The Ex Factor

“I didn’t mean to let you.” This was all too intimate, too familiar. In a minute, he’d suggest they shower together, or she would, and then they’d drink coffee and share the paper. She’d kiss him goodbye and wish him a good day.

“I’d almost forgotten how good we are together,” he murmured.

The memories of the night before made Karen smile with pleasure mixed with mild embarrassment. She’d been like a sex-crazed maniac. “I’ll never look at Chinese food the same way.”

He nuzzled her ear. “You still taste like plum sauce. We should take a shower together.”

Yep, right on cue. As though they were still the happily married couple who had sex with their takeout and showered together in the morning.

If they were so good together, why weren’t they still married?

Dear Reader,

I’m a huge fan of old movies. I can’t get enough of them, especially the romantic comedies. I clearly had The Philadelphia Story in mind when I wrote The Ex Factor and if I got stuck, I’d think to myself, What would Cary Grant do? What would Katharine Hepburn do? And then I’d know.

This book features some of the characters I wrote about in my previous Harlequin Blaze title My Fake Fiancée (July 2010), so if you want to read Chelsea and David’s story, that’s where you’ll want to go for that.

Thanks, as always, for coming along with me on these wonderful adventures. I always have fun writing them. Visit me on the Web at www.nancywarren.net.

Happy reading,

Nancy Warren

The Ex Factor

Nancy Warren

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

USA TODAY bestselling author Nancy Warren lives in the Pacific Northwest, where her hobbies include walking her border collie in the rain and watching classic films. She’s the author of more than thirty novels and novellas for Harlequin and has won numerous awards. Visit her Web site at www.nancywarren.net.

To Sharon Kearney, for too many years of friendship to count.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

1

“STACY REALLY WANTS the circus theme,” Patricia Grange said, a note of appeal in her voice. It was a tone Karen Petersham knew well—the desperate cry of a woman who has spoiled her baby girl for so long she doesn’t know how to stop. As one of the top wedding planners in Philadelphia, Karen got her share of spoiled princesses and their bizarre wedding requests, but this was right up there.

“A circus themed wedding is certainly unusual,” Karen said smoothly. “You don’t get a lot of them.”

“It’s because of Cirque du Soleil,” Patricia explained, throwing her hands out in a gesture of helplessness.

“Cirque du Soleil?” What on earth could a bunch of acrobatically theatrical circus performers have to do with a wedding?

The mother of the bride nodded. “Hudson took Stacy to see the touring production of Kooza for their first date. They think it would be romantic to recreate the circus theme for their wedding.”

“Well, I guess we can be happy he didn’t take her ice fishing for their first date.”

The woman smiled weakly. “I suppose so.” She straightened the perfectly straight hem on her Gucci skirt. “Cirque is about both clowning and acrobatics, of course.”

“Two excellent attributes of a successful marriage.”

“Exactly.” The woman smiled at her gratefully. “And Cirque did perform at the Academy Awards one time. I remember seeing it on television.”

Only a Philadelphia society girl could equate her wedding with the Academy Awards. Already Karen suspected that this ceremony was going to be one of those nightmares. The mother of the bride had shown up for the appointment, but no bride. Always a bad sign. She was conscious of a wish to tell the woman to take her flying circus acrobats and find another wedding planner, but she didn’t. As much as she despaired over some of the demands made of her and her company, If You Can Dream It, Karen also got the most juice out of the toughest assignments. Frankly, the challenges stopped her from succumbing to boredom.

Rich October sunshine streamed through the windows of the renovated brick warehouse she’d bought in Old Town to house her growing business, bringing out the rich caramel in the floors she’d had restored.

“Let me see what I can do. I’ll put together a proposal for you and we can meet again, shall we say in two weeks? Perhaps with the bride this time.”

When the mother left, Karen sat for a few minutes, typing her notes into her computer, then she got up and walked through the office.

“I’m going to see Chelsea,” she said to her assistant, Dee, on the way out. The young blonde British girl who was both support staff and her assistant wedding planner nodded, unsurprised, since Karen took the short walk to her caterer and good friend’s premises at least once a day. She trekked to Hammond & Co. to discuss jobs with Chelsea Hammond, her exclusive caterer, or simply to chat with the woman who’d become a close friend. And if she walked the two blocks briskly enough, that was as good as fifteen minutes on the treadmill.

Slipping on sunglasses and a light coat, she strode toward the storefront where Chelsea sold takeout gourmet food and coffee while she ran her growing catering business from the huge industrial kitchen in back. Upstairs was a small apartment that she used as her office.

Chelsea was placing a heaping bowl of quinoa salad into the display case when Karen walked in. She only knew it was quinoa because a sign said so. Unlike her friend, food was not her passion but her enemy and she tried to think about it as little as possible. She certainly wasn’t one for cookbooks and those endless TV torture shows featuring gorgeous men preparing mouthwatering meals—two things she most wanted and that were so bad for her, with her figure that was both top-heavy and bottom-heavy on a much too short frame.

The caterer—blessed by nature with a long, slim body that was neither top-nor bottom-heavy, but just right—smiled her rich, slightly mischievous smile at Karen as she straightened from her task. “Perfect, you’re just in time for coffee.”

“Make mine with cream. And I want one of your four-thousand-calorie brownies to go with it.”

Since Karen was on a perpetual diet, Chelsea raised her brows. “Bad day?”

“The bride wants a circus theme. Cirque du Soleil, no less.”

Chelsea poured two cups of coffee, deftly popped several decadent treats onto a plate and called out to someone out of sight in the back kitchen, “I’m taking a break upstairs. Keep an eye on the front and call me if you need me.”

“’Kay,” came the reply.

They hiked up the stairs and Karen said, “I wonder if the wedding night will feature trapezes and human pyramids.”

“Your cynicism is showing,” Chelsea said, as though it were a slip hanging below her skirt hem.

Karen sighed. “I know. Easy for you, with a big rock sparkling on your finger and the world’s cutest guy in love with you, but I’m a bitter divorcee. The wedding planner who doesn’t believe in marriage.”

“Sure you do,” Chelsea soothed. “You simply haven’t found the right man.”

“I’m thirty-five years old. And the brides get younger every year.” She gazed longingly at a brownie. “And thinner. I should give up and let myself get fat. It’s not like anyone ever sees me naked. If I’m not getting sex, at least I should take pleasure in food.”

“You are not fat, what you are is voluptuous.” The woman saw where Karen’s eyes were straying and said, “I know you. If you eat that brownie you’ll only torture yourself.” Her brown eyes twinkled. “But that lemon dream bar is low-cal.”

“You’re too good to me,” she sighed, almost snatching the yellow confection off the plate.

“Are you kidding me? I wouldn’t have this great location or half the business I have if it wasn’t for you. I am so happy you took a chance on me.”

It was true, Karen mused as she bit into a lemon-flavored slice of paradise. When they’d first met, Chelsea Hammond had just returned from cooking school in Paris and was trying to launch her own catering business. When Karen had tasted the woman’s food and chatted with her for a few minutes she’d experienced the gut deep excitement of knowing she’d found the missing piece of her wedding planning business. She’d pretty much signed up Chelsea on the spot to be her exclusive caterer. It meant that no other wedding planner could use the services of Hammond & Co., though she was free to cater any other events on her own. In return, Chelsea got all of If You Can Dream It’s catering, and there was a lot of that.

Chelsea opened a computer file on her desktop computer. “When is this wedding circus scheduled?”

“Depends on Cirque du Soleil’s schedule.”

The woman glanced up, her dark brown hair swinging. “Wow.”

“Yeah. Apparently somebody on the groom’s side knows somebody who might be able to get them to perform at the wedding.” She shook her head at the enormity of the task ahead of her. “We will need a huge space, lots of height. The bride thinks she might want an honest-to-God circus tent.”

“I’ll play with some ideas for food.” Chelsea twisted her mouth to one side. “Not that circus exactly screams matching food. I’ll have to work on decoration and presentation.” She typed a few more words. “Laurel’s the one who’ll be thrilled.”

Laurel Matthews was a cake maker and decorator of such extraordinary talent that her cakes were true works of art and architecture and, equally amazing, they tasted delicious. An If You Can Dream It wedding was notable for meticulous planning, delicious food, and a cake that always surprised and delighted. “You’re right. She’ll love the challenge. I can’t even imagine what she’ll dream up,” Karen said.

“Which is what’s so great about her cakes.”

“I’ve got another prospect coming this morning—she’s looking for a May or June wedding next year, is that a problem for you?”

Chelsea glanced up, looking slightly puzzled. “No, why would it be?”

Karen had been trying delicately to find out when this woman who was engaged to the man of her dreams was actually getting married. So far, subtle hadn’t worked. “I’m wondering when you and David are getting married. Won’t you need some time off?”

Chelsea waved a hand, her engagement ring catching the light and sending out a spray of fireworks. “Don’t worry. We’ll get around to it. We’re just both so busy right now.”

“That man needs to stop playing hard to get,” she snapped.

Karen still hadn’t entirely forgiven David Wolfe for making a deal with Chelsea to pose as his fake fiancée in order for him to snag a promotion at work. Of course he’d fallen in love with Chelsea along the way. Who wouldn’t? She was gorgeous, a gourmet cook and one of the sweetest women Karen had ever met. So, had he snapped up this amazing woman when she’d obviously loved him? No, of course not. Being a man, he had no idea when the greatest woman in Philadelphia was right under his nose. Instead, he’d almost lost her.

Karen would never forget the heartbroken woman who had taken refuge in this very space, living in the small suite she now used as her office while she struggled to get her business going and forget David, the man who had broken her heart.

Fortunately, he’d come to his senses just in time and now they were engaged for real, living in his amazing town house in Rittenhouse Square. But Karen would be a lot happier when the engagement ended in marriage.

What was stopping David? Did he really want to lose this woman again?

“He’s fine. Really. We’re both fine.”

She didn’t believe it for a minute, but she also knew that Chelsea wasn’t one to unburden herself easily. She’d talk to Karen when she was ready.

Deciding she had too much on her plate with circus acts and new business coming in every day to worry about why her best friend wasn’t in a hurry to marry the man she was engaged to, she reluctantly drained her coffee cup.

When she returned to her office, Karen felt calmer. The taste of lemon clung to her lips and the idea of a circus for a wedding seemed more ludicrous than annoying.

“The Swensons asked to move their appointment back half an hour,” her assistant said. “And two new messages came in. I put them on your desk with your mail.”

“Great, thanks.”

She stepped into her office. The Hepplewhite desk had nothing on it but her laptop, the big leather-bound day planner she still used in spite of technology, the small stack of mail and the phone messages.

She had ten minutes until her next appointment, a new client, Sophie Vanderhooven, and while she waited she flipped open the newest bridal magazine. It was important to keep up with the latest trends, though after ten years in the business she found trends fairly predictable. Now, for instance, with so much uncertainty in the world, weddings were turning strongly traditional. When the economy boomed and wars were somewhere else, then more couples tended to exchange vows on the beach wearing love beads or shouted their I Do’s from hang gliders.

She was skimming an article about nonallergenic bouquets when her assistant beeped her intercom. “Ms. Vanderhooven and her fiancé are here,” she said.

“Thanks. I’ll be right out.”

A quick peek in the mirror she kept in her top drawer confirmed that her mouth was now free of tell-tale lemon dream bar crumbs, her red hair was confined into a smooth bun, her mascara unsmudged. A quick swipe of lip gloss and she stepped back into the towering heels she wore to raise her closer to her dream height of five foot ten from her God-given, stingy five-two.

Her practiced smile on her face, she stepped out to greet her latest clients. She reached the reception area and stalled, her hand already half extended, her mouth open to speak. But nothing came out.

Normally, she gave her initial attention to the bride since she was almost always the true client, while the groom was only peripherally involved. But the man who rose from the plush waiting room seats was not one she could ignore.

He was still commanding, still gorgeous in that careless way of a man who’s so used to female attention he barely notices it. Keenly intelligent gray eyes held her gaze, a twinkle of amusement lurking in their depths. His hair was still dark, though a few threads of silver glittered at his temples. Neither of them spoke, then a female voice broke into her trance.

Her hand was taken in a cool clasp. “Hello. I’m Sophie Vanderhooven, I’m so pleased to meet you. And this is Dexter Crane.”

Automatically, Karen pumped her hand up and down, forced her mouth back into some semblance of normality. “Nice to meet you.”

She inclined her head at the man still staring at her. “Mr. Crane.” There was a slight pause as the three of them stood there before she pulled herself together. “Um, won’t you come into my office?”

She turned and began walking.

She felt his eyes on her all the way, and bitterly did she regret every calorie she’d so foolishly imbibed in the five years since she’d last laid eyes on Dexter Crane. A woman had her pride. The last thing she wanted was to look fat in front of her soon-to-be-married ex-husband.

Especially from behind.

2

“WHEN ARE YOU AND MR. Crane planning to be married?” she asked in her most professional tone. She’d taken her place behind her desk and motioned for the happy couple to occupy the two pretty chintz chairs opposite.

A well-bred laugh answered her. A finishing school hah-hah, perfectly-modulated and quiet. “I’m not marrying Dexter. He’s the best man, but my fiancé is out of the country and he asked Dex to come along with me so I don’t get carried away.”

Her gaze rose and connected with Dexter’s. Yep, that was definitely a glimmer of amusement. Bastard. He was enjoying this.

“I see.” In a much lower voice she muttered, “Lucky escape for you.”

“Pardon?”

“I said, ‘It’s a lucky thing you’ve come early in the season.’ Things really book up. Well, what do you have in mind, Ms. Vanderhooven?”

The young woman’s ideas were lifted right out of the current issues of bridal magazines. Clearly, she’d been perusing every one.

“And I thought maybe I should have a non-allergenic bouquet, you know, in case anyone’s allergic.” There was a moment’s pause. Karen took refuge in taking notes so she could think of the questions that might help her discover what this bride really might like, ideas that wouldn’t change every month when a new batch of wedding mags hit the newsstands. Then Sophie said, “But I’m very open to suggestions.”

Dexter said, “I’m not the one getting married here, but I’ve always thought something a little less formal would be nice. A garden wedding, let’s say.”

Her pen slipped, drawing a squiggly line right through the word bride. She realized her hands were sweating, that’s why her pen had slipped.

She and Dex had married among a garden of roses and irises, her favorite flower of all, and lilies, so the perfumes intermingled. Even as he spoke the words she was transported back to that magical day, the day she’d thought would begin her own personal happily-ever-after.

Fool.

“I’m sure Ms. Vanderhooven has the best ideas for her own wedding.”

“Not really,” the bride said. “I’m pretty open to ideas. And Andrew always listens to Dexter, so we thought if he came instead it would be almost as good.”

“Dexter, that’s an unusual name.” Karen frowned. “Makes me think of the serial killer on TV.”

Dexter shot her an “oh, come on,” look and explained that Dexter was his mother’s maiden name, as though she didn’t know it perfectly well. Then he rose. “I think better on my feet. You see, Ms. Petersham, mind if I call you Karen? It was Karen, wasn’t it?” He didn’t wait for an answer, naturally, and continued, “You see, Karen, most people want to feel that a marriage is forever, so you want something that’s going to mean something in fifty years. You want a wedding you’ll look back on with fond memories.”

She felt her color heighten as she locked gazes with him. “Do you?”

KAREN HAD A SPLITTING HEADACHE the rest of the day. She knew it wasn’t only the stress of seeing Dex again, but the added insult to her body of skipping lunch. Of course she knew that depriving herself of a few calories wouldn’t suddenly make her magically thin or grow her half a foot so she could look Ms. Sophie Vanderhooven in the eye—and spit in Dexter’s. She’d skipped lunch anyway, which she knew wasn’t good for her, all the diet books said so, but sometimes she refused to believe their logic.

And ended up with a headache as well as a cranky, empty stomach.

With no further appointments, she settled in to work on her monthly accounts, not that there was much point in it since she couldn’t concentrate. All she could do was relive that moment when Dexter had walked back into her life. Worse, it was clear that he, Sophie and the missing groom had all agreed to appoint him stand-in groom and assistant wedding planner, which had her hauling the large bottle of painkillers out of her emergency drawer and swallowing two of them with the zero calorie water on her desk.

Dee popped her head in the door at a few minutes before five and said, “Is it okay if I head out now?” She grinned. “I’ve got to get home and change for my date tonight.”

Sure, Dee was thin, gorgeous, young and had that British accent going for her, but she seemed to get more than her fair share of dates.

“Where do you meet all these men?”

“Online,” the younger woman said, her blue eyes twinkling with excitement. “It’s mad fun, you should try it.”

“Online dating? It seems so desperate.”

“It’s not. I do it all the time.” Dee didn’t bother saying she wasn’t desperate. All you had to do was look at her. “Our trouble is that we work in an industry that caters to women, and the only men who come round here are already spoken for. Honestly, you should at least give it a go.”

“I don’t know.”

“Tell you what, I’ll set you up a profile tomorrow and show you how to get on. It’s really simple and gives you a chance to screen someone first before you waste your time meeting them.”

“I guess I should be open-minded,” Karen said. Normally she’d have scoffed, but seeing Dexter today was making her feel more than usually single. And vaguely desperate.

“You’ll have fun, I promise.”

A slight woman with multicolored hair that looked as though Edward Scissorhands was her hairdresser drifted in behind Dee. She blinked big eyes and glanced around as though wondering where she was and what she was doing here.

“Hi, Laurel,” Dee said.

“Hello.”

“What do you think about Plenty of Phillys?”

“The online dating site?”

“That’s right.”

Laurel pulled her sketchbook out of her peace-sign-emblazoned bag. “I don’t think about it. Why?”

“Honestly, Laurel, how do you manage in the real world? I don’t mean do you contemplate the site the way you’d meditate on world peace or whatever you do when you sit around cross-legged and chant aum, I mean what do you think about Karen doing the online dating thing?”

“Oh.” The cake decorator turned her huge eyes to Karen. “Do you want to meet men on the Internet?”

“Of course she does, she’s desperate,” Dee announced. “And you should try it, too.” She sent them both a megawatt smile. “Right, then, see you tomorrow.”

“Yes. Have fun tonight.”

Once Dee had gone, Karen turned to Laurel. “I’m not definitely going to do it, I’m only thinking about it.”

“I think you should do whatever makes you happy.”

And the amazing thing about Laurel was that when she said wacky things like that, she actually meant them. “I know you do. So, what have you got for me?”

Laurel was in the habit of bringing in her cake designs for Karen to approve. Not that she needed to, everything she baked was incredible, but Karen suspected she liked the reassurance of her approval.

But she really wished the woman didn’t bring sketches of the most delectable treats that looked so good even in the sketchbook that Karen’s mouth started to water. Especially not at the end of the day when her willpower was at its lowest ebb.

Once she’d approved half a dozen designs and they’d gone over timing and delivery of the cakes for this weekend, Laurel drifted out of the office and Karen got back to her accounts.

After giving in to her hunger and nuking a Lean Cuisine meal, she continued wrestling with her books for another couple of hours. When the muted chime that announced an after-hours caller rang, she wasn’t surprised. She supposed on some level she’d expected him.

Ignore the bell or go answer him?

It really wasn’t an option. With a sigh, she rose and stepped back into her heels and took her time going to the front door.

In the dim light he looked almost a stranger to her, so tall and elegant and, she reminded herself sternly, no longer hers.