Page 3 of The Rented Bride

The housekeeper cut her off. “Would you like to freshen up before you meet with Meg?”

Cassie shook her head. “No, thank you. I would prefer to meet Ms. Nelson as soon as possible.”

Mrs. O’Brien nodded. “Meg is in her office. I can take you there straightaway.” She started forward and Cassie nearly had to trot to keep up. “Henry will put your bags in your room,” the housekeeper continued. “You’ll be staying in The Gray Room.”

The Gray Room? She supposed all the rooms had names, like the White House’s Red Room, Blue Room and Green Room.

“Have you had breakfast?” Mrs. O’Brien asked.

“Just coffee,” she replied.

“I’ll have eggs benedict sent to Meg’s office.”

“Please don’t go to any trouble. I’m not really hungry,” Cassie said.

“It’s no trouble,” Mrs. O’Brien said. “We have a full-time chef and staff. They understand that we have guests who need to be fed throughout the day.”

“I’m sure they do,” Cassie hurried alongside her. “But I never eat before noon. Just coffee.”

“I’ll have coffee sent over, then.”

“All right,” Cassie said. Truth was, she could use coffee, lots of coffee.

They reached an open door and Mrs. O’Brien entered the room. A young, tall blonde sat behind a table desk filled with neat stacks of paper. Two twenty-four-inch flat screen monitors sat on another table desk that spanned her left side, and yet another table desk that spanned her right side held books and more stacks of paper.

She looked up as they entered.

“Meg, this is Ms. Adams.”

Meg stood and circled her desk, right hand extended. “How nice to meet you, Ms. Adams.”

Cassie accepted the hand and gave a firm shake. “Please,” she said, “call me Cassie.”

Meg beamed. “Then you must call me Meg.”

“I’m having coffee sent up, Meg,” Mrs. O’Brien said.

“Thank you,” Meg said, and the housekeeper left.

“Please, sit.” Meg indicated a padded leather chair opposite her desk.

Cassie sat down and, from the corner of her eye, noticed two stacks of paper on the right side of the desk that related to catering and an orchestra.

“It looks like you’re swamped,” Cassie said.

Meg laughed. “My office looks this way most of the time.”

Cassie grimaced. “I thought I had it bad.”

“Shall we start at the beginning?” Meg asked.

Cassie smiled. “You read my mind.”

***

Trent watched from his third-story office window as slim legs swung out of the limo. The event planner stood to a full five-foot-four height, dressed in a black business skirt, white blouse and black jacket. He noticed the shoes. Black patent leather flats. The woman was attractive, but practical. Perfect—and just in time. This was more than a birthday party. Possibly--probably--his grandfather’s final birthday party.

Mrs. O’ Brien appeared in the courtyard and took Ms. Adams up the walkway and into the house. Trent shifted his gaze to the snow-dusted valley beyond his property. The towering Rocky Mountains represented the way he lived his life: Strong, solid, unbending in the wind. Long after he was gone, he wanted the legacy his grandfather had built to carry on. It was time to settle down. Time to get as serious about his personal life as he’d been about expanding the Weston empire.

His gut churned. Had he known time with his grandfather was so limited, he would’ve thought about the future, a wife, a family, long before now. James Weston was old school, and carrying on the family legacy was vital. Seventy-four tomorrow, he wasn’t young, but neither was he old enough to have reached the end of his life.

Trent slipped his hand into his jeans’ pocket and curled his fingers around the velvet box he’d been carrying all day.

“Sir?” Mrs. O’Brien said behind him.

He turned. She stood in the doorway.

“Ms. Adams has arrived. I’ve sent her bags to The Gray Room.”

“Wherever you think best,” he said. So long as the woman did her job. He wouldn’t tolerate another Gallagher fiasco. And he didn’t want her underfoot.

“Would you like to meet her?” Mrs. O’Brien asked.

“Later, maybe. I’m not dressed to meet anyone.” But his old jeans and t-shirt were an excuse to keep to himself. This party was much more than a birthday party, even more than a life celebration for his grandfather. Trent had always considered himself too consumed with business to be a family man. That was going to change tonight. He only hoped it wasn’t too late.

Feeling better than he had in days, Trent pulled the velvet box from his pocket and placed it in the top drawer of his desk. While the house underwent the crazy chaos of party planning, he was going to get some work done. Once tomorrow’s festivities began, he would be taking substantial time away from Weston, Inc.