Susan Elizabeth Phillips - Call Me Irresistible

“Meg?” Emma appeared, her small brow knit, a pair of earrings Meg had fashioned from colorful nineteenth-century carnelian beads bobbing at her ears. “Oh, dear . . .”

“Lady Emma.” Meg held out the tray.

“Just Emma. Oh, never mind. I don’t know why I even bother.”

“I don’t either,” Torie said. “Lisa, I’m sure Francesca has told you all about our local member of the British royal family, but I don’t think the two of you have met. This is my sister-in-law, Lady Emma Wells-Finch Traveler.”

Emma sighed and extended her hand. Meg slipped away and, under Francesca’s watchful, worried eyes, headed over to serve the local mafia.

Birdie, Kayla, Zoey, and Shelby Traveler clustered together by the windows. As Meg drew nearer, she heard Birdie say, “Haley was with that Kyle Bascom again last night. I swear to God, if she gets pregnant . . .”

Meg remembered Haley’s pale face and prayed that hadn’t already happened. Kayla saw Meg and poked Zoey so hard she splashed champagne on her hand. All the women inspected Meg’s skirt. Shelby shot Kayla an inquisitive look. Meg held out the stack of napkins to Birdie.

Zoey fingered a necklace that looked as though it had been made of shellacked Froot Loops. “I’m surprised you still have to work parties, Meg. Kayla said your jewelry’s selling great.”

Kayla fluffed her hair. “Not that great. I marked the monkey necklace down twice, and I still couldn’t move it.”

“I told you I’d redo it.” Meg had to agree the monkey necklace wasn’t her best piece, but nearly everything else she’d given Kayla had sold quickly.

Birdie tugged on a spike of her woodpecker red hair and regarded Meg loftily. “If I was going to hire catering help, I’d specify who I wanted. Francesca’s too casual about this kind of thing.”

Zoey glanced around. “I hope Sunny’s not back yet. Imagine if Francesca invited her with Meg here. None of us need that kind of stress. At least I don’t, not with school starting in a few weeks and me down to one kindergarten teacher.”

Shelby Traveler turned to Kayla. “I love monkeys,” she said. “I’ll buy that necklace.”

Torie slipped into the circle. “Since when do you love monkeys? Right before Petey turned ten, I heard you tell him they were filthy little beasts.”

“Only because he’d just about talked Kenny into buying him one for his birthday.”

Torie nodded. “Kenny’d do it, too. He loves Petey as much as he loves his own kids.”

Kayla shook her hair. “That French girlfriend of Ted’s, the model, I always thought she sort of looked like a monkey. Something about her teeth.”

The Crazy Women of Wynette were off and running. Meg slipped away.

When she got to the kitchen, Haley had disappeared, and she found Chef fuming as he stepped over broken champagne flutes. “She’s worthless today! I sent her home. Leave the fucking glass alone and start plating the salads.”

Meg did her best to follow his rapid-fire orders. She raced around the kitchen, avoiding the broken glass and cursing her pink platforms, but when she returned to the living room with a fresh tray of drinks, she deliberately slowed her steps, as though she had all the time in the world. Maybe she didn’t have any experience as a server, but nobody needed to see that.

Back in the kitchen, she unearthed three small pitchers for salad dressing as Chef dashed to the oven to check on the frittatas. “I want these served hot.”

The next hour flew by as Meg tried to do the work of two people while Chef worried over the chocolate dessert soufflés. Torie and Emma both seemed determined to engage her in conversation every time she appeared in the dining room, as if Meg were another guest. Meg appreciated their good intentions but wished they’d let her concentrate on her job. Kayla forgot her animosity long enough to tell Meg she wanted another pre-Columbian stone necklace and earrings for a friend who owned a shop in Austin. Even Francesca’s agent wanted to talk, not about Meg’s parents—apparently no one had tipped her off—but about the frittata and whether she detected a touch of curry.

“You have an amazing palate,” Meg said. “Chef used the barest hint. I can’t believe you caught it.”

Francesca must have realized Meg had no idea whether the frittata contained curry or not because she quickly diverted Lisa’s attention.

As Meg served, she picked up snippets of conversation. The guests wanted to know when Ted was getting back and what he intended to do about various local problems ranging from someone’s noisy rooster to the Skipjacks’ return trip to Wynette. As Meg poured Birdie a fresh glass of iced tea, Torie chided Zoey about her Froot Loops necklace. “Just once, couldn’t you wear normal jewelry?”

“Do you think I enjoy walking around with half a grocery store hanging off me?” Zoey whispered, snatching a roll from the basket and ripping it in half. “But Hunter Gray’s mother is sitting at the next table, and I need her to organize this year’s book fair.”

Torie looked up at Meg. “If I was Zoey, I’d establish stronger boundaries between my work and my personal life.”

“That’s what you say now,” Zoey retorted, “but remember how excited you got when I wore those macaroni earrings Sophie made for me?”

“That was different. My daughter’s artistic.”

“Sure she is.” Zoey smirked. “And you set up the school phone tree for me that very same day.”

Meg somehow managed to clear the dishes without dumping leftovers in anyone’s lap. The female golfers asked if she had any Arizona iced tea. In the kitchen, Chef’s face was slicked with sweat as he pulled the perfectly puffed individual chocolate soufflés from the oven. “Hurry! Get these on the table before they collapse. Gently! Remember what I told you.”

Meg heaved the heavy tray into the dining room. Serving the soufflés was a two-person job, but she braced the edge against her hip and reached for the first pot.

“Ted!” Torie exclaimed. “Look who’s here, everybody!”

Meg’s heart leaped into her throat, her head jerked up, and she wobbled on her pink platforms as she saw Ted framed in the doorway. In the space of seconds, the soufflés began to shift . . . And all she could think about was the baby carriage.

Her dad had pointed out the phenomenon when she was a kid. If you were watching a movie and you saw a baby carriage, you knew a speeding car was heading its way. The same went for a florist’s cart, a wedding cake, or a plate-glass window being maneuvered across a street.

Sit back in your seat, kiddo, and hold on because a car chase is coming your way.

It was just like that with the chocolate soufflés.

She barely had the tray supported. She was losing her balance. The soufflés had started to slide. A car chase was heading her way.

But life wasn’t a movie, and she’d eat the broken glass off the kitchen floor before she’d let those white pots fall. Even as she teetered on her shoes, she shifted her weight, repositioned her hip, and focused every ounce of her willpower on regaining her balance.

The pots resettled. Francesca rose from her chair. “Teddy, darling, you’re just in time for dessert. Come and join us.”

Meg lifted her chin. The man she loved was staring at her. Those tiger eyes that grew so smoky when they made love were now clear and fiercely perceptive. His gaze shifted to the tray she was carrying. Back to her. Meg looked down. The soufflés began to deflate. One by one. Pfft . . . Pfft . . . Pfft . . .

“Ladies.” Ted’s gaze flicked from Meg’s white server’s apron to his mother, who’d suddenly turned into a whirlwind of motion.

“Find a chair, darling. Squeeze in next to Shelby.” Her small hand flew from hair to bracelets to napkin, a bird of paradise searching for a safe place to land. “Fortunately, my son is a man at home in the company of women.”

Torie snorted. “You can say that again. He’s dated half the room.”

Ted inclined his head toward the assemblage. “And enjoyed every moment.”

“Not every moment,” Zoey said. “Remember when Bennie Hanks plugged up all the toilets right before the fifth-grade choral concert? We never did make it to dinner that night.”

“But I got to see a dedicated young educator in action,” Ted said gallantly, “and Bennie learned a valuable lesson.”

A momentary yearning softened Zoey’s features, an indulgence in the memory of what might have been. To her credit, she shook herself out of it. “Bennie’s at space camp in Huntsville. Let’s hope they do a better job of guarding their toilets.”

Ted nodded, but he’d fixed his attention back on his mother. His eyes were steady, his mouth unsmiling. Francesca lunged for her water glass. Emma darted an anxious glance between them and quickly stepped into the breach. “Did you have a successful business trip, Ted?”

“I did.” He slowly withdrew his gaze from his mother and focused on Meg. She pretended she didn’t notice and served the first of the soufflés with a flourish, as if the dessert was intended to have a giant crater in its middle.

He came toward her, his jaw set in a stubborn line. “Let me help you, Meg.”

Yellow caution lights flashed in her head. “No need.” She swallowed. “Sir.”

His eyes narrowed. She picked up the next pot. Francesca and Emma both knew she and Ted were lovers, and so did the mysterious nighttime Peeping Tom, who might also be her home invader. Was that person here right now, watching them? The possibility accounted for only part of her growing sense of foreboding.

Ted took the ramekin from her and began serving each guest with an easy smile and a perfectly chosen compliment. Meg seemed to be the only person who noticed the tension lurking at the corners of that smile.

Francesca made cheery conversation with her guests, acting as if her son always helped out the serving staff. Ted’s eyes darkened when Shelby announced that the bidding to Win a Weekend with Ted Beaudine had hit eleven thousand dollars. “We’ve got bids coming in from everywhere thanks to all the publicity we’ve gotten.”

Kayla didn’t seem as happy about that as the others, which suggested Daddy had cut off her bidding money.

One of the golfers waved to catch his attention. “Ted, is it true a crew from The Bachelor is coming to Wynette to tape background footage?”

“Not true,” Torie said. “He couldn’t pass their stupidity test.”

The tray was finally empty, and Meg tried to make her escape, but as she dashed for the kitchen, Ted followed.

Chef was all smiles when he saw who’d barged in. “Hey, Mr. Beaudine. Great to see you.” He abandoned the coffee carafes he’d just filled. “I heard you were out of town.”

“Just got back, Chef.” Ted’s effortless good humor vanished as he focused on Meg. “What are you doing serving at my mother’s party?”

“I’m helping out,” she said, “and you’re in my way.” She grabbed an extra dessert from the counter and shoved it at him. “Sit down and eat.”

Chef tore around the center island. “You can’t give him that. It’s already fallen.”

Fortunately, Chef didn’t know about the twenty others that had met an identical fate. “Ted won’t notice,” she said. “He eats Marshmallow Fluff straight from the jar.” She was the one who did that, but life in Wynette had taught her the value of prevarication.

Ted returned the dessert pot to the counter, his mouth grim. “My mother set you up, didn’t she?”

“Set me up? Your mother?” She lunged for the coffee carafes, but she wasn’t quick enough, and he snatched them out from under her. “Give those back,” she said. “I don’t need your help. What I need is for you to get out of my way so I can do my job.”

“Meg!” Chef’s already florid face developed a purple tinge. “I apologize, Mr. Beaudine. Meg hasn’t served before, and she has a lot to learn about how to treat people.”

“Tell me about it.” Ted disappeared through the door with the coffee.

He was going to mess everything up. She didn’t know how. She only knew he was going to do something awful, and she had to stop it. She grabbed the iced tea pitcher and charged after him.

He’d already started filling cups without asking what anybody wanted, but even the tea drinkers didn’t protest. They were too busy fussing over him. Ted wouldn’t look at his mother, and twin furrows had formed in Francesca’s otherwise smooth forehead.

Meg headed for the opposite side of the dining room and began refilling iced tea glasses. The woman Zoey had identified as Hunter Gray’s mother gestured toward Meg. “Torie, that looks just like your Miu Miu skirt. The one you wore when we all went to see Vampire Weekend in Austin.”