Read Online Turnabout's Fair Play by Kaye Dacus - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kaye Dacus
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recognized by everyone in the room.
But if Jamie wasn’t going to be working at the Gregg Agency anymore, what was the point in trying to meet the star football player?
Applause broke out as the last of the dinner plates were removed from Jamie’s table. He looked around. Bobby and Zarah had risen and made their way to the side table where the wedding cake dwarfed even six-foot-three Bobby Patterson.
The addition of flashes from digital cameras around the room to the three from the professional photographers turned the scene into a brief paparazzi frenzy of flashing lights and people jostling for the best, least-obstructed angle.
Seriously? Who needed that many photos of someone else’s wedding and reception? He scanned the tables he’d had his back to all evening. Several women purposely caught his eye. He knew what they were selling…and he wasn’t buying. But it put him on his guard against the advances that were certain to come later. After working in the marketing and sales industry for more than a decade, not only had he become someone who could sell a sloppy joe to a bride wearing white gloves, but he’d also learned how to handle come-ons from beautiful, rich, lonely women—even the persistent ones.
Jamie swiveled, twisting the black fabric chair cover with him. Seeing the wait staff emerge from the kitchen carrying silver carafes, he turned his coffee cup right side up. He’d stuck with the watered-down iced tea throughout dinner while many at the table indulged in wine and cocktails from the open bar.
The first couple of years at the advertising agency, he’d gone out on Thursday and Friday nights with the guys—and it hadn’t taken him long to realize just how stupid and unlikable alcohol made them. Not everyone was like that, sure, and he’d been around plenty of people who could have a glass or two of wine and seemingly not be affected by it at all. But he preferred to keep his wits about him—and not take any risks when it came to driving himself home from such events.
Coffee, however, was his vice. Black, creamed, straight, sweet, plain, flavored—it didn’t matter. He’d take it any way he could get it.
“Regular or decaf, sir?” their waitress asked.
“Regular, please.”
Dennis Forrester raised an eyebrow before requesting decaffeinated coffee. “I don’t know how you young people can do it, so much caffeine so late at night.”
Jamie almost snorted. The head of the historical society where Zarah Mitchell…Patterson worked acted like people in their thirties were teenagers. He couldn’t be that much older. “What can I say? I’m a night person, so it doesn’t bother me.” He doctored the brew with one pack of artificial sweetener and a splash of half-and-half.
More servers came around with plates of the wedding cake. “The cake layers are french vanilla, dark chocolate, and red velvet.” The main server for the table nodded, and he and each of the other three set dessert plates with a generous-sized slice of the three-layer cake in front of each person at the table. “The frosting on the outside is cream cheese buttercream. The filling between the vanilla and chocolate layers is raspberry, and the filling between the chocolate and red velvet layers is Italian cherry. Enjoy.”
Jamie cut into the red velvet layer—at the back of the piece so he got the thick layer of frosting with the first bite. The moist, light cake with its almost-chocolate flavor mingled on his tongue with the creamy sweetness of the frosting and then melted. He started to groan—then remembered where he was.
Perfection.
If coffee was his vice, sugar was his addiction. And with his family’s history of heart problems, he didn’t give in to that temptation often—especially since he’d been somewhat tubby as a kid. But hey, wedding cakes were a rarity in his life. He’d shed the puppy fat as a teen running around the woods with paintball guns some days after school and almost all day on
But if Jamie wasn’t going to be working at the Gregg Agency anymore, what was the point in trying to meet the star football player?
Applause broke out as the last of the dinner plates were removed from Jamie’s table. He looked around. Bobby and Zarah had risen and made their way to the side table where the wedding cake dwarfed even six-foot-three Bobby Patterson.
The addition of flashes from digital cameras around the room to the three from the professional photographers turned the scene into a brief paparazzi frenzy of flashing lights and people jostling for the best, least-obstructed angle.
Seriously? Who needed that many photos of someone else’s wedding and reception? He scanned the tables he’d had his back to all evening. Several women purposely caught his eye. He knew what they were selling…and he wasn’t buying. But it put him on his guard against the advances that were certain to come later. After working in the marketing and sales industry for more than a decade, not only had he become someone who could sell a sloppy joe to a bride wearing white gloves, but he’d also learned how to handle come-ons from beautiful, rich, lonely women—even the persistent ones.
Jamie swiveled, twisting the black fabric chair cover with him. Seeing the wait staff emerge from the kitchen carrying silver carafes, he turned his coffee cup right side up. He’d stuck with the watered-down iced tea throughout dinner while many at the table indulged in wine and cocktails from the open bar.
The first couple of years at the advertising agency, he’d gone out on Thursday and Friday nights with the guys—and it hadn’t taken him long to realize just how stupid and unlikable alcohol made them. Not everyone was like that, sure, and he’d been around plenty of people who could have a glass or two of wine and seemingly not be affected by it at all. But he preferred to keep his wits about him—and not take any risks when it came to driving himself home from such events.
Coffee, however, was his vice. Black, creamed, straight, sweet, plain, flavored—it didn’t matter. He’d take it any way he could get it.
“Regular or decaf, sir?” their waitress asked.
“Regular, please.”
Dennis Forrester raised an eyebrow before requesting decaffeinated coffee. “I don’t know how you young people can do it, so much caffeine so late at night.”
Jamie almost snorted. The head of the historical society where Zarah Mitchell…Patterson worked acted like people in their thirties were teenagers. He couldn’t be that much older. “What can I say? I’m a night person, so it doesn’t bother me.” He doctored the brew with one pack of artificial sweetener and a splash of half-and-half.
More servers came around with plates of the wedding cake. “The cake layers are french vanilla, dark chocolate, and red velvet.” The main server for the table nodded, and he and each of the other three set dessert plates with a generous-sized slice of the three-layer cake in front of each person at the table. “The frosting on the outside is cream cheese buttercream. The filling between the vanilla and chocolate layers is raspberry, and the filling between the chocolate and red velvet layers is Italian cherry. Enjoy.”
Jamie cut into the red velvet layer—at the back of the piece so he got the thick layer of frosting with the first bite. The moist, light cake with its almost-chocolate flavor mingled on his tongue with the creamy sweetness of the frosting and then melted. He started to groan—then remembered where he was.
Perfection.
If coffee was his vice, sugar was his addiction. And with his family’s history of heart problems, he didn’t give in to that temptation often—especially since he’d been somewhat tubby as a kid. But hey, wedding cakes were a rarity in his life. He’d shed the puppy fat as a teen running around the woods with paintball guns some days after school and almost all day on
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