The man laughed, and waved a hand in acknowledgment of my point before raising a challenging eyebrow. “So what would you do if you had control of the rebrand? Throw in some hashtags and make a Facebook page? Get a celebrity endorsement?”
“As if,” I snorted. “Millennials might be self-absorbed, but we can still see through pandering just fine, thanks.”
“Oh?” His thumb brushing over my knuckles was an invitation, and a challenge, and both made my breath catch in my throat. “A pink label, then?”
I watched his eyes dip to the side and a lazy grin spread across his face, and I knew that he had spotted the pink strap of my bra peeking out from the side of my short-sleeved button-up shirt.
“Strange as it might seem, the color pink doesn’t brainwash women into buying things,” I replied, trying not to let on how breathless he had made me. Trying not to imagine his hands instead of his eyes on that pink bra strap, easing it slowly from my shoulder as he kissed my neck.
I raised the stakes, slipping my foot out of my shoe to stroke his ankle, and then moved it slightly higher. This was really out of character for me, but something about our conversation, the flush of whiskey in my cheeks, the way he was looking at me…I felt emboldened in a way I never did at work or even when I was out with my friends.
I was rewarded with a flush of heat in his gaze, his pupils dilating as his grip tightened slightly on mine. He leaned forward, close enough that I could have kissed him without rising from the seat. His lips were so full, they looked so soft—
He was so close I could feel the heat of his breath as he murmured his next words: “So, tell me, what would you do?” He picked up his glass and drank, the muscles in his throat working as he swallowed it down. I didn’t look away. It was safe to assume my panties were on fire, and there was only one way to put that fire out.
And you know what? I decided I’d been overthinking things at work. Either I had confidence in myself or I didn’t, and doing some last-minute drinking wasn’t going to change a damn thing about my presentation tomorrow.
But some really good sex just might give me an edge.
I lifted my own glass and downed the remaining Knox. My decision was made.
It was go time.
I leaned towards him until our lips were barely a millimeter apart. “Do you really want to know what I’d do with this brand?” I whispered. Before he could answer, I brushed my lips against the corner of his mouth. He tasted like smoke and cinnamon and danger, and I liked it. “Or would you rather know what I’d do with you?”
His eyes gleamed, and I knew his answer even before he spoke.
***
What happens next? Ally and Hunter’s story continues in BILLIONAIRE WITH A TWIST – Available now!
Take a trip to Pelican Key Cove for the wedding of the year! BEACH WEDDING by Bella Cruise is available now!
Chapter One
I love weddings.
I love everything about them: the flowers, the dress, the music. But most of all, I love the kiss. Somehow, it’s love brought to life in a single, perfect moment, when all the crazy chaos and pageantry melts away, and all that’s left are two people ready to share the rest of their lives together.
That’s not to say it always runs smoothly. Believe me, I’ve seen my share of hiccups. There was the groom who wanted a hole cut in the altar platform, so his six-foot bride wouldn’t look taller than him in the photos. There’s the bride who had to have emergency root canal six hours before the wedding and mumbled her way through ‘I do’. Then there’s my favorite: the couple who were literally struck with lightning. Look it up on YouTube if you don’t believe me; halfway through their charming vineyard wedding, the skies opened with a massive thunderstorm. They struggled on through the downpour, only to be struck by a bolt from the blue during their big kiss. (In case you’re worried, they turned out just fine – and the national news coverage paid for their whole honeymoon in Mexico!)
Yes, when it comes to that one perfect moment, I’ve seen them all. I’ve planned them all too – because, after all, that’s my job: Ginny Austen, Wedding Planner extraordinaire. It’s my duty to make sure my clients get the day of their dreams, despite high heels, Vicodin doses, and an appearance from El Nino.
Luckily, today the weather is on my side. It’s a gorgeous summer’s day in New York City, with the kind of blue skies and puffy cotton candy clouds that every bride – and wedding planner – pray for. “Are we ready?” I ask, checking my watch. Any minute now, the guests will start to arrive.
“Ready.” My assistant, Theo, pulls out his notepad, checking it over from behind his wire-rimmed glasses. “Everything is set to go. Right down to the poodle ring bearer – and, yes, the groomer is on hand, too. What, are you expecting poor Fifi to get her hair mussed up?” he teases with a grin.
“Do you remember what happened last time we had dogs running around?” I remind him. When it comes to a couple’s wedding day, I believe everything should be perfect. Not a hair out of place – not even on a dog.
Theo’s grin slips. “The schanuzers.”
“That’s right. Five minutes before the ceremony started, they were chasing a stray dove through a field. They left muddy paw prints all the way up the aisle. I’m not making the same mistake again.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Theo checks it off the list. “Canine stylists present and accounted for.”
He looks amused, but he’s only been working for me six months now. “Trust me,” I smile. “When you’ve been working this gig a little longer, you’ll get used to the crazy.”
Dogs don’t even come close to the strangest thing people want included in their special day – and it’s my job to make sure they get their heart’s desire. No dream too big, no detail too small. I can organize a hundred doves fluttering up in the air right as the newly-minted mister and missus exit the chapel doors. I can have fireworks spell out their initials in the night sky. I can make sure that hydroponically-grown orchids match the bride’s eyes. I do whatever it takes to make it perfect, and today, it is. The Central Park Boathouse looks like something out of a fairy tale. Pink rose and yellow hydrangea garlands hang from the dock, a rose petal strewn walkway leads up the aisle, and Liszt’s romantic Liebesträume, played by four members of the New York City Philharmonic, greets guests as they arrive.
“It looks like a million bucks,” I overhear a guest say.
“It should be, with the way his year is going, the lucky devil!” quips her date, in a suit that costs more than my rent. “Let’s just hope that today’s loss on the field won’t hurt the honeymoon!” I watch as the couple oohhhs and aahhhs at the canopy made from ivy and lace. I smile and glance at my watch for the thousandth time in the last hour. Precision is the name of this game.
Today’s clients are James, a successful sports manager, and Sarah, a sports therapist. A match made on the side lines – and these two are as specific as they are sporty. The bride wouldn't budge on the scented candles (maybe she’s been traumatized by locker room funk), and the groom insisted that seventy-percent of the hors d’oeuvres be bacon-wrapped. Both of them agreed, however, that their rescue dog, Bartholomew, a fourteen-year-old toy poodle, would be charged with leading them down the aisle. I actually love incorporating pets in weddings, but from what I’ve heard of Bartholomew, he has the potential to be the biggest diva at the event. I made precautions and assigned my second assistant to be in charge of him all day, so I shouldn’t be surprised when I get a MAYDAY text from Jody: “Doggone!”
Theo looks over my shoulder. “Seems like the pooch has flown the coop.”