Matthew's Choice. Patricia Bradley
Читать онлайн книгу.
age to get married.
At his dresser, he rummaged through an ebony case for the platinum-and-black onyx cuff links she’d given him for Christmas. His gaze caught a small velvet ring box, and he flipped it open, revealing a two-carat diamond engagement ring. The seven square-cut diamonds along the shank were duplicated in the wedding band.
His mother’s voice, weak from the cancer’s toll on her body, echoed through the recesses of his mind. These rings were your Grandmother Rae’s, and they’re all I have to leave you. Choose well. Find someone worthy to wear them. Mom would have liked Jessica.
Tonight he would ask her father for Jessica’s hand in marriage, and tomorrow morning, after he wowed her with his famous eggs Benedict, he’d ask her to marry him. Matt held the solitaire up to the light, and it shimmered like white fire. Jessica would be impressed.
Matt dialed Clint’s number once again. “Come on, answer.” Voice mail picked up, and he pressed End then tapped his fingers against his leg. When Clint got here, he was going to kill him. He never should’ve trusted his friend to get his tux here on time and wouldn’t have if J. Phillip Bradford hadn’t requested an audience an hour before the cleaners closed.
“Probably forgot to charge his phone,” he muttered and took his dress shoes from the closet. Five minutes later, after he’d put the finishing touches to a shoeshine that a soldier would be proud of, his phone rang and he grabbed it. It better be Clint telling him he was parking.
He dropped his head, wanting to bang it on the wall. J. Phillip Bradford again. Matt shook off his frustration and answered. “Yes, sir, Mr. Bradford, what can I do for you?”
Bradford wasted no time on pleasantries. “I need you to drop by tomorrow at nine to go over page five of your proposal.”
“Sir? Tomorrow’s New Year’s Day. I—”
“All the more reason to work—start the New Year off right. You do know Valentine’s is only six weeks away, and while I like your proposal over the other five, if you expect to win the contract Wednesday, I need clarification on page five.”
Matt smothered the sigh trying to get past his lips. It’d been bad enough that he’d had to drop everything today and rush over to Bradford’s office, now he had to change his breakfast plans with Jessica tomorrow. But that was his lot as director of food and beverage for the Winthrop Corporation. The title was a catch-all for everything from securing business to overseeing the chef. Not to mention the budget. With a company that rivaled any of the big high-end chains, it was a significant job.
Matt wanted that contract for the corporation, even though working with J. Phillip would be a royal pain. The old man fired the original event planner after they’d butted heads over the ballroom, the menu and the decorations. If Phillip awarded Matt the contract, he had six weeks to pull the event together. He could do it—he could do anything that helped him climb the Winthrop corporate ladder.
“Yes, sir. I’ll be there at nine sharp.”
Bradford broke the connection without ceremony, leaving Matt holding a dead cell phone. He picked up his other shoe, attacking it with a vengeance. Getting the Valentine’s Day contract was only the start. J. Phillip Bradford headed the Bradford Foundation, which was made up of three nonprofits, and each one hosted an extravagant fund-raiser every year. He would convince the old curmudgeon that the Winthrop Hotel was the perfect location for each, and at Matt’s price.
The doorbell chimed, and he fumbled the shoe. That had to be Clint. Shrugging out of the shirt he’d worn to work this morning, he rushed to the door, jerking it open. “Do you know what time it is?”
His breath caught at the shock of seeing Allie Carson, a gray garment bag slung over her shoulder. She blinked and stepped back from the door. The bag did nothing to detract from the way the slinky black gown hugged her curves. Or the way her blond hair fell softly around her shoulders. “A-Allie? Where’s Clint?”
She recovered, rolling her eyes. “Having his car towed from I-240. I told my brother six months ago he needed a new car. May I come in? Or do you want me to just hand you the tux and be on my way?”
“No, no, come in.” He stepped back, catching the light scent of something sweet and exotic as she glided past him. Echoes of late-night dates and study sessions in college ricocheted across his mind. How long had it been since he’d seen her?
“Six years, eight months and twenty-one days,” she said.
Almost seven years? He swallowed. “How did—”
Her lopsided grin teased him. “The question was written all over your face. What I want to know is why in the world you trusted Clint with your tux if you needed it tonight? My brother was late the day he was born.”
Allie chuckled, her laugh throaty, husky, just the way he remembered it. Her blue eyes danced that same mischievous two-step they always had, then flitted from his face to his feet and back. Suddenly conscious of being shirtless, he grabbed the bag and held it in front of him.
“Trust me, he was a last resort.” He didn’t want to tell her Clint was the only friend he had in Memphis, or that he was too busy to get together with him that often. “My fault anyway for waiting until today to pick it up.” Matt shifted his weight. That black dress fit Allie like a glove. She’d lost at least twenty pounds since college. Yeah, she definitely looked good, but she reminded him of everything he’d left behind. “You would’ve thought in all that time we would’ve run in to each other.”
Allie gave him that throaty laugh again. “Well, I rarely come to Memphis, and you never come to Cedar Grove.”
She handed him a smaller bag he hadn’t noticed. “Clint said something about me staying long enough to do your tie, or do you think you can manage it?”
She knew he couldn’t. Clint knew he couldn’t. As far back as when Matt had shared an apartment with Clint, his best friend always made sure Matt’s bow tie was correctly knotted for the once-a-year formal affairs he attended. He grabbed the smaller bag, as well.
“I think I can handle it,” Matt mumbled and headed to his bedroom. “Be out in a minute.”
“Clint told me not to leave until you were properly attired,” she called after him.
After he’d changed into the pants and a pleated tuxedo shirt, he stuck his head out the door. “Sodas are in the fridge.”
“I’m good.”
He left the door open and adjusted the cummerbund, making sure the pleats faced up. “What brings you to Memphis?”
“I came over for Christmas and Clint talked me into staying for this party he’s going to.” Her voice floated through the doorway. “I think they have a ‘friend’ they want to introduce.”
So that’s why she was all dolled up. He glanced down at the ring box, still open. Matt snapped the lid shut. Once he’d thought Allie would be the one wearing his grandmother’s rings. Shrugging the thought off, he slid the tie around his neck, his fingers fumbling with the silk. After a few minutes, he gave up and grabbed his shoes. He’d give the tie one more shot after he donned his Oxfords.
Or maybe he’d search online for instructions first. Why hadn’t he thought of that before? While his laptop booted up, he slipped on his shoes then typed his search words into Google. Oh, good...a video. Matt clicked on the link and leaned over the computer, studying the fat guy meticulously detailing how to knot a bow tie. He paused the video and draped the tie around his neck, making sure one side hung lower than the other.
What was it he said to do next? He clicked Play and stared hard at the computer screen. Do what? Matt backed the video up and played it again. No doubt about it, the guy was talking Greek. He yanked the tie off and headed for his living room.
“I give up! Would you please do this stupid—”
The room was empty. His heart sank. She had to still be here—somebody had to help him. Movement on the