Page 6

Mackenzie
His face pales underneath his tan. “Fuck,” he murmurs, scrubbing a hand over his jaw.
The suspicion alarm in me intensifies, sounding warning bells in my head. “Who are you?”
Please don’t say the groom. Please, for the holy love of Jesus, don’t say the groom.
“The groom,” he sighs, pulling out a chair from the boardroom table and thudding down hard in it, like he suddenly has a fifty ton weight on his shoulders.
Indignation runs hot through me, and I try to bite back the next words, but they escape anyway. “Isn’t that just something? You’re out picking up girls the night before you plan your own wedding.” I’m perfectly aware it’s a bad idea as soon as the words leave my mouth. This man could say one word to his father and have me out of here instantly. But sometimes my tongue prefers not to listen to logic.
He merely rolls his eyes. “It’s not what you think.” Not what I think? What else is there to think? “My dad arranged this whole thing.”
It takes me a second to piece it together. “An arranged marriage?” No wonder I had to sign that non-disclosure agreement.
He nods. “I’m only a pawn in his scheming. And it was my time to be sacrificed.”
Pawn? Sacrifice? Well, if this is how the guy views marriage, we’re off to a bad start.
Still, I can’t believe he would attempt to cheat on his fiancee like that, even if it is arranged. “And what does the bride have to say about you going out to bars?” Damn it, why can’t I keep my mouth shut? It’s like I want to be fired, when this is my chance to actually make it big.
He gives me the phoniest smile I’ve ever seen, nearly making me laugh until I remember I’m disgusted with him. “I’ve never spoken to her. Haven’t even laid eyes on her in ten years. So you tell me how she feels about it. You probably know more than I do.”
Now I’m the one to rear back. He’s never spoken to his fiancee? “What?”
He runs a hand through hair so dark it’s nearly black, the tips curling at the nape of his neck. “It’s a business deal. The whole marriage is fake. Another way for my father to keep controlling me.”
“Then why are you doing it?”
“I like his money,” he grins cockily.
The door to the conference room bangs open and I whirl around, startling as if I was caught doing something wrong under an intense blue stare.
“Ms. Sweet, I presume,” a man in his mid-fifties greets me, all business as he extends his hand.
“Please call me Mackenzie.” I return his handshake, attempting to project the confidence I practiced earlier in the mirror.
“Denise highly recommends you.” He takes the seat at the head of the conference table, an aura of authority settling over him. “Don’t disappoint me.”
I gulp, plastering a smile on. “Of course not, sir.” I hand him a folder emblazoned with my company’s logo and filled with the brochure for Sweet Events and a list of the wedding planning packages I put together. “You’ll find everything I offer in there.”
He takes a cursory glance at it and sets it aside. Great.
I give another folder to the man from last night, whom I still haven’t caught the name of. He presumably has the last name Bishop, though. There’s no denying the resemblance between father and son. “I’m sorry, we haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Mackenzie Sweet.”
“Gabriel Bishop,” he says dryly, warm fingers brushing mine briefly as he takes the folder. I narrow my eyes, but he pretends not to notice, opening the file to peruse what’s inside.
“Are we waiting for the bride?” I ask when there’s no indication if I should start yet or not, only the soft rustle of papers as Gabriel actually reads my handouts.
Mr. Bishop frowns, glancing at an enormous watch on his wrist, a ludicrous display of wealth if I’ve ever seen one, but then the door opens again, a willowy blonde woman and an equally fair-haired older man entering behind her.
“Harry,” the man beams, striding over to shake Mr. Bishop’s hand, who seems less than thrilled at the man’s familiarity.
The woman glances around, her eyes sliding right over Gabriel, appearing to be confused. “Where’s Archer?”
The room goes silent until the older man chuckles nervously, walking back over to her by the doorway and guiding her to a seat. “Honey, this isGabrielBishop. He’s the one you’ll be marrying.”
She finally looks at Gabriel, her mouth tilting down at the corners. “Oh.” The amount of disappointment she’s able to convey with the single word is truly astounding.