by Hagen, Casey
It would help if the big twit would just be honest with his freaking friend already.
I stepped up next to him and did my damndest to ignore the scent of his cologne, the way it mixed with his body heat, ready to knock me right off my feet, reminding my head, heart, and happy zone how this guy only knew walking away.
Turning away from the dessert display, I looked out at the sea of people socializing and glanced up at the brooding ass out of the corner of my eye. “What made you take off?”
“Had enough idle chitchat,” he said with a cutting edge to his voice.
“Really? You stuck around for bukkake, fountain pens, and robots, but all of a sudden in walks the girl marrying her brother’s best friend and you’re spooked?”
“I’m not spooked,” he said, warning her away with his low tone.
Not like I ever let that stop me before. Who the hell was he kidding?
“It’s not like Ethan knew about us and he’s definitely not showing up now, so what is your deal?”
He cut a dark mocking glance at me. “Your brother wasn’t stupid, Emory.”
A shiver skittered up my spine, and I straightened away from the table. “What do you mean?”
He shook his head and grabbed a strawberry. “Nothing. Forget I said anything.”
“Nothing I say is getting through to her,” Bryce said with a frustrated sigh as he walked up and stood next to me.
I shrugged next to him. “So stop saying stuff.”
“How will we ever get past this point if I don’t say anything?”
“You wait her out, and then when she’s ready, you let her say stuff,” I said, giving his elbow a nudge.
He scratched the back of his neck and grimaced in Katie’s direction. “How long am I supposed to wait?”
“As long as it takes, women like guys who stick,” I said and felt Falcon’s eyes crawl all over me with enough heat to rival the blazing fireball in the sky.
“Why can’t she just let me decide what’s right for me and stop trying to tell me what I should be doing?”
“Gee, I don’t know,” I said, shooting a sardonic look at Falcon.
“Uh, she’s looking over here. She looks mad,” Bryce said.
“That’s because she thinks we’re flirting.”
“How do you know?”
“Every woman knows her expression. Right now, she’d skin me alive if she could.”
Bryce let out a nervous laugh. “But nothing’s happening.”
“She doesn’t know that. Let her think something is…you might find she’s ready to speak a whole lot sooner than she would have been otherwise. And maybe this time, she’ll have a whole lot more to say than just telling you how it should be between the two of you.” I curled my hand around Bryce’s neck and pulled him to me so I could plant a kiss on his freshly shaven cheek. Smiling, I wiped the hint of lipstick off his skin.
“Go on,” I said, giving him a nudge in Katie’s direction. “You keep the pressure steady, and before you know it, she’s going to let you have it.”
“What do I do then?”
“Kiss her silly until she forgets everything but the way you make her feel when your arms are around her and your lips are on hers,” I said. “That’s it.”
I watched him walk away and Falcon’s unrelenting hostility swallowed me whole once again.
“Playing matchmaker?”
I crossed my arms and kept my gaze on the dance between Bryce and Katie. “Nope. I just know how it feels waiting for someone who can’t see what’s right in front of them.”
“A train wreck?”
“Funny.”
“Always looking for the happily ever after,” he said, his voice overflowing with mocking scorn. “Hell, you might actually want it more than the couples you work for.”
“And what’s so wrong with that, huh?” I snapped. “Humans aren’t supposed to want to stew in their own misery. Maybe you’re jealous I’m not dead inside.”
“Couldn’t tell,” he muttered with frustration.
“Excuse me?”
“The stranger who fucked me last night was most definitely dead inside.”
I sucked in a breath, my ears burning as the scalding heat of mortification shot through my veins. “I was not dead inside, damn you. You just can’t handle a woman taking what she needs.”
He scoffed and turned to me, leaning in, his narrowed eyes full of cruelty. “I’ve fucked plenty of women who only cared about taking what they needed. I just never thought you’d be one of them.”
“Honored guests, if I could have your attention,” Dustin said, holding a microphone to his mouth.
Falcon’s savage barb hit its mark, leaving me struggling for breath. We stood there, eyes locked on one another, chests heaving and pride the size of the Grand Canyon lodged between us while anger and hurt churned.
I would not react here in front of all these people. But the minute we were alone, we were going to have words.
By we, I meant me.
I had so many words.
Like why would I open up to a man who only hurt me at every turn? Why the hell did he think he deserved any more of me or my heart than what I gave him anyway?
“The room assignments are prearranged and completely random. There are ten honeymoon suites on site and hundreds of cabins. Under your chair is an envelope with your room, a map, key, and a key to your own personal golf cart to use for the duration of your stay with us. When you’re ready, but there’s certainly no rush, your rooms are ready for you. Thank you. We’ll see you all at breakfast,” he said, taking his wife’s hand.
Falcon wasted no time. Without another word, he jerked away from our visual standoff, the movement so jarring I swayed on my feet. He strode to his chair, reached under the seat, snatched his room package, and headed for the door.
19
A few minutes shy of eight in the morning, almost everyone had gathered again in the reception hall for a feast overflowing with savory breakfast foods. Labeled with discreet chalk signs, decadent selections filled almost every surface. Smoked brisket hash, carne asada scramble, red velvet pancakes, deep fried French toast drizzled with triple berry puree, the food ran in an endless buffet along two walls where it all ended with juice, milk, tea, and fresh mimosas.
Chatting over coffee, people meandered along the buffet, checking out the options while the staff finished putting the final touches on the spread. A few guests broke away to introduce themselves to one another, but eventually they worked their way toward the same cluster of people they sat with the night before.
The camaraderie had been set. Not entirely surprising. Wedding planners, just like anyone, only had so much time and energy so we had to spend it cultivating the right relationships. Vera had definitely been vehemently against forming bonds with other planners.
That’s where I agreed with her… to a point.
I choked down bile in the back of my throat. God, even admitting to myself how I saw eye to eye with her on anything made me want to wretch. But there were times in this industry, like at the end of the day at bridal expos when the exhaustion set in, the alcohol raced through the veins loosening inhibitions and good sense, and the shit talk about people in the industry began.
Rumors spread like wildfire in this business. Embellished stories always held a grain of truth and had a way of making favors dry up like puddles in hundred-degree heat under a cloudless sky. Not only did I not gossip about anyone in the service industry, my recent bitchfest about Vera at Rigby’s excluded, I made damn sure I didn’t stick around for direct conversations veering in that direction. Oh, I collected little whispers and muttered complaints. I stayed on the fringes to gather useful information, but no one would be able to say I’d entertained unsavory talk. That’s how I nurtured my career from the onset.
I concentrated on my bonds with dress designers, seamstresses, florists, caterers, bakers, photographers, and hell, even jewelers. You never knew what kind of last-minute emergency
you’d hit with a wedding band. Those were the people I needed to save my ass when a wedding went sideways.
When it came to other planners, I tapped into my inner voyeur. I watched my competition. Who kept up with trends? Who didn’t and why? Had they inadvertently slid into a rut? Were they attracting the same types of clients over and over, leaving their businesses on autopilot? Did they think they knew everything there was to know about the industry? Did they stupidly think they were above learning?
Like Vera.
Yeah, I said it. Because that’s exactly the mindset that would eventually slowly choke out a business. Mark my words, Vera was falling from grace. It wasn’t a blatant tumble. Not at all. It’s a slow drop, the claws she had hooked into the mountainside of the wedding industry slipping a fraction before finding purchase again…yet, only temporarily.
Every time a trend shifted, her claws slipped, and eventually she’d disappear from view altogether. Styles, technology, people, relationships, it all changed. We had to be ready to pivot. If I ever reached a point where I didn’t think I had anything to learn, I needed to be done.
Instead of freaking out about my career shift, I should be celebrating the fact I’d unshackled myself from a toxic sinking ship.
Ordinarily, I’d be eyeing my competitors and gauging their weaknesses. But here, I didn’t feel the need. Not when the bulk of my clients would be across the country.
When I thought about Cory, about the way she used her blunt nature to bend people to her will, I had to think maybe I had something to offer these people here. Cory wasn’t competition. She was one more person in the industry who would shape lives through a monumental life event. If I had something to offer that would make her better at her job, well, why not?
And who knows, maybe they’d teach me a little something too.
Look at me all concentrating on my job this morning and not the boob who stormed out of here last night.
Go me.
Except, I was quite literally rambling in my head to keep the words haunting me most of the night from continuing to echo between my ears.
Your brother wasn’t stupid, Emory.
Okay, so really all that could mean is Ethan had known I had a crush on Falcon all those years ago. So what?
And just like that, memories snaked their tentacles through the cracks in my resolve, doing their damnedest to pull me back to a place where doubts bloomed and I second-guessed myself.
Well, I wouldn’t go. The past was over. Done.
History wouldn’t be rewritten.
“I looked at the red velvet pancakes and my ass gained five pounds,” Soraya said, snagging a mimosa next to me.
The woman didn’t realize she’d just offered me a lifeline, a lifeline I’d gladly scramble to take. “They’re going to gorge us with thousands of calories and roll us onto golf carts for a tour of the grounds. At least they aren’t making us go on foot.”
“So what rooms did you guys get?” Marcella asked, sliding up next to us.
“I’m in a two-bedroom cabin. It’s cute,” I said.
“We’re in the aqua oasis honeymoon suite,” Soraya said. “It’s absolutely stunning. Riverstone walls and blue marble floors with such a high gloss it’s like walking on water. Of course, this only made Graham’s already massive ego swell to such proportions I’m beginning to wonder how he’s going to make it through your average doorway.”
“That’s two down,” Marcella muttered.
“What do you mean two down?” I asked.
Marcella laughed. “You didn’t see the magazines on the tables yet?”
“No. Why?”
“Someone in this group got a rather spectacular honeymoon suite,” Marcella said with a mischievous grin.
“Aren’t all honeymoon suites spectacular?” Soraya asked.
“Well…this one is for the adventurous,” Marcella said, wiggling her eyebrows.
“The adventure—oh. Sexy time adventurous?” I said, dropping my voice to a whisper.
“Oh yeah, if the dungeon bed is any indication. I don’t know of any other reason for a heavy-duty frame with steel loops and metal bars in grids on the headboard and footboard—except to play.”
“I’ve got to see this,” Soraya said, heading for our table.
“Page eleven,” Marcella called as she followed along behind her.
Soraya flipped through and we all glanced down.
“Well, look at that,” I said, surprised at the sultry hum of my own words.
“Kind of makes you wonder what the gift basket looks like, doesn’t it?” Marcella asked.
“Mine’s full of alcohol and chocolate. Not exactly a bad thing,” I said with a laugh.
“There has to be more to the room. You know there has to be. They wouldn’t have a bed like that without…chains, cuffs, and God knows what else,” Soraya pointed out.
I glanced at them and leaned in. “You know, if we split up today, we can reach more people and maybe get someone to confess to being in the boom-boom room.”
“There’s only one couple here,” Marcella said, glancing at the door where Cory and Hawk walked in. “Uh, or make that two I guess although they weren’t an incoming couple. If they didn’t get it and we know you didn’t get it,” she said, looking at Soraya, “then it’s really kind of a waste of a room.”
“Or someone is indulging in a whole lot of kinky self-love,” I said with a grin.
Soraya rubbed her hands together. “Okay, so we’re looking for someone with a goofy smile or hiding their shame. Mission accepted.”
“Or the one person who doesn’t show up because they’re otherwise occupied,” I pointed out. “Either way, we find the person in the room and then convince them to let us in. I have to see this with my own eyes.”
Soraya tilted her head as she studied Cory across the room. “You think she looks like she got smacked in the face with a dildo?”
“I think Hawk slapped her around with the real thing,” Marcella said. “You know, if she let him.”
“I think it’s more likely she smacked him around, but I could be wrong.” I shrugged. “Let’s go grab some food and see if we can figure out who in this room spent the night diddling themselves.”
Forty minutes later and stuffed to the gills, we rolled out, four to a golf cart and not a single hint as to who got the sex dungeon.
Hawk and Graham quietly slipped out of breakfast before we left. Falcon never showed.
Which meant he was still working on his mad because I refused to believe he was worshipping himself in the boom-boom room. Not a man like him. Nope, he could have walked into breakfast, grunted, pointed, and picked pretty much any woman here, and she would have gone off with him because sexual energy pulsed in the air around the man at all times.
Combine that with the way he’d been arranged just right in the looks department and especially the down-below region and yeah.
Just yeah.
One night and we’ll get it out of our systems, my ass.
If anything, I was kicking myself for being so guarded that night—yeah, I admit I didn’t give him a whole lot beyond my body—I just had no intention of admitting it to him.
Here I was two nights later and as miserable as I had been before. Despite trying to protect my heart, I’d fallen apart after he left anyway.
Despite telling myself this was only one night, I’d still secretly hoped for more.
So wouldn’t I have been better off fully immersing myself in the opportunity? Not that it mattered now. I’d wasted my shot because the rigid man last night shooting daggers at me with his eyes certainly wasn’t going to entertain a do-over.
We hit a small bump and I caught my sketchbook right before it slid off my lap.
“Sorry about that. I always forget it’s there. We’ve got people coming out next week to dig the rock out,” Sierra said over her shoulder from the driver’s seat.
“No worries, it’s part of the charm,” I said, grabbing on to the handrails so I d
idn’t flop right off the back bench.
I blew out a frustrated breath and buried my thoughts of Falcon.
I could stew over them in my tub later with wine and chocolate.
Beau had offered me the front, forward-facing seat, but looking out over where we’d been offered me one more vantage point of the property and a trove of ideas as to how to use it.
A thick, lush field of dark-yellow Mexican sunflowers in full bloom swayed in the breeze. Shorter than your average sunflower, but still taller than most other blooms, other than maybe the tallest gladiolas, their height all but swallowed the view of other golf carts rolling through. The narrow winding path would be perfect for private walks, and a few areas stood out where a couple could sneak away for an impromptu picnic.
A unique sliver of Arizona, Sunflower Canyon stood as the point where the southern and northern regions converged in a hodgepodge of nature, a patch of land everybody seemed to have forgotten.
Except the generations who grew up here.
On this particular patch on the outskirts of town, there was something for everyone. What caught my eye were the small areas with huge potential Dustin and Sierra might have missed. Sure, they had three rustic barns with wagon wheel chandeliers and rough wood plank floors. But the smallest held around eighty and the largest capable of seating three hundred would all be too big for a truly intimate ceremony. Even the smallest would have a hard time functioning for a wedding of ten or twenty people without looking awkwardly empty. What about couples like the sister from the nightmare stories the night before whose brother crashed her ceremony with a betta in tow?
Those clients wouldn’t be looking for a huge barn, a reception hall overlooking the valley, or a wide clearing before a field of Mexican sunflowers unfolding in the distance.
They’d want a tiny clearing in the center so they could get lost among the blooms. Or the narrow gap between two majestic Saguaros standing forgotten off in the distance.
