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The gold crushed linens have already been placed on the tables by the catering hall manager, so I unfold the table runners and start placing them. The tables are eight feet long, which makes it hard to get the runners flat and aligned. I’m angling my body in an awkward position, trying to straighten out one side without disturbing the other, when the runner is suddenly pulled from the other side.
I look up, and I’m done for.
Black shirt. Black dress pants. Tan skin. Killer smile.
Will’s hair is still moist from his shower and combed back in an elegant way, making him look like a movie star. He’s stunning—aside from the quizzical look on his brow.
“I thought you said no sweats.” His eyes roam up and down my body and the black ponte pants and V-neck shirt I have on.
“These aren’t sweats.”
“They look like yoga pants. They’re … tight.”
“I assure you, they’re dress pants. Well, dressy-ish pants.”
“Stretch pants.”
“Dress pants.”
“Leggings,” he says as he walks over to where I’m standing. “Paired with sneakers. Your rules are one-sided.”
I wave him off and grab the next runner from the bin. “I had a lot of things to carry in. This is a flexible yet appropriate outfit. I’ll put a dress on after the setup. First, we have to do the tables because there will be mass deliveries starting in an hour, plus the ceremony room that needs to be put together, and the clock is already—”
“Melissa.” His voice is gravelly as his hand sweeps hair that flew out of my ponytail and in front of my face. He tucks it behind my ear and gently rubs my earlobe. Smoldering eyes level with mine as he leans in a touch closer. “Do you have any of those sketches you showed me at your house for this event?”
I nod. His thumb is working on me like sensual Valium.
“Show me all your detailed drawings and layouts. I know you, and you are prepared for this with or without me. Since I’m here, all you need to know is, I got you.”
He removes his thumb and looks down at me. I take a deep breath, rub my hands on my pants, and shake off the unnerved feelings of a few moments ago.
“Since you’re here, you can help with the tables.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He grins, and I scowl. “What? You’re my boss. Seems appropriate to use a title of respect even if she’s wearing pajama pants.”
Steady and on target, we get to work. The color scheme of the tables is gold, hot pink, and a deep purple. Candelabras are on each table with candles made to drip romantically from the wick. The florist starts setting two low, yet large floral arrangements beside the candelabras in the same vibrant colors as the table linens. I place moss between each element to give the tables a meadow-like feel.
When my delivery truck arrives with the twelve-foot artificial wisteria trees, Will and I quickly lift one off the truck together and place the weeping wisteria in the room. There are eight in total, which are then decorated with hanging lanterns with battery-operated candles inside.
A lighting crew has been brought in to make the room glow with lights placed on the floor, shooting upward, and a spotlight lights up the floor with the monogram to create a feeling of seduction and magic that even Shakespeare would be proud of.
When the second delivery crew comes, I help them with bringing in the giant mirror that will serve as the seating chart and set up the lounge area, which has become very popular among our clients. It’s a place for guests to gather with those who aren’t at their table and gives a chic club vibe.
With the mirror engraved and the lounge set to perfection, I grab my stepladder and head to the atrium in the front of the mansion, where the ceremony will be held.
I stand by the door and watch as Will directs the delivery crew and catering hall staff. My iPad is in his hand, and he’s referring to it with great detail. An altar is up, chairs arranged, gold podium placed, and there’s even a space where the cellist will perform the wedding music. He’s even gathered my bin of flameless candles and set them up and down the aisle atop garlands of wisteria.
Will looks up from where he is by the altar. His lips part as his chest rises, like he just remembered to breathe after being busy for so long. Hazel eyes glisten as he sees me walking toward him.
“Glad you’re here. I tried to set up as much as I could, but unfortunately, I don’t know how to make this”—he motions to the metal arch that’s over the altar and down to the sketch—“into this.”
With a smile, I grab the bin of tulle that is sitting by one of the chairs. “That’s my specialty.”
I open my stepladder and climb to the top. Will hands me a spool of tulle and a box of twinkle lights. Taking my time, I weave the soft fabric and lights onto the rod with small clips. We move around the arch, quietly synchronized. Every once in a while, I break my concentration from the fabric and look down at him. Most times, he has a look of impressed amazement on his face. Another time, I catch him looking at my ass.
Both instances make me smile.
I’m amazed at how easy it is to work with Will. He’s not a bulldozer when it comes to setting things up. No task is beneath him. Even when I ask him to hand me branch after branch of wisteria, he does so without complaint.
