Blossoms Of Love. J.M. JeffriesЧитать онлайн книгу.
I’m meeting him at Craig’s tonight.”
Chelsea’s eyes went wide. “That’s the new in place.”
“You watch too much TMZ.”
Chelsea punched Greer on the arm. “This is so exciting. You’d better bring home a doggie bag. For me, not the dog.”
She laughed. “I’ll try to remember.”
After giving her approval on the hydraulics, Greer headed back to her office, till her father stopped her in the hallway.
“Meeting.” Roman Courtland was a man of few words.
She followed him into his large corner office overlooking the industrial park. Every available inch of wall space was covered with photos of the award-winning floats by Courtland Floats Designs, along with family photos.
Her mother stood at the window, a bottle of water in one hand. Tall and slim, Virginia Courtland wore a cream-colored pantsuit with a colorful Hermes scarf about her neck. She’d styled her black hair into a sleek French roll that emphasized her sharply defined cheekbones. She’d been born in Los Angeles after her parents had migrated from Bermuda nearly sixty years ago. Virginia’s father had been an actor with minor parts in nearly a hundred films. He’d made a good living but never attained a higher status than character actor.
Greer’s father, Roman, was of medium height with a thick head of curly black hair threaded with gray. He wore jeans and a black sweater with the sleeves pushed up. Like Virginia, he was LA-born, but his family had been in Los Angeles since the early 1800s. His ancestors had managed to escape from slavery in Georgia and thought to make a place for themselves in Spanish-held California. His two-times great-grandfather had been Native American, and the Nez Perce heritage showed in his slightly hooked nose and wide-spaced eyes.
Roman looked tired. These last few weeks before the parade were the most intense and stressful. All the labor of the last ten months culminated in round-the-clock shifts as floats were checked for any last-minute issues before heading to the staging tent set up on the Rose Bowl parking lot. There, hundreds of volunteers needed to finish the floral decoration on time.
Greer grabbed a bottle of water from the undercounter fridge behind her father’s desk and sat down on the sofa. “I think this morning’s interview went well.”
Her mother nodded as she took a seat in one of the chairs. “He seemed to ask you a lot of personal questions.”
“He made me a little uncomfortable.”
“You handled yourself well,” her father said as he sat in the other chair and crossed one leg over the other.
“Rose Queen training,” Greer answered. She took a sip of water.
“I wish he’d allowed you to talk more about the float.”
“They want me to come back on a weekly basis now that it’s coming down to the wire,” Greer said. “They want to do some on-site filming, too. Dad, what were you thinking?’”
Roman gave her an innocent look. “What do you think I’m thinking?”
“Why did you take on a celebrity client? Not that he’s been a problem, but now I have to budget a morning to do an interview when I should be overseeing the final decorating.”
“You work too hard,” he said. “In the last four years, two other companies have popped into the float business. If we want to stay ahead of the game, we need to put ourselves out there. And you are the perfect person to do that. You’ve got the degree in structural engineering. Not to put down your sisters, but they chose more nonscience degrees.”
“Smooth, Dad, smooth.”
Chelsea had a degree in Elizabethan literature, and Rachel had a degree in finance.
“Don’t get us wrong,” her mother interjected, obviously in agreement with her husband. “You all bring something to the table, but you ensure the structural integrity of every float. Without you, the floats might collapse in the middle of the parade. Do not make me remind you of the great float debacle in 2001, which forced your dad to go out on his own.”
Greer simply grinned at her mother. “I get it.” She slanted a glance at her father. “You told your boss that the float wouldn’t work and you were right.” The float fell apart a half hour into the two-and-a-half-hour parade and had to be pulled out of line and pushed back to the staging area.
“It was a beautiful day,” Roman said with a wide grin.
And being the only African American family in the float business had brought its own level of notice, letting others know what one family could achieve when they worked together.
“I still think the interview went well,” Greer said. “Next time I’ll be better prepared and won’t let him drag me off topic.”
“You were pretty amusing off topic,” Virginia said with a chuckle.
“The wave has gone viral,” Roman said.
“We need to take you off social media,” Greer retorted. She took another sip of her water. “Dad, did Logan Pierce approach you about designing his float?”
“No,” Roman said. “He went with Associated Float Design. Why?”
“He called me and wants to meet for dinner tonight.”
“Are you going?” Virginia asked.
“Sure. Why not? Maybe I’ll get some answers to this rivalry he and Daniel Torres have going.” She stood and yawned. Maybe she shouldn’t have accepted Logan’s dinner invitation. She needed sleep more than good food.
* * *
At exactly seven o’clock, Greer pulled to a stop in front of Craig’s. The valet opened the door to her Toyota 4Runner and held a hand out for her. She accepted the help. He handed her a ticket and took her keys.
She’d dressed carefully for her meeting with Logan. After going through her closet, she’d chosen a pearl-gray silk sheath with a matching jacket trimmed in black satin ribbon. She wore a silver locket that looked perfect with her gray and stylish silver earrings. Black stilettos and a clutch purse completed her look. She’d smoothed her hair back from her face and kept her makeup at a minimum.
She glanced around as she entered the restaurant. She’d never been to Craig’s before. The facade only hinted at the elegance inside. She stepped into the warmth and was immediately greeted by the hostess. “I’m meeting—”
“Mr. Pierce is waiting for you, Miss Courtland,” the hostess said smoothly. “If you’ll follow me.”
Craig’s had an elegant feel to it. The walls were dark wainscoting with brick above it. Art hung at intervals on the wall. Brick pillars supported the ceiling. The hostess led Greer to a prominently placed booth. Logan Pierce slid out and stood, a smile spread across his face. He was a muscular man a few inches taller than Greer. She didn’t know if his carefully brushed and arranged blond hair was natural or bleached, but he looked good. Sparkling blue eyes met hers and he grinned, showing perfect teeth of a dazzling white.
He held out his hand. “Thank you for coming, Miss Courtland. May I call you Greer?”
She slid into the booth and he sat across from her. “Please, if I can call you Logan.”
Logan nodded. The hostess walked away, and a few seconds later, a member of the waitstaff approached. Mona, as she introduced herself, placed glasses of water in front of them and then asked for their drink order.
“Merlot, please,” Greer said.
The woman listed the different brands, and Greer chose one. She didn’t recognize the label but knew it would be excellent. Craig’s would offer nothing less. Logan ordered bourbon on the rocks.
“Thank you for coming,” Logan said.
“Why?”