Riley in the Morning

Chapter One "Ms. Cassidy, dear?" "Yes?" "So sorry, darling, but your table simply isn't large enough." "Damn," Brin muttered under her breath as she struggled with the zipper at the back of her dress. She twisted around to check in the mirror what was causing it to stick. When she turned, an electric curler slid out of her hair, leaving a heavy strand to fall over her eye. She shoved it off her face, looping it around one of the hair-curler pins that radiated from her head like a space-age halo. "Arrange everything as best you can, Stewart. Has the bartender arrived yet?" "I have arranged everything as best I can," he said petulantly. "You need a larger table." Brin's arms fell heavily to her sides. Glancing at the harried image in the mirror, one eye artfully made up, the other as yet untouched, she called herself a fool for hostessing this party in the first place. She had timed everything down to the second. She didn't need any kinks in the tight schedule, such as a stuck zipper and a querulous caterer. Turning, she flung open the bathroom door and confronted Stewart, who stood with his pale hands on his hips, wearing an expression just as sour as hers. "I don't have a larger table," Brin said irritably. "Let's see what we can do. Is the bartender here yet?" On stocking feet she hurried through the bedroom, down the stairs, and into the dining room, where a buffet was being set up. Her dress was slipping off her shoulders, but then, there was no need to be too concerned about modesty in front of Stewart. Two of his assistants were standing by, arms crossed idly over their chests, as though waiting for a bus. She shot them exasperated looks that didn't faze them in the slightest. "Jackie said he'd be here by now," Stewart said of the missing bartender. "I can't imagine what's keeping him. We're extremely close." "Why doesn't that make me feel better?" Brin spoke the question under her breath as she studied the table. The food on the silver trays was attractively arranged and lavishly garnished, but the trays were jammed together, overlapping in places. Some extended over the edges of the table. Stewart might be difficult and aggravating, but he knew his stuff, and she couldn't argue with him. "You're right, we'll have to do some rearranging." "It's that ghastly centerpiece," Stewart said, pointing with distaste. "You should have let me select the flowers. Remember I told you " "I remember, I remember, but I wanted to choose my own florist." "Can't we remove the thing? Or at least let me rearrange it so it isn't so ... so..." He made a descriptive gesture with his hands. "You're not to touch it. I paid a hundred dollars for it." "You get what you pay for," he said snidely. She faced him angrily, hooking the errant strand of hair around another pin when it slipped from the first. "This has nothing to do with money. The florist happens to be a friend of mine, and she's been in the business longer than you've been alive." I must be agitated,Brin thought.Why am I standing here arguing with smug Stewart, when I'm only half dressed and forty guests are due to arrive at any moment? She returned her attention to the crowded table. "Can you leaveBrown, Sandra is the author of 'Riley in the Morning' with ISBN 9780553576047 and ISBN 0553576046.