Sylvia slid her key into the front door of her home and swung the door wide open. She sighed lustily and kicked off her heels. She threw her coat and purse on the wood end table and tossed her jacket on her tan leather couch. The door slammed satisfyingly behind her, and Sylvia smiled.

Her weekend.

She padded into her kitchen and took a pint of Ben & Jerry's out of the freezer. The spoon slid in easily, and Sylvia grinned like a five-year-old in a candy store. The first taste was almost orgasmic. She let the flavor melt on her tongue.

Work now done for the week. She may be a workaholic, but her weekends were sacred.

Sylvia set the pint down and slid her dark blue pants from her legs. They ended up in a pile at her feet. She kicked them aside and ate another spoonful of ice cream. My God. She would marry an ice cream maker in a hot second. If she ever had plans on marrying anyone. Which she didn't.

Weddings were stupid rituals. Sylvia chuckled and walked back into the living room. She sure as hell wouldn't be putting that on any of her shop's brochures. But it was surely the truth. Once upon a time, she dreamed of a perfect wedding with Prince Charming. Then she grew up.

And it's not like she had a wonderful example from her parents.

Sylvia rolled her blue eyes. Marriage had been a noun to them. Some type of status symbol. Never had it been a verb. Something to label themselves with. Never something to do. She dug the spoon in deeper and was rewarded with a plump cherry.

The moan that escaped almost embarrassed her. Sylvia savored the bite. She had no desire to clutter up her life with a significant other. She and the ice cream were just fine, thank you very much.

The tick of the clock marred the perfect silence of the room. Sylvia reached for the remote and clicked on some Bon Jovi. The eighties filtered through her high-tech system, and the bass moved over her. She bobbed her head and settled onto her couch. Sylvia kicked her jacket off and grinned.

Nothing like fifteen years in a strict boarding school to make one a closet slob. Sylvia frowned and took another bite. It had been worse than the military. Bedding measured on each side until it met standard. Clothes segregated by color and type. Shoes polished and placed by shade in the closet. Not one speck of lint or any other substance on the carpet. No dust on any surface.

Sylvia shuddered.

Never again.

She had been three when she started. Her parents more than eager to ship her off for her schooling. Summer meant traveling with her parents. Sylvia could speak six different languages. Set a table to die for. Dress to the nines and impress ambassadors.

So. Damn. What.

Sylvia dipped the spoon again and was disturbed at the sound of metal hitting the bottom of the container. She brought the utensil to her lips and licked the last bit of sweet dairy goodness.

Good thing she had a dozen more pints in the freezer.

A persistent sound disrupted her eighties hair band. What the hell? Sylvia frowned and concentrated. The phone. Hmph. They could leave a damn message.

Her employees didn't dare disturb her on the weekend unless there was a major emergency.

Sylvia sat the empty container on her oak coffee table and kicked her feet up on the couch. She looked down at her white button-up shirt and curled her toes. Maybe she would just pop on some mindless television and unwind on the couch.

She turned off the stereo system with one click and her television on with another. Weekends were God's little gift to the workaholic.

A bell sounded.

Sylvia groaned and rolled over. Another bell. For the love of God.

"Damn it," she muttered and opened her eyes. Only ten o'clock in the morning. Whoever stood outside her door could go to hell with no detours.

Then the pounding started.

"Son of a bitch." Sylvia jumped up from the couch and scowled. Someone had a death wish. Fine. She would be more than happy to grant that request. She unlocked the door and flung it open.

Tristan Calhoun stood there. Of course he did. The egotistical bastard. His tawny hair somewhat tamed. Dressed in khaki slacks and a dark blue shirt. Those brown eyes looked at her unblinkingly. He held his hands behind his back.

Sylvia ran her fingers through her hair and growled. "First, don't you ever show up on my doorstep again uninvited. Second, how in the hell did you get my address? Third, you better have brought some coffee." She waited for a response.

Tristan grinned and held up a large cup of coffee. "First, I won't make that mistake again. Second, your address isn't exactly hard to find. Third, I hope you like mocha lattes."

Sylvia snatched the coffee cup from his hand and took a sip. Caffeine second only to ice cream.

Tristan's wolf eyes studied her. He took a sip from his own coffee and smiled. "Going to invite me in?"

"What would be so damn important that you would invite yourself over to my house? I have an appointment with your sister early next week." Sylvia frowned. "My personal life is just that. If you have a problem with that, you can find yourself another planner. I won't be subject to the off-hour whims of you or your sister."

"Understood," Tristan agreed smoothly. "Can I come in?"

Sylvia narrowed her eyes. "This had better be one hell of a quick visit." She opened the door further and stepped aside.

Tristan stepped in and arched an eyebrow. "Wild night?"

No embarrassment whatsoever. Sylvia shrugged. "Not particularly." She looked down at the single white button-up top she wore. "Well, fuck."

Tristan coughed to hide his laugh and took another sip of coffee. He looked at the clothes scattered everywhere and chuckled.

"I swear to God if you say exactly one smart ass word, you can find yourself another wedding planner."

"My lips are sealed."

Sylvia sighed. "Have a seat. I'll be right back."

She hurried from the room. After this morning, Tristan would not be interrupting her at her home again. Obviously some ground rules needed to be set up. There had been only one other time that a client intruded on her personal life.

That had been the Bridezilla from hell.

Never again.

Sylvia took off her shirt, changed her underwear, and slid into a long green sundress with spaghetti straps. It only took a second. She padded barefoot back into the living room.

Tristan stood by her sound system examining its contents.

He turned and raised an eyebrow.

"I don't think many people have Mozart and metal close to each other on their play lists."

"They're missing out." Sylvia yawned hugely and apologized. "Listen. I have plans. You're not part of them. Now. Please impart your urgent message and leave."

Tristan's eyes darkened. "Not much for chitchat, are you?"

She doubted he would be impressed by the knowledge she could chitchat him to death in several languages. "Just get to it, okay?"

"No problem." Tristan faced her. "Keira can't make up her mind. First, it's a big wedding. Then it's a small wedding. She wants blue. No, she wants red." He raked his hand through his hair and grimaced. "That girl is driving me insane. I thought you would like a heads-up."

"It's a special day." Sylvia motioned to the couch. "Have a seat."

"Thank you." Tristan eased his large frame onto the leather couch and sipped his coffee.

"First, don't argue with her." Sylvia looked him in the eye. "Simply nod your head. She doesn't want your opinion. She wants to bounce ideas off you. When she finds one that clicks with her, she'll know it. Second, is the groom involved at all?"

"Jon?" Tristan snorted. "No."

"Good."

"Excuse me?" Tristan frowned. "Isn't he supposed to be?"

Sylvia sighed and shook her head. "Heaven help me from clueless men who involve themselves in planning weddings. He'd probably enjoy a BBQ washed back with beers while football plays on the big screen."

Tristan threw back his head and laughed. "That's rather a blanket statement, isn't it?"

"I've planned hundreds of weddings, Mr. Calhoun. The minute I bring that scenario up, hypothetically, each and every man gets a glazed look of longing on his face. It's quickly wiped away by a glance from his fiancée. Nonetheless, it's hard to miss." She paused. "I have, however, planned many a nice reception more along those lines."

Sylvia took a sip of coffee. "It's all about compromise."

"So. You're not intimidated at all by my sister's marital flakiness?"

She rolled her eyes. "Please. I have it under control, Mr. Calhoun."

"Tristan."

Sylvia nodded. "Are we through?"

Tristan stood. "For now, Ms. Masters." He inclined his head. "I apologize for intruding on your weekend. I look forward to your plans for Keira's wedding."

"No harm, Mr. Calhoun." Sylvia lifted her chin. "Just don't let it happen again." She strode to the front door and opened it. "Have a nice weekend. If your sister continues rattling along, I suggest you find a happy place and see if you can exist there."

Tristan grinned. "Ah. A plan. I can work with a plan."

"I'm sure you can." Sylvia waited patiently for him to walk back across her threshold. When he did, she gave the door a little push. But to her surprise, Tristan came back inside.

"I don't suppose I could interest you in lunch?"

"Not even if you were Hugh Jackman, and I was starving."

Tristan winced. "Point taken." He inclined his head. "Until next week, Ms. Masters."

"I'll be counting the minutes." Sylvia didn't give the door a small push, she shoved it. The sound of the slam brought a smile to her face. Ah, blessed peace.

Sylvia didn't worry about Tristan's sister. She simply tried out ideas on her hapless brother. A shame Keira's mother wasn't around to help with any of that. Sylvia frowned. Not that she would take over that little duty. Hell no. She would simply do her job. Nothing more. Nothing less.

The weekend passed quickly, and Sylvia cursed at her relentless alarm clock Monday morning. She smacked it as hard as she dared. Her alarm clocks tended to have a high mortality rate. Sylvia lay back and studied the cream tiles on her ceiling.

Her day would officially begin when her feet hit the floor. And they would hit it running. Sylvia sighed and swung them over the edge of the bed. She paused in mid-swing. And she had lovely gray Persian carpet. A thick shag that comforted her bare feet.

"Screw it," Sylvia muttered and stepped on the carpet. Enough of extolling the virtues of her room. She walked into the bathroom and started her shower. She didn't see the five hundred dollar silver sink. The three thousand dollar shower. The four hundred dollar cerulean blue towels.

Sylvia Masters already counted down the minutes until she had to be in the office. Weekend mode now gone. Work mode fully engaged.

She stepped out of her silk emerald night set and under the hot water. All rote now. Out of the shower. Dry her hair. Eat a quick breakfast bar. Grab a cup of coffee. Get dressed. Go to the office.

At exactly eight o'clock, Sylvia crossed the threshold into Bridal Bliss. She smoothed down her gray pantsuit and turned off the alarm. Sylvia turned on the lights and studied the shop.

It looked perfect.

Overstuffed coffee-colored couches formed a u-shape around an antique coffee table scattered with bridal magazines. Two medium fountains brought in the soothing sound of running water from the corners. A large fish tank with six different varieties of fish had been built into the wall and calmed many a frenzied bride. The tan carpet was thick with multicolor highlights that brought out the rest of the colors of the room.

One large window faced the outside street, but the beige shades were usually drawn. The atmosphere planned as low-key with track lighting and soothing music. Several bouquets of silk roses decorated many surfaces.

Sylvia walked into the kitchen in the back and turned on the coffeemaker and the espresso machine. Her clients expected the very best. They got it. They had a fully stocked refrigerator and industrial stove. The shining pale blue countertop boasted every kitchen device known to man. The wood cabinets were stocked with emergency supplies such as cocoa and chocolate. Everything perfect. And speaking of perfect, Sylvia opened the back door. There were fresh biscotti and tea biscuits on her step.

God bless Marie next door at her bakery. There would be another delivery at noon.

Sylvia set up a tab for fresh baked goods the day she leased the space. And it had been a fine investment. She scooped up the steaming baked goods and inhaled deeply. One little biscotti, and life would be on track for the day. She swiped a chocolate one and threw her old coffee away.

The day would be a busy one. Sylvia needed to check in with all her employees and plan for the big Calhoun wedding. Iron out any wrinkles. Set up a time for someone to come decorate her shop with fall colors. She poured herself an espresso and smiled.

Life was good.

The ringing phone broke into her thoughts. Sylvia frowned and put down her cup. She picked up the phone.

"Bridal Bliss."

"Sylvia?" The voice sounded weak.

"Yes." She frowned. "Who is this?"

A cough. Then a sniffle. "Beth." Another cough.

"Jesus! What's wrong?"

"I..." A sneeze. "I have a cold."

"You think?" Sylvia frowned. "Good God, woman! Take some vitamin C and get your butt to the office. I'll keep you in the back away from the customers."

"I'm contagious."

And just like that, the day went rapidly downhill.

Sylvia frowned. "Okay. Take some meds and get better soon." It came out more as an order than as a concern. "I have a large wedding to plan. The wedding of the century. This is a hell of a time to be sick."

"I'm sorry." Beth sniffled. "I'll try to be back to work as soon as I can."

"Fine." Sylvia slammed down the phone and paced the small kitchen. A young planner, Beth had only finished college and received her decorating degree. But she had potential. A lot of it. A great eye made up for the lack of experience.

"Shit," Sylvia muttered. She ran her hands through her black cap of hair and scowled at the clock. Nope. The son of a bitch didn't slow down. Just kept ticking along like everything was fine. She snagged another biscotti and snapped a bite off the end.

Okay. Deep breath. She could do this. Hell, she thrived on this type of cluster, didn't she?

"Sure. Sure." Sylvia strode into her office and called Alicia. "Get your butt here as soon as possible." She didn't wait for a response but slammed down the phone. Then she called Liz, her secretary, and repeated the message.

"Damn. It," she growled and looked at the clock. The appointment with the Calhoun siblings scheduled in an hour. For the love of God. This day already well on its way to becoming banner suckage.

Sylvia sat in her chair and mentally sorted through the cluster.

"Ms. Masters?"

Sylvia's head jerked up, and she scowled. An ebony-haired beauty stood there examining her. The woman's fitted copper shirt and pencil-slim skirt were impeccable and wrapped around a figure Sylvia envied. The black shiny boots with copper buckles were stunning. And they added at least four inches to the woman's already impressive height. Diamonds glittered at the woman's throat, ears, and wrist. Sapphire eyes studied her.

"May I help you?" Sylvia stood and glanced at the clock. Not even eight-thirty yet, and she knew she locked the door. "We don't open until nine."

"Beth sent me."

Sylvia cocked her head to the side. "Guilty conscience?"

"Concern." The word came out short. "She seemed to worry about you and this business." The woman arched an eyebrow.

"That's nice." Sylvia walked around to the side of her desk. "But I don't know you. Nor do I appreciate you simply showing up like it would be a good thing." She pointed to her door. "You can see yourself out."

"No."

Sylvia narrowed her eyes. "I can have security escort you."

"Won't be necessary." The tall woman moved forward. "I am Tempest. And I know what I'm doing, thank you. I would be an asset. And right now, you need the help."

"Well, Tempest." Sylvia bit the name out. "That's all well and good. What weddings have you done?"

"I've done several celebrity West Coast weddings. Kelly Marshall's for one."

That stopped Sylvia in her tracks. This woman in front of her helped with the soap star's wedding? The fairytale marriage every magazine in the country wanted a picture of?

"Do tell," Sylvia drawled. She crossed her arms and waited.

Tempest looked her in the eye. "Kelly wanted a variation of the soap set her fiancé worked on. But she also wanted something original and comfortable her parents could enjoy. We meshed both worlds and had a Cinderella type theme. Except, Kelly and Sloane's warped humor demanded that Kelly lose a boot instead." Tempest grinned. "It was a lot of fun."

"And you have pictures to prove this?" Sylvia cocked her head to the side.

"Such a cynic." Tempest opened a large black bag and removed a large leather photo album. She flipped through the pages until she found what she wanted. She turned the album around and handed it to Sylvia.

The proof was in the pictures. The smiling couple with Tempest. Tempest and three other magnificent women. The picture of the boot. A carriage.

Sylvia closed the album with a snap. "Fine. I'll accept your help. The salary will be based on your experience. But understand this. When I don't need your help anymore, you'll be gone."

Tempest nodded shortly. "Finally. Something we can agree on."