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"Popular opinion in the kitchen has it that he's marrying her for the money, but then, popular opinion also has it that she doesn't give a damn. He looks fabulous in a tux, keeps his mouth shut for the most part, and is great in bed. Just ask the pool boy --" "Carol," a weary voice said. "Aren't you supposed to be helping out in the marquee?" I looked up to see Jill Laver, Edmonton's chef extraordinaire and a long-suffering friend since college, shaking her head at me over the top of the bushes. "On my way," I said and scrambled to my feet, giving her a quick, if guilty, smile as I brushed leaves from my skirt. She sighed dramatically. "Never mind, I need you at the house to keep the champagne flowing. I don't want anyone drifting out here early. And Carol, don't forget your hat. You know how she is about the hats." "Obsessive?" I asked, pulling the ugly little cap out of my pocket. "Determined." Jill took the cap and pinned it securely to the base of my ponytail. "If I see your head bare again, you're on the next horse out of here, understood?" I nodded and she smiled at last. "Just make sure you say wonderful things about the food. And don't forget the restaurant." "How could I forget Fisherman's Folly in downtown Edmonton. Seafood heaven in a landlocked city." Her grin widened. "I may be glad I brought you along yet. Now get out of here. And next time, find a better hiding spot." I saluted and left, trying to ignore the pins digging into my scalp as I jogged toward the main house. Jill had done me a favour by including me on her staff list. The least I could do was wear the damn hat today, and give her great coverage in the article I intended to write tomorrow. The one that would be my ticket to freelance fame, awards and dinners -- maybe even a desk in the lifestyle section at The Sun. And if none of that worked out, at least I'd have a good start on my first real vacation in years.
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