“Well, she specializes in gastropub fare like you requested, and has rave reviews on every rating site for events I’ve seen.”
I don’t admit that I actually have no idea what gastropub means, I just thought it sounded cool when she asked what kind of cuisine I wanted for the wedding.
Serena stays mute from her spot in the front seat, staring out the window morosely. God, sometimes I want to shake her. Does she think this is a picnic for me over here?
“The short ribs especially are to die for, apparently. Kinsley created two different sample menus for us to try based on what’s popular for other weddings she’s catered.”
“Sounds good.” My stomach gives a soft rumble and Mackenzie peeks over, a small smile on her face, but doesn’t say anything.
“Tomorrow we have a few other venues to check out as just in cases. The Altman Building, Gotham Hall, and Metropolitan West,” she ticks off on her fingers.
There’s a heavy sigh from the front seat and I resist the urge to reach up there and strangle her. “Mackenzie’s gone to a lot of trouble to set all these tours up,” I say quietly, but I get no reply before we pull up to a storefront with a pale yellow awning, Kinsley’s Kitchen in scripted letters on the windows.
We’re shown in by a genial woman with a food-stained apron over her round belly, but I can’t fault her over the lack of decorum because it smells freaking delicious in here.
“It’s so nice to meet you, Mr. Bishop,” she beams, shaking my hand excitedly. “I’m Kinsley, the owner here. Congratulations on your engagement.”
“Thank you,” I tell her as sincerely as I’m able, even as my eye twitches. “I hear good things about your food.”
“You’ve heard about my food?” she asks in awe, holding a hand to her chest.
I mean, it was five minutes ago in the car, but yeah. “Can we try some?”
“Of course, of course.”
She introduces herself to Mackenzie, who returns her enthusiastic handshake professionally, and Serena, who eyes her stained apron warily as she daintily shakes her hand.
We’re led past a front shop area where it looks like she sells takeout and into a back room filled with professional stainless steel kitchen equipment. Another woman dressed in a chef’s coat is sauteing some mix of vegetables on a stovetop that smells divine, while a man carefully chops onions in the corner, occasionally wiping at his eyes.
“Mackenzie asked me to set up a sampling of some of our most popular items, so that’s what we have here.” She gestures to a buffet of foods and my stomach rumbles again in anticipation. Damn, this stuff looks good. “These are lamb sliders with garlic tzatziki sauce, red wine-braised short ribs, and hoisin beef wraps with sesame dressing. For sides, I’ve prepared truffle bacon mac and cheese, buffalo style sweet potato waffle fries, and lemon parmesan grilled asparagus. We also offer something unique here - a soup flight which has become one of our most requested dishes.”
“Shots of soup?” I ask, eyeing the small glasses.
“Essentially, yes,” she laughs. “Though we do provide a spoon. These three are lobster bisque with lemongrass essence, roasted cauliflower cream with cumin, and Caribbean chicken.”
Okay, my mouth is practically salivating now.
“I’ll be over at the ovens preparing a catering order we have for later today, so holler if you have any questions.”
I don’t waste time digging in, those sliders calling my name. I love tzatziki sauce. I take a big bite, stuffing half the thing down my throat in one go, and immediately want to weep tears of joy. “We’re hiring her.”
“Mmm, I agree.”
I glance over at Mackenzie as her tongue slips out to lick up a drop of sauce on her lower lip. I’m captivated, powerless to look away as she does it a second time, but when her eyes shift toward mine, the spell is broken.
I wasn’t staring at her, just… looking in her general direction.
“What do you think Ser-” Mackenzie stops mid-word as we both finally take notice of Serena, a slight green tint to her already pale expression. “Are you okay?”
She quickly nods, even as she presses a hand to her belly like she might be sick at any moment.
“Did you try something bad?” I ask. “The beef wraps?” We haven’t eaten those yet.
“No,” she says, eyeing the food cautiously. “I don’t eat meat.”
An awkward silence descends on our small group.
“What?”
“I’m a vegetarian.”
“Why didn’t you tell me when I asked if you had any requests for the wedding meal?” Mackenzie asks softly. I wouldn’t attempt such diplomacy if I was her. That’s a huge stipulation. Something that our planner needs to know.
Serena’s gaze darts between us again, the same way it did at the venue earlier, like we’re ganging up on her. Give me a break already.
She hitches her purse higher on her shoulder, clutching at the strap as she steps away from the polished stainless steel table. “Don’t worry about me. I probably won’t even eat at the wedding,” she chuckles nervously. “I, um- I have to go.”
I don’t bother calling out to her to stay. What’s the point?
Kinsley rushes over as Serena disappears through the door to the front area. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I tell her, spooning up a bite of mac and cheese. “Are you able to make any of these meat dishes with some kind of faux soy meat or something too? In case vegetarians attend the wedding?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Great. We’re just going to finish up here.”
“Take your time.”
She leaves the two of us alone to try the other dishes, Mackenzie a bit glum as she knocks back a shot of the cauliflower soup.
“Forget about her,” I tell her, taking another bite of creamy, cheesy noodles. “She’s ridiculous.”
“She’s my client. I have to make her happy.”
“She’s fine with us handling all the details. Kinsley will cook some weird tofu dish for her and everything will be good. Now try some of this mac and cheese.”
I reach my fork out to her, but instead of grabbing it like I expected, she simply leans forward, letting me feed it to her.
She seems to realize what she’s done as soon as her pink lips close over the tines, freezing in place as she looks up at me with wide eyes.
She hastily retreats, wiping at the corner of her mouth. “I’m not sure why I did that,” she chuckles nervously.
“It’s fine,” I rush to say, unable to get the image of her reaching forward to envelop something else between her lips out of my head. I never noticed before today how her top lip is ever so slightly fuller than the bottom. I can’t recall kissing a woman with a mouth like that.
I clear my throat, glancing down so I won’t stare at it. “Uh, what’d you think?”
She stares at me hesitantly.
“Of the food, I mean. The macaroni.”
“Oh,” she flushes. “It was delicious.” She turns away, popping a seasoned waffle fry in her mouth. “Her secret ingredient must be crack or something.”
She slides the plate over to me, the tension breaking.
“I thought wedding meals were always dry chicken or fish.” I sip at the lobster bisque, better than I’ve had at any five-star restaurant.
“I honestly didn’t realize it would be quite like this. But well worth it. I might have to come here for takeout sometime.”
I’d hire this lady as my personal chef if I could.
“You don’t…” she starts hesitantly. “You don’t think your dad will be mad about booking Kinsley, do you? It’s not exactly elegant fare.”
“Who the hell cares? It’s my wedding. And since we’re the only ones who care enough to try the food, I say we get to pick.” I down another lamb slider, dipping it in extra tzatziki sauce. “If he has an issue with it, blame me.” He’s used to blaming me for everything anyway.
She nods and we continue to devour wh
at Kinsley’s laid out for us, deciding on a thoroughly non-elegant selection of foods, along with some on her menu we haven’t tried. But even sight unseen, I don’t believe the woman could cook anything bad.
And if some guest’s fancy attire is ruined by a stray drop of barbecue sauce, that’s their own fault. The usual business acquaintances will be there, but it’s not like I invited them. I purposely didn’t add to the guest list at all. This is Dad’s gig, not mine.
Anyone that knows me has to see this is all a sham, even if I can’t tell them outright. A mockery of marriage. Not that I necessarily buy into the sanctity of the whole institution, but if I were to pick someone to spend the rest of my life with, it wouldn’t be the girl who gets sick at the sight of short ribs. The Ice Queen.
It would be a woman who warms me up.
I stare at Mackenzie from across the room, talking now to Kinsley. She’s gushing about the food, going over the logistics of hiring her for the wedding. She pulls out her planner she keeps lugging around, everything scheduled out to the last napkin at the table settings in there.
Maybe I could have hired her long ago to plan my life a little better. Then I wouldn’t be in this mess.
Chapter Six
Mackenzie
I pull another tissue out of the box, wiping at my nose as I scan through my emails. Mrs. Daniels wants to change the cake design for her husband’s sixtieth birthday party, a woman is interested in a consultation for her wedding in six months, and thank God I pleased Danielle with my suggestion of using the private garden at Worthington Place. Gabriel was true to his word and got the okay from his friend. I could kiss him for that.
Wait, that came out wrong. I mean, I’m just grateful.
I close my eyes as that familiar tingle of a sneeze coming on creeps up, frantically grabbing for another tissue to contain it.
“You look awful.”
I glance up, Gabriel’s broad frame filling my office doorway in a slate gray button-up that sets off the black of his hair. “You’re early.”
He pulls his phone out of his pocket to check the display. “No, I’m on time.”
My eyes zero in on the lower corner of my laptop, taking a moment to focus since my head’s pretty fuzzy. He’s right. Where did the last hour go? Did I space out that much? “Um, just give me a sec.” I close my planner on the desk in front of me and reach for my purse on the floor, wincing as the movement sends a sharp ache through my head. When is that cold medicine I took going to kick in? Or did I actually take it?
I dig through my bag, finding the package unopened. A groan escapes me as I realize I’ve been suffering needlessly all this time.
“What’s wrong with you?” He takes a step forward till he’s at the edge of my desk and leans in to lay the back of his hand against my forehead.
My eyes flutter shut at the coolness of his skin. Oh, blessed relief.
“You’re burning up. Mackenzie, what are you doing here?”
His admonishment doesn’t hold quite the same effect it would at any other time. I’m just too tired to care much at the moment. “What do you mean?” I surreptitiously run a hand under my nose where it’s leaking a little. “I’m working.”
He steps back, crossing his arms over his chest. The action serves to make his biceps pop. No, I can’t handle that right now. “You’re sick. You should be home in bed resting.”
I sigh, rolling my shoulders gingerly. There must be an anvil attached to them with how much they ache. “I’ll be fine,” I tell him, giving a half smile, even as my cheeks strain with the effort. “I’m totally ready to go pick out a tux with you.” As soon as I can summon the strength to get out of this chair.
He shakes his head emphatically. “We’re not going anywhere. Except back to your apartment. Come on, I’ll take you home. The town car’s just outside.”
I waver for a moment, the thought of returning home and sleeping practically making me break out in full body goosebumps with how good it sounds, but I have to regretfully decline. “I can’t. I have too much to do.” At least if he refuses to go get fitted for a tux today, that clears up some of my schedule.
“You can’t work yourself into the ground,” he insists.
“There’s no one else to do it.” One thing I’ve discovered in owning my own business is there are no sick days. It would put me too far behind or have me lose clients. I already work weekends too.
“I’ll take care of it.”
I stare at him, not sure I heard him right. “What?”
“I’ll do whatever’s so important you can’t spend one day recuperating.” He picks up my planner, my fingers itching to grab it back from him. I don’t let anybody touch my planner. Ever.
“I appreciate your offer, but this is my business. My livelihood.”
He narrows his eyes. “I bet you can barely stand right now.”
I rise above the urge to prove him wrong, staying seated. It was already an ordeal making it here this morning.
“Do you think your clients want to see you like this? Death warmed over?”
My fingers skim the side of my face. If he points out the dark circles under my eyes from tossing and turning all night or how the skin under my nose is peeling from wiping it constantly, I can’t be responsible for any harm that may befall him.
I avoided Diana earlier, knowing she’d probably give me grief, but I didn’t expect this from him.
“Really, I’m-” I pause as a hacking cough escapes me. I desperately try to hide it in the crook of my elbow, but I’m not fooling anyone.
“Let me help you.”
I glance over at him, his sincerity the final nail in the coffin. “Okay,” I murmur, unsure how to cede control. What if he ruins everything? Runs all my clients off and makes Sweet Events look incompetent?
“You can trust me,” he says wryly, reading all my worries on my face.
Another sneeze lets loose and I grab a tissue, taking my time formulating a response. “I’ve never had anyone help before. I can’t afford an assistant or anything.”
“My services are pro bono.” He eyes the small gap between the desk and wall I normally squeeze through to sit down. Yeah, his big body will never fit through there.
I get up slowly, taking his arm as he offers it to me, wishing my nose wasn’t so stuffy so I can inhale that cologne of his. I’ve never been great at identifying scents so I can’t tell what it’s in it, but it’s rich, masculine - and something wholly Gabriel.
“What have you done in the last two days?” he asks as he leads me out to his waiting town car. “Skinny dipped in a vat of viruses?”
Ha ha.
I sink into the leather backseat of the car, my eyes briefly closing in relief. “It really just hit me last night. Hopefully, it’s only one of those twenty-four hour bugs.”
“Hopefully. So where am I taking you?”
I give him my address, catching the barest raise of his brows, but he doesn’t comment on my new part of town, instead opening up my planner to ask what the most important things are that need to be taken care of.
“Um…” I struggle to remember as the car’s rhythmic motion begins to lull me to sleep. “Call Bewitching Bridal and reschedule our appointment.”
“You were taking me to a bridal shop?”
“They sell men’s attire too.”
“Okay, what else?” He flips through the planner, turning to today’s date. “Who’s Mrs. Woods?”
“Her husband’s retirement party is next week. I just need to… need to…” I yawn loudly, the energy I expended this morning trudging into work finally catching up to me. “Finalize some details,” I finish, resting my head against the cool window.
The next thing I know, we’re in front of my apartment building, Gabriel gently nudging me off his shoulder. Oh my God, did I move in my sleep and rest on him? And is that a wet spot on his expensive dress shirt? Please tell me I didn’t drool on him.
I look up into his smiling eyes. Oh yeah, he definitely k
nows what I did. “Let’s get you inside.”
He helps me out of the car and leads me in after I unlock the lobby door, glancing around. “No doorman? No attendant?”
I shake the cobwebs from my head. “No.”
“No elevator?”
“Nope.”
I start up the stairs, him trailing close behind, seeing the awful surroundings through his eyes. Paint peeling off the walls, the handrail sticky in places with who knows what, the two empty beer cans we have to step over on the second floor landing.
Not exactly setting the best impression.
“What floor are you on?”
“The top.”
He groans. “Are you kidding me? Why would you do that to yourself?”
“Rent’s cheaper,” is all I say, every step harder than the last.
I’m breathing heavily by the time we reach the seventh landing, and it takes me a solid minute to fish my keys out of my purse again. I keep having to lean against the wall so I don’t fall over, and it’s not until he steadies me by the shoulders that I’m fully able to open the creaky door.
Normally, I’d be embarrassed at the small studio space, always mentally comparing it to my parents’ sprawling house in Granville, Ohio, but today, I can’t muster the energy. God only knows how his apartment looks in comparison.
“Thank you, Gabriel.” I settle on the couch, suspecting I won’t be getting up for a long time as my eyelids get heavy. “Don’t worry about the planning stuff. I’ll figure it out later. Just note what Mrs. Woods wants and send it to me. Her contact info is in the back of the planner.”
“Mackenzie, relax.” He takes a few steps to the right into the kitchen area, searching through the cabinets to find a glass, and fills it with water. He brings it to me, setting it on the small ottoman. “I’ve got it covered.”
“Thanks,” I murmur one more time, unable to resist the urge to lie down. I snuggle into the soft material of my pillow as the gentle weight of my throw blanket descends upon me, easing me further into dreamland.
The last thing I remember is a tender stroke along my cheek, tucking my hair back behind my ear, but maybe that’s just my imagination.
Resisting the Billionaire Page 6
