“I’ll take it from here. I’ll ‘walkie’ you when Jason arrives,” I told her. She rushed off to tend to matters out back where the gala was to be held. I busied myself by introducing myself to the valet who’d be working that evening. We solidified the plans for where the cars were going to go and what order everything would happen in. Only a handful of staff working the event and a few top priority attendees were allowed to actually park on the property, while the other guests had to valet and walk up the entranceway. I spent the next forty-five minutes coordinating with the valet staff and talking to Nancy and a few other of my coworkers through the walkie-talkie.
“Family members entering gate,” one of the security staff alerted us through the walkie-talkie. I stood at the entrance of the front door, watching as the huge iron gate slowly opened inward and two shiny limousines with the windows blacked out pulled in one right behind the other. The chauffeurs got out and went around to pull the back doors of the limos open. A grey-haired male was the first to get out, stopping with his back to me and then turning to offer his hand to someone. The next to emerge was a woman, his wife. These were Robert and Deborah Townsend. Their pictures often lined the society pages, especially from one of the clippings that Nancy had on a whiteboard in her office. She did that often with A-list clients. The pair looked elegant, Robert towering over his wife by nearly a foot. He was in his sixties but looked at least a decade younger, even with his grey hair. Deborah was beautiful, her dirty blonde hair pulled back in a chignon, dazzling blue eyes that seemed eerily familiar. I brushed that feeling off, reminding myself I’d been staring at the woman’s picture for the better part of a month, so of course her eyes looked familiar. Robert wore a black tux while Deborah wore a long, pastel pink, off-the-shoulder gown. The pair came up the steps arm-in-arm.
“Mr. and Mrs. Townsend.” I nodded. “I’m Michelle Clarke from Save the Date. Nancy is–”
“Right here,” Nancy’s breathless voice pushed its way through and I happily stepped aside to let her greet her clients.
By the time I turned back to get a view of who was in the second limo, the passengers were already getting out. I noted four men, in my peripheral, the first was tall with dark hair and hazel eyes. He could be considered handsome … maybe even devastatingly so, if it wasn’t for the scowl marring his face. He turned his gaze on me and I felt my insides shrink back, but I maintained a steely outward façade, smiling and nodding in his direction. I turned my eyes to the person next to him and everything except my heart rate froze. The beating muscle in my chest felt like it was going to explode.
What the hell is he doing here? Wait, how did he even get… The questions circling my mind halted when he turned those blue eyes my way, and by his expression I could see he was just as shocked as I was. However, unlike me, his shock soon ebbed and gave way to undiluted satisfaction, if the slow spreading smile on his face was any indication.
My attention was torn from Carter when Mr. and Mrs. Townsend stepped past me and I had to back out of the way to let them pass.
“Mr. Townsend, I wou–”
“Thanks.” The first man I saw, standing next to Carter, held up his hand and breezed past Nancy, cutting off her introduction.
Next, I was caught like a deer in headlights when I turned to find Carter standing directly over me.
“Mr. Townsend. What a pleasure to meet you. This is my employee, M–”
“Michelle Clarke,” he said, cutting off Nancy and making my knees weak.
“Carter.” His name always came out as some sort of plea when I said it.
“You two have met?” I didn’t need to look at her to hear the curiosity in Nancy’s voice.
“C-Mr. Townsend, saved my life,” I told Nancy, remembering I was working and should be using formal titles. The glower on Carter’s face revealed his emotion. What was he upset about?
“Carter. Mr. Townsend is my father.”
I felt his grip on my hand tighten. When had he taken my hand?
“Carter, you plan on introducing us?”
I peered over Carter’s shoulder, the same one he glanced over.
“Michelle, this is Twiddle Dee and Twiddle Dumb-er,” he grumbled, turning back to me.
“Asshole.” I heard come from behind.
The two men stepped from behind Carter, flanking him. The one on the right stood about two inches shorter, with short, jet black hair and green eyes. He was just as handsome as Carter, even though their resemblance was limited to the smattering of freckles across the bridge of their nose and upper cheeks.
“I’m Joshua. Carter’s younger but much better looking brother.” He winked.
“And I’m–” My eyes went to the man on the right and I immediately recognized him.
“Tyler Townsend,” I blurted out. How could I have forgotten that the Townsends’ youngest son was one of the most talked about, young quarterbacks in the NFL? Diego had his poster on the wall in his bedroom.
Tyler’s sheepish grin spread. His red hair and beard made him stand out; coupled with his hazel-green eyes they made him look like the young playboy he was reported to me by the media. He, too, carried the freckles Carter and Joshua had.
“A sports fan?” His voice was velvety smooth but still couldn’t hold a candle to his brother’s.
“Fuck off, Tyler.”
I turned back to Carter who gave his brother a hard look.
“Beat it, you two.”
