Bargaining with the Bride Page 7
"Which is probably a crime in several states—"
"It doesn't help us figure out what exactly we're doing here. What's your plan?"
“I made a few lists." He pulled a pile of folded papers from a side pocket on his shorts and spread them out on the table, trying to force out the creases in the paper with his powerful fingers.
"These look like—"
"Itineraries, yes. I thought we'd have a few things to do for the wedding still. I need more details, location and whatnot, and then we can spend any extraneous time getting more familiar with each other."
His deep voice was as impassive as ever, but something in the phrase "getting to know each other" made her heart jolt with excitement...and not a little bit of fear.
"Do you mean, like, the way we did last night?" She wasn't sure what answer she wanted. It had been a simple thing, their kiss. Really, it was. They hadn’t crossed any lines. They hadn’t even kiss for very long. But something about it still ran through her mind whenever she looked at him, and she had trouble gazing at his chiseled features without also feeling the shadow of his light stubble on her cheek. It was so hard to hear him speak without imagining the feel of his soft, firm lips against her own. And how could he keep moving so gracefully across her room without forcing her to remember the way his pecs and biceps had pinned her down?
She couldn't.
It was a fact that had kept her up for half the night, and even she couldn't talk herself out of it. She was hot for her boss. And not just normal, school-girl-crush style stuff. She wanted him more than anyone she'd ever been near before, and the more she considered it, the more her raunchy fantasies seemed to be the ideal way of settling the score on how fantastically awful everything else in life had turned out.
So he was her boss. She could find another job.
So he was her friend. She had others.
All the mattered was that he was there, and he was hot, and he would be around her. Twenty four seven for the next fourteen days. Suddenly, her two AM ice cream raid didn't seem so shameful if there was someone else there who was willing to eat it off of her stomach.
Lost in her thoughts, she hardly noticed the deafening silence that greeted her question. No, as Garret chewed his food, she was more focused on what else his mouth could do rather than remembering what she'd asked him.
And what had she asked him, again?
He looked thoughtful, but for the first time in their entire bizarre conversation he looked puzzled. Almost tense. And if she didn't know him better, she might even think he looked uncomfortable.
"You know, I don't think that would be a good idea," her biscuit suddenly felt very dense in her throat, and she cleared it, trying to find a way to breath. Her chest tightened, but through it all she willed herself to look nonchalant.
"Yeah, me too," her voice sounded casual, and the slight strain she hoped was only noticeable to herself. Inside, her subconscious was patting itself on the back, ignoring the fact that she was, in fact, very chalant. Possibly the chalantest.
"Really? Good. I was a little concerned given," Garret cleared his throat, "the, um, circumstances."
There was no mistaking it now. He was genuinely uncomfortable, and shiny possibility of bating him was all too tempting to pass up. Her subconscious had practically burst into doing the wave.
But, keeping her cool, she sipped her coffee and tilted the cup just above the ridge of her nose. He could only see her eyes as she said, "The circumstances?"
Oh, yeah. Smooth.
She wasn’t so open and closed now, was she? She was an enigma. A goddamn piece of Sherlock-Holmes-level intrigue.
"Well, the inherent, um, situation between us as made evident by experimentation." He cleared his throat again, slightly flexing those delicious biceps in the process.
"I'm not sure I'm getting it," her kingdom for a recording device. She glanced at her sad, dead cell phone with despair.
"You know what I'm saying,” he said.
Dammit. He wasn't taking the bait.
"It sounds like you think I'm hot." She leaned back in her chair, trying to suppress her laughter.
"Well, it was more of a mutual experience as far as I was aware."
"Oh, so not only do you think I'm hot, you think I think you're hot, too?"
"That was my understanding—"
“But you don’t think we should act on your objective observations?” Her fingers traced quotes around the word “objective,” but he ignored her.
“No.”
“Do you have a hypothesis about why not, or should we draw some sort of ven diagram?” She rose from her chair and slowly moved across the room, her back to him as she swayed her behind deliberately with every step. She could practically feel his eyes boring into her naked legs, poring over the crease where her ass met her thigh.
It might have been her imagination, but she thought she could hear him swallowing as she turned around to face him again.
Apparently, the scientist wasn’t so cut and dried as she’d thought. Somewhere in his Bicentennial Man exterior, there was a beating heart. And based on the way his pupils dilated when she turned to face him, that heart of his was going at a pretty solid rate.
"Well, as I said before, this is a business arrangement and we should keep things professional. I think anything else might be inappropriate,” he sipped his coffee, indecision etched into every feature.
“So, sorry, it’s still early and I’m a little slow. If I’m hearing you right, you think that it would be inappropriate for us to have sex—” a look of shock lit up Garret’s features, but she pressed on, “but it’s perfectly fine for you to live in close quarters with me for a month and spend every waking moment together? That’s cool?”
“Well, it’s not really foolproof, but yes. That’s the general idea.”
“You’ve got one thing right. It’s definitely not foolproof.”
“Be that as it may, it’s our best option at present. I’ve sent in the paperwork to notify the company of our relationship status. I feel it’s best for us to avoid the office for today while the memo circulates, and then by Monday most people will have gotten used to the idea.”
She blew on her coffee, if only to give her suddenly dry mouth something to do. She blinked once, twice, and then blew out a sigh, “So, you mean to tell me that you notified everyone in the office that we’re in a fake relationship. Including the secretaries and the people I’m in charge of?”
“I didn’t see another option—“
She held up a hand to stop him. This was the way with corporate men. They didn’t understand, and maybe that wasn’t their fault. They had no context for what it was like to be a woman in a position of power in an office.
But come Monday? Everyone would be wondering what sort of position she’d gotten into for him in order to earn her title.
Fabulous.
Finally, she cleared her throat and said, “I’m not going to worry about that right now. Unfortunately, I’m woefully behind on all my wedding planning and I have a bunch of appointments to go to today. So…you and the dog can make yourselves even more comfortable. I’ll be back tonight in case you want to hook me up to wires or something.”
She turned to make for the stairs, but Garret’s voice stopped her, “Wait, don’t you want me to go with you?”
“Why would I want that?” She furrowed her brow.
“Wedding planning is difficult. Shouldn’t the groom be involved?”
“I…guess.”
“Excellent. It’ll be the perfect opportunity to learn your preferences and—“
She stalked from the room before he could add anything else, calling over her shoulder, “Be ready in five.” And then, to herself, she muttered, “God save me from this day.”
7
"So, what is it we have to do?" Garret buckled in beside her, staring at her like a puppy on his way to the park, and she let out a deep breath.
What had she gotten herself into here?
"I'm game. Just tell me what I need to do."
"All right, then." She backed out of the driveway, doing a mental run-down of all the things that were still piled up on her wedding to-do list. She'd gotten her dress a month ago, so at least he wouldn't be along for any of that. The venue and caterers had also been selected a while back. Which, she guessed, just left...
Everything else.
"We should probably get a dress for the bridesmaids."
Garret nodded thoughtfully, and she tapped her hands on the steering wheel.
"We also need, um, a tux for you. And a cake. And flowers."
"You still have to do all of that with only a month to go?"
She gave him a warning glare, "I would have gotten it done earlier, but my boss is a slave driver."
"I've heard that. But isn't he also stunningly handsome?" He raised his eyebrows, but she ignored him.
Luckily, the tiny dress boutique was only a couple of blocks from her house, so the time she was required to explain herself to Garret was blissfully short. Or, at least she thought it would be.
"Who exactly is coming to this wedding?" He held the door open for her and something chimed as she crossed the shop's threshold.
"Who knows? My mother... Ugh, it was such a disaster."
She made her way to a rack of frilly pink dresses. This was what her mother would want. Traditional, classic. Boring. She fingered one with disgust, wondering if it was in her sister's size.
"What do you mean?" He glanced at a dress that was so loud she could hardly hear what he'd said.
"When I told my mother I was going to elope, she said that people would think I was pregnant."
"So?"
"So, she said she couldn't bare to have a shame marriage in her family and I simply had to have a wedding."
"Okay."
"She paid for everything and invited all the people she wanted, but she'd done most of it without telling me."
"Oh..." he frowned.
"Yeah. I talked Lance into it, but..." She shook her head, pulling another peach pipe bomb from the rack. "Well, you can't always get what you want."
"I guess not. Still—"
She cut him off. She'd given herself enough pity without him adding to it. "Let's not talk about it, okay? Let's talk about these hideous dresses." She held up what looked like a prom gown left over from the eighties and he laughed.
"You're not seriously going to have someone wear that?"
"It's what my mother would want. Probably because that's what she would have had her bridesmaids wear when she got married a hundred years ago."
"So? Don't you think she's gotten enough of what she wants? If she's going to make you have a wedding, why don't you at least make it the wedding you want to have?"
"You clear have never met my mother."
"No, but I know I'm the groom and my job is to take care of my bride."
"You're the fake groom."
"I have a job to do none the less, don't I?"
She laughed, and though their morning had been beyond bizarre, something warm flooded through her. Like...gratitude, "Maybe you're right."
"I'll never get sick of hearing that," he grinned.
"What would you pick?"
"Something purple."
"Purple?"
"Isn't that your favorite color?"
She eyed him wearily, but he only shrugged, "You wear purple at least once a week. It's not like you're the only one who gets to be observant."
"No, I guess not." She smiled, and then moved through the store with him, occasionally pausing to look at one dress or another. He was right, though. Every dress that caught her eye was purple.
Not just purple. A pretty, flowy lavender that made her think of spring. It was the exact kind of color she'd always pictured for her wedding, but she knew her mother would balk at the color.
Still, when she reached the back of the store, her gaze lighted on one dress she couldn't resist.
It was as untraditional a dress as possible. The same beautiful lavender as the others, but with off-the shoulder sleeves that would make her sister and Natalie look like fairy princesses. It was gorgeous. It was elegant.
It was on sale.
"This is beautiful."
"It looks like you," Garret smiled.
"My mother will hate it."
"All the more reason to ring it up."
That soothing warmth spread over her chest again, and though she knew she should say no, she couldn't bring herself to walk away.
"All right. Let's do it."
Garret set the bags from the dress shop in the back of the car, and then settled into the passenger's side again.
"Where to next?" He asked as he buckled his seatbelt.
"You need a tux."
"I have a tux."
"Who just has a tux laying around?"
"I am the co-owner of a multi-million dollar company."
"Hm, I guess you are." It was funny how easy it was for her to forget that sometimes. To her, he was just Garret. Funny and smart and, apparently, a dog lover.
Sure, she'd seen him looking strong and severe in meetings, but what would he look like with his thick, dark hair all slicked back and fashioned? How would his broad shoulders look in a slim-fitting suit?
"I'll admit it doesn't get a lot of use," he shrugged. "Brooks handles most of that kind of thing. He's much more apt to...mingle."
"So I've heard." She turned the corner, thinking of all the times she'd seen Brook's face at the head of page six in the newspaper. It was always under a headline that went something like 'Millionaire Playboy Plays to Win' or 'Organic Chemistry founder Making Sparks.' Needless to say, there would always be some tiny blonde pinned to his arm in each shot.
"That notorious, is he?" Garret grinned.
"I'm just amazed you don't have more broken-hearted secretaries."
"All in good time." Garret shrugged and for a moment silence fell over the car, then he went on. "Tell me about your sister."
"No. I'm not doing twenty questions with you again. I refuse."
"Oh, come on. It's not like that. I'll have to meet her, won't I?"
"I guess you will. And when you do...Let's just say that, unlike me, Eliza doesn't have a problem standing up for herself."
"I see."
"To her detriment."
"Oh?"
"She's a bit of a free spirit. She goes where the wind takes her. For a while, she was working in a traveling craft fair as a glass blower. Before that, she made organic perfumes. Before that, she tried college but..." Rachael shook her head, thinking of the inevitable phone call that always ended and started every new phase of her sister's life.
"Hey, Rach, so, everything is cool. Nothing to worry about. But, well, [insert terrible thing here]."
Maybe she drove her boss's car into the lake or she and the dean of admissions didn't see eye to eye on expressionist art in the middle of the student union. Whatever the case, the Ford sisters were, both, walking disasters.
But for Eliza, that was in the best possible way.
"But what?" Garret prompted her as they stopped in front of the tiny flower shop in town.
Rachael tilted her mouth to the side, trying to figure out how best to describe her sister. "She's the best person you'll ever meet."
"I can't wait."
* * *
The door chimed behind them, but the two people behind the counter didn't look up. Instead, they seemed entrenched in focusing on each other and mumbling in angry, hushed voices.
As Garret approached, he thought he heard the younger of the two women say something like, "if you would just give it a chance, I'm telling you, Mr. Arnaldo would love to—"
The elderly woman's gaze finally found them and she smiled, apparently ignoring the girl who was still intent on talking. "Welcome to Bloom's. How can I help you?"
Rachael stepped forward, an
d then sat on one of the little stools in front of the wooden sales counter. "I'm a little embarrassed to admit this, but I need flowers for my wedding next month."
"That's no trouble at all. My granddaughter, Becky, needs something to keep her busy." The elderly woman stared pointedly at the girl beside her.
As they glared, Garret got the distinct impression that they hadn't walked in on anything unusual.
"We love weddings! We just finished my sister's a few weeks ago. What did you have in mind?" Becky pulled a binder out from beneath the counter and sat it in front of Rachael.
"Um, probably something standard. Nothing too—"
"Do you have sample pictures?" Garret cut her off. He wasn't about to watch her while away her time on things she didn't want anymore. As far as he could tell, she'd done quite enough of that already.
No, he'd be damned if Rachael didn't get exactly what she wanted.
"We certainly do." Becky flipped the pages of the book and Garret sat down next to Rachael and prepared himself for the fight of a lifetime.
"I still think they're a little too wild." Rachael nearly closed the door on him as they entered the house that night, but he only laughed in response. She'd spent most of the day waffling on her choices before eventually picking the thing she would have picked if the outside world hadn't gotten in the way.
"They are called wild flowers."
"I know, but...I don't know." She plopped onto the couch and he stared at her for a long minute. The last time he'd been on that couch...
The scratching of paws against hardwood alerted him to Tesla's presence and he bent down to greet his drooling friend.
"Wanna say hi?" He asked Rachael.
She scooted farther away, "I'm good."
"Come on, it's not so bad. Give it a try. If you do, I will listen to you rethink the bridesmaids dresses for an hour."
He grasped Tesla's collar and led him closer to an increasingly anxious-looking Rachael. Still, she held out her hand and, as she touching hot lava, she gently and quickly stroked his fur.
"See? That's not so bad, is it?"
In lieu of answering, she bit her bottom lip, and when Tesla licked her calf, she pulled both legs onto the couch.