Holiday Wedding (Holiday Romance-Spicy Version #2)

6

Tuesday, December 10

14 days until the wedding

Jenny

Ifinish my interview with Marjorie and Caleb, going over their move to L.A. and the first few years when they went to audition after audition. They answer honestly, and I get a couple of unique stories I haven’t seen in articles before. Satisfaction expands my chest. Success!

It’s nearing 3:00 p.m. Marjorie rises from her seat. Caleb gives her a kiss on the cheek, a gesture that warms my heart, thinking back to when I first met them, how tense their relationship had been before Caleb went to rehab. Marjorie says good-bye and ducks out the back door. She’ll walk to her appointment since it’s a few blocks away. I hope the paparazzi won’t give her a hard time. They don’t usually harass her unless she’s with her megastar son.

My phone buzzes yet again with the word “Butthead” on the screen. Unable to avoid him any longer, I excuse myself and duck out into the narrow hallway, where I accept the call.

Eddie’s voice, nasal and high-pitched, comes onto the line. “It’s about time,” he says. No “good afternoon” or “how ya doing.” Nope. He skips straight past the pleasantries. “I’ve been calling you. You know, it’s not a great idea to ignore your supervisor.” He pauses, no doubt waiting for me to apologize.

I won’t.

He continues, ignoring that I haven’t spoken a word yet. “Just because we used to date doesn’t mean you get special treatment, Jenny.”

“I don’t expect that,” I protest, horrified by the idea. I’ve never asked for anything from him. Not when we were dating and definitely not after he dumped me.

“You have to keep me updated, like everyone else.”

“We already talked this morning,” I counter, exasperation shortening my words. I can’t believe I dated this douche. What was I thinking? “I even emailed you Caleb’s agenda for the day.”

“I saw it.” There’s the creak of a chair. I can picture him leaning back in that old, putrid green office chair he loves. The hum of the press room in L.A. comes over the phone line. I used to love that sound, the noise of reporters talking into phones and tapping at computer keys. I loved the smell there, ink and burnt popcorn and weather man Al’s cologne. For years, that place felt like home to me. I’d get a buzz of excitement whenever I stepped through the door.

Not now, though. After the disastrous relationship with Eddie and my inability to prove myself to the investigative team, I’ve started to dread going to the newsroom. I’ve found excuses to work remotely or go out on assignments. This New York trip has been a welcome distraction. A chance to escape all the mistakes I made back in L.A.

“Don’t you think it’s strange for Gwen to leave so close to the wedding?” Eddie asks.

I pull the phone away and glare at it, instantly defensive. Pressing it to my ear again, I tell him, “Caleb told her to go. He insisted.”

Gwen had spent months debating whether she should leave. We talked about it dozens of times as she listed the pros and cons.

Pros: Once in a lifetime opportunity to showcase the colon cancer research Gwen had spent the last four years working on. Research that was especially poignant to her since she lost her own dad to that dreadful disease. Gwen was on a mission to spare other families from what she’d endured. This conference would be instrumental in achieving her goal.

Cons: Missing out on wedding planning. Guilt over leaving wedding preparations to Marjorie and the rest of us.

“What should I do?” Gwen had asked, so conflicted she was losing precious sleep over the decision.

“Go,” I told her weeks ago. “You deserve to show off your hard work. Caleb wants you to go and so do I. Don’t worry about the wedding. I’ll personally make sure everything is ready when you get back. With your mom and Marjorie, we can get it all done. I promise.”

I defend Gwen’s choice to Eddie. “Gwen’s slaved away for years on her research. This isn’t just any conference. It’s sponsored by the American Cancer Society and only happens once every four years. It’s a huge opportunity. She cares about her job, Eddie. She’s going to end colon cancer.”

He makes a scoffing sound, which I ignore. I’ve always believed in Gwen. When she puts her mind to something, she doesn’t fail. “Her work is as important as, if not more than, this wedding.”

The chair creaks as Eddie shifts. “I don’t know. If I were getting married, I’d want my fiancée to be around to make sure everything ran smoothly. That’s all I’m saying.”

That’s because you’re a selfish pig, I want to tell him, but I don’t. As annoying as he is, Eddie is the head of the entertainment department and therefore my boss. I walk a fine line with him, being respectful but not letting him push me around. He’d been different when we first started dating. He’d blunted his bad behavior, but the longer we were together, the more it came out. The more he became the bully he is now.

“Well, they talked about it, and Caleb said she should go.” I dodge a waiter carrying a large silver tray.

“What did you learn from his mom? Anything new? Something juicy?” Eddie fires out.

I fill him in on the stories Marjorie told at lunch, leaving out the more intimate details like her relationship with her father.

“That’s it?” Eddie asks once I’ve finished. “That’s all you got?”

An image of the Caleb’s Secret Santa website flashes through my mind. Eddie would sell his own kidney to know about that, but there’s no way I’m telling him. I’m still surprised Dean told me about it.

He must be desperate.

“That’s it,” I tell Eddie, wanting to be done with this conversation.

The door next to me swings open, and Caleb pokes his head out. His gaze scans around until he sees me. “You okay?” he silently mouths. I give him a thumbs-up, smiling weakly. His eyes narrow for a second, like he doesn’t believe me. I make my grin wider, more convincing.

Finally, Caleb nods and goes back into the private room, closing the door softly behind him. He’s been like this since I arrived in New York, always checking up on me, asking if I need anything. At first, I thought it was because Gwen told him to do it, to keep an eye on me, but when I asked her about it she just laughed.

“Caleb likes you, Jenny,” she said. “Even separate from me, he thinks of you as his friend. That’s what he does for the people he cares about. He’s protective, nurturing. Why do you think I love him so much?”

Those words warmed me, because I like Caleb too. He’s good to everyone around him, friends and strangers alike. I’ve never seen him be mean to his staff or to any of the fans who approach him looking for an autograph. You’d think he would be snotty, growing up famous like he has, but honestly, he’s one of the most down-to-earth people I’ve ever met.

“What about the wedding? Any news there?” Eddie’s still talking in my ear. He doesn’t bother to hide his eagerness. He wants a promotion. When we dated, he once confessed he wanted to break a big story. Something to give him notoriety so he could move up to the editor-in-chief position.

“Nothing more than I already told you.” I scuff my feet along the floor, pacing slowly. “Besides, if anything did happen with the wedding, I’d have to get Caleb’s approval before I printed it.”

“You don’t really have to do that, you know.” Eddie’s voice drops low.

“Yes, I do. It’s part of my contract.” I gnaw on my lower lip. I’d been worried about this. The paper gave in too easily when I made that demand. I should have known they’d send Eddie to harass me, wanting to know more details. He’s famous for finding the biggest scandals in Hollywood, so of course he’d want to see one involving the “wedding of the century.”

“The newspaper would cover you if you breached the contract. We have lawyers for exactly that kind of situation.”

“Lawyers wouldn’t help me get my best friend back.” A group of women brush past me, heading for the bathroom and talking loudly. I put my finger to my ear so I can hear Eddie better.

“Jenny, you know what you need to do if you want that investigative job—”

“I gotta go. They’re done with lunch now.” I cut him off, knowing this cajoling tone too well. That’s the voice that talked me into staying, even though I thought about breaking up with him many times before he finally broke up with me.

“Okay,” he says, his voice clipped. “I’ll see you in two days. Hopefully, you’ll have something more interesting to discuss by then.”

I freeze at his words. “What do you mean, you’ll see me? You’re in L.A. and I’m in New York.”

“Oh,” he says with feigned nonchalance, as if he weren’t delivering a bomb designed to blow up my serenity. “Didn’t I tell you? I’ll be in New York. Just for the day. I’ve got some meetings in the morning, but I’ll make time for you. We can go to lunch at noon.”

I should have anticipated this. When we were dating, Eddie would frequently travel to New York, often leaving L.A. abruptly. A couple of times, I didn’t even know he’d left California until he called me from LaGuardia Airport in New York. My stomach twists at the thought of seeing him. I’ve been enjoying my Eddie-free existence here.

“I already have lunch plans,” I say automatically.

“Break them,” he says, his voice cold and commanding.

“What if they’re with Caleb? Like to interview him? We’re going to the flower market that morning with his mom,” I say, lying through my teeth. We need to choose a bouquet for Gwen and boutonnières for the groomsmen, but there’s no lunch planned.

“You see him practically every day. Do it at a different time.”

He won’t let this go. I know him. I give in to his demands like I have so many times before. “Fine.”

Eddie chuckles, as if he knew my defeat was inevitable. “I’ll make it easier for you,” he says, like he’s doing me a big favor. Like he’s the good guy in this situation. “I can meet you at a restaurant close to the flower market, so you don’t have to travel far.”

A pause, where he waits for me to thank him for his generosity. I refuse. Instead, I sigh and repeat, “Fine.” I stand with my hand on the door that leads to Dean and Caleb. “I’ll see you then.”

After he says good-bye, I slouch back into the room where servers are silently picking up our discarded silverware and napkins. One waiter piles dirty plates and bowls into a tall stack in his arms as we gather our things to leave. I bend over to shove my computer into my backpack. A loud crash from behind startles me, making my heart jackhammer against my sternum. Next to me, Dean jumps at the sound.

I twist around and find the server kneeling on the floor with an embarrassed blush. He’s picking up the shattered pieces of a plate. When I glance up from the ruined porcelain, I see Dean frozen with his eyes squeezed shut. I wait for a minute, expecting him to relax so we can go, but he remains in that position, every muscle vibrating with nervous energy. I grew up in a noisy house with three rambunctious big brothers. I recover quickly from the racket of something breaking since I heard it so often in my youth.

Apparently, Dean isn’t the same.

Caleb brushes past me and places a gentle hand on Dean’s arm. He leans close to Dean and whispers something I can’t hear. Whatever he says makes his bodyguard relax, the tension leaving his body as quickly as it came. Caleb ushers us out of the room and down the long hallway.

What was that all about?

Before I can give it further thought, we’re outside. The courtyard is brightly lit with twinkling white lights everywhere. Strands wind up branches and extend over our heads, connecting to a large Christmas tree.

As Dean predicted, there’s a crowd of paparazzi and fans waiting for Caleb. They’re held back by a thin red velvet rope that sways precariously as the crowd surges forward. Security guards from the restaurant are stationed at regular intervals along the barrier. Local police have joined them, no doubt called in as reinforcements. With raised hands and shouting voices, the guards and cops hold everyone away, creating a narrow path that leads to Caleb’s car, which a valet has left idling at the curb.

I glance back to gauge Dean’s reaction to all the commotion, but he seems unshaken. Maybe he has a specific phobia that only involves broken dinnerware? The fans wave their hands and reach out, trying to get our attention. They scream for Caleb, but it’s not just his name they chant. It’s…Lola?

There she is, walking into the restaurant as we walk out. Lola Monroe with her long black hair, plump lips, and deep cleavage. Hot starlet, top model, current “IT” girl, and Caleb’s ex-girlfriend.

Uh-oh.

She saunters up with a wide, red-lipped grin. Her voice is raised to project over the din of the crowd. “Caleb! I had no idea you’d be here.”

Before I have time to blink, she takes his face between her hands and gives him a quick, hard kiss, leaving her lipstick smeared across his mouth. He pushes her away with a scowl, wiping his lips with the back of his hand, but it’s too late. The fans go wild, screaming and clapping. The reporters’ cameras click. I’m momentarily blinded by the flashes. Everything is too loud. Too bright. Too much. I rub my forehead with a trembling hand.

Oh, no.

That photo will be on every social media page within an hour. I’d better warn Gwen. I reach for my phone, but then hesitate. What if I say the wrong thing? Maybe I should let Caleb handle it? Does this count as gossiping?

“Lola,” says Caleb stiffly. “We were just leaving.”

“Oh, so soon?” Those red lips shape into an exaggerated pout, and I can’t look away. The woman exudes sex appeal. Every curve, every expression is beguiling, but there’s an iciness to her. She reminds me of a poisonous flower, beautiful on the outside so she can lure you close but toxic on the inside.

Caleb isn’t charmed. He says a brusque, “Yeah. Gotta go,” and strides off amid the shouting of the crowd. He stops a few feet away and goes down the line, signing autographs and taking selfies with star-struck fans.

“Nice to see you,” Lola calls loudly after him. She turns back my way, and I get a good look at her. She’s wearing a sparkly red sweater, a black leather miniskirt, knee-high black boots, and an unbuttoned trench coat.

Her eyes land on me, sweeping up and down with a quick assessment, similar to the one I just gave her. That button nose wrinkles like it smells something foul. “Who are you?”

“Jenny, Gwen’s friend.” I say Gwen’s name extra loud in an attempt to remind the fans that Caleb is already taken. I don’t like how enthusiastically they responded to the kiss. “You know, Gwen, Caleb’s fiancée.” I arch a brow, waiting for her reaction.

“Oh yeah, that,” she says, waving her hand airily. With a conspiratorial air, she leans in and says, “It won’t last.”

I bristle with anger. No one insults Gwen in my presence. No one. I grit my teeth. “Gwen will be around a lot longer than you. I guarantee it.”

Lola’s mouth drops open in shock. I’d forgotten Dean was behind me, but I hear his amused snort. I get a glimpse of Lola’s hate-filled glare. Then Dean’s scorching hand is at the small of my back, pushing me forward, rushing us down the sidewalk to the car where Caleb waits, done with autographs. I turn to say another cutting remark, but Dean interrupts me.

“Calm down there, Tiger.” He’s chuckling, an entertained twinkle in his eye.

“Did you hear what she said?” I ask, outraged.

“I did. I also heard what you said.” There’s something close to respect in the way he looks at me. He lowers his voice. “I never liked her either, back when Caleb was dating her. She’s an ugly piece of work.”

My eyes widen. “I doubt anyone’s ever called her ugly before.”

He shrugs, nonchalant.

We’ve reached Caleb now. I can’t help but ask, “How could you have dated her? She seems all wonderful on TV, but in real life . . .” I shudder.

Caleb scratches the back of his head. “Honestly, I was mostly looking for a drinking partner. I wish I had a deeper answer, but that was it.”

I shoot him a disappointed stare and mutter under my breath, “Men!” Sometimes I think they really are from Mars.

We climb into the car and shut the doors against the clamor of shouting reporters and fans.

Caleb rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Gwen’s going to see that photo, isn’t she?”

“Yes, she is.” I won’t sugarcoat it. It may be unfair to blame Caleb for things he did before he met Gwen, but I’m weirdly disgruntled right now. Somehow, I expected better from him.

He leans his head against the headrest with a quiet “Shoot.”

The car fills with silence until Dean says, “Gwen’s pretty reasonable. She’ll probably understand…” The words die in his throat when he sees the doubtful looks on both Caleb’s and my faces.

Outside the window, snow falls lightly to the ground.