7 Brides for 7 Bodies (8 page)

“I know,” Carlotta said sympathetically. “That’s Atlanta. The good news is traffic inside the Wedding Expo is heavy, too. It’s a great crowd.”

He ran a finger around the inside of his shirt collar. “Goodness, is it always this humid?”

“Yes. But it’s great for the skin, so cleansing.”

He seemed disarmed by her good cheer, then gave a begrudging smile. “I can see that from
your
lovely complexion.”

She grinned and extended her arm toward the entrance. “Shall we go inside where it’s cool?”

“By all means,” he said agreeably, then called back to Jack. “You, there—bring my bag.”

Jack rolled his eyes, but picked up the man’s Louis Vuitton suitcase which, from the way he strained, wasn’t packed with wedding veils. He dutifully followed them inside and trailed patiently while she and Jarold Jett strolled past booths, making their way to the newly constructed runway in the rear of the hall. Along the way, several people shouted the designer’s name and waved and some people rushed up to gush, touching his arm and shoulder.

“I’m wearing one of your dresses on my wedding day!”

“I never miss your show!”

“I love your perfume!”

The man visibly recoiled from the contact, and when one over-eager fan moved in for a hug, Jack stepped in and asked her to give Mr. Jett some space.

Jett was cordial to the fans, though, and Carlotta could tell he enjoyed the attention. Still, he moved ahead with his hands curled close to his body.

“Brides can be a little intense,” Carlotta offered in an attempt to calm him.

He nodded. “Have you ever been married?”

When she thought of how young and naïve she’d been when she’d been engaged to Peter, her face warmed. “No. I’m single.”

“As beautiful as you are? That’s a tragedy.”

She laughed. “Thank you. And...it’s complicated.”

“Does it have something to do with the behemoth carrying my suitcase?”

Her surprise must have shown because he scoffed.

“I saw you holding hands when the car pulled up, and I saw the way he looked at you.”

“Oh...Jack and I are just...friends.”

The man cocked an eyebrow. “Has anyone told him?”

She chanced a glance back to Jack who couldn’t hear what they were saying. He gave her a wry wink.

Push...pull...push...pull...

“I’m planning my own wedding,” Jarold offered.

“I know,” she murmured. “I’m a fan of
Designer Wars
. I was watching when you announced your engagement to Sabrina Bauers. Congratulations.”

A loving look came over his face. “She’s too good for me.”

Carlotta managed a smile back. From what she had heard of the supermodel’s diva behavior, she was sure the woman would agree.

When they reached the fashion show area of the convention hall, Jarold nodded with surprise and approval. “Yes, this will do nicely.”

Indeed, the coordinators had done a beautiful job of setting up a T-shaped runway with voluminous bunting and bows and soaring silver-colored curtains all around. Enormous flower arrangements adorned the stage and sparkling chandeliers studded the floating ceiling. It was as spectacular as any movie set.

“There are two things the South does to wonderful excess,” Carlotta offered. “Funerals...and weddings.” Even though the fashion show was more than an hour away, the audience seats had already begun to fill.

“I confess I had my doubts about coming,” Jarold said. “But now, I’m quite looking forward to the week’s events.”

Behind them, Jack coughed. “You’re going to be here all week?”

“Yes.” Then Jarold looked concerned. “And I hope you aren’t getting a cold.”

Jack wiped his hand over his mouth as if to erase what he wanted to say.

Carlotta fought a smile and withdrew her autograph book. “Mr. Jett, if it isn’t a terrible imposition, may I have your autograph?”

“Absolutely.” His mouth quirked. “A paper autograph book? You don’t see these anymore. Now everyone wants a selfie.”

“It’s old school,” she conceded.

He shuddered. “Lately I’ve been signing tablets and smartphone screens with those nasty little stylus pens or, worse, my finger.”

She nodded with understanding. “I assume you have your own pen?”

“Of course,” he chirped, removing a slim black pen from his inside jacket pocket. “Waterman—also old school.”

He inscribed a message and his name with a flourish, then drew a wedding dress doodle to fill the page.

Carlotta turned it around to read.
To Carlotta, May you have your own happily ever after with your perfect man. Wondrous wedding wishes, Jarold Jett.

“Thank you.” She gave in to a little thrill at the thought of having a personal memento to take home, something she would relish again and again. “I will cherish it.”

She escorted Jarold to the secured area behind the runway where makeshift changing tents had been erected. The space was a whirlwind of commotion, with coordinators and helpers running around, pushing racks of gowns and tuxedos under plastic and pallets of shoes and accessories.

Carlotta made sure Jarold was delivered to the tent that contained his trunks of merchandise. An assistant was already steaming the luxurious creations. Carlotta handed him off and said goodbye, assuring Jarold she would be watching the show.

Jack set the man’s suitcase where he was directed, averted his gaze from the half-dressed models donning wedding gowns, then cleared his throat. “Where should I wait for you, sir?”

“Take this.” Jarold Jett handed him a clear plastic bag containing a flat black disc the size of a coaster.

“What is it?” Jack asked.

“I’ll buzz you after the fashion show. It also lights up.”

Jack scowled down at the large beeper. “I’m not TGI Friday’s.”

“Tomorrow when my assistant arrives, she’ll provide you with an app so you can track my whereabouts via my mobile phone. This will do until then.”

Carlotta waited for Jack to throw the buzzer back at the man, but to her amazement, Jack simply looked away, seemed to resign himself, then looked back. “How am I supposed to know where you are when this thing goes off?”

The designer gave him a haughty smile. “Look for the crowd of people gathered around me.”

Jack’s mouth tightened and he nodded, then left the tent.

Carlotta followed, surprised he had given in to the man’s demands with such little resistance. Outside she caught up with him.

“Hey...what was that?”

His eyebrows climbed. “What was what?”

She gave him a light punch in the arm. “You, rolling over like a puppy.”

“Just trying to get through this assignment.” He looked away. “The extra cash will come in handy.”

Carlotta frowned. That was the second time today Jack had insinuated he didn’t make enough money. Was he having financial problems?

“You must have a big mortgage,” she said in a teasing voice. She’d never seen where Jack lived, and he’d never talked about it.

“Nope. But I haven’t exactly been saving for a rainy day, either.”

“Are you expecting one?”

He blinked. “Expecting what?”

“A rainy day.”

“Oh. Who knows what the future holds?”

Carlotta arched an eyebrow. “Are you okay?”

“Fine. Did you get your autograph?”

She nodded and withdrew the book to show him the inscription.

His mouth quirked. “Perfect man, huh? That’s a lot of pressure.”

She surveyed the sexily imperfect man before her. “It’s a figure of speech, Jack.”

He gestured toward the exhibition hall. “Since Mr. Big Shot doesn’t need me at the moment, I think I’ll make some rounds and check in with the other security officers.”

“Okay. Will you be back to watch the fashion show?”

He made a face. “That’s not really my scene, but I guess I’d better stay close to Jett.”

Something in his tone made her squint. “Has he received threats?”

“Allegedly. Could be a promotional stunt, though.”

“Hm...I haven’t heard about it in the tabloids.”

Jack gave her a pointed look.

“Not that I read the tabloids,” she rushed to say.

He looked dubious.

“Well...maybe a quick scan at the grocery checkout, but who doesn’t do that?”

“Me.” He quirked a brow, then strode away.

Carlotta watched him, her senses on alert. Was it her imagination or was Jack’s body language tense? His shoulders seemed pulled in, his chin lower than usual. And although he was never quick to smile, he seemed more withdrawn.

And there was the money thing.

Carlotta worried her lower lip. Granted, losing a work partner and closing a grueling serial killer case was bound to take its toll, even on a man with Jack’s fortitude. And maybe the loss of Maria had made him feel a little less invincible, had forced him to think about the future and financial security.

She sighed...it seemed everyone she knew was more burdened these days. Was this how adulthood progressed? Mounting pressure until one’s body finally gave out?

She pushed aside that cheerful thought and went in search of her Neiman’s contact. She was supposed to be working, after all.

And keeping her distance—mentally and physically—from Jack.

Chapter Eight

CARLOTTA FOUND EDWARD KING, her Neiman’s contact, in one of the tents, fussing with the shirt collar of a male model dressed in a sleek charcoal gray suit. The handsome forty-something black man was totally old school, always well groomed and dressed to the max. He was a Neiman’s veteran, had worked nearly every department, and was widely rumored as the person who would someday have Lindy Russell’s job if and when the woman ever stepped down or moved on.

“This is a nice surprise,” Edward said, offering an air kiss to her cheek in deference to having his hands full of pins and tape. “I thought I was going to get stuck with that Patricia girl.”

“Patricia’s not so bad,” Carlotta murmured guiltily.

“Well, look at you, being all generous,” Edward said with a grin. “I guess I’ll have to get to know her better. Hey—what are you even doing here? Weren’t you stabbed or something?”

“A flesh wound,” she said with a wave.

He shook his head. “Lately, you’ve been on the news more than the mayor.”

She squirmed. Edward was from New York, so hopefully he wasn’t privy to the entire sordid story of Randolph “The Bird” Wren flying the coop and his subsequent return. “Put me to work. What can I do?”

Edward gestured at the dozen or so male models wearing exquisite tuxes and suits, horsing around, and rolled his eyes. “Help me corral these young bucks. They have to be fitted, their hair combed, and lined up with their brides in thirty minutes. It’s like taking a bunch of toddlers on a field trip.” Indeed, they were destroying a cart of fruit and pastries sitting nearby, oblivious to the crumbs and powdered sugar falling onto lapels

Edward’s jaw hardened. “Who brought in that food cart? Get it out!” He looked back to her and shook his head as two men wheeled it outside even as they stuffed donuts in their mouths. “Who thought finger food around two-thousand-dollar tuxes was a good idea?”

She grinned. “Do you have the order they’re supposed to line up?”

He nodded toward a sheet of paper taped to the end of a rolling shelf. “That’s the most I have to go on. This isn’t the most organized event.”

“It’ll be fine,” she soothed. “People just want to be entertained.”

Edward frowned. “So that’s why that blowhard Jarold Jett is here?”

She detected a note of testiness in his voice that hinted of familiarity. “Do you know him?”

“I worked for him years ago in New York. The man is a tyrant.”

“Really? He seemed a little uppity, but then so do most celebrities.”

“Jarold Jett is
not
a celebrity.”

“Sorry—designer.”

“
Please
. Our tailor at Neiman’s has more talent.”

Carlotta laughed. “I walked in with him, and his tent is practically next door, so you’re bound to run into him.”

“I’m safe,” Edward said with a wave of his hand. “Mr. Jett-Setter won’t remember a lowly pattern cutter from twenty years ago.”

Raucous laughter blasted from the young men carousing in the tent, and a playful shoving match broke out. Edward scowled. “Watch the clothing, please!”

Carlotta clapped her hands. “Can I have your attention, gentlemen?”

All eyes swung in her direction. “You can have anything of mine you want!” a handsome, cocky guy crowed.

More laughter ensued as Carlotta gave them a wry smile. “What I want is for you to line up in the order I call for Edward to make last-minute adjustments.”

“Where are our brides?” one of the models asked, rubbing his hands together.

“Next tent over,” she said, then plucked the sheet of paper from the rack. “Now, I need Darren, Lewis, Jeremy, Ben, Luke, Jonathon, Thom, Danny, Sam, and Tony to line up here.” She pointed to an imaginary spot and the men started moving toward it in various degrees of leisureliness. They were all slender and chiseled in that effortless way of young men, handsome and full of themselves, with good skin and straight teeth.

“Isn’t this bad luck?” one of the men—Jeremy, if they were in the correct order—asked.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

He seemed nervous as he pulled at his stiff white collar, and he was working a big wad of chewing gum. He had a pretty-boy, sullen look about him. Carlotta pegged him as a former prep school athlete—entitled and obviously underemployed. “Wearing a tux before your actual wedding day.” He slurred his words a little. He was either hung over or high. “Is it bad luck?”

“Yeah, it means you’ll have to get married someday,” the guy behind him—Ben?—said with a laugh.

“I
am
getting married,” Jeremy said miserably. “Next month.”

“For real?” Ben asked, horrified. “Why?”

“Have to...my girlfriend’s pregnant.”