Confessions of the World's Oldest Shotgun Bride by Gail Hart

counter, he pulled Katie’s business card out of his wallet. “Here’s the address. I made a card to go with the flowers,” he said, handing it to her.
    The redhead began filling in an order form but paused to look up at him. “No one’s ever sent me two dozen roses. I hope this woman knows how lucky she is.”
    Fat chance of that. He’d had models ready to redecorate his apartment after the second date, but he’d managed to fall for a woman who thought he was a frivolous piece of fluff. “She doesn’t yet, but she will.” His voice carried the same conviction he’d use telling his commander he was going to hit his target on the bombing range. It was true. It had to be.
    * * *
    The automatic doors swung open and Kathryn entered the lobby of the building housing the offices of Brubaker & Whitley, Consultants. Though she was groggy with fatigue, a feeling of comfort washed over her. She was home. This was her turf, the realm of the Ice Queen. She walked past Gallagher’s Irish Pub, its doors locked tight at this hour. Giving a nod of recognition to the guard at the reception desk, she entered a waiting elevator and pressed the button for the top floor.
    In her outer office, the face of Janelle, her young, blonde personal assistant, opened up like the automatic doors. “It’s good to have you back, Ms. St. John.”
    Kathryn was sure the sentiment was sincere. Things went haywire at B&W when she was out of the office for any length of time. Brubaker was already half retired, and Whitley couldn’t manage his own life, much less the firm. The other members of the executive committee knew it; the staff knew it; even the clients knew it. No doubt she’d find a stack of bungled and overlooked paperwork waiting for her once she crossed the threshold of her own office. Well, bring it on. No matter how crazy things got out there in the rest of the world—and they’d gotten pretty crazy in Grand Cayman—here she was in control.
    “Thanks. It’s good to be back.”
    “Really? Didn’t you have a good time?” Janelle looked genuinely concerned.
    Kathryn suppressed a smile. “I promise, I had a great time. Do I have any messages?” She was eager to cut off any questions about how great a time she’d had. Certain information was better kept out of the office.
    Janelle rolled her eyes and handed Kathryn a stack of pink message slips. “Is the Pope Catholic? The one on the top is from your mother.”
    Kathryn groaned. By the time she’d gotten home the night before, after a full day of traveling, she’d been exhausted. After unpacking, sorting through a mountain of mail and paying a blizzard of bills, she hadn’t had the energy to return her mother’s voicemail messages. An even worse slate of tasks that couldn’t wait lurked on the other side of the door, but Glenda St. John wouldn’t be put off for long. “Thanks, I guess.” She crossed into her office.
    The corner office was large and airy. Amanda had done the decorating, mostly honoring Kathryn’s preference for a clean, impersonal look of chrome and glass, but insisting on a few splashes of color in bold jewel tones. Kathryn ignored the twentieth floor view and went straight to her computer to pull up her e-mail. 571 messages. It was going to be a long day, especially since her body still wanted to operate on island time. She did triage on her e-mail, deleting spam and checking messages from clients, managers and employees in that order. She’d leave the personal messages for later in the week.
    Midway through her first response, her handbag buzzed. She dove under her desk, dragged up the bag, and dug out her cell phone. By the time she had the instrument in her hand, the ring tone had stopped. She checked the caller ID. Mother. Muttering a curse, she went back to her e-mail.
    Within seconds, her intercom buzzed. She considered pretending to be out but decided that wouldn’t be fair to Janelle. Kathryn didn’t pay the girl enough to deal with Glenda