I back out, it’s going to look like I still have feelings for Nikki or something. She’s probably right, isn’t she?”

Ty’s fiancee Imogen was a brainiac and Ryder didn’t doubt for a minute that when it came to matters of logic, Imogen reigned supreme over four guys in a bar at four in the afternoon. “She’s probably got a point. If you’re in the wedding no one’s going to think for a minute you’re busted up about Nikki. If you bail, it might look like hurt feelings.”

“Well, I sure in the hell don’t want anyone thinking that. Guess I’m going to have to do it, too.”

Elec gave a monumental sigh. “If you two are in, I’ve got no excuse for not being there. Jonas is a buddy of mine, and I can’t hold it against the guy that he’s marrying a woman whose voice is like a cheese grater on my nuts. He’s got to be in love, he must be happy, and I should be there to help him celebrate that.”

“He’s not happy!” Evan said, gesturing to the bartender for another beer. “Have you lost your mind? The man is drowning in a haze of endorphins, that’s all. He’s going to wake up in six months from his sex cloud and wonder what the hell he was thinking.”

“You’re such a romantic,” Elec told him. “I can see why your love life is such a success.”

“Screw you.” Evan threw a balled-up napkin at his brother.

“There’s nothing wrong with marriage,” Ryder said, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Suddenly all eyes were on him.

“Yeah?” Ty asked, looking at him funny.

“Yeah.” Ryder put his bottle to his lip so he didn’t expand on his statement. He didn’t want to get into it, didn’t want anyone to know he was thinking about his ex a lot these days and wondering what exactly had gone wrong.

Evan said, “I still don’t want to be in this wedding.”

“Guess you don’t have to,” Elec told him. “But it looks like the rest of us are in.”

“What time is it?” Ryder asked, feeling his pocket for his cell phone. “We have to be at that wedding party planning meeting thing at five.”

Ty glanced at his watch. “It’s quarter till.”

“We need to head out then. Should we all ride together? Elec, you can drive since you only had one beer and you’ve been nursing it for two hours.”

“That’s cool,” Elec said. “We’re all going to need a beer after this anyway, so we might as well leave your cars here. Evan, you going or not?”

Ryder settled his bar tab and stood up, hoping they weren’t going to be late. Bitching and whining while bellied up to the bar had eaten up more time than he had expected and he didn’t want to disappoint Suzanne. Or more accurately, he didn’t want to listen to her reaming him.

“I’ll go,” Evan said begrudgingly. “I’ll look like a total ass if I don’t.”

“True.” Ryder clapped him on the shoulder. “Would it make you feel better if we let you plan the bachelor party?”

Evan perked up. “Hey, I wouldn’t mind that. I could do that.”

As they headed to the front door, Ryder wished that it were that easy to please himself these days. Something was missing in his life, and he was afraid he knew exactly what it was.

Or who, to be more accurate.

“You want fifteen groomsmen and fifteen bridesmaids?” Was she flippin’ serious? Suzanne Jefferson looked at her client Nikki Borden, who arguably had cotton candy floating where she should have brains, and knew the girl was one hundred percent serious.

“Uh-huh.” Nikki nodded with a big smile. “My big day should be, well, big.”

Right.

Nikki’s thin, toned, and tanned arms went flailing out, a beatific smile on her youthful face. “Big like the Eiffel Tower. Big like elephants. Big like ...” She paused, clearly at a loss for more large and lame metaphors.

“Big like the national debt?” Suzanne asked, shifting in her chair at her dining room table, unable to resist.

Nikki blinked. “Huh? What’s that?”

Suzanne bit her cheek and squeezed her lips together in the hopes she wouldn’t laugh out loud and have Nikki guessing she thought the blonde had bacon for brains. Why the hell Suzanne thought she could go back to being a wedding planner when she’d never been able to hide her emotions worth a damn was beyond her. Oh, wait. She was dead broke—that’s why she was pasting on a big old fake smile and listening to the likes of Nikki natter on and on about her perfect man and her perfect proposal and her perfect wedding.

At one time, before her own marriage and divorce, Suzanne had enjoyed the challenge of wedding planning, making sure every last teeny tiny detail was taken care of, and taking pride in the joy on a bride’s face on her big day. There had been annoying aspects, sure, but they had rolled off her less cynical back a little easier in those days.

But since she’d spent the past four years working as a volunteer on the board of a charity that funded children’s cancer research, she was having a hard time seeing the value in picking the perfect shade of pink for bridesmaid’s dresses, or suggesting the happy couple spend thousands of dollars on a cake that would disappear in under four hours.

Not that there was any point in whining about it. This was life, and she had to deal. She was going to squeeze the shit out of these lemons and force them into lemonade. Suzanne made a notation on her notepad.
Fifteen big-ass bridesmaids.

Then she added a dollar sign on the end.

That made her feel a little better. She could cash in on Nikki’s enthusiasm for excess. “Well, that’s perfectly understandable, Nikki. You want to share your wedding with those most important to you, and it’s very difficult to cut anyone out.” Though from the sound of it, Nikki was planning to ask every cousin, friend, and sorority sister she’d ever had, plus the saleswoman who’d sold her shoes at a discount, and the yahoo who changed her oil to be in her bridal party.

Nikki nodded. “Exactly.”

“But normally wedding parties run four to six bridesmaids and groomsmen. For a wedding party of thirty, plus your flower girl and ring bearer, that requires a lot of additional planning and coordinating. I’m going to have to increase my fee if that’s what you choose to do.”

“I understand.” Nikki just stared at her serenely.

“By double.”

“Sure.” Now a smug smile crossed the blonde’s face. “Jonas is paying.”

“The deposit? Do you have it?”

A check signed by Jonas Strickland passed from Nikki’s hand to hers, and a glance down at it showed it was written for the entire original amount Suzanne had quoted to Nikki.

“This is more than the deposit.”

“Jonas doesn’t like to be in debt. He said to just pay up front. I can get the rest to you in a day or two I’m sure.”

Nikki might claim to love Jonas, but at the moment, Suzanne really did. He had just padded her checking account substantially. Her smile to Nikki was very genuine. “That’s excellent, thank you. Now you said Jonas was going to be here, right? What time are you expecting him? We can go ahead discussing venues and colors, or we can wait for him.”

“He should be here any minute. And I think everyone from the wedding party said they could make it, too.”

Suzanne tugged at her red sweater, adjusting her cleavage. Surely she had heard Nikki wrong. “Excuse me? The wedding party is coming, too?”

“Yeah, I thought that would be fun! They can help us make choices.” Nikki beamed at Suzanne, clearly proud of herself.

Turning her dining room into sample central was working fairly well. She had access to all her books and menus and fabric samples, but there was no way in hell she could squeeze thirty people into her whole condo, let alone her dining room. There was really only room for her, Nikki, and a fat Chihuahua around this table.

Then again, she glanced down at the check on the table in front of her. For that kind of money, she’d let the best man sit on her lap. They’d shove people wherever for thirty minutes, throw some bridal magazines at them, then she’d get rid of them.

“I’m not good with decisions,” Nikki said.

Yet she’d decided to marry a man she’d been dating for six weeks. Huh. That was promising. “No problem. That’s what I’m here for, to guide you through the choices. Now let’s talk overall tone of the wedding. Do you want it formal, casual, is there a certain location that appeals to you?”

“I want a
Gone With the Wind
theme.”

Suzanne’s pen paused over her paper, horrific images of hoopskirts, parasols, and skinny faux mustaches popping into her head. “How literal do you want to take that concept?”

Nikki’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“You were thinking like maybe doing the wedding outside on the lawn at an antebellum home? But then simple elegance for the décor?”

“Oh, yeah. That’s what I mean. Just like it really was during the Civil War. That was the Civil War, wasn’t it? Anyway, whatever. Plus I want the big dresses they wore in the movie, and the guys in those long coats, and horses, and curled hair, and well... all of it.” Nikki beamed.