AllFreeNovel
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“I’m thinking.”
I look around to summon the bartender again, this time for the industrial amount of coffee I’m going to need to get through the day, but instead, I catch the eye of a man sitting just down the bar. He’s corporate-hot, with dark hair, a designer suit draped on his athletic frame, and a clean-cut, confident look; like the arrogant city boyfriend in a rom-com who’s all wrong for our heroine, before she visits that adorable small-town for the holidays and meets her plaid-shirt wearing soulmate…
I pause. Did I watch too many holiday movies this year, eating my body weight in homemade candy bark?
Maybe.
Then I realize that Mr. All-Wrong is staring right back at me, smirking with amusement – and clearly listening in on my bizarre conversation.
I angle my body away from him, and try to think fast. “Look, we need the butterflies,” I tell Anna. “Otherwise, the twenty-foot butterfly ice sculptures, and imported Italian hard candies, and custom Tiffany’s stained glass inset in the guestroom doors don’t make any sense.”
I hear a snort of laughter from Mr All-Wrong.
“So, call the butterfly sanctuary back,” I continue, ignoring him. “And tell them we’ll fund their entire operating budget for a year if they can get those butterflies ready to flutter on the sunset breeze.”
“OK, that could work.”
“It better. Look, my flight’s about to board, I’ll see you soon. Breathe,” I add, reassuring. “This will all be over soon.”
I hang up, and take a deep breath myself. I thought I’d seen it all working in Hollywood, but it turns out, the most demanding, temperamental directors in town have nothing on a Bridezilla with cash to burn.
“I’m sorry, but I’ve got to ask…” Mr. All-Wrong speaks up from down the bar. His voice is low and rich, with a hint of a Southern twang.
I shake my head. “Trust me. You really don’t want to.”
He chuckles, and I have to admit, the man’s smile is anything but wrong. Warm, and teasing, making his eyes crinkle at the edges. Brown eyes, flecked with gold, currently gazing at me with interest.
Hello.
“So, are you an event planner?” he asks, turning to fully face me now. And yup, that suit is definitely designer, and boy, does it do him justice.
“For the next four days, at least,” I reply, dragging my eyes back to that clean-cut face. “I don’t understand it, I’m used to fighting to stay on-budget, shaving every last dollar. But with these people, it’s like over-spending is a point of pride.”
“Basic prestige demand theory.” The man nods. “People value something more when they pay through the roof.”
“Uh oh,” I groan, only half-teasing. “Are you about to give me a speech on high-value women, feminine energy, and provider, alpha men?”
He snorts with surprised laughter. “God, no. I actually learned it when I was doing yard work in high school,” he explains, giving me that smile again, so warm and open, I’m wondering if I misjudged him. Maybe he’s not Mr. All-Wrong, after all, but the soulful smalltown soulmate himself.
How would he look in flannel…?
“I thought the way to get more business was selling my services cheap,” the man continues, oblivious to the fact I’m currently stripping him naked in my mind. “Then my uncle told me to offer a platinum service, double the price. Suddenly, I’m out there mowing like nobody’s business, the hottest lawn jockey in town.”
“So what did you spend all that extra cash on?” I ask, relaxing. Either the vodka or this man is hitting the spot right now, because the butterfly debacle is suddenly feeling very far away.
He gives a boyish grin. “I should probably say college savings, or to donate to charity, but… I was saving to rent a hotel room for junior prom. I was dating Louise Fishbaker, and I was horny as hell, but I wanted to be a gentleman about it. Nothing but the best three-star Ramada Inn for a girl like that.”
“Classy.” I laugh. “So did you have your night of adolescent bliss?”
“Nope,” he says with a theatrical sigh. “She broke up with me the week before the dance, for some college freshman who drove a tricked out red Camaro. What scrawny sophomore could compete with that?”
“The lure of an older man,” I agree. “Sorry you got stood up.”
He breaks into a grin. “Not exactly. I was loitering on the front steps, feeling sorry for myself, when this gorgeous senior had a massive fight with her boyfriend, and decided to use me to make him jealous. Turns out, my mom’s beat-up old Honda minivan has some perks, after all. Like very spacious backseats.”
I laugh. “Oh, I remember.”
“Spent some time back there yourself?” he asks, arching an eyebrow.
