Page 8 of Clashing With The Grumpy Wolf

Chapter 3

Julia

Istandatthecenter of Windfall Manor's grand ballroom, clipboard in hand, watching my vision take shape. Workers move across the polished marble floor, laying down blue tape to mark table placements and staging areas. Sunlight streams through towering stained glass windows, casting kaleidoscope patterns that dance across the space.

"The fourth chandelier needs to be centered over the cake table," I call to the lighting technicians perchedon scaffolding along the far wall. I flip to the rigging schematic clipped in my binder. "About three feet to the left."

The ballroom itself is breathtaking, vaulted ceilings arching overhead like the rib cage of some magnificent beast, intricate dragon carvings adorning every pillar and balustrade. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the cliffside view unfolds dramatically, waves crashing against rocks in a timeless rhythm.

"Julia?" Courtney approaches, hovering beside a table where two employees unpack crystal stemware. "Should we check each glass individually or just scan for obvious damage?"

"Every piece," I answer without looking up from my checklist. "The last thing we need is Silverine Draak serving champagne in a chipped flute." I check off another item in the blue logistics section of my binder, trying to ignore the knot in my stomach over the orchid situation.

Three suppliers have already told me there's no way to sourceVanda coeruleawithin our time frame.

I need a miracle. Or a black-market flower connection. I’m fresh out of both.

"Julia?" Courtney's voice breaks through my thoughts again. "The sheriff is here for the security walk-through."

I glance at my watch. It’s two p.m. exactly. At least someone's punctual.

"Thank you, Courtney." I straighten my navy pencil skirt and smooth down my cream silk blouse, tucking a stray curl behind my ear. First impressions matter, especially with local authorities.

I turn toward the door, a professional smile plastered on my face.

Then he walks in, and the air in the room changes.

Sheriff Adrian Wolfsbane is the kind of man I’ve only ever seen on the cover of romance novels. And not the sweet kind, either. He’s tall, at least six foot four or five by my quick guess, with shoulders that fill out his navy uniform to perfection. His black hair is slightly tousled, as though he just ran his fingers through it. A five o'clock shadow darkens his jaw despite the early hour. And what a jawline he has. Sharp enough to slice through my thoughts and send my heart to flip-flop around in my chest like a crazed bunny.

But there’s more. His eyes nearly stop my heart from beating, green-gray and penetrating, with a reflective shine when they catch the light.

Werewolf. Definitely. That explains the surly, animal handsomeness of it all.

Damn. I have to stop staring or I’ll need a cold shower.

I step forward, hand extended in greeting.

"Sheriff Wolfsbane? Julia Schroeder, the wedding planner. Thank you for making time for this walk-through."

He takes my offered hand, his grip firm and warm, dwarfing mine. Butterflies storm my stomach at the contact. And maybe lower, too.

Forget the cold shower. A cold bath filled with ice cubes will be necessary after this meeting is over.

"Ms. Schroeder." His voice is deep, gravelly, like rocks rolling downhill. His gaze lingers on my face and his big, warm hand holds mine for just long enough for the butterflies in my stomach to fully migrate down in my panties. Then he finally releases my hand and pulls out a small notebook.

"Let's get started. This venue presents numerous security challenges."

So much for pleasantries.

"I'm sure we can address all your concerns while maintaining the atmosphere of a high-end wedding," I say, keeping pace beside him as he begins to inspect the perimeter of the ballroom.

"I'll need visible security at all entrances and exits," he states, not even looking at me. "Every vendor needs photo ID verification and background checks, no exceptions."

I blink. "Visible security might disrupt the—"

"These hallways need restricted access routes with checkpoints," he continues as if I hadn't spoken. "My deputies will need direct access to all comings and goings on the day of the event. All deliveries must be scanned and logged as well."

“Sheriff Wolfsbane, while I understand your concerns, this is a wedding, not a political rally.” Heat rises to my cheeks. This alpha-male routine is getting old and fast. “I insist that any security measure you implement be virtually invisible, especially in locations visible to guests.”