Page 7 of Never Marry the Best Man (Whatever It Takes #4)

“Could you–would you have access to menus? And the executive chef–could you find out his name?”

An astonished silence followed, and then Kari found her voice. “We will match any salary offer you ever receive, Ashanti. Including benefits. Is that clear?”

It was his turn to look astonished. “For inspiration, and professional courtesy, only. My work here is not done.” He cast a disapproving eye on the coffee mugs littering the table.

“Nor will it ever be,” she replied pointedly, and he inclined his head.

Carly had been quietly working the phone from a corner of the conference room, sending callers to voicemail or taking messages, but at this moment she looked up.

“Ranney,” she said in an undertone, “It’s the Freestone Club. They’re saying something about a change in dates..? Do you want to talk to them?”

But Ranney was already on her feet and running for her desk.

“Line 3!” Carly called after her.

“Hello, this is Ranney Martini.”

“Ms. Martini, this is Kyle at the Freestone. Sir Charles Sanderson’s assistant has just contacted us to say that he and his party will be arriving earlier than expected. I imagine you are aware of the change?”

Just then, Carly appeared in Ranney's doorway, pointing to the phone while mouthing, Sanderson’s assistant .

Line 2 lit up.

“I, well, I’ve been tied up in a meeting this morning…” She scrolled frantically through her emails.

“Fortunately, we kept the Bucktail Lodge open for a few days on either end of the reservation, just for this reason,” Kyle said smoothly. “Our experience has been that Sir Charles’s plans are frequently subject to changes of all kinds.”

“Right. So the new arrival date is..?”

“This evening. Their jet will be landing at the regional airport in Twin Falls at approximately 9 p.m. local time.”

“Tonight? Tonight? That’s four days early!”

“Their plans apparently… changed.”

“Apparently! I need to get on a plane. Thank you for the call, Kyle.”

“Not at all. See you–tonight?”

“Is my room reservation–”

“We’ll take care of it.”

No time to pack. Picking up her bag, she swept whatever was on her desk into it. Laptop, iPad, cellphone, pad, pens, glasses, power bar, stapler, everything went in.

That’s why Vuitton calls it the Neverfull, she thought, with whatever brain cells were still available.

From the bottom drawer, she grabbed all the appropriate charging devices and a cosmetic bag with duplicates of all her products.

Then she lifted her jacket from the hook, picked up her purse, and ran back to the conference room.

Carly waved at her. Ranney gave her a nod that said, You can handle them . All she got in return were raised eyebrows, curated to thick perfection.

Half the communication in Wedding Protectors’ HQ was nonverbal.

In an effort not to disrupt the meeting any further, she hesitated in the doorway, crooking a finger when she caught Nilly’s eye.

“Change of plans, Nill. I need to get on a flight to Idaho right away,” Ranney told her, standing in the hallway. “Can you make that happen?”

“What’s ‘right away’?” Nilly asked.

“If I can land by maybe 6:00, I should have time to get to the lodge before they do. Maybe fly into Boise? I don’t know, I’ll leave that to you. I just want to be at the Freestone by 8:00.”

“Oh, boy. I’ll get on it.” Nilly loved a challenge. “Do you need a rental car?”

“Yes, I think the biggest SUV you can get. I could be transporting people and who knows what else. Fish, probably. Buckets of worms? Plus, it could rain or even snow and I don’t know the road conditions.”

“Speaking of fish and bad weather”–Nilly’s eyes went to Ranney’s beige poplin jacket and traveled down to her mid-height heels–“do you have, like, a change of clothes?”

“No. I’m going to text a list to Nessa and she can go get what I need. Can you FedEx it?”

“Of course. Call an Uber and get to Logan and I’ll let you know which airline you’re on.”

“Thank you, Nilly. I literally couldn’t get there and do this without you.”

“Which makes me part of the problem, not part of the solution,” Nilly muttered. Part of her job–a big part–was corporate travel, but it was no secret that she was terrified of flying.

They were almost to Nilly’s desk when a little bustle in the hall made them both look up to see Claire bearing down on them.

“Where are you going?” she asked. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, just a little change of schedule,” Ranney answered. “I really have to get going, though. I want to be able to jump on whatever flight Nilly can find. Thanks again, Nill, call me when you know!”

Picking up speed, she strode toward the main door, opening her Uber app and pausing to complete the request.

“I’ll meet you out there! In Idaho, I mean, not on the street!” Claire called, then turned to Nilly. “I need to go home and pack first. I just hope I have the right clothes.”

“It’s in the handbook,” Nilly reminded her. “Washable, stretchable, and in neutral colors. Layers. Flats or low heels. No scarves or dangling jewelry.”

Claire gave a knowing little laugh. “That’s for our regular clients, Nilly. This wedding is royalty . It’s different.”

“Yeah… no. It’s really not, Claire. Trust me.”

Claire disappeared back into the conference room, presumably to lobby for Kari’s sign-off on her trip, and Nilly sat down at her computer as Ranney rushed out of the building.

Soon, Ranney sat in the back seat of someone’s Honda Crosstour, Ubering her way through the Callahan Tunnel to the airport.

Her exact location was lost on her. All her attention was focused on texting a detailed list of her clothing needs to Nessa, including where to find everything in her closets and drawers.

Fortunately, she had been through enough last-minute travel situations to keep an emergency go-bag packed and ready–or half-packed, anyway.

Toiletries, cosmetics, underwear, hairdryer–all that was tucked away in her rolling carry-on.

All Nessa had to do was find, fold, and add the clothes from her mother’s texted list, then take the suitcase back to the office so Nilly could overnight it to Idaho.

But it had to be shipped by the four p.m. cutoff, so Ranney needed to press Send on these instructions before she boarded a plane.

If that suitcase didn’t arrive at the Freestone Club by ten o’clock tomorrow morning, Ranney was pretty sure she wasn’t going to be able to just run out to a J.Crew store and pick up a few things to tide her over.

If she ended up with time to spare on the way to her gate today, she’d dash into an airport shop and grab a nightshirt. No problem.

As the Uber emerged from the tunnel into the late-morning sunshine, Ranney’s phone pinged.

Nilly: Can get you there at 8:30. Two connections plus a small six-seater at the end. One of the connections is a little tight.

Ranney: How tight?

N: Tight enough that the airline didn’t actually want to book it?

R: How tight, Nilly?

N: Twenty minutes

R: And is this the same concourse of the same terminal?

N: They won’t commit on that. Other than renting a private jet, this is the best I can do if you have to be there before 9 p.m.

R: Can you check with K&K about private jet rental if I miss the connection?

N: Of course.

Ranney’s head dropped as she envisioned racing a mile and a half from the far end of one concourse to the opposite end of another, stiff-arming elderly ladies on the moving walkways and knocking over strollers on the escalator.

In heels–low heels, but still... At least she wasn’t going to be dragging a carry-on.

R: Okay

N: Tell the driver Terminal B. Emailing itinerary now

R: Thanks, Nill

“Terminal B, please,” Ranney said as the driver expertly negotiated the lanes of the airport roadway. Quickly, she added a hat, gloves, and a scarf to her list, followed by three red hearts, then took a deep breath and sent it.

Onward.

It really was freeing to walk through the terminal unencumbered, and she didn’t even have to pay the price of waiting by the baggage carousel for a checked bag when she got there.

True, she might be a little underdressed for the weather in Idaho, but it was only for tonight.

And her rental car would have heated seats, right?

Speaking of tonight, she remembered her idea of picking up a nightshirt in one of the shops here and, according to her calculation, she had ten minutes to spare.

After passing a book and magazine seller, a bagel shop, four bars, and an upscale ship-to-anywhere lobster market, she found what she was looking for… sort of.

Vaguely, she remembered hurrying past nice lingerie shops in airport malls in the past, but she hadn’t been paying much attention at the time.

Maybe those were in international terminals?

This was more of a kiosk selling Boston sports-themed apparel, but in one corner, cotton-knit nightshirts, long tees, and flannel pajama bottoms hung from a crossbar.

The options, unsurprisingly, were Kelly green with Celtics graphics, black and yellow (the Bruins), or red, white, and blue (the Red Sox or the Patriots).

Hesitating a few steps away, she considered. Maybe if she kept going, she’d find that nice lingerie shop, or at least a university-themed kiosk, with small, tasteful logos of local colleges embroidered on the pockets? Her ten-minute window ticked down to eight while she debated.

Oh, what the hell? she thought. Nobody’s going to see it, and my own things will be there tomorrow. I can expense it and then donate it to Goodwill.

“Can I help you?” A young woman sat on a stool, a spicy-smelling chili dog and an enormous Coke in front of her. She wiped her mouth on a paper napkin.

How can she look both bored out of her mind and irritated to be bothered at the same time? Ranney wondered.

“Um, yes–the, um, the Celtics nightshirt? Size small?”

“Sold out,” the girl replied.

“Medium, then?”

“Sold out, also large and extra large. I’m waiting for a new shipment. We had March Madness, and opening day for the Sox. Then there was the marathon, and those people bought a lot of sh… stuff. Nobody’s buying Pats jerseys these days, I might have something left over. Do you want me to look?”

“Okay,” Ranney replied doubtfully, and waited while the girl slid off her stool and squatted down, opening cupboard doors and rooting around. “I, uh, I have a flight to catch…”

“Nothing in women’s for the Pats. I have a child’s jersey in size 4T.” She held it up. “Oh, wait! I have an Irish Wolfhounds shirt, men’s 3XL.”

“Irish Wolfhounds?”

“Rugby Union. They’re a Boston team, if you’re looking for a souvenir.”

The plane was boarding in three minutes.

“I’ll take it.” Ranney handed over her company credit card as she spotted a toothbrush and set it on the counter, too.

“Sixty-four ninety-nine,” the girl said, indicating the card swiper.

“ Sixty-four..? ” Then again, it was better than nothing, and cheaper than a private jet, so she signed with her finger, grabbed the receipt, and stuffed the shirt and toothbrush into her almost full Neverfull.

Her flight boarded on time, and she sank into her seat gratefully. A window seat, second-to-last row of economy, but at least it was an available seat on a plane headed in the general direction of Idaho. By way of Miami and LAX, but that was how connections connected.

If you were resourceful and flexible, could think on your feet, and had a great team backing you up, things got done. It had been a busy morning to say the least, but in the end, there were no worries at all.

All good.