Charmed, I'm Sure

Chapter 1

Chapter One

This was always the time during a wedding when I could start to relax just the tiniest bit — the bride and groom were safely married, the pictures taken, the food served and the cake cut. All I had to do at this point was make sure that no one threw up in the chocolate fountain or harassed the band to play “Fat-Bottom Girls” or something else that might upset either the mother of the bride or one of the bridesmaids, depending on who was feeling more sensitive on any particular topic, and I should be home free.

But, as I’d learned the hard way a long time before, it wasn’t over until it was over. Relaxing was for when I got home, not while I was still on duty.

I stood off to one side of the reception hall, watching as the various 325 guests at the Richman-Lowell nuptials danced or chatted or availed themselves of the open bar once more. Eyes narrowed, I noticed how one particular tall, blond guy in his early thirties was in fact staggering toward the bar yet again. Lewis Lowell, the bride’s cousin, and obviously someone who’d attended mostly so he could get drunk on someone else’s dime.

“You want me to do something about that?” asked Dee Rodriguez, my assistant. She’d just come back from fetching me another bottled water from my car while I continued to keep an eye on things; I liked to bring my own supply rather than drink from the water provided for the guests. A fine point, but doing so made me feel a bit more professional, someone separate from the assembled reception-goers.

I shook my head as I took the bottle of water from her, along with the key fob to my car. After slipping the key into my pocket — I wouldn’t buy a work dress that didn’t have pockets — I said, “Not yet. I mean, the guy’s obviously had a few too many, but he’s not being obnoxious or anything. With any luck, he’ll pass out behind the cookie bar.”

Dee grinned. As usual, her dark magenta-dyed hair was styled into perfect 1930s-style finger waves, and her red lipstick and cat-eye liner were on point. I admired the work she put into her appearance, even though I knew I myself would never do anything that would make me stand out so much from the crowd. A wedding planner should be unobtrusive, polished, but not overly done. Or at least, that was how I convinced myself that I didn’t need to put too much effort into my looks.

After all, the last thing I wanted was to attract attention…particularly male attention.

“Okay,” Dee said. “I’m pretty sure I can convince some of the groomsmen to haul him away, though, if he gets out of hand.”

“Noted,” I replied. “Is the top layer of the cake safely stored?”

“Yep. And the matron of honor and best man have promised me that it’ll go home with them, so I don’t think we have much to worry about.”

That was one handy thing about this particular wedding — the best man and matron of honor were husband and wife, and so they could be counted on to be helpful partners rather than bickering rivals the way those individuals had been at some of the other nuptials I’d planned. Of course, there was always the chance that the top layer of the cake might get absconded with by someone on the wait staff, as had happened at one of my previous weddings, but the odds of that happening again were, I hoped, fairly low.

And even if someone decided to walk off with that layer of red velvet cake with amaretto-laced cream cheese frosting, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. I could always have the bakery make another, and substitute it without the bride and groom even noticing. After all, they were going to be jetting off for Aruba the next morning, and the cake was going to sit in their friends’ freezer until they got back. No harm, no foul.

“Then I think our work is pretty much done,” I told Dee. “You can go on home — it looks like smooth sailing from here.”

Dee’s perfectly lacquered lips pursed for a second or two. This wouldn’t be the first time I’d sent her home before the reception was officially over, but she always felt compelled to protest. “I don’t mind hanging around.”

I knew she didn’t, but there was no reason for her to stay. Part of the reason people hired me was that my weddings almost always ran smoothly, with a minimum of drama. Or rather, any nuptial drama was caused solely by the members of the wedding party or their family, and not by me. An event planned by Carson Creations would have good weather, caterers who showed up on time, a flawless kitchen, and flowers that never wilted.

Magic?

As a matter of fact, yes. While I knew better than to divulge the truth about myself to any of my clients — or anyone at all; even Dee didn’t know anything about the supernatural side of my personality — the fact of the matter was that I just happened to be a witch from a long line of witches. I couldn’t do anything truly earth-shattering, but a few little charms to make things run smoothly, a snap of the fingers to get a red wine stain out of a wedding gown or to make sure that champagne uncorked too early didn’t go flat, could definitely go a long way toward ensuring a successful event.

“It’s fine,” I told Dee. “Anyway, it’s almost midnight, and things are winding down. Go home. We’ve got our hands full with finalizing the Blankenship wedding next week anyway.”

That reminder made Dee roll her big brown eyes. “No kidding. I can’t wait for that one to be over.”

To tell the truth, neither could I. While I really tried not to judge any of the brides I worked with, and always reminded myself that they were dealing with their own particular set of stressors, Melissa Blankenship was a real piece of work. A transplant from Texas — and a former Miss Rodeo Something-or-other — she wanted everything to be bigger, more expensive, more flamboyant. And since her fiancé played second base for the Dodgers, they had money to throw around. Although it was often fun to work on a wedding where the budget wasn’t really an issue, in this case, the apparently bottomless coffers involved only made my life more difficult, since every time I thought Melissa had finally settled on something, she’d change her mind once again as soon as something new and shiny crossed her path.

“Seven more days,” I said lightly. Seven more days, and then we could take a break. The Holloway/Blankenship wedding was scheduled for December twenty-second, and I didn’t have any more events planned until after the first of the year. My company handled both weddings and big corporate parties and events, but I’d turned down several New Year’s gigs just because I knew the Blankenship wedding was going to wipe me out.

“Feels like seven years, but yeah.” Dee scanned the crowd, but everyone seemed to be behaving — in fact, I could tell the party was tapering off, people quietly gathering their coats and other belongings and slipping away — and it was pretty obvious that there was no real need for her to stay. “Then I’ll see you Monday.”

I smiled at her. “Have a good rest of your weekend.”

She nodded and headed for the exit. I pulled my phone out of the pocket unoccupied by my Mercedes’ key fob and checked the time. Eleven forty-seven. We had the room until one o’clock, and I hoped the attrition I’d already noticed would begin to accelerate the closer the hour got to midnight; the hotel staff was contracted to do the actual clean-up, but I had to stay until everyone was gone and gather any purses, wraps, lost earrings, or other abandoned personal items I might find in the room. If I were lucky, I’d make it home to Santa Monica by one-thirty. If not, my head probably wouldn’t hit the pillow until after two.

Thank God I didn’t work on Sundays. Well, all right, I worked, in that I checked personal emails and read industry blogs and put together vision boards for upcoming events, but I kept my work cell phone turned off and also wouldn’t allow myself to look at work emails until Monday morning. That was part of the reason why I always stayed until the bitter end at any events I was managing; better to be out until the wee hours than get called back in on a Sunday morning to handle something I’d left undone. I actually always gave the manager at any venue that was hosting one of my weddings or parties my personal cell phone number in case of dire emergency, but I knew they wouldn’t abuse that privilege. However, I’d learned the hard way that if actual clients thought you were accessible 24/7, then they’d be calling in the middle of the night or first thing in the morning on a weekend, and I had to have some boundaries. Not many, but a few.

“Hey, pretty lady,” a slurred voice said from behind me, and I turned to see the drunk cousin standing there, looking definitely the worse for wear.

Great. Obviously, I’d sent Dee home a little too early.

But I reminded myself that I could certainly handle a guy who’d had one too many martinis…or whatever it was that he’d been drinking all night. And no, not by putting a hex on him or something; I didn’t practice that sort of magic. But because of the curse I labored under — a curse put on the entire line of Carson witches long before I was even born — I was used to deflecting male attention.

“Hi, Lewis,” I said, my tone casual. It always helped to address these types by their names, which was why I made a habit of learning the names of as many of the guests as I possibly could…especially the ones who seemed as if they might cause problems somewhere down the line. And since I’d heard Tanya, one of the bridesmaids, talk about what a jerk Lewis was, I knew I had to keep an eye out for him. “Are you looking for your table? I can walk you back over there — ”

“No,” he cut in, bleary eyes fixed on my face. Or at least, I hoped that was where he was looking. I wore a simply cut sheath dress in a muted beige, the sort of thing calculated not to attract any kind of attention, but right then, I got the impression that it wouldn’t have mattered if I was wearing a potato sack. “Let’s dance.”

It actually sounded more like “lesh dance,” but I got the point. Pasting the phoniest of smiles on my face, I said, “I don’t dance, Lewis. But thanks for the offer. Why don’t you go sit down for a bit?”

Stubbornly, he shook his head. “No. Wanna dance. C’mere.”

And he reached out to slip his arm around my waist.

Oh, hell no. I did my best to evade his grasp, but he had the luck of the drunk and managed to catch me in the crook of his elbow. And, like a lot of drunks, he was exerting way more force than he needed to. I found myself smashed up against his chest, even as I pushed against him with my free hand — I was still holding the bottled water Dee had brought me — and protested, “Lewis, I don’t want to dance. I’m working.”

“Working at a wedding?” he scoffed, and began to drag me toward the dance floor.

I stumbled along, doing what I could to pry myself from his grasp. The last thing I wanted was to cause a scene, but clearly, my more subtle efforts to get away weren’t working. Probably a stiletto to the balls would have stopped him in his tracks, although I had a feeling if I took that kind of drastic action, I’d have to spend the next six months repairing my reputation and doing my best to assure any prospective clients that I didn’t generally have a habit of kicking people’s wedding guests in the nuts.

Lewis tried to pull me closer to him, even as he swayed along to “You Are the Reason.” I gritted my teeth and resisted as best I could, grinding my heels into the carpet rather than into his groin the way I would have preferred. “Really, I am working tonight. I’m the wedding planner.”

“Wedding’s over.”

Well, that was true, but —

A stranger’s voice at my ear. “Is this man bothering you?”

I craned my head as best I could and saw an attractive man in a very expensive suit standing about a foot behind my right shoulder. He had sandy blond hair and actually looked halfway familiar, although I couldn’t say for sure where I’d seen him before. Most likely, an event I’d planned in the recent past, even if I couldn’t remember which one.

“Back off, buddy,” Lewis said. “She’s with me.”

The stranger lifted an eyebrow. His eyes, which I thought were blue, met mine. “Are you?”

“No,” I said at once. “I’m afraid Lewis here has had a little too much to drink — ”

“Have not,” he cut in, tightening his grasp on my waist. I couldn’t help wincing a little.

Obviously, the stranger noticed, because his mouth compressed in distaste. However, his voice remained smooth as he said, “Oh, I think she’s right, friend. I think you need to go someplace to sleep it off.”

As he spoke, he lowered a hand to Lewis’s shoulder. Almost at once, the drunk man blinked, got as far as saying, “Wha…?”, and then promptly collapsed in a heap on the floor.

I let out a startled gasp and backed away, even as the stranger bent toward me and murmured, “Best to let someone else handle this, I think.”

Sure enough, two of the groomsmen converged on Lewis’s limp form, slipped their hands under his arms, and raised him from the floor so they could drag him over to a chair and lower him onto it. Almost immediately, he began to sag sideways, but, as the luck of only the very drunk would have it, he toppled over on the table instead of back onto the floor. Since the groomsmen had had the sense to deposit him at an unoccupied table, he didn’t seem to be bothering anyone there.

“I should really see if there’s someone who can drive him home — ” I began, but the stranger shook his head.

“Not to worry,” he said. “The groomsmen will handle it.”

I stared at him in consternation. He seemed very assured, although I couldn’t guess why. It wasn’t as though he was a member of the family, or of the wedding party, or I would have known who he was.

A smile, and he said, “Look.”

I glanced back over at Lewis. The two men who had carted him over to the table were now talking with a third. Apparently, they reached some sort of agreement, because all three of them hoisted him again and took him out through one of the exits.

“There,” the stranger said. “All taken care of.” A flash of a smile, showing extremely white teeth. He was very good-looking, although not really my type, since I tended to go for dark-haired men.

Right. Like I had a type. Mostly, I did whatever I could to make myself as unavailable as possible.

“I’m Allan,” he went on. “Allan D’Alessandro.”

The name sounded familiar. I did a hasty mental flip through the Rolodex I carried in my brain and then remembered where I’d heard it before. “You were at Luke and Christa Nicolini’s wedding.”

He looked pleased. “Right. Not a member of the wedding party, but Luke and I are old friends.”

Something about the way he said “old” made me think there was some subtext to his words that I really hadn’t caught, even if I couldn’t begin to guess what it was. Allan looked to be in his mid-thirties, maybe seven or eight years older than my own twenty-seven, and Luke was probably a couple of years older than he, although I’d never asked.

Maybe they’d known each other in New York. At least, I assumed they must have met there, since that was where Christa told me Luke had moved from. He hadn’t lived in Los Angeles for even a year, and yet he’d already made a pretty big splash, attending lots of charity functions, setting up his own foundation to support a variety of local nonprofit organizations. From what I could remember, Allan was some sort of entertainment-industry agent….

It clicked into place suddenly. He’d been dating Nina Nomura, the actress who’d come out of nowhere to a starring role in an HBO limited series and now was moving on to feature films. I spent a lot more time reading celebrity gossip than I would have otherwise cared to, mostly because it never hurt to get wind of engagements before other people did. So far, I hadn’t done any A-list weddings, but I figured it was only a matter of time.

Anyway, I couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for the man who stood before me, now that I knew who he was. From what I’d been able to tell, he’d done a lot to get Nina’s career started, and then she’d dropped him like a rock once she was established enough that she didn’t need him anymore. And also, I had to be grateful to him for rescuing me from Lewis Lowell. I supposed I would have extricated myself eventually, but whether I would have been able to do so in a way that didn’t make a scene was an entirely different story.

I held out a hand. “Belinda Carson.”

“You did a wonderful job on Luke and Christa’s wedding,” Allan said.

“Thank you,” I replied, hoping against hope that the compliment hadn’t made me blush. Luckily, the lighting in the reception hall was dim enough that maybe he wouldn’t be able to notice. “They’re lovely people — very easy to work with.”

For some reason, Allan’s mouth quirked. “Yes, I suppose they would be.” He paused for a second, then said, “I know it’s late, but would you be interested in getting a cup of coffee after this?”

Damn. He was friendly and attractive and seemed kind, all qualities that should have made him a great prospect for sharing a cup of coffee…except I didn’t dare do such a thing. The last thing I wanted was to like him…or, even worse, have him like me.

“I’d like to,” I said, then went on, knowing I needed to quash the hopeful expression on his face, “but I really can’t. I have to stay after the reception is over and help with the clean-up. I won’t be out of here for at least another hour, probably more.”

“Pity,” he responded. “But I understand. Have a good evening, Belinda.”

Then he sent me another of those megawatt smiles and headed off toward the exit, pausing for a moment to exchange a few words with one of the wedding guests. After that, though, he was gone, and I allowed myself a melancholy sigh.

Maybe at some point, I’d get used to letting men walk right out of my life.