Resisting the Billionaire

by Allie Winters

  And after that, it’s lights out.

  I open my eyes the next morning, more refreshed than I thought I’d be. And judging by the light coming through the windows, it’s a lot later than I normally wake up too.

  I sit up in my bed, stretching my arms above my head, then stop mid-stretch. Wait, didn’t I fall asleep on the couch? And am I wearing pajamas?

  I look over to my turned over crate I’m using as a makeshift nightstand to find my phone charging. I definitely don’t remember doing that. I check the time, doing a double take when I realize it says Thursday instead of Wednesday.

  Did I sleep through a day and a half?

  No, no, no. I scramble out of bed, wincing as my body screams it’s still not quite recovered, the sinus pressure in the middle of my forehead giving off a dull ache.

  I search through my purse by the couch for the unopened box of medicine and pop two pills, downing the glass of water still on the ottoman. Next to it is a half-eaten bowl of chicken noodle soup I have no recollection of. Did I sleepwalk around feeding myself? I don’t even have soup in my pantry.

  I startle at the sound of a key sliding into my front door lock and instinctively pick up the closest weapon-like object I can find - my discarded stiletto on the floor, pointy end out.

  It drops from my grasp as I recognize the person walking through, the tension in my shoulders releasing.

  Diana smiles at me as she walks over. “Finally joining us in the land of the living?”

  “I think so. Were you the one who made the soup? Who dressed me?”

  She nods, sitting beside me to place her palm against my forehead. For some reason, it doesn’t feel as good when she does it compared to Gabriel.

  “Much better. You had me worried there for a bit yesterday.”

  “I can’t believe I was out of it for that long.” I stand to get more water from the kitchen sink when a thought occurs to me. “Wait, how did you know I was sick?”

  “That guy you’ve been meeting with, Gabriel. He came to the shop Tuesday afternoon and said you were on death’s door and went home, then asked me to check in on you. He had all this soup delivered - there’s still a ton of it in the fridge, by the way - and then he set up camp in your office.”

  The glass nearly slips from my grip before I catch it. “He what?”

  She shrugs. “He was on the phone for a while, and then you happened to get a walk-in. I started to tell them you were out for the day, but he overheard and invited them into the office.”

  My eyes bug out. I asked him to call Mrs. Woods, not meet with potential clients.

  “They came out half an hour later looking happy, though. He must have done something right.”

  Okay, deep breaths. Everything’s fine.

  “And then he had all your furniture moved out yesterday and new stuff brought in.”

  I brace myself on the kitchen counter so I don’t keel over. “What?” I yell, making a beeline for my dresser as soon as my legs are stable. I have to get to work and find out what he’s done.

  I grab the first clean bra and pair of underwear I lay eyes on, rushing into the bathroom to change. “Who’s watching the shop right now?” I call out through the door.

  “He is.”

  Oh my good Lord. How in the world did he talk her into abandoning her post? “And you trusted him?”

  “He helped me with a few customers yesterday. He was actually really great with them,” she replies, a hint of surprise in her voice. No kidding. “And it’s not like he’s going to steal anything. The guy’s loaded.” That’s true. His line of credit is probably higher than the worth of both our businesses combined.

  “This is crazy,” I mutter to myself as I finish changing and go to my rack of clothes in the corner, picking out the first dress I see. My wardrobe for work is pretty standard anyway. A solid or floral print dress and heels that relatively match. If I’m feeling wild, maybe a skirt and top. “He’s my client.”

  “He said you guys were friends,” she says, tracking my movements as I grab everything I’ll need and stuff it in my tote bag. It takes me a few moments of searching to remember Gabriel has my planner. I should never have agreed to let him help me. I wasn’t in my right state of mind. Who knows what he’s done.

  “I mean, we are, I guess. But he’s still my biggest client. Or his dad is. I don’t know. It’s confusing.” I slip on the stilettos I dropped by the couch earlier and stuff an extra tissue box in my bag, knowing I’m nearly out of them in my office. “Are you taking the subway or do you want to split a cab?”

  “Gabriel’s town car is downstairs.” Wow, he let her use that? “Are you sure you’re okay to go back to work?” she asks, concern in her eyes. “You don’t seem fully recovered.”

  “I’m fine,” I promise her, opening the front door and motioning for her to follow me.

  I lean heavily on the handrail down the seven flights of stairs, skipping the sticky spots when possible, and breathe a sigh of relief that I at least don’t have to hoof the two blocks to the subway station.

  My hands twist in my lap as the driver moves slow as molasses through traffic to the flower shop, only remembering five minutes away my face desperately needs makeup. I do not want to be compared to death warmed over again, no matter how rightly deserved it was. Diana holds my compact for me as I brush on mascara and under eye concealer, forgoing my normal pink lipstick for a swipe of chapstick.

  I burst through the door, half expecting it to be on fire inside, but Gabriel’s merely standing behind the register, a wide smile forming on his face as he sees me.

  The smile stops, though, as he registers my expression. “What is it?”

  “What is it?” I repeat. “I heard you’ve taken over my business.”

  He makes a scoffing noise, dismissing my concern. “Here,” he says, stepping out to approach me. “Close your eyes.”

  “What?”

  “Close them. I want it to be a surprise.”

  He stands in front of me, blocking my view of my office as an impish grin flirts along his lips, making my stomach flip.

  Oh God, what did he do?

  “No peeking.”

  I shut my eyes, unsure what exactly I’m stepping into, but I let him guide me, his fingers warm on my forearms as he leads me forward.

  “All right, what do you think?” He steps away, revealing a brand new space.

  I gaze around in astonishment, my hands automatically coming up to cover my mouth.

  The most noticeable thing is that my huge, clunky desk is gone, replaced with a smaller white one that’s somehow both professional and feminine in feel with a matching stylish leather chair behind it. The effect is gorgeous paired with newly painted soft pink walls and a plush pastel rug underneath.

  Absent too are the table and chairs I rarely used by the window, a low white filing cabinet in its place, along with a bookcase against the wall showcasing the different pre-designed wedding packages I offer in clear sign holders.

  A few of those cute terrariums Diana has for sale are artfully placed on the bookshelves, complemented by hanging baskets of petunias in two corners of the room and a vase of fresh-cut gardenias on my desk.

  The total effect is bright and airy, both modern and elegant.

  “It’s perfect,” I whisper, hardly able to believe he could transform my office this much in one day. Who knew it could be so functional, so beautiful, so… me?

  “I put all your old furniture in storage in case you still want it,” he says, “but I figured this would work better for the space you have now.”

  I couldn’t care less about that other stuff after seeing this setup. “I…” I spot new details, like how those awful crooked blinds have been exchanged for gauzy curtains, pulled back to reveal a decal on the outside window with my logo and phone number, and gorgeous club accent chairs in a pink paisley pattern now sit on the other side of the desk for guests.

  Why would he go to all this trouble for me?

  �
�Gabriel, I can’t accept this.”

  “Why?”

  Is he serious? “It’s too much.” I gesture around me to encompass all the new furnishings, wishing beyond hope I could actually keep it all. I’m in love with everything. “This is too generous.”

  “It’s nothing,” he brushes off. “Besides, it’s selfish on my part. Once word gets out that you’re my wedding planner, your office will need to look up to snuff,” he grins.

  “Gabriel-”

  “Do you like it?” he interrupts.

  “Yes.”

  “Then it’s staying.” I open my mouth again, but he cuts me off. “Please let me do this for you.”

  I watch him quietly, the mood in the room shifting to something more serious. “Why?”

  He takes a moment to reply. “Because I like helping you.”

  My heart opens, just a sliver, but it’s enough for him to wedge his way in there.

  Damn it.

  I bite my lip, wavering slightly until I finally relent. Not that I put up much of a fight. Everything is so pretty in here. “Okay. And thank you. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”

  “You’re welcome.” He beams, pleased with himself. “And I got you two new bookings.”

  I completely forgot about that.

  I walk around my desk, plenty of room between it and the wall, and slide into my new chair. It’s got freaking lumbar support.

  “You booked two events?”

  “Yep. A quinceanera and a wedding. Your deluxe package,” he says with a twinkle in his eye.

  “Seriously?” That’s a good chunk of change.

  “All the details are in your planner and Google calendar.”

  I stare at my laptop. “How’d you-”

  “You don’t have that thing password protected. And you saved all your website passwords in your browser. Tsk tsk,” he reproaches me playfully.

  All right. I’m not even going to get into the ethics of that right now. “And Mrs. Woods?”

  “Oh, we’re besties.” He takes a seat in one of the paisley print chairs, casually crossing his legs. “I told you, I’d take care of everything.”

  It’s true, he did. I just hadn’t really believed it. “Maybe I’ll have to put you to work more often.”

  “You couldn’t afford my hourly rate,” he teases back.

  No, I bet not.

  “But for you, it’s free of charge.”

  I hide a smile, warmth spreading through my chest at his soft tone. But just as soon as I realize what I’m doing, I tamp the feeling down. I need to be focusing on the wedding.

  Not the guy who’s in it.

  Chapter Seven

  Gabriel

  I open the door of Bewitching Bridal for Mackenzie, the shop going quiet as the few women in there spot me. I guess they don’t get many guys in here.

  “Darling, it’s good to see you,” a middle-aged woman with a short, blonde bob greets her, giving her air kisses I’m not sure are French or just pretentious. “This is your groom?” She gives me a once over, not in a leering way, but like she’s taking my measurements visually. “We have a few suits that will look exquisite on him.”

  Well, then. I’ve never been one to turn down looking exquisite.

  “Thank you, Louise. Yes, this is Gabriel.”

  We’re handed glasses of champagne as we’re led around a corner to a private area where a few tuxedos are on display, along with vests, cummerbunds, and ties. Mackenzie better not expect me to wear a cummerbund. It’s not happening.

  Suit fittings are familiar territory for me, but there’s still something different about picking out your wedding attire.

  “And do you have anything in particular in mind for him?” Louise asks, pausing by a drawer of button-down shirts. “What’s the bride’s dress like?”

  “Undecided still. But the wedding colors are blue and silver, so I’m leaning toward a navy tux.”

  “Yes,” she says, studying me. “That’ll do nicely. Let me get a few options from the back.”

  “Is she going to speak directly to me at all?” I ask Mackenzie as the woman exits the room.

  “Sorry. She’s used to brides coming in and making all the decisions. Most guys are mentally checked out attending these kinds of things.”

  “Well, you can’t have two of us who don’t care.”

  She sighs, walking over to the vests, pulling out a dark silver one, then deciding against it. “I’ve never met a bride like her, that’s for sure.”

  As often as I’m annoyed with Serena for not caring, it’s not like I can really blame her. I’m not thrilled about this marriage either. And honestly, if it was anyone besides Mackenzie planning this wedding, would I be as invested?

  “Here we go,” Louise announces, breezing into the room with three suits. “Curtain is there,” she points to the corner, “and Mackenzie knows where everything is. I’ll be up front when you’ve made your decision.”

  I knock back the last of the champagne, setting the glass down. “You’re here often?”

  “I have kind of the same deal with her I have with Diana. I send business her way and she sends it mine. It’s the only way you survive in this industry.”

  “And the baker we’re seeing after this?”

  “Another contact,” she admits, sipping from her glass. “But I would never recommend a vendor that I didn’t have absolute faith in. And since you two had no suggestions-”

  “Relax. I’m not calling you out. Now which one should I try on first?”

  She studies the suits, glancing back occasionally between them and me. I’m conscious of her eyes on me, liking the way they rake me up and down, different from how Louise did it. Yes, Mackenzie’s professional, but there’s something more in her gaze. Appreciation. Regard. Maybe the tiniest bit of… longing?

  Or am I just seeing what I want to see?

  “I think this is our best bet,” she declares, handing one to me. “A crisp, white dress shirt underneath will accentuate your tan, and this shade of navy brings out the blue in your eyes.” She finds a shirt in my size and ushers me behind the curtain.

  I hang the suit on the hook and remove my shirt, eyeing the jacket she picked out. Two button front, satin lapels, side vents… it looks close to a few I already have at home. But I wouldn’t want any of those tainted by what this one is intended for. I’ll probably burn it afterward.

  “So the others aren’t contenders?” I call out, slipping on the dress shirt.

  “Oh, they are. You’d look good in anything.”

  I’m glad she can’t see my shit-eating grin. “I would?”

  There’s quiet muttering, then, “You know what I mean.”

  “Hmm, don’t think I do. Please explain it to me.”

  She lets out a soft chuckle. “Gabriel, you know you’re attractive.”

  I actually didn’t know she thought that of me, especially after that first night in the bar. I’ve caught her staring at me occasionally, but I wasn’t sure how to interpret it, not after her earlier rejection. “Go on.”

  “Stop,” she laughs. “Are you dressed yet?”

  I button the tux pants and slide on the jacket, straightening it before opening the curtain. “What do you think?”

  I swear there’s interest in her eyes before she shuts it down, going back into professional mode. “I see why she picked this for you,” she murmurs, circling me. “A modern fit is perfect for your build. You’re too broad in the shoulders for anything slimmer. Do you already have glossy shoes?”

  I nod, savoring the sensation of her gaze trained on me.

  “Here,” she steps close behind me, placing her champagne on a table to smooth out my jacket, her touch featherlight along my upper back. She moves to my front, adjusting my collar, the smell of gardenias tantalizing me. Did she notice that I placed a vase of them on her desk last week?

  “How do you feel about a silver bow tie?”

  “Can you put it on me?” I ask, my voice thicker tha
n usual.

  She steps away briefly to pick one off the rack. “You’ve never tied one?”

  “No,” I lie, wanting her to do it. Wanting her close.

  “You don’t seem like a bowtie kind of guy.” Her hands come up to pop my collar. “Either a tie or nothing at all.”

  “Would you like to see me in nothing at all?” I ask, remembering at the last moment to tack on a grin so she won’t take me seriously. If she did, she’d never let me so close.

  “You’re incorrigible,” she smiles, crossing one silver length over the other around my neck.

  Her steady breaths are sweet on me, fingers sure in their actions as she finishes the bow tie, but she doesn’t step back right away. Her hands linger as she straightens it, then my shirt, my jacket, each place she touches confusing me further. Is she just doing her job or is it… purposeful?

  The ends of her caramel curls brush my chest, the top of her head barely reaching my nose, even in her heels. How easy it would be to gently tip her chin up and gaze into those hazel eyes, see what she’s really thinking. To lower my head and-

  “All finished,” she says, spinning me toward the mirror.

  I clear my throat, concentrating on my reflection. The cut of the suit, the color. She’s right that it makes my eyes pop.

  “Do you like it?”

  My gaze cuts to her, unable to help myself. “It’s perfect.”

  She stands next to me, the baby blue figure-hugging dress she’s wearing today complementing me perfectly, and stares at the two of us in the mirror, only looking away once she realizes where my attention is.

  “Great.” There’s the merest suggestion of nervousness in her voice, which she covers up with busily returning ties and dress shirts to their proper places in the drawers. “Do you want to try on the others?”

  “No.” This one is as good as any. And if she approves of it, there’s really no better endorsement.

  “I can call Louise back in to take your measurements for tailoring.”

  “I’ll bring it to my tailor.”