Hard Deal. Stefanie London
choosing our menu...”
Kill me now.
Caleb flagged down a passing waiter and swapped his empty glass for a full one. In his experience, there was only one way to get through an event like this without completely climbing the walls. Make a drinking game of it.
“They suggested the chicken for the first course,” Daniel continued. “Can you believe it? Chicken! We already had that planned for the main. There was no way we could serve the same protein in two courses.”
Outrage over the most first world issue imaginable? Check.
Caleb took a swig of his drink. “Amateurs.”
“Oh, don’t even get me started.” Daniel huffed. “Then they wanted to use gold ribbons on the chairs when we’d specifically requested silver for the centrepieces. I mean, I’m no interior designer but even I know gold and silver don’t go together.”
Humble bragging. Check.
Stifling a laugh, Caleb took another sip. At this rate, he was going to be hammered before Daniel even finished his story. “I’m surprised you haven’t taken your business elsewhere,” he said, mimicking Daniel’s words from earlier.
“I should, but Penny really wants this venue. Apparently, it has special meaning to her.” He rolled his eyes. “And you know what they say about the old ball and chain—happy wife, happy life.”
Referring to his partner as a burden. Check. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the douchebag trifecta!
Before Caleb could raise the glass to his lips again, Daniel groaned suddenly.
“Oh God, my stomach.” He clutched his midsection. “My irritable bowel syndrome always acts up when I get stressed.”
Before anyone could comment, he darted off toward the ballroom’s exit. Jason sighed. “Did you have to wind him up?”
“He missed his calling in standup. Truly, the man is a comedic genius.” Caleb stifled a laugh. “How on earth are you friends with him?”
Jason shook his head. “Don’t start.”
“Do you not see what a pompous prima donna he is?” He raised a brow at his brother. “Let me reiterate so it’s clear.” He cleared his throat and puffed out his chest. “Oh, Jason, you simply have no idea how difficult the wedding folks are. The silver and gold clashes, my good chum. It clashes terribly.”
Jason’s lip twitched but he cleared his throat instead of laughing. “Stop it.”
“But, Jason, you don’t understand.” He’d gotten the “plum in the mouth” voice spot on. He even threw in a little of Daniel’s mannerisms to complete the picture—the rolling of his hand for emphasis, the jut of his chin into the air. Even the little head shake that punctuated his sentences. “Penny and I are delighted to be married and everything must be perfect for my darling ball and chain.”
This time Jason snorted. “Enough. I have to go to that wedding and I don’t want to be envisaging your performance during the ceremony, thank you very much.”
“Fine,” he said. “But you owe me big-time. If I have to spend another three hours with that man I’ll go certifiably crazy.”
“He might not make it back. Once the stomach troubles start he’s usually out for the night.” Jason sighed. “You pushed him too far.”
“By asking about his wedding?” Caleb rolled his hands around again. “But the silver and gold, Jason. Silver and gold!”
“I’m going to find Dad.” His brother laid a hand on his shoulder. “Want to come?”
Caleb knocked back the rest of his drink. “Hard pass.”
“Fine. But try not to make anyone else sick, okay?”
“No promises.” Caleb scanned the room as Jason walked away, a restless itch burrowing under his skin and causing him to shift from one foot to the other.
Next year he was going to find a concrete excuse not to come to this bloody thing. Nothing was worth standing around being bored out of his skull to keep his father happy. Why bother? It wasn’t like it would make a difference in the long run, anyway.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a woman looking at him. Putting on his most charming smile, he headed toward her. If the company wasn’t up to scratch, all he had to do was find new company.
IMOGEN MOVED THROUGH the crowded ballroom, looking for the man with the golden mask. Was this how a glamorous spy in an old-school Bond movie felt? It was the most excitement she’d had for some time.
Excitement isn’t what you’re looking for, remember? You want reliability, security. Comfort.
She rolled her eyes behind her mask. It was a little disconcerting that her ideal life situation sounded like an ad for a Maxi Pad. Or a nursing home.
But she’d had excitement before. She’d had the wild thrill of an electric, charismatic man sweeping her off her feet and filling her head with false promises. A guy who flew in and out of her life as he pleased, drama and chaos nipping at his heels. It was exhilarating to be wanted by a man who could have anyone, sure. But it was also exhausting, stressful and left her heart shattered into a billion jagged pieces.
In other words, excitement was not all it was cracked up to be. Which was why she needed to focus on her mission.
Then she spotted him. The gold mask gleamed under the twinkling light of the grand chandelier. The design left part of his jaw free, and showed some of the styled hair at the back of his head. Imogen squinted. She hadn’t remembered Daniel’s hair being quite so fair, but he could have dyed it. It wouldn’t surprise her—the guy did get weekly manicures after all. He was also looking more trim than usual, but her sister had mentioned something about them being on a prewedding diet. No carbs or some such craziness.
She made her way forward, heading toward a waiter who was standing near Daniel and the man he was talking to. Smiling, she accepted a flute of champagne and took a delicate sip. Up close, the masked man looked broader and more athletic than she remembered of her future brother-in-law. Imogen bit down on her lip. He had said his mask was one of a kind, so this must be him. But something didn’t seem quite right.
“Oh my, I love your dress.” A woman in a long blue ball gown came over to get a closer look at Imogen’s borrowed outfit.
Grateful for the chance to better blend in, Imogen positioned herself so she was in earshot of the man in the golden mask. As the other woman started talking about designers and ball gowns, Imogen strained to listen to the conversation between the two men beside her.
“...you simply have no idea how difficult the wedding folks are. The silver and gold clashes, my good chum. It clashes terribly.” The man made a gesture with his hands, rolling them at the wrists. She’d recognise it anywhere. It was hard to hear what Daniel’s companion was saying, as he was farther away. “Penny and I are delighted to be married and everything must be perfect for my darling ball and chain.”
Penny. Imogen breathed a sigh of relief. She’d let it slide that he’d referred to her sister as a “ball and chain” for the moment. At least she knew she had her man.
“Don’t you think?” the woman in the blue ball gown asked. Oops! She’d been too busy eavesdropping to know how to respond. “I mean,” the woman continued, “I know they predicted last year that cerulean was going to be all the rage, but I rather prefer navy. It’s much more elegant.”
“I totally agree.” Imogen bobbed her head and took a sip of her champagne.