Page 7

To his credit, he doesn’t flinch, but there definitely is some teeth grinding action, even as he does his best to project disinterest. Seriously, though, how embarrassing for him.
I did a quick Google search on Harold Bishop, founder of Bishop Industries, yesterday after getting the call from his secretary about a wedding consultation for his son, discovering he actually has three sons. I just didn’t know which one the wedding would be for. If I had been more thorough and researched each of them, maybe I would have known who was hitting on me last night.
So this girl agreed to the marriage thinking she was marrying one of his brothers? Not a good sign.
The woman doesn’t sit in the chair offered to her, instead whispering, “Dad, can I talk to you over here for a moment?”
The two of them head to the corner of the room, voices low in some kind of heated discussion, and I smile awkwardly at Mr. Bishop, who’s glaring straight ahead.
“This is a lovely building,” I tell him, attempting small talk as a distraction to what’s going on just ten feet away. “I’ve always admired it but never had a reason to go inside.”
He glances once at me in acknowledgment but says nothing, and Gabriel unsuccessfully tries to hide a grin. The rat bastard.
Perspiration forms under my arms, and I valiantly resist the urge to fan my armpits. How can this whole consultation fall apart before it’s even started?
“We’re ready,” the older man announces, leading the blonde back to the conference table. “Greg Montague,” he introduces himself to first Gabriel, then me. “And my daughter, Serena.”
She gives me a half-hearted smile, her eyes red-rimmed, and brings her gaze down to a spot on the table in front of her where it remains for the rest of the appointment.
My heart goes out to her, and if I didn’t need the business so badly, I’d be tempted to walk out right now. With neither party truly invested in this marriage, what’s the point?
But with the way my finances are currently, I don’t have much of a choice.
“It’s so nice to meet you all,” I say as warmly as I can to the room as a whole. “Let’s go ahead and get started.”
I hand folders to Mr. Montague and Serena, explaining what’s inside. A bit about my company, my experience planning weddings, and a portfolio of some events I’ve worked on, along with examples of arrangements I could put together for them. I made sure to stuff it with as many high-end features as I could, knowing this client has the money to spare for it. I could kiss Denise, an event coordinator I previously worked with, for passing my name along to him. I had no idea she knew Harold Bishop so well.
The only one who seems even mildly impressed with my spiel is Mr. Montague, but I don’t let that deter me from giving it everything I have, knowing this is my chance to put Sweet Events on the map. Ineedthis gig.
“The last thing I have here is a consultation list I go through with all my clients. This helps me to get to know you and get an idea of what kind of event design you’re looking for, budget, vendor preferences, things like that. Could we start on that now?”
Please say yes.I’ve found that the more time they commit to going through the list, the more likely they are to book me.
Mr. Bishop glances up from his phone and stands, my stomach bottoming out.He’s not interested.
“I have a meeting in ten. You’re hired,” he says succinctly, the butterflies in my belly rising again, buoying me up till I’m floating in delight. “Vivian will give you a contract and guest list. Make it classy and keep it under budget.” He gives me a number that has my brows raising, even as I do my best to maintain a neutral expression. The commission on this will be enough to get me back on track and then some.
“Yes, sir.”
His son grimaces at my honorific, but I couldn’t care less. I’ll kiss Harold Bishop’s ass all he wants if it means I can keep my business afloat.
He strides out of the room to whatever important meeting he has, and Mr. Montague and Serena exit soon after, the woman still looking like she might cry. Normally, the bride has the most to say during consultations, but she didn’t speak a single word after discovering it wasn’t this Archer guy she’ll be marrying.
I pick up the folder she left behind, passing by Gabriel slumped in his chair as he blows out a long breath. I try to ignore his gaze on me, a tangible presence that makes me conscious of my body, the way I move. It’s not like I’ve never been around an attractive guy before. Manhattan is filled with them. Some days you can’t turn the corner without running into some model slash actor who’s sure to be the next big thing.
But they don’t have inky dark hair and tanned skin that makes the blue of their eyes pop so vividly, it makes you take a second glance. And then a third once you notice that chiseled jaw with sexy stubble dotting it. And then a fourth when they give you a cocky smirk because you realize you’ve been staring at them for a solid ten seconds.
I scowl, whirling back around to stow everything away in my tote bag. I wasn’t lookingathim, just in his general direction as my mind wandered… about him.
I’m nearly finished when he finally says my name, his voice serious now. I set my things down on the conference table, expecting him to warn me about staying quiet about our previous meeting or hit on me again or something, but he surprises me.
“I’m sorry about the way I approached you last night. Well, that I even did it at all.” He sticks his hands in his pockets, head cast down. “I had just found out about this whole thing and wasn’t in a good headspace. I thought it was my last night of… freedom, I guess.” He shrugs, his body language screaming dejection, and I can’t help but feel bad for him. This will definitely take the cake for the weirdest wedding I’ve ever planned. Both the bride and groom don’t want to marry the other.
“Did you find someone to go home with?”
“No,” he says ruefully, a hint of a grin lurking around his lips. “I was sufficiently chastised.”
“Sorry I cockblocked you then.”