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Her frown deepens. "Vitamins? At this time of the day? Aren’t you better off taking them in the morning?"
I place my beer glass on the table with a snap, then narrow my gaze on her. "I’m sorry I didn’t make it to the last rehearsal but Jen, my assistant, is really good at what she does."
It’s a segue; one which Lila follows without question. "She is, but that’s not the point." Lila stabs her finger in my direction. "You know exactly what I’m talking about, so don’t try to wriggle out of this."
Or maybe it wasn’t a good idea to lead her back to this topic of conversation. Although, considering that’s why she called me here, it’s a little hard to avoid. I lower my neck.Shit, shit, shit.How did I allow myself to be corralled into this situation? It’s every wedding planner’s nightmare come true.
On the one hand, I do consider Lila a friend. On the other? If I tell her the truth, will she back out of the marriage and leave me with the reputation of a wedding planner whose wedding planning was canceled? It’s an unspoken rule in wedding planning circles. If a wedding you’re planning gets dropped, for whatever reason, the stigma of being unlucky sticks to the planner, and it’s very difficult to shake off. Even more so when it’s the ‘‘wedding of the century’’ that gets called off.
A bead of sweat slides down my back. I grab a paper napkin and mop my brow. “Uh, is it hot in here? Do you think they forgot to turn off the heating, even though the weather turned? Maybe I should ask the bar owner.” I slide off the barstool, but Lila shoots out her hand and grabs mine. "We’re at the Dorchester. Not bloody likely that they forgot to swap out the heating for the air-conditioning."
Busted! I hunch my shoulders.
"You’re really going to make me say it?"
She nods.
"That’s not playing fair, Lila. You’re using our friendship to hold me hostage for my opinion."
"Damn right." She blinks rapidly. "Please, Isla, please tell me what you think. Should I go through with this marriage? Your thoughts on it would mean so much to me. I know you won’t pay lip service, and you’ll tell me the truth." Her chin wobbles.
My heart sinks into my stomach.
Oh shit, this is it. I don’t have a choice.I’m going to have to tell her my true opinion, and then? Goodbye, ‘wedding of the century’. Goodbye, financial solvency. Goodbye to making the list of top ten wedding planners in the world. Goodbye, fame. Hello, notoriety. Hello, failure. But at least, I’ll be a good friend.
"Isla, please." She chews on her lower lip. "Tell me what I should do."
3
Liam
"Where is she?"
The receptionist gazes at me cow-eyed. Her lips move, but no words emerge. She clears her throat, glances sideways at the door to the side and behind her, then back at me.
"So, I take it she’s in there?" I brush past her, and she jumps to her feet. "Sir, y-y-you can’t go in there."
"Watch me." I glare at her.
She stammers, then gulps. Sweat beads her forehead. She shuffles back, and I stalk past her.
Really, is there no one who can stand up to me?All of this scraping of chairs and fawning over me? It’s enough to drive a man to boredom. I need a challenge. So, when my ex-wife-to-be texted me to say she was calling off our wedding, I was pissed. But when she let it slip that her wedding planner was right—that she needs to marry for love, and not for some family obligation, rage gripped me. I squeezed my phone so hard the screen cracked. I almost hurled the device across the room. When I got a hold of myself, for the first time in a long time, a shiver of something like excitement passed through me.Finally, fuck.
That familiar pulse of adrenaline pulses through my veins. It’s a sensation I was familiar with in the early days of building my business.
After my father died and I took charge of the group of companies he’d run, I was filled with a sense of purpose; a one-directional focus to prove myself and nurture his legacy. To make my group of companies the leader, in its own right. To make so much money and amass so much power, I’d be a force to be reckoned with.
I tackled each business meeting with a zeal that none of my opponents were able to withstand. But with each passing year—as I crossed the benchmarks I’d set myself, as my bottom line grew healthier, my cash reserves engorged, and the people working for me began treating me with the kind of respect normally reserved for larger-than-life icons—some of that enthusiasm waned. Oh, I still wake up ready to give my best to my job every day, but the zest that once fired me up faded, leaving a sense of purposelessness behind.
The one thing that has kept me going is to lock down my legacy. To ensure the business I’ve built will finally be transferred to my name. For which my father informed me I would need to marry. Which is why, after much research, I tracked down Lila Kumar, wooed her, and proposed to her. And then, her meddling wedding planner came along and turned all of my plans upside down.
Now, that same sense of purpose grips me. That laser focus I’ve been lacking envelops me and fills my being. All of my senses sharpen as I shove the door of her office open and stalk in.
The scent envelops me first. The lush notes of violets and peaches. Evocative and fruity. Complex, yet with a core of mystery that begs to be unraveled. Huh? I’m not the kind to be affected by the scent of a woman, but this... Her scent... It’s always chafed at my nerve endings. The hair on my forearms straightens.
My guts tie themselves up in knots, and my heart pounds in my chest. It’s not comfortable. The kind of feeling I got the first time I went white-water rafting. A combination of nervousness and excitement as I faced my first rapids. A sensation that had since ebbed. One I’d been chasing ever since, pushing myself to take on extreme sports. One I hadn’t thought I’d find in the office of a wedding planner.
My feet thud on the wooden floor, and I get a good look at the space which is one-fourth the size of my own office. In the far corner is a bookcase packed with books. On the opposite side is a comfortable settee packed with cushions women seem to like so much. There’s a colorful patchwork quilt thrown over it, and behind that, a window that looks onto the back of the adjacent office building. On the coffee table in front of the settee is a bowl with crystal-like objects that reflect the light from the floor lamps. There are paintings on the wall that depict scenes from beaches. No doubt, the kind she’d point to and sell the idea of a honeymoon to gullible brides. I suppose the entire space would appeal to women. With its mood lighting and homey feel, the space invites you to kick back, relax and pour out your problems. A ruse I’m not going to fall for.
