No, I’m her tenant. After striking out on my own last year and creating my event planning business, I discovered I wasn’t quite as ready to go solo as I believed. The money I’d saved quickly dwindled under Manhattan’s sky-high real estate prices for office space, and what I thought was an investment in my business turned out to be a nightmare when I had to break the lease. Let me tell you, they don’t make it cheap to get out of those.
“I like helping,” I answer, knowing she needs it now more than ever. She recently had to let go of the part-time retail associate that normally runs the register.
When she confessed to me one night that the florist shop she inherited from her father was struggling, I jumped on the chance to rent out the small office in the corner of her store, bringing her some much needed cash-flow and providing me with a deeply discounted space to meet with clients compared to what I was paying before. Plus, events and flowers go hand in hand. It’s a win-win for both of us.
“And I have good news.”
She grabs my shoulders, her dark eyes sparkling. “You booked the wedding?”
I nod and she pulls me into a hug, squeezing me tight. “That’s so awesome. I told you going out last night would relax you enough to do an amazing job.”
I’d been a nervous wreck yesterday after receiving the call from Mr. Bishop’s secretary that he wanted to consult with me about a wedding for his son. Apparently, my former boss had recommended me when she was approached about handling it, only because she happens to be eight and a half months pregnant right now and can’t take on any new clients.
I swear, once I receive my first check, I’ll send her the biggest baby shower gift basket she’s ever seen.
The bell over the shop door rings and she lets go of me, turning to sign for a package from the cute delivery guy she’s been flirting with for the better part of a year.
I take the opportunity to slip into my makeshift office, sighing as I squeeze behind the desk to sit down, missing the larger space I used to rent, the coffee shop around the corner where they knew my order, the status of having my own place. The furniture I bought for my original office is way too big for this cramped area, but I can’t afford to get rid of it. It was expensive for starters, and who knows, I could have my own big office again someday. This wedding will put me on the map for future business.
My phone vibrates in my purse and I fish it out, spotting Mom’s face on the screen. For once, I’m glad she called. I actually have good news for a change, rather than having to pretend things are going better than they truly are.
“Mom, hi.” I wedge the phone between my ear and shoulder as I boot up my laptop and open the spreadsheets I’ve meticulously created detailing all my wedding industry contacts. I need to put together a range of options for Serena and Gabriel to choose from tomorrow.
“You’re not busy, are you, sweetie?”
I stifle a sigh, not sure why she bothers calling when she thinks she might be interrupting. “I have a few minutes. What’s up?”
“Well, your father and I were talking.” My stomach dips unpleasantly. The bubbly excitement in her voice can’t mean anything good for me. “And we’d love to take a trip out to New York to see you!”
“What?” I immediately dial down the panic, adopting a more nonchalant tone. “You really don’t have to do that. You were just here last year.” They helped me set up everything in my new office… the one they think I still rent. The nice, luxurious one that you don’t bang your knees and elbows on every day trying to navigate.
“We haven’t seen you since then. I know you were busy over the holiday season and couldn’t visit, so we figured we’d come to you.”
Guilt courses through me at the reminder I lied to them about why I didn’t come for Christmas. It wasn’t that I was too busy with work. It was that I was dead broke and in the process of vacating both my old office and the apartment I could no longer afford. The place I’m living in now is a real dump in comparison, but beggars can’t be choosers.
“Mom, that’s so sweet of you, but I don’t know. I’m so… busy,” I end with lamely.
“We won’t be in your hair, I promise,” she brushes me off with a laugh. “We’ll do some sightseeing, maybe catch a show, and just touch base with you a few times.”
Her cosmopolitan act doesn’t fool me. She and Dad have never caught a show in their life. That kind of entertainment isn’t available in their small town in Ohio.
I bite my lip, wondering if I should finally confess, then decide against it. I don’t want to destroy the image of the successful businesswoman they have of me. I need that dream to stay alive for someone, need their faith in me. It’s what spurs me on most days.
“I’ll make it home for Christmas this year. No excuses.”
She makes a clucking sound. “That’s over seven months away. I have to see my baby before then.”
I snort. “Your baby? I’m twenty-six years old.”
“You’ll always be my baby.”
An email notification pops up in the lower right hand area of my screen, and I have to stifle a groan. “Mom, I’m sorry, but a client just contacted me.”
“No problem, honey. I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Oh, before you go, I landed a big wedding today. The son of a billionaire. It’ll be a huge paycheck for me and I’ll finally be able to pay back some of the money you lent me.”
“That was a gift. You don’t owe us anything.”
The kindness in her voice intensifies the guilt. “I’d still like to. Love you, Mom.”
“Love you.”
I hang up and open the email from Danielle and her latest suggestions of things she wants for her son’s first birthday party in a few weeks. Face painter. Balloon artist. A private garden in the city.
The first two I can make happen, but the third? Where does she think I’m going to get access to one of the few private parks in Manhattan? The building she lives in certainly doesn’t have one, and what she’s paying me won’t buy entry to one either.
I rub at my temples, mentally crafting a reply that strikes a tone between I’ll do my best to make it happen and Lady, you’re out of your damn mind.
What I need to be focusing on is tomorrow’s meeting. That’s where the real money lies. A way to save my business and get me back on track.
Thank God Gabriel didn’t hold my rejection of him at the bar against me. But also thank God I had rejected him. I can only imagine what kind of clusterfuck that’d be if I’d slept with the groom.
I’d never be stupid enough to do that.
Chapter Three
Gabriel
“I hear congratulations are in order.”
I grimace, glad Connor can’t see my face over the phone. “You heard that from halfway around the world?”
“Word spreads fast.” I can just imagine him grinning, his blue eyes crinkled cheerfully at the corners. He’s never let a day get him down.
“And who broke the oh so joyous news to you?”
I set my phone down on the marble bathroom counter and put it on speakerphone while I run a comb through my hair. Wouldn’t want to look bad for Macken- I mean Serena.
“Dad told me during our weekly check-in. He wanted an update on how the new call center is doing here, and at the end he tacked on a gruff Gabriel’s engaged to Serena Montague to make the buyout go smoother,” he says in a pitch-perfect imitation of Dad.
I laugh at his impression, because otherwise I might sob at the reminder I’ll be married soon. “Yep. That about sums it up.”
“So you were sacrificed for the cause?”
Sacrificed is a good word. Lets me play up the martyr angle more. “I’m trying not to think about it too much,” I tell him. “It’ll be bad enough when the day comes.”
“Maybe you’ll fall madly in love with her,” he jokes, but it falls flat on my ears.
“Not likely, buddy. She’s got the hots for Archer.”
“What?”
I sigh
. Once again, I just don’t measure up to my older brother. At least my younger one isn’t in competition right now from the Philippines. Well, not for any potential brides anyway.
“She made it pretty clear she thought it was him she’d be marrying, not me.” I’m not taking it too personally, but it’s still a kick in the nuts.
“Sorry, man.” His voice holds genuine sincerity, the same way Mom used to sound. “What did Archer say?”
“I don’t think he knows. And don’t tell him.” The whole thing’s embarrassing enough as it is.
“Why not?”
“Because he either won’t care and it’ll be awkward, or then he’ll be the martyr and I’ll somehow get blamed for it. Besides, Dad’s probably saving him for someone richer.”
“Yeah?” he laughs. “Then who does he have in mind for me?”
I rack my brain for a girl we went to prep school with. Connor was a sophomore when I was a senior, so there has to be someone. “How about Amanda Harcourt?” Her father was a network executive at NBC back in the day, and I’m sure he’s only moved up the ranks since then. “Then we’d have the media on our side.”
“Now you’re thinking strategically. It’s actually a little scary.”
I chuckle, slightly miffed that he thinks I’m incapable of strategy, but I know he doesn’t mean anything by it.
I take him off speakerphone and head back out into the living room, grabbing a water bottle out of the fridge for the road. “Listen, I need to get going. I have a meeting with the wedding planner.”
“All right. But seriously, congratulations. I hope you and Serena can make the best of a crappy situation.”
God, that’s so like him to stay optimistic. Every good part of Mom rubbed off on him. It’s why I make sure to keep in touch with him, no matter where he is in the world.
It’s a little ironic that I’m closer with the brother that’s over eight thousand miles away rather than the one who lives literally a floor above me, but Archer’s always been the reserved one.
And too much like Dad.
“See you, kid.”
I head down to my waiting town car, my driver, Davis, idling at the curb, and sit restlessly in the back as traffic crawls along. Doesn’t matter what time it is, there’s always something holding up the road here. Not that it matters to me. I normally have nothing to do and all day to do it, as Dad likes to remind me.
But today, I actually do have something important. My meeting with the sexy brunette. The one with the mouth that says the most unexpected things, so at odds with her girl next door appearance.
I smirk, remembering how I’d caught her staring at me in the conference room. How she’d blushed prettily and averted her eyes, mortified to be busted, even as she acted mad about it. She deserved it, though, after all the grief she gave me. But that doesn’t matter. She’s only to look at, not touch. Not now that I’m engaged.
I snort to myself. What a bunch of bullshit.
We pull up in front of a florist shop, and I almost think Davis got the address wrong until I see a small sign off to the side labeled Sweet Events.
She doesn’t have her own space?
I thank him and walk inside the shop, the perfume of flowers hitting me instantly. Whoa, head rush.
Her friend from the bar looks up from her spot behind the counter, a question in her eyes as she tries to place me. Mackenzie must not have told her what happened yesterday then.
“What can I help you with today?” she asks as I pause to sniff a bouquet of red roses, their petals velvety soft.
“I’m here to meet with Mackenzie.” I stroll around, taking in the different floral arrangements. She’s got an eye for creating unique combinations that work well together.
“Oh,” she brightens. “Her office is right this way.” She indicates toward a door on the west side of the shop with Sweet Events emblazoned on the glass. Inside, Mackenzie is focused on something in front of her on her desk, chewing on the end of her pen. “Are you planning a party?”
“A wedding.”
“Well, you’re in good hands with her.” She continues smiling, but as she tilts her head slightly, it’s like I can see the beginnings of suspicion swirl behind her eyes. She recognizes me, she just doesn’t know how.
“I’ll take it from here, Diana,” Mackenzie says, standing in the doorway to her office now in a purple knee-length dress that highlights her luscious figure.
I mean, just a normal figure. There’s nothing in particular I’m noticing about her body. Not the way the material of her dress clings to her. Or how good that color looks on her. And definitely not that slightest peek of cleavage.
“Mr. Bishop,” she greets me professionally as I pass her to take a seat in the chair across from her desk. “I trust you were able to find the place okay?”
“My driver found it fine,” I grin, glancing around at how she has her private area decorated. A table and two chairs are crammed into the corner by the window looking out at the street, with just enough space in between that and her desk for her to maneuver her way behind it to take a seat. “Your office is quite… cozy.”
She gives me a fake smile reminiscent of the one I gave her yesterday. “Yes, I like to create an intimate atmosphere with my clients. Intimate as in close, not… sexual.” She closes her eyes briefly in chagrin before opening them to glare at me, daring me to say something about it.
“Dad hasn’t seen this place, has he?”
“He has not,” she says primly, shuffling a few papers on her desk.
“All right, just so we’re clear here, I’m not ratting you out or taking away your gig or anything like that. I’m on your side.”
Her shoulders drop, the tightness in her lips relaxing. “It’s homey. Because I give such personalized attention…” She trails off when she sees I’m not buying it, releasing a lengthy sigh. “I’m aware it’s too small, okay? But I can’t-” She cuts herself off, clamming up.
“You can’t what?”
“Nothing.” She grabs a binder from the edge of her desk, opening it to reveal fabric samples of what looks like tablecloths.
“You can’t…” I muse, trying to figure out what she was going to say. “You can’t get a bigger place because… you’re secretly in debt to a Mafia boss.” Her lips twitch. “Because you spend all your money on gadgets secretly fighting crime at night?” She rolls her eyes, leaning back in her chair.
I snap my fingers. “Or maybe just because rent is so goddamn high in this city?”
She gives me a reluctant half-smirk. “I bet you don’t have to worry about that.” Immediately, she appears to bite her tongue. “I’m sorry. That was unprofessional.”
I shift in my seat, appreciating her apology just as much as I wish it wasn’t needed to begin with. “It’s the truth.”
“There’s something about you that makes my mouth go off script,” she mutters to herself, opening her planner and flipping to today’s date.
I resist the urge to tease her that I can get it working right again, instead opting to inform her, “Well, this wedding should have you rolling in it, huh? The paycheck you net should get you a bigger office for sure.”
She nods hesitantly. “That’s the plan.”
I stretch out as best as I can, the cramped space not leaving much room for my legs. It doesn’t help that I pushed myself a little too far at the gym this morning. “So why a florist shop in the meantime?”
She eyes me, as if she can’t tell if she can trust me or not. I admit, it’d totally be Dad’s style to send a spy here to see how she really operates. After all, this wedding will likely cost him a pretty penny based on the guest list alone.
“I don’t talk to my father if I can help it,” I confess after a moment of silence. “You saw what he’s like.” She nods again, the barest flicker of sympathy in her eyes, and I continue, “Anything you tell me won’t get back to him. And I have no say in any of this. I’m not really the one who’s your client.”
S
he straightens her laptop in front of her, aligning it with the edge of the desk, and blows out a breath. “I struck out on my own last year after learning the ropes from Denise. And as you said, rent in this city… I thought apartments were bad, but office space? Forget it.” She shrugs her shoulders in a helpless way that sends a pang through me. “I couldn’t lie to myself anymore… or my credit cards. I had to give up my office. Diana’s business was struggling too, so I lease space from her now for a fraction of the cost of what I paid before. Our businesses pair well together and we can send clients each other’s way. It’s a win-win.”
I nod, everything she’s saying making sense. “You seriously need more room in here, though. My legs are dying.” I try to cross them at the knee, but only manage to nearly topple myself over. “At least get a new desk. This thing is too big in here.”
Her lips twist, running a hand over the dark wood. “It’s the only one I have. And it worked nicely before.”
“Well, this is now.”
“I’ll work on it,” she mumbles, glancing away. Ah, shit. I didn’t mean to make her feel ashamed.
A knock on the door has me turning around, spotting Serena’s pale face, unenthused to be here. Spare me already.
“I wasn’t sure I had the right place at first,” she murmurs hesitantly, taking the seat directly next to me.
“This is where the magic happens,” Mackenzie says brightly, spreading her arms out. “And we’ve got a lot to decide on today, so now that you’re both here, we can get to it.” She opens a notebook in front of her, some kind of checklist on the first page. “Did either of you get a chance to go through the consultation list I included in your folders?”
She eyes us knowingly, and Serena shifts uncomfortably in her seat. She didn’t even take the damn folder with her.
But contrary to everyone’s expectations of me, I plan on keeping everybody on their toes with this wedding. I pull the form out of my breast pocket, smoothing it out before handing it to her. “Here you go.”
Her eyes widen, the first genuine smile I’ve seen from her spreading across her face. “Gabriel, this is wonderful,” she says as she flips it over to scan the back too. “I’m very impressed.”
Resisting the Billionaire Page 3
