The CEO And The Wedding Planner: An Instalove Possessive Age Gap Romance (A Man Who Knows What He Wants Book 201)

by Flora Ferrari

  CONTENTS

  The CEO and The Wedding Planner

  NEWSLETTER

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Epilogue

  Extended Epilogue

  Extended Epilogue

  NEWSLETTER

  A MAN WHO KNOWS WHAT HE WANTS

  BRATVA BEAR SHIFTERS

  LAIRDS & LADIES

  RUSSIAN UNDERWORLD

  IRISH WOLF SHIFTERS

  About the Author

  THE CEO AND THE WEDDING PLANNER

  AN OLDER MAN YOUNGER WOMAN ROMANCE

  _______________________

  A MAN WHO KNOWS WHAT HE WANTS, 201

  FLORA FERRARI

  Copyright © 2020 by Flora Ferrari

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The following story contains mature themes, strong language and sexual situations. It is intended for mature readers.

  THE CEO AND THE WEDDING PLANNER

  I’m only supposed to be planning his sister’s wedding, but when I run into Mason Mackendale at the company he owns, I feel like my world is going to change forever. He’s a wealthy billionaire with silver-fox hair and a body that could make Adonis jealous and I’m an orphan who doesn’t know a thing about love and is living under a fake name.

  What could go wrong? Or maybe I should be asking what could go right?

  I don’t dare to think that this iron-haired alpha would want a thing to do with me. He’s a thirty-nine year old billionaire, routinely called one of the ‘Sexiest Men Alive’ in magazines. I’m a twenty-one year old wedding planner just happy that my best friend and mother figure, Gertrude, let me work at Eternal Bond without knowing the truth about my past.

  But when he tells me that I’m his and his alone, I find myself swept up in the primal passion. I know it’s dangerous and that eventually my past will catch up with me and blow everything to smithereens, but his possessive jealous lust is just too tempting to ignore.

  I’ve told myself countless times that I can’t get too close to people. I’ve done things in the past I’m not proud of. I’ve had to move cities, change my identity, and yet with Mason it’s like I’m finally discovering who I really am.

  So what if I’m a virgin? So what if I don’t know the first thing about love?

  Maybe it’ll turn out that Mason and I aren’t that different after all.

  But that’s only if Mason’s company, Spark, can get through the biggest PR screw-up in its history, all while I try and plan his sister Natalie’s dream wedding. But love and lust find a way, and ours is hell hot, so sultry that every time he lays his possessive dominant hands on me I feel powerless to resist.

  But what happens when he finds out who I really am, what I’ve done? What if I ruin his sister’s wedding? What if his company goes bust? What if this all blows up in my face?

  Maybe girls like me should just accept that Eternal Bond wasn’t made for us after all.

  *The CEO and The Wedding Planner is an insta-everything standalone instalove romance with a HEA, no cheating, and no cliffhanger.

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  CHAPTER ONE

  Mason

  “Do we have any idea who did this?” I snap.

  I stand at the window of our high rise office building, looking down upon the city, the skyscrapers, and then the streets laid out like ants’ huts.

  Everything looks so small up here, and even after over a decade in this business, I still have to remind myself that I earned this, I worked damn hard for it.

  I’m thirty-nine years old and one of the richest, most successful men in the world.

  Which makes failure all the more bitter.

  “Well?”

  I turn to find Natalia, my sister, and PR manager, with her hands laid on her lap and a patient expression on her face.

  In the old days, coming up, I’d been known to fly into rages when the business flagged. I had – have – a responsibility to my employees and investors. But age brings experience, and now I just let my rage seethe patiently.

  Natalie is not as tall as I am, but she is taller than most women, with a sophisticated way of holding her height. She has a bob of jet-black hair and dark-painted fingernails, matching her sleek suit.

  “We can’t find the culprit,” Mathewson mutters, my second-in-command.

  He winces when I turn my gaze to him. He’s been here since the beginning, too, and remembers how fury-filled I used to be.

  I’d had to be like that.

  You don’t become the leader of the pack without baring your teeth.

  “Keep looking,” I tell him.

  He nods, relaxing in his baggy blue suit. He has a thin mustache that he cultivates almost obsessively, and a crown of deep brown hair that is going patchy at the back, but his eyes are smart and incisive, the eyes of a man I can trust.

  “I will, Mason. You know I will.”

  I sigh and wander over to my desk, sitting down opposite my younger sister as Mathewson leaves us.

  “How bad is it?” I ask.

  Although I think I already know the answer.

  One of our cellphones spontaneously blew up on stage as I was giving a demo at a tech convention. Perhaps blew up is an exaggeration. It was more of a pop followed by a fizzle, with the on-screen projection wavering and then disappearing like a busted VHS tape.

  “It’s not good,” she says.

  “Is it salvageable? What the fuck are we supposed to say? Hello, folks, we’re the most cutting edge tech company in the world but we don’t even know why one of our phones malfunctioned.”

  “It’s only been a few hours, Mase,” Natalie murmurs quietly. “Give the diagnostics team a chance to work.”

  “I was on that production team myself, Nat,” I say. “There was nothing in that code that could’ve made it do that. No fucking chance. Which means it was something hidden, invisible. Which means we’re talking corporate goddamned sabotage.”

  “Relax,” she says, reaching over and giving my hand a quick squeeze. “There’s nothing we can do until we know for sure.”

  I groan, sitting back and closing my eyes, feeling my body pounding like a war-drum calling me to battle. I picture all the CEO’s of my rival companies, wondering which of them would have the stones to try some shit like this.

  “Mason,” Natalie says, pulling me out of my reverie.

  “Yes?” I reply, opening my eyes.

  “I said that unless you need something else, I need to go and get ready to meet with my wedding planners. Don’t worry, I’m just taking my lunch break to do i
t.”

  “You’re meeting them here?” I mutter, glancing out of the window, a cloud drifting by so close I feel as though I could reach out and touch it, the sky a sheet of unbroken blue apart from that blemish.

  “Busy, busy, busy,” she sings. “No time for a fancy bar halfway across town. What are you going to do?”

  “Well, I’ve got two choices. Sit here and seethe until the diagnostics team comes back to me, or go and hit the gym and beat my body into such an exhausted, fucked-up state that maybe some of this won’t seem so bad after all.”

  She laughs, shooting me a look.

  “I’d advise the latter.”

  “Yeah,” I grunt. “No shit. Alright, sis, go plan your dream day. How are they, anyway, the folks at Eternal Bond?”

  “Oh, they’re great,” she says. “It’s early days, but already Lyle and I are glad we went with a smaller shop. The owner, Gertrude, she’s such a sweetheart. She sort of reminds me of Mom.”

  “Hmm,” I mutter, not wanting to leap headfirst down that rabbit hole.

  She stands, head bowed a little as it always is when she mentions Mom and Dad.

  She reminds me of Mom.

  But Mom was gone by the time Nat was six years old. I doubt she even remembers much about her. But then I can’t blame her for trying to claw onto some sense of parenthood.

  Natalie leaves and I stand up, wandering across my open-plan office to the room that leads to my private changing and shower area. When I’m working three days in a row on a new project, it’s good to be able to sweat out my tiredness in the sauna ready for another round of business.

  I get changed into my gym gear and roll my shoulders as I leave my office, nodding to Jennifer, my receptionist, and ignoring the way she twirls her blonde curls and eyes me with what I guess is supposed to be a seductive gaze.

  I’m too damn busy for women, that’s the truth.

  And I’ve never been interested in the casual stuff so many CEO’s indulge in.

  When I think of a woman – in the abstract – it’s always with the knowledge that I’d only take one if I could put a child in her, claim her, make her mine.

  But that’s just pie-in-the-sky stuff.

  So many women have made it clear over the years that I could basically do what I wanted with them. An off-putting sentiment. But once you hit the billionaire mark, that’s how life works. But I don’t give a damn, not even slightly, not unless I feel … something when I look at her.

  I nod to my employees as I stroll to the rear of the office, where the gym is located. I don’t pause long enough to get drawn into any long conversations, because right now the only thing I want to talk to is a bench and a stack of weights big enough to cave in a jeep’s roof.

  I turn the corner that will lead to the final corridor when I stop mid-stride.

  There’s a woman walking toward me, a woman who for whatever reason has made me stop and just gaze at her, and just keep gazing until I feel the hammering in my chest morph from blinding rage to blinding something else.

  My manhood twitches as she slows her pace, watching me watch her, perhaps wondering why Mason Mackendale is glaring at her like she’s done something wrong.

  Her hair is a deep brown, but lighter in places, or maybe it’s the way it catches the light from the windows dotted all throughout the airy rooms. Her face is full and brimming with character, her oaken eyes sharp and yet somehow friendly. Her body – fuck – her body is a childbearing oasis, her white shirt doing nothing to hide the bulbous beauty of her breasts, her prim suit trousers hugging tight to the curvaceous glory of her hips.

  Savage thoughts enter my mind.

  Grab her, bend her over, take her by those hips and dominate her right here, pound her until your seed is gushing out of her pussy, and then paint those round cheeks with it.

  I’m stunned.

  I’m never normally a slave to carnal thoughts like this.

  But this sexy, young-looking, intelligent seeming woman has triggered something atavistically unstoppable inside of me.

  “Um, hello?” she says.

  She’s clearly saying it because I’ve been staring at her for what must be ten seconds now, wordlessly, maybe even salivating like the wild beast she’s threatening to turn me into.

  I need to put my seed in her.

  Jesus Christ, that thought comes quickly, and yet it thuds into me with the certainty of fire-hot truth.

  I need to tear those clothes off and sink my hands into her full-bodied sexiness, and then trail my come-slick manhood up her thigh until she’s wet enough to take me hard and deep right away.

  I thrust my hand out toward her, smirking.

  “Mason Mackendale,” I say. “I take it you’re new here?”

  It’s a big company and I don’t always have time to meet every single one of my thousand-plus employees.

  “I know who you are,” she says, giggling slightly. “I don’t work here. I’m just here to meet your sister, actually.”

  “You’re the wedding planner?” I ask as she takes my hand, soft and slightly sweaty.

  “Yes,” she says. “Well, assistant to the wedding planner. I’m Melody Smith.”

  Nerves dance across her features as she gives me her name.

  Fuck, what I’d give to lick those nerves away, one tongue stroke at a time.

  A silence hangs between us as my mind continues to assail me with primal take-her vignettes.

  I imagine her on her knees, unbuttoning that shirt slowly, revealing more and more of those bulbous creamy tits, and then I’d bring my come-soaked hot cock to her breasts and start fucking them like the sex goddess she is, pinching her nipples lightly as I push them together, tighter, closer, and then drive my manhood into those cute lips and explode until she gulps down every drop.

  But no.

  Would I truly waste a drop of my seed in her mouth, when she’s got a pussy so perfect for filling, where my seed could take root and flourish in that wide-hipped body, a body made for fucking and giving life?

  “How’s the planning going?” I say, having to force the words out.

  It takes all my self-restraint not to pounce on her like a jungle cat right here.

  “Oh, well enough,” she murmurs.

  I can scent her perfume in the air, and, underneath that, her just-her smell. It smells tangy and real, and so alluring my manhood won’t stop pulsing.

  “Natalie’s a great person to work with,” she says. “I mean, maybe a little indecisive at times, but that’s all part of the job … Oh, God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult your sister.”

  Her face flickers with mortification.

  I shake my head, moving closer to her, so close I could loop my arm around her waist and squeeze her round bouncy ass.

  “No, you’re right,” I say, with as light a chuckle as I can manage. “And I appreciate people who can speak their mind. It can get pretty boring having ‘Yes Men’ around you all the time.”

  “What about ‘Yes Women’?” she teases.

  “Well,” I growl. “It depends what you’re saying yes to.”

  A blush creeps into her cheeks, a gorgeous crimson, and for a few moments, I contemplate just kissing her right here, right now.

  I don’t give a damn if we’re surrounded by my employees.

  I don’t give a damn if it’d be unprofessional.

  But then her eyes widen and she glances behind me.

  “Oh, there’s my boss,” she says.

  I turn to find an elegant looking older lady glancing at us. She wears a knee-length black skirt with tights and a blazer that emphasizes her no-bullshit shoulders. Her hair is dignified silver and her eyes are sharp.

  “I’ll see you again, Melody,” I say, watching her walk down the corridor, the way the fabric clings to her ass almost causing me to erupt right here.

  I spin and quickly walk toward the gym, full of frenetic energy.

  Because if I don’t go and punish my body a thousand times over I’ll f
ollow Melody’s scent through the office and take her like the beast she’s turning me into.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Melody

  “You did very well today,” Gertrude says when we’re back in the Eternal Bond offices, a small boutique-style place on the other side of the city from Spark, Mason’s company.

  Gertrude leans back in her office chair, the walls surrounded with photos taken at the various weddings she’s planned over the years, the couples smiling and radiating happiness, and puts her hair into a ponytail.

  “Though there was that business, wasn’t there?” she says, shooting me one of her I-miss-nothing looks.

  “Business?” I say innocently, standing up and wandering over the window.

  It’s almost the end of the business day but the sunlight-dappled city is still as bustling as ever, the sidewalks packed shoulder-to-shoulder with pedestrians, horns blaring into the air like a siren song as the cars sit hood to taillight.

  “Before we went to meet Miss Mackendale,” Gertrude says, a smile in her voice.

  You evil old crone, I think, but really a note of endearment strikes in me.

  But it’s followed by a quiver of guilt.

  Gertrude doesn’t know the truth about me, so maybe it’s unfair that I look to her as a mother figure.

  Just because I never had a mother figure growing up – or a father figure for that matter – it doesn’t mean I should unfairly thrust that responsibility at her.

  I’m twenty-one years old now, for Pete’s sake, way past the age where I should still be longing for a mother. But if you’ve never had one, well, heck, it’s kind of hard to turn that instinct off.

  But what would Gertrude say if she learned I’d purchased fake identification when I came to this city to start my new life. If she knew what I was running from, who I was running from?

  I shiver, remembering that night, remembering the blood and the fear and the pain.

  “Melody?” she says, close to me now, her hand sinking softly into my shoulder. “Are you okay, dear?”

  “Yes, yes,” I say quickly, turning what I hope is a convincing smile to her. “Sorry. I was just thinking.”