"Oh-oh."
"No, she's got ideas, the sort that would make this a major event. The kind of event that generates serious attention. Father of the bride is Wyatt Seaman, of Seaman Furniture."
"The 'We make your house your home' Seaman Furniture?"
"The same, and his wife has deemed us potentially worthy. Not capital W worthy, yet. But we're going to give her the presentation to end all presentations."
Challenge lit Parker's face, fired in her eyes. "After which, she'll be taking her checkbook out of that gorgeous Prada bag and giving us a deposit that'll have our hearts singing hallelujahs."
"Then we dance."
"Then we dance."
"When's the presentation?"
"A week from today. You'll need new packages. We want it very fresh. They took a look at Emma's space, and she did a quick pitch. Since you were wearing the ass hat, I steered them clear of the studio."
"Very wise."
"But we had your samples here, so we could give her the feel. Next Monday, we'll want to highlight every shot you've had in a magazine. And . . . you know exactly what to do."
"And I'll do it."
Parker pushed over a file. "Here's a rundown of who we'll be dealing with. I did some Googling. And here's bullet points and the latest schedules for the three upcomings."
"I'll cram."
"Do that." Parker passed Mac a bottle of water. "Now tell me what happened."
"Just Lindaitis, again. Fever's broke, and I'm fine."
"She couldn't have wanted money. You just . . ." Parker trailed off as she read Mac's expression. "Already?"
"I said no-repeatedly. Then Del hung up on her."
"That's my brother." The pride came through. "I'm glad he was there when she called. Still, Del could probably do more than hang up on her. Something legal. It may be time for that, Mac."
Mac brooded into the fire. "Could you do that, if it was your mother?"
"I don't know. But I think I probably could. I'm meaner than you."
"I'm pretty mean."
"I'm mean, Laurel's hard-assed, Emma's a pushover. And you fall between Laurel and Em. We run the gamut," Parker said, closing her hand over Mac's. "It's why we work so well as a team. Why did you tell Del not to tell me?"
"How do you know I told him not to tell you?"
"Because otherwise he would have."
Mac blew out a breath. "I didn't want to suck you guys into the Linda vortex. Then I sulked and brooded, woke up Bitch Queen, and ended up sucking you in anyway."
"Next time avoid the middle part and remember we're always willing to get sucked in."
"Got it. Now before I go back to earning a living and being a productive member of the team, I have a question. Would you sleep with Carter Maguire?"
"Well, he hasn't asked me. Will he be buying me dinner first?"
"I'm serious."
"So am I. He can't expect me to hop into bed with him without even springing for a meal. But if we were talking about you," she said, gesturing with the water, "I'd have to ask if you find him attractive, sexually."
"You can't just sleep with every guy you find sexually attractive. Even if dinner's included."
"True, we'd never get anything else done. Obviously you like him, and you're thinking about him, spending time with him-and considering having sex with him."
"I've had sex before."
Parker gave up and ate the other white chocolate heart. "I've heard that."
"I don't know why I'm so hung up on this one issue when it comes to Carter. I should deal with it. I should just have sex with him, get it done, and move on."
"You're a romantic fool, Mackensie. Stars always blinding your eyes."
"It's what I get for being in the wedding business."
IT WASN'T OUT OF HER WAY, EXACTLY, TO DRIVE BY THE ACADEMY en route to the next client. In any case she had a little time to kill before her appointment. In any any case, she hadn't returned Carter's call, which was rude, so what was the harm in doing a quick drop by?
He'd be in class, she supposed. She'd take a quick peek-check that out, then leave him a note at the front office. She'd think of something amusing and breezy, thereby putting the ball they kept batting around back in his court.
Had it been this quiet in the corridors back in the days she'd gone here? Had the air been this echoey, shooting her footsteps off like gunfire?
The stairs she climbed were the same she'd climbed a dozen years before. A lifetime before. So long before she couldn't quite picture herself as she'd been, only a vague image, like a print that had been softened to a blur.