Getting It Now!

And, Philip thought with a shaky sigh, he was meeting this walking mystery at Mama Mojo’s at six tomorrow night. Ostensibly to put her in her place. Which should be a cool trick considering he was more interested in putting her on her back.

And on her belly.

And on a table.

And against a wall.

Really, the possibilities were endless.

“OKAY,” FRANKIE SALVATERRA announced above the din at the Blue Monkey pub in the famed French Quarter. “It’s time to officially call the Bitch-Fest to order.” Her gaze darted around the table. “Who wants to go first?”

One of the perks to having a day job was never missing or being late for their standing Friday-night pastime—the Bitch-Fest. God knows it had gotten Carrie though many a trying time. Something about sharing her angst among her fellow CHiC friends—Zora, Frankie and April—had made her problems seem a lot lighter. And with good reason—when she shared them, they were divided.

“No takers?” Frankie said when no one immediately responded. “Fine. I’ll go first.” She paused, scanned the faces which held her attention. “I’m tired of being engaged,” she said matter-of-factly. “I want to get married. Now.”

“Now?” Zora parroted, seemingly stunned. “But there’s no way your planner can pull together the ceremony that you and Ross have outlined now. It’s physically impossible.”

Frankie and Ross’s wedding plans had begun to rival that of Charles and Diana’s. She’d commissioned doves, ice sculptures, rare orchids and had hired a local coveted designer—Madame LeBeau, who was rumored to be positively impossible to work with—to do both her dress and the bridesmaids’ ensembles.

April Wilson-Hayes sipped her margarita. “She’s right. Logistically, it’s just not possible.”

“I know that,” Frankie replied archly. “Which is why we’re culling all of those plans and starting over.”

Every woman seated at their table with the exception of Frankie groaned at this pronouncement.

Zora, however, was the first to offer an opinion and predictably, it wasn’t sugar-coated. “That’s insane,” she said, absently rubbing a hand over her very pregnant belly. “You’ve spent a fortune pulling the ‘wedding of your dreams’ together. You wanted something grand and feminine and beautiful.”

No doubt to counteract some of the lingering insecurities wrought by her father, Carrie thought sadly. Geez, that horrible old bastard had really done a number on her. Fortunately she’d met a guy who knew that—knew what she needed—and loved her enough to indulge her.

“What do you mean you’re starting over?” Zora continued, still evidently outraged.

“You know,” Frankie said, “I was really expecting a little bit of support here.” Looking distinctly sly, she dunked the lime floating in her club soda.

Club soda? Carrie thought, squinting thoughtfully. Now that was odd. She’d known Frankie Salvaterra for almost ten years and she’d never seen her drink a club soda. Particularly in a bar. Carrie inwardly gasped, shot her friend a closer look.

Frankie’s lips twitched with a barely suppressed grin. “We’re starting over because if I don’t get married now, I’m not going to fit in my dress.”

April frowned. “Not going to fit in your—”

Zora looked from Frankie’s drink to her smug smile and inhaled sharply. “You’re pregnant!” she breathed, eyes twinkling with unabashed joy.

Frankie beamed and nodded. “I am,” she confirmed proudly.

April squealed, Carrie laughed, and Zora positively glowed. “Oh, Frankie,” she said, taking her friend’s hand. “You’re going to make the best mama.”

Frankie dabbed at her eyes and smiled. “And you guys are going to make the best honorary aunts.” She swallowed, took a deep breath and appeared to be attempting to gather her wits. “So here’s the deal. We want to get married next weekend—Saturday—and I need your help. We’re paring down the guest list from fifteen hundred to fifteen. The people who are important to me are the ones we see on a regular basis. To hell with all the others,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “They’re only showing up for the food.”

Speaking of which, Carrie thought. “I’ll cater,” she promptly volunteered. “It’ll be my gift.”

“And I know the perfect place,” April said. She tucked her hair behind her ears. “You can have Ben’s and my tree.”

The tree in question was a two-hundred-plus-year-old live oak which had held special meaning for them. They’d originally planned to host their own wedding there beneath its sheltering branches, but the timing had been off. Too cold. New Orleans summer heat was notorious, but the shade of that tree would undoubtedly end up being just as cool as a crowded reception room.

“Oh, April,” Frankie said, choking up. “I think that would be perfect.”

“And we’ll designate Ben as the photographer,” she added, then chuckled. “You can bet he’ll have a camera with him anyway.”

“Then all that leaves is the honeymoon,” Zora told her. “And Tate and I would like to have that honor.”

“Zora,” Frankie gasped softly. “That’s too much.”

“I insist,” she said. Which was the last word. When Zora made up her mind, that was it. Conversation over.

Frankie’s dark brown eyes glittered with liquid emotion and her face softened with untold joy. “I knew I could count on you guys.”

Zora reached over and squeezed her hand again. “Always.” She let go a breath. “Now who wants to bitch next?”

April shook her head, shot them all a contented smile. “Sorry. I got nothing.”

And no wonder, Carrie thought. After more than a decade apart, April had been reunited with her special someone, her soul mate, Ben. She had every reason to be happy.

“Stop bragging,” Carrie finally teased. She rolled her eyes. “Sheesh, you happy people are nauseating. All pregnant and in love.”

Zora turned to Frankie. “Has the nausea started yet?” she wanted to know. “Because if it has I can tell you that eating a saltine cracker before I get out of bed and having Tate rub my feet helps considerably.”

“What does rubbing your feet have to do with being nauseated?” April asked.

Zora pulled a negligent shrug and smiled coyly. “Nothing. It just makes me feel better.”

Carrie chuckled. “Very devious. I like it.”

Zora cast her a considering look. “So if our happiness is making you nauseated, does that mean that something’s happened that’s made you unhappy?”

Shrewd as always, Carrie thought, swirling her straw around her drink.

“It’s the Brit, isn’t it?” Frankie said. “The hot one with the great ass?”

Carrie felt a grin tug at her lips. Frankie certainly had a way of cutting straight to the heart of the matter. “That would be the one, yes.”

“Ah…Let me guess,” April chimed in. “The special has finally come through.”

Carrie let go a sigh and nodded. “We start next week.”

“Next week?” Frankie asked shrilly. “When did you hear about this?”

“Today.”

“Good grief,” April moaned, appalled. “How do they expect the two of you to be ready in that kind of time frame?”

“We’re ‘professionals,’” Carrie quoted. “And we’re meeting at Mama Mojo’s at six tomorrow night to go over the breakdowns and new format.”

Zora quirked a disbelieving brow. “You mean to tell me that they expect you to be ready to do this on Monday?”

“They do,” Carrie confirmed.

“Can you?” April asked, the most practical of the bunch. “I mean, is it possible?”

Carrie cocked her head and smiled sadly. “I guess it has to be.”

“This is outrageous,” Zora said. “Did you call Nancy?”

“There’s no point,” Carrie told her. “I agreed to it months ago.”

She frowned, cocked her head and a lock of red hair slid from behind her ear. “But I don’t understand. What’s been the hold up? Why are you just getting started now?”

Carrie’s lips quirked with bitter humor. “My future cohost has been the holdout. I don’t know whether he takes exception to me or my show, but suffice it to say he’s been vehemently opposed to doing the special with me.”

“Sounds like an uninformed bastard,” Frankie said, gratifyingly annoyed on Carrie’s behalf.

April paused consideringly. “I don’t know,” she said. “I watch his show. I wouldn’t have expected this out of him.”

Her either, Carrie thought, heartened by the fact that she hadn’t been the only one who’d misjudged his character. She shared the rumor she’d gotten from Joyce this afternoon regarding the special gone bad with the BBC.

“Now that makes more sense,” Zora said. “You’re smart, funny and beautiful and, more importantly, you are damned fine at what you do. If he has a problem hosting a show with you, I really find it hard to believe that it’s personal. I’d be willing to bet he’s got his own reasons and they have nothing to do with you.”

She hoped Zora was right. It would certainly make the next week easier to get through, that was for sure. At any rate, she knew that a small part of it was personal. When she’d called Joyce this afternoon to confirm the rendezvous with Philip, her producer had shared another interesting tidbit.

Carrie felt a smile tug at her lips. “I do know that he’s asked the producers if we can tone down the ‘centerfold’ image while we’re working together.”

Frankie chuckled. “Probably afraid he’ll inadvertently close his pecker in the oven.” She nodded and those dark brown eyes flickered with intelligence.

“Now we’re getting to the heart of the matter. Mr.

Stuffy Brit obviously has the hots for you.”

Carrie’s heart did an odd little flutter. She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

April and Zora shared a look. “I don’t know, Carrie,” April said. “That’s a pretty telling request.

Clearly he’s worried about staying focused.”

Carrie took a sip of her drink and shifted in her seat. “I think he’s more worried about tainting him self with my lesser moral standards.”

Frankie let go an exasperated sigh. “For the last time, Carrie, you have not sold out! I know you’ll be happier when you can negotiate a better deal—”

“You mean when I can wear clothes,” she said.

“—but in the meantime, you’re just upping your value. You’ve got a helluva following.”

“But will they follow me when I’m not painted up like a streetwalker?” she asked quietly. Carrie admitted another niggling fear. “I, uh…” She pushed her hair away from her face. “I think that instead of upping my value, I may have marketed myself right out of a normal hosting position. You know what they say,” she said, pulling a shrug. “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. When it comes time to renew my contract, what’s going to make them let me have my way? What’s going to motivate them?”

“Your talent,” Zora said simply. “Because at the heart of your show, that’s what it’s all about.” She smiled softly. “We watch you, Carrie. You’re passionate about what you do and you’re good at it. Granted some viewers might be watching to see if your boobs fall out of your nightie, but the majority of your audience simply enjoys spending a half hour with you.”

Carefully hopeful, Carrie sighed. “I hope you’re right.”

Zora nodded imperiously. “I know I am. Just wait and see.”

Frankie smiled wickedly. “In the meantime, I think you need to torture him. He wants you to wear something different—fine,” she said with a devious nod. “If I were you, I’d wear less.”

Carrie chuckled. “I don’t know that it’s possible.”

“Oh, it is,” April said, getting into the spirit of Frankie’s revenge. “Frankie’s right. He’s held out and hurt your feelings—”

Startled, Carrie looked up. “No, he—”

“Yes, he has and there’s no point in denying it. You’ve watched him for years. I’ve heard you talk about him before, and when this thing at Let’s Cook, New Orleans! came through, you couldn’t wait to meet him.”

All true, Carrie knew.

“Furthermore,” Frankie chimed in, “we all know that you’ve had a crush on him.”

Carrie started to deny it, but a firm look from Frankie made her change her mind.

“You have,” she insisted. “You, my dear friend, have been presented with a perfect opportunity. One week, a hot co-host who needs an attitude adjustment, and the opportunity to start cooking with something other than gas.”

Carrie couldn’t help it, she chuckled and shook her head. “You’re crazy.”

“And you haven’t been laid in months.”

Closer to a year, but she wasn’t going to admit that. Between the hours she’d worked for Martin, then starting the new show, things had been too crazy to pursue romance of any kind. But a relationship with Philip? When she suspected what he thought of her?

Not no, but hell no.

Zora studied her carefully. “Even if you’re not in the market for romance, I think a little calculated retribution is in order.” She cocked her head and smiled. “And now that you know his weakness…Well,” she said. “It’s up to you, of course.”

Carrie merely smiled. She wasn’t so much worried about his weaknesses as her own. It would be heartily embarrassing to set out to teach him a lesson and end up not making the grade herself.

Or worse, God forbid, falling for him.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.