One More Night. Jennifer McKenzie
a hand on his arm. “I appreciate it, Owen. But I’m okay.”
He wasn’t sure he believed her, but he nodded agreeably. He preferred compromise to conflict. “All right, then. Tell me what I need to know about this party. I’m sure you have some ideas.”
This time, Mal’s smile reached her eyes. “I’m so glad you asked.”
* * *
OWEN CALLED GRACE Sunday morning. A woman like her would spend her Monday morning returning phone calls in order and he hoped to be one of the first. Perhaps he could convince her to go out with him yet. A business meeting. Over lunch. Totally aboveboard.
He was surprised when she answered.
“Grace Monroe.”
But he recovered quickly. “Grace. It’s Owen Ford.”
“Mr. Ford.” He was pretty sure he heard a sigh in her voice, but it was immediately replaced with cool professionalism. “What can I help you with?”
“A party. I need to plan one.”
There was a brief pause. “You’re aware that I specialize in weddings? But I’m happy to send you the names of some other planners in the city who can help. What kind of budget do you have?”
“It’s not for me. An engagement party for Donovan and Julia.” Owen had attended his fair share of parties over the years. More than his fair share and even hosted some. But a couple of blowouts when he’d been in high school, a kegger in his parents’ backyard before he’d told them that he’d officially dropped out of university and a housewarming when he’d bought his apartment that had turned into forty-eight hours of drinks and debauchery weren’t exactly going to cut it. “I’d like to hire you to help.”
Grace exhaled. Owen heard the slow escape of air. “You’ve already hired me, Mr. Ford. I can certainly add the engagement party to the wedding portfolio.”
“No, it’s a surprise.” Another little gem Mal had informed him of once he’d committed to organizing it. He heard the rustling of paper, imagined Grace flipping through a sheaf of them at her desk. “You aren’t at the office, are you?”
“I’m not sure how that concerns you, but yes, I am.”
Owen glanced at the clock. It was only nine in the morning. On a Sunday. He’d been up for an hour and a half, getting a run in before the day got too warm to be comfortable, but most people would still be lounging in bed or treating the worst of their hangovers at a local breakfast café. And Grace was in her office. What a waste on a beautiful weekend morning. “Listen, why don’t I swing by to pick you up. We’ll go for brunch and discuss.”
There was a short pause. Marshaling her resources no doubt. “That’s not necessary, Mr. Ford. Why don’t you tell me what kind of function you have in mind over the phone and I’ll start putting some ideas together that I can send to you.”
“So that I can feel guilty for making you work the entire Sunday? I won’t allow it.” He had a few hours before he needed to go into work himself and he thought spending it with Grace sounded like a fine idea. Better than his original plan, which was to lie on the couch until it was time to leave. The old Owen would have still been in bed, presumably with a gorgeous woman beside him, but since taking on a more involved role, his late nights out with the beautiful people of the city had come to an end. In truth, he didn’t miss it.
While it had been fun for a while—partying all night, sleeping most of the day and then doing it all over again—eventually it had started to bore him. There were only so many times he could see his picture in the paper under a caption proclaiming him one of the city’s most eligible bachelors, only so many times he could get up after only three hours of sleep and pretend that he couldn’t wait to hit the club that night. He’d done it longer than he’d wanted. Partially because he felt obligated to keep up the guise of the playboy Ford. Unlike Donovan and Mal, who’d finished university and then worked in the family offices putting their education to use, he’d dropped out in the middle of his second year and accepted a job as assistant manager at Elephants only because his parents had explained that he’d be cut off financially otherwise. But he’d done as little as possible those first dozen years.
It had gone on for so long that once he realized he’d changed, he didn’t know how to change his situation. His attempts to convince Donovan to give him more responsibility had been met with a steely stare and refusal. It wasn’t until their father’s heart attack that Donovan had been forced to accept Owen’s help. And though there were times that Owen felt overworked and in dire need of a break, he was happier now. He had a reason to get up in the morning, a sense of pride in his life.
But he still liked to have fun.
“Owen—”
He cut Grace off before she could decline again. “It’s just brunch. To discuss work. Or have you eaten already?” She probably had, some dry toast and half a hard-boiled egg with strong tea followed by flossing and the recommended two minutes of teeth-brushing.
She sighed. “Just coffee.”
“Great. Then I won’t take no for an answer. I’ll see you in fifteen.” Which would give him just enough time to shower, throw on some clothes and make the five-minute drive from his condo in Coal Harbor, which overlooked the water and Stanley Park, to her office in Yaletown. On a normal day, Owen would have walked, enjoying the city morning, the way the sun glinted off the buildings and the cool, fresh breeze that swept off the ocean.
But he wasn’t going to give Grace any extra time, any extra opportunity to decline his suggestion.
* * *
SHE SHOULD HAVE turned him down. Grace knew that before she’d even agreed to Owen’s suggestion. But it was a glorious morning and she’d already attended her Pilates class and brunch in the city sounded lovely, even if it was just a work meeting. Which was exactly what she wanted. Nothing more, nothing less.
Still, her heart beat a little faster when she heard the knock on the front door and she rose from the main desk to slide the bolt and let him in. He looked good. Too good. Dressed in dark jeans and a white V-neck tee, he looked every inch the city playboy the blogosphere and papers claimed he was.
Yes, she’d looked him up. Had done a thorough and intensive investigation through internet searches and online newspaper archives. She was merely information-gathering for her wedding portfolio, making sure that she was aware of any possible pitfalls before they could appear. It was simply good management. But the heat warming her cheeks hinted at something else. Something Grace wasn’t quite as comfortable with.
So she pasted on her professional smile, greeted him with a quick air kiss and prepared to step back and gather her purse from the desk drawer. Except Owen pulled her into a loose hug. “It’s good to see you.”
And her pulse jumped before she gathered her composure and stepped out of his embrace. “Yes, well...” She let her sentence drop off, unsure what else to say. She wouldn’t agree that it was good to see him, too, because she wasn’t sure it was. He looked good, that was true enough, but was it actually good to see him? Even if he hadn’t been a client, albeit an indirect one, there was the small matter that he was absolutely not her type. Not even close. And certainly not the kind of man she saw herself settling down with in the future.
Grace strode back to the desk and grabbed her purse, hoping the flames in her cheeks weren’t visible.
“You look good,” Owen noted, leaning against the wall, easily, as though he’d been here a million times and had long since picked out his spot.
She refused to be rattled by the compliment. Since it was a Sunday, a day her office was closed unless she had a meeting scheduled, she’d selected a more casual look than her usual business wear. A racerback sheath dress that reached the tops of her knees in the palest periwinkle and flat gold sandals. Her hair was pulled back into a loose knot and she wore simple gold hoops at her ears and wrist. She did look good, but it was nice that he’d noticed.