The Wedding Planner. Millie Criswell

his heart gave a little zing when he heard her voice. There was laughter in the background—a man’s laughter—and the sound of it knotted his gut.

      “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had company.”

      “Mr. Morgan, is that you?” Meredith seemed genuinely surprised to hear from him. He felt like an ass.

      “I’ll call back tomorrow.”

      “No need. It’s just Peter. He brought over Chinese and we’ve been going over the media campaign. We’ve come up with some wonderful ideas I think you’re going to—”

      “Peter Webber is at your house eating dinner?” he interrupted, and the vein in his temple started throbbing.

      “Why, yes.” He could hear the smile in her voice, which made him even madder. “Would you like to speak to him?”

      Webb was the last person he wanted to talk to, especially now that he knew his so-called best friend hadn’t wasted any time putting the moves on the wedding planner he’d hired. “No. I don’t need to talk to Peter.”

      “Oh? Was there something else you needed?”

      A gross misunderstatement, if ever he heard one. “I was just calling to—” What? Hear the sound of your voice? Talk you into going to bed with me? “Get your reaction on the interview I did today. I thought it went well. Did you see it?”

      “Yes. I was at the nursing home visiting my mother when it aired. I thought you did very well.”

      “I hear chimpanzees from all over the country are calling the station at this very moment trying to get a date with me.” His attempt at humor was met with momentary silence, then she finally laughed, and Adam released the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

      She laughed! Adam’s forehead broke out in a cold sweat. He’d never felt such relief, not even when Fergus Industries’ bid to take over his corporation had failed last year.

      “Did you make a joke, Mr. Morgan?” The teasing note in her voice was unmistakable. “I’m impressed. There’s hope for you yet.”

      “I have my moments.”

      “Mmm.”

      The X-rated murmur went straight to Adam’s lap, but was quickly dispelled when she giggled and said, “Harrison, stop that! You’re tickling my ear.”

      Harrison? Who the hell was Harrison? Was the woman having a party? First Peter, now Harrison. How many men were at her house? He felt annoyed, left out, and wished he’d never called.

      “Harrison gets off on licking my ears and feet,” she explained. “He’s such a pervert, but really very cute. He’s also a bit too affectionate. I’m thinking of having him pruned. It may lessen his urges a bit, if you get my drift.”

      Adam’s loins tightened, and he felt the strongest urge to cross his legs. He developed an instant empathy for poor Harrison, whoever that poor, lovesick fool might be. “That’s rather drastic, don’t you think? Perhaps you should just tell him no. That’s been known to work on occasion.”

      “Believe me, I’ve tried. But it just makes him all the more aggressive and amorous. He paws my chest, tries to rub against my leg. I—”

      A strangled sound emitted from his throat. “Ah, there’s my call waiting,” he lied. “Gotta go.”

      Slamming down the phone, Adam took a deep breath, then poured himself a huge tumbler of bourbon and gulped it down, nearly choking in the process. He was as stiff as a two-week-old corpse.

      The woman had no shame. She spoke of intimacies as if they were front-page news, as if she were working at one of those phone-sex hotlines, where all you needed was a preprogrammed phone dialer and a healthy imagination.

      Unfortunately, Adam had both.