Chapter One
Liza held her day planner high over her desk and let it
drop, enjoying the loud thud the leather made as it hit the surface. She toed
her shoes off and kicked them aside, walking around the desk that was covered
in neatly stacked work. Her well-coordinated suit was still without wrinkles
even though it was late in the afternoon. Letting herself flop into the chair,
she looked at her assistant, Becky, and shook her head.
“What?” Becky got up from her desk against the wall, close
to the bookshelves on the left side of the small office, and headed to the
credenza to pour Liza a glass of wine. It was late Friday afternoon and the
woman looked like she needed a drink—and probably something stronger than wine,
but it was a start. “Problem with Mr. Dean?”
“No.” Liza’s head fell back to rest on the chair. “Well, I
guess it’s not a problem,” she huffed. “Unless you consider my reputation being
dragged through the gutter a problem.” She took the glass from Becky. “Not even
through the gutter. No. It’s worse than that. I’ll be a laughingstock. No one
will take me seriously ever again.”
Becky moved to the chair across from Liza’s desk, confused.
Liza DeLane was the hottest event planner in Texas. Her schedule was nearly
booked solid for the next two years. Weekends, holidays, the summer conference
season and even the spring wedding season were nearly all double-booked. Her
reputation for putting on the hottest, most opulent events in the Dallas-Fort
Worth Metroplex was spreading far beyond Texas.
Becky studied Liza’s face. Her boss looked more upset than
she’d ever seen her. “What are you talking about? What on earth happened with
Dean?”
Liza took a long sip of her wine. “Puppy love. That’s what
happened. Mr. Dean’s wife wants a gala doggie wedding for her pug. Evidently,
Ms. Penelope Pug is getting a pedigreed husband from Spain. Pedro the Pug.” She
waved the wineglass for emphasis.
Becky raised a neatly shaped eyebrow. “And that ruins your reputation how?” Liza was a genius when it came to planning parties, but
sometimes she let the clients push her too far.
“I’ll be the wedding coordinator for the happy occasion.”
Liza nodded at Becky’s questioning look. “Oh yes. We’re doing it. Now I know how
the man got to be so powerful. Bamboozled me.”
“Bamboozled?” Becky was smiling behind her glass.
“Don’t be so smug. We’ve only got two weeks to put together
an A-list wedding for a couple of drooling dogs. You’re in this as deeply as I
am.”
That got Becky’s attention—and a scowl from her boss as her
assistant laughed out loud. “A-list? For a dog? I figured she wanted some
cutesy stuff for the animals. You’re telling me that Gerald Dean, oilman,
Dallas’ Man of the Year, is going to be holding formal puppy nuptials? I don’t
believe it.” She considered the Merlot before taking another sip. “How did he
get you to agree to that? We’re booked.”
“Oh, the man is a shark. He’s a very attractive,
well-groomed, wealthy shark, but still a shark. He reminded me oh-so subtly of
New Year’s, and how difficult it would be for him to have to find someone else
to plan that event.” The New Year’s Eve party at Dean Petroleum was the hottest
bash in the city. It brought in a good percentage of Liza’s new business every
year, and the party kept getting bigger. So much bigger that they’d need to
move venues if it kept growing.
“You’re kidding? That’s blackmail, isn’t it?”
“Not really.” Liza took another drink and loosened the
collar of her shirt. She reached up and let her hair fall from the band that
had been holding the curls in place. Blonde, shiny twists tumbled over her
shoulders and down her back. “He was way too smooth for that. Evidently this is
important to his wife, therefore it’s important to him. He’s paying us almost the
same fee that we earn for the New Year’s Eve party. How do you say no
Liza held her day planner high over her desk and let it
drop, enjoying the loud thud the leather made as it hit the surface. She toed
her shoes off and kicked them aside, walking around the desk that was covered
in neatly stacked work. Her well-coordinated suit was still without wrinkles
even though it was late in the afternoon. Letting herself flop into the chair,
she looked at her assistant, Becky, and shook her head.
“What?” Becky got up from her desk against the wall, close
to the bookshelves on the left side of the small office, and headed to the
credenza to pour Liza a glass of wine. It was late Friday afternoon and the
woman looked like she needed a drink—and probably something stronger than wine,
but it was a start. “Problem with Mr. Dean?”
“No.” Liza’s head fell back to rest on the chair. “Well, I
guess it’s not a problem,” she huffed. “Unless you consider my reputation being
dragged through the gutter a problem.” She took the glass from Becky. “Not even
through the gutter. No. It’s worse than that. I’ll be a laughingstock. No one
will take me seriously ever again.”
Becky moved to the chair across from Liza’s desk, confused.
Liza DeLane was the hottest event planner in Texas. Her schedule was nearly
booked solid for the next two years. Weekends, holidays, the summer conference
season and even the spring wedding season were nearly all double-booked. Her
reputation for putting on the hottest, most opulent events in the Dallas-Fort
Worth Metroplex was spreading far beyond Texas.
Becky studied Liza’s face. Her boss looked more upset than
she’d ever seen her. “What are you talking about? What on earth happened with
Dean?”
Liza took a long sip of her wine. “Puppy love. That’s what
happened. Mr. Dean’s wife wants a gala doggie wedding for her pug. Evidently,
Ms. Penelope Pug is getting a pedigreed husband from Spain. Pedro the Pug.” She
waved the wineglass for emphasis.
Becky raised a neatly shaped eyebrow. “And that ruins your reputation how?” Liza was a genius when it came to planning parties, but
sometimes she let the clients push her too far.
“I’ll be the wedding coordinator for the happy occasion.”
Liza nodded at Becky’s questioning look. “Oh yes. We’re doing it. Now I know how
the man got to be so powerful. Bamboozled me.”
“Bamboozled?” Becky was smiling behind her glass.
“Don’t be so smug. We’ve only got two weeks to put together
an A-list wedding for a couple of drooling dogs. You’re in this as deeply as I
am.”
That got Becky’s attention—and a scowl from her boss as her
assistant laughed out loud. “A-list? For a dog? I figured she wanted some
cutesy stuff for the animals. You’re telling me that Gerald Dean, oilman,
Dallas’ Man of the Year, is going to be holding formal puppy nuptials? I don’t
believe it.” She considered the Merlot before taking another sip. “How did he
get you to agree to that? We’re booked.”
“Oh, the man is a shark. He’s a very attractive,
well-groomed, wealthy shark, but still a shark. He reminded me oh-so subtly of
New Year’s, and how difficult it would be for him to have to find someone else
to plan that event.” The New Year’s Eve party at Dean Petroleum was the hottest
bash in the city. It brought in a good percentage of Liza’s new business every
year, and the party kept getting bigger. So much bigger that they’d need to
move venues if it kept growing.
“You’re kidding? That’s blackmail, isn’t it?”
“Not really.” Liza took another drink and loosened the
collar of her shirt. She reached up and let her hair fall from the band that
had been holding the curls in place. Blonde, shiny twists tumbled over her
shoulders and down her back. “He was way too smooth for that. Evidently this is
important to his wife, therefore it’s important to him. He’s paying us almost the
same fee that we earn for the New Year’s Eve party. How do you say no
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