Nightingale Read Free Page A

of potatoes and pounds of chicken onto plates. Kyle Quicke stood in the middle of it all.  
    A tall guy with a very lean figure, blue eyes, and a mop of sandy hair, Kyle owned Quicke’s, his family’s restaurant. Thanks to some secret recipes, Quicke’s served up the best food in the city. Everybody loved it, and it was my go-to restaurant for catering events. Kyle hadn’t blinked an eye when I’d told him I needed five hundred pounds of chicken in less than a week. It took a lot to ruffle Kyle, who took everything in stride.  
    “Abby Appleby.” Kyle smiled. “I was wondering when you were going to show up. Are you okay? You look a little tired.”
    I was tired. I’d been working eighteen-hour days for the past week to make sure this party went off without a hitch, but I wasn’t about to tell him. If there was one thing an event planner could never do, it was show weakness. People expected you to be cool, calm, and in control—and more or less awake—always.
    “Well, here I am. You know what I was wondering, Kyle? Where my lip-shaped cake is. It’s supposed to be outside when the guests come into the dining hall. A big visual reminder of the merger. We talked and talked and talked about this.”
    Actually, I’d done most of the talking. With a touch of berating. Maybe it was the perfectionist in me, but I tended to get a little worked up at my events. All right, a lot worked up. Most of the time, I was able to get things done just by politely asking, but the rougher the going, the louder my voice got. My customers paid me to deliver the best, to make sure every detail was seen to, no matter how small, trivial, and inconsequential. Perfection was what I’d built my business, my reputation, on and I liked to deliver. Molding chaos into birthdays, parties, and weddings to remember gave me a sense of accomplishment, satisfaction, and pride.  
    I pointed to a table where the cakes sat—five of them, courtesy of Bryn’s Bakery. Four chocolate layer cakes, and one monstrous, red, liplike behemoth with seven butter cream-filled layers. I thought the giant lips looked a little garish and creepy, but that wouldn’t stop Bigtime’s finest from digging into the cake—provided it made it outside on time.
    “Abby?” Chloe’s voice crackled in my ear. “A few folks are leaving the auditorium, and Olivia and Paul have just started posing for the photos. Everyone should be headed your way in about ten minutes.”
    “Thanks, Chloe.”
    I turned back to Kyle, but he’d already moved to the other side of the kitchen, despite the fact that his chefs blocked the aisles. Kyle was stealthy. He always managed to slip out of reach whenever my back was turned. He has excellent survival instincts.
    “I know, I know, get the cakes out pronto, or you’ll have my guts for garters,” Kyle said, still smiling. “Relax, Abby. You worry too much.”
    I really must be tired, because I was getting a little too predictable. I’d have to come up with some new threats for Kyle Quicke.
    #
    Kyle and the waiters placed the cakes on the dining hall tables a scant twenty-seven seconds before people started filing inside. Everyone made a beeline for the desserts, just as I’d predicted. By the time Olivia and Paul arrived, the first round of food and drinks had been served, and guests had consumed three of the chocolate cakes.
    Waiters brought in the chicken entrees, and everyone drifted away to their tables to eat. I stationed Chloe behind a column next to the stage so she could see to the needs of Olivia, Paul, and their family members, while I took up a position next to the kitchen to make sure the food and drinks kept coming.  
    Nothing much happened during dinner, and finally, Octavia got up to toast her sister and soon-to-be brother-in-law—and announce the merger of their companies.
    “This is not only a joining together of two terrific people, but of two visionary businesses,” Octavia said.  
    A spotlight fell on Olivia