The Wedding Chapel (23 page)

Karli Jackson from FRESH had phoned over the weekend, gushing about how much the team loved Jack’s
fabulous
idea. Then she dropped the hammer.

“No Colette Greer, no deal.”

Jack was never so relieved than when Colette called Sunday evening just after he arrived home.

Without any small talk, she agreed to meet with him. “Monday afternoon, one sharp.”

Yessiree, he was not going to lose an account to Alpine & Schmidt.

Now, pacing his office, Jack prepared to pitch his A game.

Hops popped into his office. “I still need my best man heading up WhiteWater’s foundation.”

Jack glanced up from his notes. He liked to jot down his ad libs. “Fine, fine, let me get through this FRESH business and I’ll give you an answer.”

“Sooner rather than later, Jack.”

“Okay, okay.”

Rocking back in his chair, Jack stared at his glass wall, watching Hops disappear into his office.

London. He’d not even brought it up to Taylor. What if he wanted, needed, to go to London, but she insisted on staying here? Jack’s chest constricted with the idea of leaving his wife in New York while that snake Doug Voss slithered through the streets.

Try as he might, he could not trust. He’d been burned by that match too many times.

He woke up this morning with an odd line running through his head, rocking his confidence.

“If it doesn’t work out we can walk away, no fuss, no muss.”

Who said that? Taylor? At their wedding? His memory played a recording of her voice saying,
“No fuss, no muss.”

Know what? He didn’t have the emotional time to dwell on it. Jack reached for his phone and slipped on his suit jacket.

If he didn’t leave for Colette’s now, he’d be late.

Grabbing a fourth cup of coffee, Jack stopped by Hops’s office. “I’m on my way to Colette Greer’s.”

“Fine, keep me posted.” Hops remained focused on the document he was reading.

“I’m not losing this account to Alpine & Schmidt.”

“So you’ve said.”

“Why don’t you hire someone who’s already in London? To head up the foundation?”

“Because I hired someone in New York who said he’d do anything and everything I asked.”

Ah, speared by his own confession. “That was a long time ago.”

Hops glanced up. “What’s changed?”

“Me. I’m experienced now. Married.”

“Which is exactly why you need to be in London. As a photographer your wife must be dying to go.”

Jack kicked out one of the chairs in front of Hops. “I haven’t told her.”

Hops reached for his 105 coffee mug, using it more as a prop than to drink coffee. “Things not going well between you two?”

“We’re adjusting.”

“Want some advice? From a man who’s been married three times?”

“Not really.”

“Third time’s a charm, Jack.”

“I don’t want to be married a third time. Or a second.”

“You may have no choice.” Hops set his cup down and leaned on his elbows. “Jack, if your job is sexier than your wife, then it’s time to cut her loose.”

“Excuse me?” Where was he going with this?

“You come in early, stay late. Bust your butt to win back an account I’m not all that keen on keeping.”

“FRESH has been a key account for ten years. Besides, I’m trying to build a career here.”

“So you lose one account, Jack. It happens.”

“Do you hear yourself?” Jack jumped up. “Cut the wife loose, cut a key account. Well, no, I don’t want to lose FRESH.” Or Taylor.

It wasn’t so much that he hated to lose—he hated the . . .

Rejection.

“I’ve been where you are, Jack. Believe me,” Hops said. “I know
exactly
how you feel. So trust me when I say sometimes you have to let things go, move on, scale higher mountains. Before your marriage you’d have beaten down my door for the London spot. Again, what’s changed?”

“I have a personal life.”

“Yet here you are, at the office morning and night, spending
your weekend on a B-level account. If that is more enticing to you than whatever is waiting for you at home, then cut your losses, Jack. Elope
out
as quick as you eloped in.”

“That’s your sage advice? ‘Elope
out
’?”

“Took me three marriages to figure it out, but yes, that’s my sage advice.”

Jack regarded Hops, searching for a response, finding none. His words felt dry and void, his heart pinging with the buried truth in his boss’s odd logic.

From his pocket, Jack’s phone buzzed, reminding him to leave for Colette’s or be late.

“I’ve got to go.” He backed toward the door.

“Good luck. But, Jack, after you fix this FRESH thing, it’s off to London. I’m not asking anymore. I’m telling.”

Jack stepped over Hops’s verbal gauntlet, tension twisting through him. If he had to choose between London and his marriage, between his boss and his wife, he’d sink. Drown in indecision.

After riding the elevator to the street, Jack whistled for a cab.

While the idea of losing Taylor stole his breath away, his job meant everything to him. For the past five years, Hops and 105 had been his family, a constant in his life, a place of security and success.

So if he had to choose . . .

Jack scooted into the backseat of a yellow cab and gave the driver Colette’s address. He stared out the window at the traffic and pedestrians, grappling with Hops’s advice and the churning question—If he had to choose . . .

Squirming in his seat, he stretched his starched collar, trying to inhale deep.

He didn’t know. He just didn’t know. And in the face of his indecision, a slow-burning fear settled in his soul.

The famous Colette Greer met him in the middle of a bright, square room where a wall of windows faced Central Park.

“Come in, please.” She shook his hand and the power of her grip made him question her age.

“Thank you for meeting with me.” Jack sat in the chair she indicated, a bit in awe of the soap legend.

She had a presence about her, a savoir faire he didn’t find in most women, or men, for that matter. To his surprise, though, she reminded him of Taylor. Her countenance, her frame, the way she carried herself.

He’d collected himself, stuffed away his conversation with Hops on the ride over, finally feeling composed on the elevator ride up to Colette’s penthouse.

“Zoë, bring round some tea,” Colette said. “You like tea, don’t you, Jack?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He’d drink tea until his eyes swam in orange pekoe if it landed Colette for the FRESH account.

She sat on the corner of the sofa, diagonally from Jack, who’d dropped into the nearest big and boxy armchair. Everything in the room was white except the dark furniture.

“So what’s this all about? This FRESH Water opportunity?”

“Thank you for seeing me, Ms. Greer.” Jack scooted to the edge of his chair.

“How’s Taylor?”

Jack moved to the edge of his seat, adjusting his jacket, focusing on Colette. “She’s fine. In Heart’s Bend, actually. At her granny’s house. She went down to take pictures of a wedding chapel.”

Colette glanced away. “Wh-what is she doing at her granny’s house?”

“Not really sure. Her granny, Peg, your sister, left the house to Taylor but the contents to her sister, Emma. Pretty unique situation.”

Colette sat back. “I see. And this chapel?”

“I don’t know much about it other than ole Coach Westbrook built it. Did you know him? Jimmy Westbrook?”

“I-I believe I went to school with a Jimmy Westbrook.”

“Apparently he built a wedding chapel but never used it. Ever.”

“Tragic, isn’t it, how love can tumble a soul?”

Tumble a soul
. Jack considered the odd conclusion to Coach’s building a chapel. “I guess it makes one think.”

In a flash, Jack saw himself as an old man, aging and alone, a curmudgeon like Scrooge. Bitter like Rise Forester. And panic kicked in. No! He wouldn’t let it happen, but sure as shooting, that would be his future if he didn’t learn to speak his heart.

If he wasn’t sitting in front of Colette, he’d text Taylor now. No,
call
. He should call. Because Voss liked to text.

“How is Taylor’s family? Are they all well?”

“Her mom owns a production company and is pretty influential around Nashville. A couple of movies were shot on location in Heart’s Bend and she worked on those. Let’s see . . .” Truth was, Jack didn’t know all that much about Taylor’s family. “Her dad runs Branson Construction & Survey. She doesn’t talk much about him. Of course you know him—he’s your nephew.”

“I’ve not seen him since he was a very young lad.”

Colette’s assistant bounced in with a tea tray and set it on the table. She handed a cup and saucer to Jack, then one to Colette, before pouring from a glossy white china pot. She passed a plate of thin cookies.

When she left, Colette sipped her tea, eyeing Jack over the rim. “Well, I suppose you came for some other reason than to discuss my family.”

“Yes, ma’am, I did.” Jack gulped his tea and burned his tongue. “I’d like you to be the spokeswoman for FRESH Water.”

“So you said in your voice mail. Why me, Jack?”

He squared his back and launched his pitch.

You’re an icon . . . known around the world . . . infamous for tossing water in people’s faces . . . classic actress with drama and comedic skill . . . broad appeal.

“Who do you want treasuring your water product? Colette Greer. The FRESH people think it’s brilliant.”

“Interesting.” She reached to add a bit more cream to her tea. “I do like FRESH.”

“And FRESH likes you. No, they
love
you.”

“Are your folks in Heart’s Bend?”

Jack tipped his head at the sudden change in conversation. “Mine? Um, yeah, kind of. It’s complicated.”

Colette cradled her cup and saucer in her hand. “We have a few minutes.”

Okay, but he was really on a roll with his FRESH pitch. Jack balanced his tea on his knee and shoved a cookie in his mouth.

“My parents married, divorced, and I lived with my mom until she was killed in a motorcycle accident. I was nine.”

“I lost my parents in the war.”

“It’s no picnic, is it?”

“Hardly.”

“My dad claimed my mother cheated on him and that I was not his son. She, however, claimed his parents hated her because she was not of their social and economic class. Eventually they pressured my father into divorcing her.”

“See? How often love is tragic.”

Jack set his tea aside, uneasy at the way Colette’s philosophy mirrored Hops’s. Same sentiment. Different words. “Yes, tragic.”

“Who’s your father?”

“Rise Forester Jr.” He tagged the name with attitude.

“Is his father Rise Sr.? I knew him. In high school.”

“That’d be the one. I never knew him.” They showed no interest in him. Ever.

Colette seemed to ease down further in the sofa. “But you want to talk about FRESH, don’t you?”

“This is a great campaign, Colette.” Jack surged forward into his racing lane and settled in, describing the youth and vitality of the FRESH Water bottling company.

“And I get to toss water in someone’s face?”

“In the way only Colette Greer can.”

“Or Vivica Spenser. She invented that move.” Colette’s laugh floated over him.

Jack’s hope slowly rose. “So you’ll do it?”

“Why not? It sounds fun. And at my age, a girl never knows how many days of fun she has left.”

Jack contained himself enough to offer her a proper handshake and a professional, “It’s an honor. Welcome to the fam.” He grinned. “You’ve made my day.”

“And you mine.” She returned his hearty handshake.

“Thank you for this. You’re going to love working with 105, and FRESH.” He retrieved two business cards from his wallet. “Here’s my card, and one from FRESH. Please call them if you have any questions. Otherwise, we’ll move forward. Have your manager call me. We can go from there.”

“Will do.”

When she didn’t reach for the cards, Jack deposited them on the table. “Thank you for your time and the tea.”

“No, thank you.”

Striding down the wide, grand hall to the elevator, Jack did a jig and tugged his phone from his pocket. That was almost too easy. But if being “family” plied Colette for him, he’d take it.

He never tired of winning an account. It felt like Christmas every time. Joy to the world!

Calling Taylor, Jack deflated some when her voice mail answered. Hanging up, he opted to send a text.

J
UST MET W
/
YOUR AUNT
. S
HE
’
LL DO
FRESH
CPAIGN
. A
SKED A LOT ABOUT THE FAMILY
.

He entered 105 walking a few feet off the ground and informed his team they’d beaten Alpine & Schmidt and won back the FRESH account with Colette Greer as their spokeswoman.

Cheers all around.

In his office, Jack checked his phone for a response from Taylor. Nothing.

Energized, he made calls to the clients he’d been neglecting recently, but by midafternoon, he’d still not heard from Taylor.

He pinged her with a Y
OU THERE
? text.