“For today, yeah.”
“Cool. You want to go grab lunch or something? A business lunch,” he clarifies, lingering by the doorway.
I close my planner, ignoring the tug in my stomach declaring it’s past meal time. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”
“But you said we’re done for the day.”
“We’re done,” I motion between us. “But I still have other work to do. You’re not my only client.”
“Oh.” He only appears taken aback for a moment before he says, “Well, maybe I can help you.”
I give him a level look. “You want to help me?”
“Yeah.”
Why in the world would he do that?
“You think I’ll mess it up, don’t you?” he asks, sticking his hands in his pockets, a rueful smile on his face.
“What? No.”
“Fair assumption,” he shrugs. “I’ve never had a job.”
He’s trying his best to appear nonchalant, but it almost comes across as too casual. Does it mean more to him than he’s letting on?
“Are you asking for one?” I grin slyly, attempting to lighten the mood.
“What do you have for me?”
I chuckle, not sure if he’s serious or not, but I throw my hardest task out there anyway. “You know what I need? A garden sanctuary here in the city.” Freaking Danielle hasn’t let up on her request for the impossible, insisting I make it happen or she’ll be taking her business elsewhere. I’m tempted to tell her to go shove it. “It needs to allow kids and dogs, yet is somehow also private, upscale, and within a modest budget.”
“Hmm.” He leans against the doorframe, rubbing a hand over the stubble on his jaw. It makes a hypnotic rasping sound in the quiet of the office, my attention focused on him. “It has to be private?” he asks, pulling me out of my reverie.
“Yes,” I sigh, leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms over my chest. “Apparently that’s a necessity. The woman can’t have just anyone walking in on her child’s first birthday party.”
“Does she live in a building that has access to a garden?”
“Of course not.” I roll my eyes. “That would be too easy. And trust me, this lady could not afford a place like that.”
“Does it have a rooftop?”
“I think so.”
“You could bring the garden to her. Like you did for that wedding you worked on.”
He was actually paying attention to that? “That’s… that’s an amazing idea.” The gears in my head spin, imagining how we could transform her rooftop into a garden. Astroturf everywhere, huge potted plants and trees, garlands of flowers strung up. A green paradise along the city skyline. “Wait, no. That would be way too expensive. And I don’t have the staff to set that up.”
Denise hired ten guys to help with setup when we did that wedding, and the budget was way out of Danielle’s league.
“All right.” He mulls it over some more, and I’m just about to tell him he doesn’t seriously have to come up with a solution when he turns to me with a devilish smile. “They want exclusive? How about Worthington Place?”
My nose wrinkles. “That’s a little too elite. Only residents have access.” Only the ultra rich can afford one of the twelve apartments in that building smack dab in the middle of the Upper West Side.
“I know someone who lives there. And she owes me a favor.”
I sit up, at attention now. “Who?” The word comes out more demanding than I meant it to, but I can’t help it.
“Talia Doukas.”
The name takes a moment to click. The only daughter of a Greek shipping magnate, she’s regularly featured in the Manhattan Herald and set to inherit a lot of money. “What the hell kind of favor could you owe her?” The question slips out unintentionally before I realize that of course he personally knows someone like her. His family’s on the same level as hers.
He grins, not taking offense at my rudeness. “I set her and her husband up. They owe me their everlasting happiness.”
I stifle a smile. “I-” I shouldn’t accept his offer, right? It’ll put me in his debt. And make it look like I can get future customers into places I truly can’t. “Thank you, Gabriel. That’s incredibly generous of you, but I can’t have you cash in your favor for me.”
“Even if it would impress your clients beyond belief? And then they’d tell everyone about their amazing event planner and create a ton of business for you?”
I consider his words, tapping my fingers against the desk as I think it through. I need more business, and marketing has always been my weakness. I’d rather spend my time planning events than finding new customers. “Why would you go to the trouble of doing this for me?”
“You need help,” he says simply. “And I have connections. I can get you into most anywhere you want to go. I always know a guy who knows a guy. It costs me nothing other than my time, which I have plenty of. Let me help you.” I’m momentarily caught up in the blue of his eyes, shining with warmth. “Besides,” he continues, “you’re a damn good planner. You deserve the boost in business.”
My cheeks flush at his compliment. “Thank you. If you can make it happen…” I shrug helplessly. “That would be beyond amazing.” It really is too good of an opportunity to pass up.
“Leave it to me,” he grins. “I’ll reach out to her tonight and confirm it’s doable, then give you the details.”
He turns to go, almost to the main shop door before I call out to him from my office doorway he just vacated. “Thank you so much.”
“Your wish is my command.” He bends down low, waving his arm in some exaggerated manner, making an idiot of himself, and I hide a smile behind my hand, watching him exit and head down the street.
Chapter Five
Gabriel
“What do you mean you might not make it? This is my wedding.”
There’s a heavy pause from the other end of the line, then Connor’s hesitant reply. “I’m sorry, Gabe, I didn’t think it meant that much.”
“I’m just messing with you,” I grin, sidestepping Nadia, my housekeeper, as she dusts the living room. “Seriously, don’t worry about it. If you’re not able to fly out, I’ll catch you next time you’re in town.”
He lets out a relieved sigh. “I’ll try to be there, but I can’t guarantee it with such short notice.”
“It’s no big deal.” I mean, Connor’s my main ally within the family so it kind of is a big deal, but he doesn’t need to stress over this. “I’ll ask Archer to be my best man instead.”
“Think he’ll throw you a bachelor party? Strippers and the whole works?”
“Straitlaced Archer hiring strippers? There’s a better chance of him stripping himself.”
Connor lets loose a belly laugh, the sound making me wish all the more it’ll be him standing up there next to me. But I understand he has actual work to do, and with his project in the Philippines, he can’t easily drop everything and hop on a plane for one day.
Especially to something I don’t even want to attend myself.
“Oh, I’d pay to see that. Archer probably has some secret Magic Mike moves we don’t know about.”
“Probably,” I smile to myself, heading into the kitchen to check what’s in the fridge. Nadia stocks it for me every week and occasionally takes pity on me and leaves a home-cooked meal too. Alas, no such luck this time.
“Dad’s been riding my ass about getting this place up and running on time. And apparently, this project takes precedence over your wedding. No offense.”
“None taken.” Looks like Dad has his priorities right on some things at least.
“But I’ll do my best, I promise.”
“Thanks, Con.”
I hang up and toss a frozen meal in the microwave, scarfing it down before taking the town car over to Bishop Industries. I ride the elevator up to the fiftieth floor where Archer’s office is, leaning against the mirrored back wall, eyes trained on the camera in the upper left corner, a subtle reminde
r that Dad’s always watching.
No one calls me sir this time. In fact, two other people in the car don’t even seem to recognize me. So much for any perks that come with being the boss’s son.
Archer’s new secretary, a pretty young thing fresh out of college, straightens in her chair upon my arrival, her eyes raking me up and down. “Do you have an appointment with Mr. Bishop?” she asks in a bubblegum voice, flipping her hair over a shoulder.
Seriously, can no one identify the familial resemblance? Archer’s hair is a slightly lighter shade of brown compared to my practically black locks, but we’ve got the same blue eyes as Dad. Admittedly, his have a frosty, serious edge to them I’ve never been able to replicate, but still.
“I’m his brother,” I tell her, eyeing the nameplate on his office door. Chief Financial Officer. Archer’s got a fancy MBA and ten years invested in the company, starting at nineteen as a part-time intern.
No one ever asked me to intern, though.
Archer is the chosen one. The son set to take over Bishop Industries one day. But if Dad had taken my overtures to work for him seriously years ago, would I have a similar title by now?
“Oh, Connor? I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize you.”
My jaw automatically clenches before I consciously release it. “No, Gabriel.”
“There’s another brother?” Jesus, how new is this girl? “Let me see if he’s available.”
She picks up her phone, angling her body slightly away, as if I’m intruding on her privacy. “Mr. Bishop, your brother is here to see you.” There’s a pause and then she whispers, “No, not Connor. It’s Gabriel.” Another excruciating pause. “I don’t know what he wants.”
Well, shit. Why did I even bother coming?
She hangs up and turns back to me, a flirty smile on her face. “He’ll see you now.”
“Thanks,” I tell her dryly, passing by her desk to head into his office.
Sleek, minimalistic furniture in shades of black and chrome greets me as I walk in, throwing me off temporarily.
“Did you redecorate in here?” I ease down onto a surprisingly comfortable metal-framed couch with supple leather cushions and cross my legs, surveying my older brother. He doesn’t bother to look away from his computer monitor, squinting at something on the screen.
“I couldn’t stand Dad’s heavy oak stuff anymore.”
“Every real businessman has a solid wood desk,” I imitate gruffly, admittedly not as good as Connor can do it.
He glances at me in surprise, his expression almost like he wants to laugh but is unfamiliar with the idea. “What are you doing here?” he asks instead, leaning back in his chair and massaging the bridge of his nose. Though he’s only a year older than me, this job appears to have aged him.
I don’t bother giving him a sarcastic quip or glib remark, sensing he won’t find much humor in it. “Will you be my best man?”
His eyes go from tired to sharp in an instant. “I thought you’d ask Connor.”
“He can’t guarantee he’ll make it.”
“Right,” he murmurs, nodding his head slowly. “Uh, yeah, of course.” His gaze shifts to the calendar on the edge of his desk. “I’m honored.”
I hold back a snort. Yeah, right.
“When is the wedding?”
I shrug. “Within the next month or so. Have to make sure the deal goes through.”
He ignores my comment, asking, “What will I have to do?” He tugs at his tie, smoothing down the patterned fabric. “I’ve never been a best man before.”
“Your guess is as good as mine. This is all new to me too. Just get fitted for a tux and show up.”
“Okay.” He fiddles with the edge of his personalized stationery, then seems to catch himself, returning his hands in front of him. “So, about this woman you’re marrying…”
I wait to see if he’ll elaborate, but apparently that was the end of the sentence. “What about her?”
“Dad said we went to school with her, but I don’t remember her.”
I sigh. “You would’ve been two years ahead of her. They called her Ice Queen.”
A wrinkle forms between his dark brows. “Ice Queen?”
I shrug again. “She’s frosty.” Kind of like him actually, but I keep that thought to myself. “Barely says a word and doesn’t care about anybody.”
His frown deepens. “She doesn’t care about marrying into a billionaire family? Wasn’t this her idea?”
I shake my head before he’s finished speaking. “Her dad’s. She-” I cut myself off, refusing to admit she thought she’d be marrying him instead. “It’ll be fine. The marriage is in name only.”
His lips twist before he settles back into his normal default stoic expression. “I never imagined you’d marry like this. You and Connor…” he trails off directionless.
What’s up with him? Archer’s the cool and collected one, a firm decision in place for every aspect of his life. “What about you?”
He raises his gaze in surprise. “Me? I don’t plan on marrying.”
“You’re already married to your work,” I joke, but it falls flat.
He stares at me, his eyes turning that familiar frosty shade. “I am. And I have to get back to it now.”
“Right.” I stand, any kind of moment between us over. “Thanks for agreeing. Mackenzie will get in contact with you to set up a tux fitting.”
He waves his hand absent-mindedly. “Let Tracy know outside. She’ll handle the details.”
Will she, though? The girl didn’t even recognize me.
“See ya, Archie.”
I catch enough of his profile to see his lips thin. He hates being called that.
“Bye, Gabey.”
My mouth stretches in a broad grin that I hide from him as I make my way to the door, secretly enjoying him calling me the name Connor used when he was little.
Maybe there’s hope for Archer yet.
“So is this where the wedding will be?”
I gaze at the marble columns lining the center of the cavernous space, imagining Mackenzie’s blue and silver flowers wrapped around the bases, a runner serving as an aisle stretching up the length of the room toward the end where Serena and I will presumably be… married.
I swallow down the bile that rises, wishing I had a Tums or something. Maybe I’m developing acid reflux disease.
“Most likely not,” Mackenzie says, joining me in the center of the ballroom. “I’m still holding out hope for the Manhattan Haven Hotel. They bought out some other building and did a huge renovation. It’s supposed to be the hottest place to get married this year, even more than The Plaza, but I couldn’t make an appointment to even view it until two weeks from now.”
“And you waved that fancy Bishop name in front of them?”
“Of course I did,” she snorts. “It was the only reason I was able to squeeze us in to begin with.”
Up ahead, Serena wanders through the columns, a ghostly presence haunting the place with her light blonde hair and white dress.
“We’re just doing our due diligence in case Haven doesn’t work out,” Mackenzie continues. “So what do you think of this one?”
“Eh,” I shrug, glancing around at the formal interior. “It’s better than that church.”
“You mean St. Patrick’s Cathedral? F. Scott Fitzgerald was married there.”
“And look how that turned out. No, that was too fussy. Same with this place.”
She diplomatically doesn’t complain, but simply says, “Well, we need somewhere that can hold at least four hundred guests.”
Jesus Christ. Four hundred? Dad’s turning this into a circus. “Well, this whatever hotel you want will probably be fine.”
“If we can get it,” she murmurs. “Serena,” she calls out louder. “I have to take a picture of you two.”
“What?” she asks, drifting back toward us.
“Mr. Bishop wants photos of you both doing wedding things to post online.”
&nbs
p; “Um, okay.” She seems to shrink in on herself and I mentally sigh, walking up next to her to slip my arm around her waist.
She immediately stiffens, recoiling at my touch. “Wh- What are you doing?” She gapes at me like I just groped her.
I back off, holding my hands up in front of me. “It was for the photo. I didn’t think it was that big of a deal.” I glance at Mackenzie for confirmation. I’m not totally in the wrong here, right?
She watches Serena, a line between her brows. “You realize Gabriel will be your husband,” she says kindly. “He’ll have to touch you at some point.”
Serena’s bottom lip trembles, her gaze darting back and forth between the two of us, as if we’re ganging up on her.
“I won’t put my hand on you again today,” I tell her, approaching slowly. “I’ll just stand here next to you and Mackenzie will take a candid shot of us by the column.”
She nods hesitantly, turning her body, mouth firm now.
I stand by her side, watching Mackenzie out of the corner of my eye hold up her iPhone and snap a pic. Now, if it was her I was marrying, I bet there would have been no problem sliding my hand around her waist, tugging her into my side, her gardenia-laced scent surrounding me. She’d angle herself toward me, reaching up to tug my head down, my lips meeting hers in a hot-
“Gabriel?”
Mackenzie’s voice snaps me back to the present and I avoid her eye, not wanting her to sense the direction of my thoughts. Where did that come from?
“We’re ready to go,” she continues, gesturing to the exit.
“Right,” I mumble, walking past her to hold the door open, spotting Serena up ahead at the curb, stepping into the front passenger seat of the waiting town car, as far from us as possible. How am I going to marry this woman if she freaks out at a simple touch? When I kiss her at the altar, will she get sick all over me?
Mackenzie walks beside me toward the car, whispering, “I don’t think you did anything wrong.”
I nod, something easing in me at her validation.
The vehicle is silent for the first few minutes as we make our way to the next stop, my leg unable to quit jiggling until I forcibly put my hand over my knee. “So what’s this caterer like?”
Resisting the Billionaire Page 5
