Wedding Roulette

by Logan, Leandra

• ISBN13: 9780373169603
• ISBN10: 0373169604
• Format: Paperback
• Copyright: 2003-02-01
• Publisher: Harlequin Books

Excerpts

"I am so glad you're back!"

Krista Mattson had breezed into her inner office without realizing Bigtime Promotions' receptionist, a flighty nineteen-year-old girl named Courtney, was on her heels.

"Is there a problem?" Krista whirled round to ask.

Courtney stopped short of the boss woman smartly dressed in a navy-skirted suit, her long black hair woven into a braid. Because of Krista's imposing stature, her serious slant on life, employees of the small company tended to call her Ms. Big - behind her back, of course. Krista knew all about it, however, as she was so remarkably thorough. But even Krista at her most formal could only cut Courtney's general enthusiasm by half.

"There's no problem," the girl assured. "I have the best kind of news. In the name of efficiency, I've created a new message system for our company."

"You always leave the pink slips on my desk. I have no complaints."

"But I have streamlined the process down to a more exact science."

Krista's raven brows arched as she surveyed the girl, bouncing from one platform sandal to another. Courtney's outfit was especially striking today, a canary-yellow dress with black bolero jacket. It was quite a carnival of color with her red curls.

Practical Krista probably wouldn't have awarded the exuberant Courtney her job if she'd been conducting the interviews. But her partner Judy Phillips had chosen their current receptionist because the girl had energy and vitality, in her estimation what a promotions firm should reflect. All in all, it was tough to argue the choice. Clients seemed delighted with her. She never missed work, was never late. Krista had grown to highly approve of Courtney. So at times like this, when her patience was strained, Krista tried to be understanding.

Perhaps this particular modification was Krista's own fault. She'd made the mild suggestion that Courtney put more effort into the pink notes, polish her language skills and penmanship. Courtney, always overeager to please, apparently had gone the extra mile. "So tell me about this system."

"It's my idea to recite messages to you," Courtney said excitedly.

"That hardly seems necessary."

"Let's try it, please. I can read my own writing better than anyone. And I may be able to add a certain tone, give you an idea of the caller's aura."

Krista smiled faintly as she set her briefcase on her desk. "Very well."

"We'll start with business...." Courtney shuffled through the pink slips, snapping her chewing gum. "It would be easier if we had different pastel-colored pads for different kinds of messages. You know, blue for business, green for personal and pink for passion. Don't you think that the color pink should always be reserved for romance? I wore a pink dress to prom and my mom grows pink roses, a whole garden full of them."

Krista regarded her with mild exasperation. "Courtney, everyone uses the pink notepads, it's just the way it is."

"I put colored stars on the top right corner of each note, for our own use, of course. Ten blues, eight greens -" She drew a breath. "And I'm afraid no pinks again today."

Krista bristled slightly under Courtney's pitying look. The girl had been working for Bigtime Promotions for three months and never in that time had Krista received what could be construed as a passionate message from anyone.

Under the circumstances, they couldn't afford to use all the pink paper in stock exclusively for mash notes.

Krista sank into her chair and rummaged round the cluttered glass desktop for her glasses. She'd had a rough morning, which included losing her left contact lens at a downtown St. Paul bookstore where she was arranging a huge signing for a celebrity science-fiction author. Acting as go-between for author and store manager, she'd negotiated M&M's and some obscure bottled water for the author and a round-table discussion with die-hard fans for the manager. Then it was back across the river to a Minneapolis charity, a block down from their Nicollet Avenue office, to draft some press releases for a homeless shelter charity drive.

Along the way she'd apparently brushed up against some damp paint. She suddenly noted a white stain on the sleeve of her navy suit jacket, wondered if the laundry service could remove it.

"The first message is from Ms. Phillips," Courtney announced, surreptitiously removing the gum from her mouth.

"She jotted it down on her way out the door."

Krista grew alert at the mention of her partner.

"The clown got sick, went to take his place at Hawkson Motors."

"Judy is pinch-hitting for a clown?" Krista's dark-blue eyes twinkled.

"That's right. For a live TV remote advertising the Boom-Bang-Best-Car-Deal-of-the-Century. She's hoping you can drop by the Bloomington dealership sometime this afternoon."

"Wouldn't miss it," Krista murmured.

Courtney plowed through the first string of messages tagged with blue stars, reciting them with importance. "Now for the personal messages."

"I'll take those -"

"All eight are from your aunties. Rachel and Beverly Mattson. I only call them the `aunties' because that's what they called themselves. I don't mean any disrespect."

Krista exhaled impatiently. "Courtney, what did they want?"

"I'm not sure. They took turns calling, just kept saying, `Code Red.'"

Krista sat back in her chair, appearing rather deflated. "Oh, I see."

"I asked them if they needed the police or anything. But they said it wasn't that kind of emergency."

"I'm sure they're perfectly fine."

Courtney turned a rather smug smile. "I can't help but notice I'm not the only one who uses colors in her message system."

"Well, they are limited to the color red." And one color for the rambunctious pair was quite enough.

"You going out again?" Courtney asked as Krista rose from her chair.

"Yes, to see the aunts." Sensing curiosity in Courtney's huge brown eyes she added, "It's nearly twelve-thirty. I can use a free lunch."

It was a short drive to the Mattson sisters' Lake Calhoun neighborhood. Their grand old Victorian home was two blocks away from the lake on a very desirable street of turn-of-the-century homes. Their dwelling was painted a stately gray with maroon trim, set on a nicely sized lot shaded by two large oaks and some smaller maples. It was nearing the end of September, and the leaves were ablaze in reds and golds.

Krista usually parked in the back alley, in the shallow driveway fronting their small garage. But today she saved time by pulling up at the front curb under a large elm. Dashing through fallen leaves she scrambled up the wooden porch steps as fast as her high heels could carry her. Having spent many a childhood summer and winter vacation under this roof, eventually relocating to the Twin Cities for college, she wasn't compelled to ring the bell. She burst through the front door into the hushed mahogany entryway.

"Bev? Rach?" She clattered across the tiles, peering into the library on the left, the living room on the right. There she found the television alive with Rachel's favorite soap opera, Beverly's half-finished crossword and bifocals on an end table. Only their cat, Mr. Bellows, was on hand, curled up in a corner.

She dashed down the hall to the back of the house, to find the sisters in the kitchen preparing lunch. Krista paused in the doorway, gaping like a small girl. "Hey, why didn't you answer me?"

"Took you long enough to answer us," Beverly retorted, setting a blue ceramic plate holding a hot beef sandwich and potato chips on the round kitchen table with a thump .

"We didn't know what to think," Rachel chirped in agreement, setting a matching plate beside it with a small tossed salad and some wheat crackers. "Especially when you wouldn't even answer your cell phone."

Their respective lunches reflected their distinct personalities. Beverly was plump, hearty and brusque. Her gray curls were kept rolled tight against her head and her clothing always baggy on her full figure, like today's outfit of dark gabardine pants and floral rayon shirt. Rachel was only two years younger than Beverly but behaved decades off, keeping her birdlike figure with diet and exercise, her loose ringlets tinted golden, and her clothes up to date with clingy knit outfits like today's zebra-print pants and purple T-shirt.

But the sixty-something sisters were definitely of the same family tree as they did their henlike fuss-and-hustle routine about the kitchen.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from Wedding Roulette by Leandra Logan Copyright © 2003 by Leandra Logan
Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.