The Winter Wedding Page 9

  In summation, she’d never met a man like Logan. And if she must be totally honest with herself, Cheyna wasn’t certain what she was going to do about that.

  Chapter 7

  At six-thirty on Tuesday evening, Cheyna found a parking spot at the corner of the street next to the Corriander Center. She’d had a long day which had ended with a confusing phone call to Elainey.

  “You know I love you Cheyna, but I didn’t send you any flowers. To express my gratitude I would have sent you a bottle of my favorite Chardonnay so you could finally kick off your shoes and relax.”

  Cheyna had sat back in her office chair staring at the still thriving arrangement in question.

  “But it’s the vase that I admired in your shop,” she countered.

  “We sold that vase two days after you were in here talking about it. I felt so bad I asked my assistant to get online to try and find us another one because I was sure you’d come in to buy it. But as far as I know, she hasn’t had any luck yet.”

  “I’m sorry, then. My mistake. I should have known it wasn’t from you because you never make mistakes.”

  “Mistakes? I thought you said the arrangement was gorgeous?”

  “It was,” she said. “I mean, it is. The flowers are robust and seasonal, but there was one that seemed out of place.”

  Cheyna had stood from her chair and walked across the office at that point. She turned the arrangement slightly and found the red rose she’d spotted there last week. It was the only flower in the whole arrangement that was dying. She touched the stem and pulled it out. A few darkened petals fell to the floor.

  “I apologize. I’ll figure out who sent them. Thanks Elainey,” she said remembering that she was on the phone.

  When the call ended Cheyna tossed the dead rose into the trash can and grabbed her coat and bag. She did not want to be late for the meeting with Monica. The time and location of this meeting had changed twice in the last four hours.

  Now, she was here, walking into an arena that was full of people and noise. How she and Monica were supposed to talk about finalizing the invitations in here, Cheyna had no clue. The heels of her gray suede boots clicked on the tiled floor as she walked through a wide doorway leading to the main floor of the space. She immediately felt overdressed in a navy blue pantsuit covered by her black wool coat, with her bag of business papers and three invitation samples at her side.

  Stadium seating stretched in four sections toward the ceiling, more than three hundred seats she was sure, and the majority of them were filled. Hip Hop music blasted through the speakers while on the main floor men in two different color uniforms stood dribbling basketballs or gathered in groups to take pictures. On the jumbotron beneath the scoreboard fireworks burst on the screen and “Welcome to the 21st NYC Classic Charity Basketball Tournament” scrolled across in bright orange letters.

  Why was Monica at a basketball tournament? Cheyna prayed she did not get the address Monica’s assistant sent her wrong. She pulled out her phone and double-checked.

  “Can I help you ma’am?”

  Noting that she had come to the right address, Cheyna looked over to the guy she assumed was an usher and smiled.

  “Yes. I’m supposed to meet Monica Lakefield here. I’m not sure if you have meeting rooms on another level or where I should go to find her.”

  The usher looked to be about seventeen or eighteen with a wide smile and warm green/brown eyes. His name badge read “Stuart”.

  “All of the gold level sponsors are seated down on the floor for the first half of the program. Once the actual game begins, they’ll move up to the skybox on the second floor for the VIP reception. Ms. Lakefield arrived a few minutes ago. I can take you to her.”

  “Thanks, Stuart. I would appreciate that.”

  Cheyna followed him as he walked with obvious pride down the aisle and across another section before coming to an area that had been sectioned off with red rope. Monica sat on the far end of the second row, so Stuart ushered Cheyna down onto the floor—where her boots still made noise despite the loud music—and in front of the entire donor section. Cheyna looked up to see that she recognized a few faces in the crowd—the governor, the police commissioner and with a wave of shock and dismay coursing through her, Zeke Volker. He looked up just as she spotted him and their gazes held for a few extremely uncomfortable moments. Cheyna remembered every second of her last conversation with Zeke two years ago and the rude and degrading remarks he’d made to her. If she’d thought time would heal old wounds she now knew that to be a boldfaced lie.

  “Hi, Cheyna. I’m so glad you could come down here.”

  Monica began talking before Cheyna was seated on the row next to her. Of course, Cheyna was still a little shaken after seeing her ex-boss so it had taken her a moment to get herself together. But she finally fell back into business-mode and took the seat next to Monica.

  “It was no problem. I needed to get out of the office anyway.”

  “I’m glad to hear you say that. You’re way too young to be cooped up in an office nine to twelve hours a day.”

  Those words seemed a little strange coming from the Monica Lakefield. There was no one in the art industry who worked harder than Monica. In fact, when Monica and Alex first starting seeing each other, the rumor mill was full of comments on how the relationship would fare against two known workaholics.

  “My business is very important to me,” Cheyna replied. “I try to give one hundred and ten percent to each of my clients.”

  Monica reached over to touch Cheyna’s hand. “Believe me, I understand exactly where you’re coming from. I’ve just had a little longer to figure out that relaxing should be squeezed into the schedule as well.”

  The smile Monica offered was warm and genuine and went a long way to relaxing Cheyna at that moment. Cheyna removed her jacket after seeing that Monica was also overdressed for this event. Monica wore a black pantsuit with a cream colored blouse and black patent leather platform pumps. Her hair was in her all-business style, pulled back into a braided bun. Of course her make-up was flawless and that huge diamond on her left ring finger sparkled.

  “Well, I won’t take up too much of your time. We just need to finalize the invitations so they can be printed and in the mail by the first of November. We’re cutting it to the wire with the six week mark for invites to go out, but after the formal announcement that will appear in the paper on Friday along with the new engagement photos, everyone will already be on notice of the date.”

  Cheyna talked as she opened her bag and pulled out materials. The song changed to a classic tune by Heavy D and she resisted the urge to bop her head along to one of her favorite hip hop beats.

  “Oh, Alex wants a DJ at the reception. I agreed to it providing the band plays for the first hour during dinner. My soon-to-be sister-in-law Eva is also going to dance at the ceremony. My dad was not thrilled with the idea but my mom thinks it’s fantastic.”

  Cheyna remembered meeting Eva at the photo shoot. She was Rico Bennett’s wife who used to dance professionally but was now an up and coming artist.

  “We can work those in.” Cheyna handed Monica the invitations and pulled out her more formal notepad—the one that was folded inside a leather-bound carrier.

  “I’ll get quotes on the DJs to you no later than Thursday and I’ll get in touch with Eva about her performance. We’re scheduled to work more on the program next week, so this is all good timing.”

  As Monica flipped through the invitations, Cheyna looked out to the floor. There were men in a royal blue and white uniform and some wearing gold and burgundy. An announcer was standing in the middle of the floor pointing and saying something into the microphone. A dunking competition, she thought she heard. Basketball really wasn’t Cheyna’s thing, but she knew a good dunk shot when she saw one. After a few men had come up and taken their turn she realized none of them had good dunking skills. Sure, the ball had gone into the net, but there’d been no flare, no moment of hold
ing her breath wondering if it would actually make it in. To her, that was a good shot. She shook her head when she realized she was paying way too much attention to the games than to her client and was about to turn away, when the next contestant came up.

  Drake’s In My Feelings was playing now. Cheyna wasn’t a big hip hop fan, but admitted to having Drake on the list of her top ten artists in this category. His songs occupied some space on her playlists and she knew this one well. But it wasn’t the song that kept her gaze riveted on the floor. It was Logan. He was on the blue and white team—her favorite colors, but that didn’t mean anything—and wore blue and white high-top tennis to match his outfit. The uniform showed off his muscled arms and toned legs. His bronze skin tone glistening beneath the stark light. His dark hair and beard added an exciting contrast. Cheyna watched him dribble the ball and then stare at the basket intently. The other players watched as well. Reporters and hired photographers were also down on the floor, cameras at the ready. She held her breath when Logan started to move, taking a slow stride before hitting the center of the floor and turning in another direction. He ran, came up around the side of the basket and jumped high into the air. With a move that looked more like gymnastics than basketball, he turned so that when the ball finally left his hands his back was facing the rim as the ball dropped through the net. The crowd roared and before Cheyna could help herself she grinned with excitement. Her heart had been pounding as she watched and waited to see the ball go through.

  “Well, I see you and the brand expert get along just as well off duty as you do when you’re both on the job,” Monica said.

  Cheyna’s smile faltered as she turned her attention to Monica. Her cheeks fusing with heat as she sat back in her seat.

  “Oh. I apologize. I just got caught up for a moment. Did you decide which invitation you want to go with?”

  Monica chuckled.

  “Girl, please. That man is fine as the day is long. I was staring at him just like you were so no, I haven’t made a decision on these invitations.”

  Cheyna managed a nervous smile only because Monica was staring at her. She hated that she’d been off her game and swore it wasn’t going to happen again during this meeting.

  “If I may offer some assistance,” Cheyna began. “Since your venue is a retro landmark of the city, this one would be really nice. The gold and black embossed letters on the front would go beneath the combined Lakefield and Bennett logo you and Alex designed. And inside we could work the wording so that it captured the vibe of new love and old elegance.”

  “New love.” Monica held the invitation Cheyna spoke of in her hand. She tapped it to her chin while staring out to the floor once more. “Have you ever been in love, Cheyna?”

  Why did people keep asking her that? Cheyna tried not to sound as irritated by that question as she felt.

  “No.”

  Monica nodded. “It’s nothing like what they write about in books. And nobody can accurately explain what it feels like for you specifically.”

  “I’m sure you’re right. That’s why it’s so important for the bride and groom to have as much input in their special day as possible. Because no matter how well I can plan, no one can capture their love in the same way that the happy couple can.”

  Monica tilted her head as she stared at Cheyna again.

  “You’re good at your job,” she told Cheyna. “Very good. That’s why I hired you. So I’m going to take your word on this invitation because I trust you’ll make sure it and every other aspect of this wedding is fabulous. But I don’t think that’s solely based on your talent as an event planner. I think it’s because you, unlike most people, have a good idea of what love is or what it should be. That’s why you do this job so well.”

  Cheyna did not know how to respond to that.

  “It’s time to head up to the lounge, Ms. Lakefield.”

  Stuart was back and Cheyna definitely thought about jumping up to hug him as a thank you for rescuing her from the uncomfortable conversation.

  “I’ll get the order in tonight,” Cheyna told Monica as she took all of the invitations from her and stood.

  Monica did not continue the conversation. It would have been grossly improper in front of mixed company. Monica Lakefield was usually big on privacy which was one reason why meeting in this very public location had thrown Cheyna for a loop.

  When she stood Monica gave Cheyna a look that said she knew she’d rattled her with her words. “Thanks, Cheyna. I’ll be in touch about the other details.”

  Cheyna nodded. “And I’ll keep working.”

  “Take the rest of tonight off. That’s a direct order from your client.”

  Cheyna did not reply but stuffed the invitations and her book into her bag. She stepped aside as Stuart escorted Monica out of the row and down onto the floor. Cheyna followed behind them although she would be leaving the arena instead of going up to the VIP lounge. She had just stepped into the open walkway when she felt a hand on her arm.

  “What a surprise seeing you here,” the woman said.

  When Cheyna turned back it was to see another familiar face. One she hadn’t seen in years, but that she would have never forgotten.

  Cheyna could not hide her surprise. “Fiona Watson?”

  She and Fiona attended NYU together. They had not been friends, more like cordial opposites who knew it was best to stay out of each other’s way.

  “Cheyna Dansfield.”

  Her voice was still deep and husky, her make-up thick and overstated.

  “Well, Fiona, when you told me you knew Cheyna I decided not to hold that against you. Now, seeing the two of you together I’m more positive than ever that I made the right decision to hire you.”

  Zeke Volker came to a stop beside Fiona just as Cheyna pulled her arm from the woman’s unnervingly tight grip. He was a rail thin man wearing a tailored sage green suit, gold tie and white shirt. His hair was white as snow now, adding an even icier edge to his translucent gray eyes.

  “You’re working for him now?” Cheyna asked Fiona, even though she knew she shouldn’t give a damn.

  Zeke could hire whomever he wanted. Cheyna had walked out of his office two years ago and hadn’t looked back.

  “As you may know, a top event manager position has recently been vacated. Liam’s death was a terrible shock to us all, especially since he was like a son to me. But then I came across Fiona’s application and when she gave you as a reference I knew I had to hire her,” Zeke said.

  “I did not refer her for anything.” There wasn’t a nice word Cheyna could come up with to describe Fiona. The woman had always been catty, untrustworthy and rude. Even though it had been years since Cheyna had seen her, she doubted any of that had changed.

  “I said I knew you, not that you referred me,” Fiona stated. “We would have to be friends or at the very least business associates for a referral.”

  “You’re correct,” Cheyna said. “Look, I have to go. You two should work well together.”

  She turned to leave but Zeke’s next words stopped her.

  “You didn’t have to kill him, Cheyna. First you bombarded him and my company with your lies and then when that didn’t get you enough attention, you killed him.” He made a clucking sound with his tongue as he shook his head. “I always knew you were a troubled one what with your poor upbringing and all, but I never thought you would stoop so low.”

  Cheyna didn’t know what to say. She was too busy looking around to see who might have heard Zeke’s vile and vicious words.

  “Is there a problem here?”

  She didn’t see Logan, but she felt him the moment he came up behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist. And she heard the steely tone in his voice.

  Zeke gave a brilliant smile and Fiona’s sultry gaze settled on Logan.

  “No problem. But I’d suggest you call security on this one. She’s a danger to society. A woman scorned and all that,” Zeke said before walking away with a grinning Fiona in tow.


  “What the hell was that about?” Logan asked seconds after their departure.

  But Cheyna couldn’t speak. She could hardly stand. The room circled around her and all the noise blended together to make one loud alarm blast in her ears. She felt herself falling, sinking beneath the pressure just as she had before and hating every second of it.

  “Tell me what happened again.”

  Logan did not want to repeat the story. He was standing beside the stretcher that had been wheeled into the back room by one of the paramedics the event organizers had on duty. He held Cheyna’s hand and continued to stare down at her. She looked peaceful with her eyes closed, her breathing steady. But Logan wanted her to wake up. He did not want to answer any more of Sam Desdune’s questions.

  “I saw her walking away from the floor. I ran over to catch up with her. When I did, I saw a man and a woman talking to her. He said something about someone being killed. The woman he was with chuckled. Cheyna looked stricken. I spoke up, the guy backed down and walked away, taking the chick with him. I looked back at Cheyna and she collapsed.”

  That was the abbreviated version. Logan had already given a detailed version, the one where he repeated exactly what the man had said. That Cheyna didn’t have to kill a man. Logan was still trying to process that part.

  “I’ve got a call into security to pull all footage from that part of the walkway,” Sam said from behind Logan.

  “Who is she?” Perry asked. “I mean, we come here to play in a charity basketball game and to get more publicity for Child First and now we’re back here playing nursemaid to some woman who may or may not have killed somebody.”

  “She did not kill anybody!”

  Logan’s head had snapped back as he yelled at his brother. Perry and the other two men in the room with them now stared at Logan. His brother was right, they had come to the arena to play in this charity basketball tournament. As it turns out, so had Alex on behalf of his company and Jagger on behalf of The Masori Group. Logan had come along with Perry. Logan wasn’t sure what Cheyna was doing here.