“Okay,” I agree warily, watching her pick up her bag and exit the small room, the sound of the bell over the shop door chiming a few moments later.
I collect the gown she chose, wondering if she knew it was secretly my favorite out of the hundreds of dresses I scoured through that Louise keeps in stock. I hold it up to myself, wishing I could afford something as stunning as this one day. Standing at the altar, a tall, dark, and handsome man at my side, one with bright blue eyes and a wide smile. Who keeps making my heart race despite myself, who keeps showing me unexpected kindnesses, who isn’t at all the man I thought when we first met-
“Mackenzie?” Louise’s smoky voice interrupts my delusional thoughts. “I saw your bride leave. Did she choose anything?”
“Oh, yes.” I nearly drop the dress before realizing she can’t see me pretending to wear it. “She wants the ball gown.”
“Oh, wonderful,” she claps. “You didn’t get a picture of her, did you?”
“Uh, no.” Damn it. Where is my head? If nothing else, we could have used it as social media fodder.
She makes a tsking noise and I exit the dressing room, carefully handing her the gown, now wrinkled in a few places along the sides.
“Can you hold it for a few days? I’m not sure if Mr. Bishop or Mr. Montague will pay for it.”
“Of course, of course,” she assures me, dollar signs in her eyes. She just unloaded a pricey piece of merchandise. “When will she be back for a fitting?”
“She won’t,” I sigh. “She’s very busy.” Apparently. “But I’ll send you her measurements. Will that be good enough?”
“Highly irregular,” she sniffs. “But we’ll make it work.”
“Thanks, Louise. Remember to send brides my way who are overwhelmed with all the planning,” I remind her, sliding my purse strap over my shoulder. I scratched her back an awful lot this week. She better return the favor.
“You’ll be up to your neck in brides soon enough,” she laughs airily, giving me faux air kisses. “If you can get that girl to the altar, that is.”
So she noticed Serena’s indifference too? Well, at least I won’t have to deal with it anymore if she wants to unload all responsibility on me. I’ll still need to work with her on some things, but this will honestly be better for everyone. No gloomy presence as Gabriel and I make decisions, interrupting us, bringing the mood down.
We can be alone… just the two of us… no prying eyes…
I mentally scream, exiting the shop more forcefully than necessary to begin my trek to the subway. I’ve got to get this ridiculous whatever it is to Gabriel under control. Fascination? Attraction? Crush?
I can work professionally with someone I’m attracted to. No big deal. It just means I don’t act on anything my stupid brain comes up with. I’ve got willpower.
Now to employ it.
Chapter Nine
Mackenzie
A hand slides up my thigh, the big palm curving around my hip, holding me in place as a masculine body covers me, his weight settling me into the mattress. A bulge behind his pants brushes against me, sending a wave of longing through me, the hard planes of his chest brushing the tips of my breasts as he lifts his torso off me and whispers in my ear, “I want you so bad.”
Wait, I recognize that voice. Normally full of boyish charm, right now it’s deep and intoxicating, laced with desire.
I turn my head, Gabriel’s vivid blue eyes meeting mine, the passion he’s feeling plain for me to see. How much he craves me, needs me.
Only me.
He takes my mouth roughly, our clothes suddenly gone, and he’s moving deep inside of me, every part of me filled with him. Gabriel.
I cry out his name, the pressure building as he moves faster, my hands curling in his soft locks as I desperately hold on to him. Almost there…
I wake, sitting bolt upright in bed, panting heavily, confusion swirling through me about where I am. When I am. Who, what, how, and why I am.
Was I having a sex dream? About Gabriel?
It was probably that hug from the other night putting strange subconscious thoughts in my head. Dreams like that don’t mean anything… right?
I shift to the side, a deep ache reminding me I’m still turned on. My hand automatically drifts down before I catch myself, hesitating. I can’t finish myself off after that, can I? Would it be wrong?
But that hunger won’t leave, my panties already damp with arousal.
It wouldn’t be a big deal if I… imagine someone else, right?
I lean back against my pillow, letting my fingers slowly stroke myself, definitely not remembering the sensation of dream Gabriel’s hard body atop me, all that golden skin mine to do what I want with. Urging him faster, running my hands over that strong backside, watching his biceps flex and release as he works himself inside me.
My movements speed up, caught in the fantasy, my resolution from minutes ago gone in the wake of imagining being with him. Listening to him croon in my ear how much he needs me, how he wants to help me, support me…
I immediately stop. No, this isn’t good. Envisioning him physically is one thing, but emotionally? That’s too slippery of a slope for me.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, and jump into my postage stamp-sized shower, washing away any lingering traces of desire. Get it together, Mackenzie. You’ve become… friends with Gabriel. Be happy with that.
I blow dry my hair and curl it, then apply my makeup and shimmy into a black pencil skirt and pink top, grabbing a protein bar on the way out the door.
We need to pick out a photographer today, but rather than meeting with contenders in person, I’ll show Gabriel some preselected portfolios online. I don’t have an industry contact the same way I do for flowers, clothes, or cake, so anyone he picks is fine with me. It shouldn’t be a problem booking someone. I’m finding that every vendor has room in their schedule for Harold Bishop’s son.
All except the Manhattan Haven Hotel. I still can’t believe they’re making us wait till two days from now just to tour it. They better have an opening soon to actually book it because I have a meeting with Mr. Bishop next week and I need to show him the progress we’ve made.
God, I’m spoiled already expecting everyone to accommodate us, aren’t I?
I walk into the shop forty minutes later, pausing at the heady fragrance that greets me. I’ve become better at identifying individual floral scents since working here, but when they’re all mixed together like this, it’s impossible.
I startle when I realize someone’s already in my office, but I know who it is even before I consciously recognize him. Gabriel’s back is to me as he looks at something on the bookcase, but I remember that body from my dream, his dark hair curling slightly over the collar of his blue dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to showcase those strong forearms. The way he whispered in my ear…
He turns around, eyes locking with mine through my office window.
I immediately blush, casting my face down as I walk in and set my bag down. “You’re here early.”
He cocks his head. “What’s up with you?”
“What?” Is that my voice that sounds so squeaky? “I mean, nothing.”
Yeah, that was convincing.
He raises his brows silently.
“Everything’s good,” I murmur, strolling past him to take a seat at my new desk. God, I love this thing.
“Then why are you all jumpy?” He reaches forward and pokes my shoulder, my body automatically springing back in nervousness.
“I’m not jumpy. You’re jumpy.”
He casually slides his hands in his pockets, patiently waiting for me to explain.
“It’s so stupid,” I sigh, reaching in my bag to pull my planner out. “I had a dream is all.”
“About me?” he grins in apparent delight.
“Now why would you assume you were in it?”
“Because you won’t look at me. So what happened?”
I open my laptop, typing i
n the new password I set up to unlock it. “None of your business.”
“Hmm,” he strokes his chin thoughtfully. “Won’t meet my eye, won’t tell me about it. Seemingly embarrassed and flustered… it can only be one kind of dream.” I finally fully look at him, watching his face transform into a mischievous grin. “A sexy one.”
I stare at him open-mouthed. How the hell does he deduce this stuff?
I turn my attention back to my computer, not bothering to deny it. His powers of perception are apparently too strong to get anything past him. I navigate to the site of the most promising wedding photographer candidate, simply trying to focus on my task, when he asks, “What? You won’t tell me about it?”
“Tell you about it?” I splutter. “You want me to describe my sex dream to you?”
“Ha,” he slaps his leg, coming over to sit in one of the paisley chairs in front of my desk. “So I was right.”
Damn it. I can’t believe he got me to confirm it. Why can’t my mouth ever work properly around him?
“Well, now I have to know. Come on, spill.”
“Gabriel,” I whisper, glancing toward the door as if his father will barge in any second. “That wouldn’t be very professional.”
“We’re past all that,” he waves off, unconcerned. “Just please don’t tell me Serena was in the dream,” he begs, faux serious.
I crack a smile, unable to help myself. “No, it was-” I catch a movement out of the corner of my eye, my armpits instantly perspiring. “My mom.”
“Your mom was in your sex dream? Gotta admit, that’s a little weird.”
“No,” I shake my head. “Um, nothing. Never mind.”
I do my best to pretend I don’t see Gary and Theresa Sweet directly outside my window, waving and smiling at me. What the hell are they doing here in New York? They’re supposed to be tucked away back home in Granville, not here.
I love my parents, but they’re not meant for city life.
“Do you know those people?” he asks after a knocking at the glass gets his attention.
“Um, yes,” I admit, wiping my palms on my skirt. How did they even find my office? They think I’m still uptown.
“Do you need to speak with them?” He looks at me with concern, probably assuming they’re clients. And I would never in my right mind ignore potential money.
“They’re my parents,” I whisper.
“Well, invite them in.”
“I’m working. I can’t drop everything I’m doing just because they show up unannounced.” I turn back to the screen, barely seeing the photographer’s portfolio.
He eyes me carefully, then turns to the window, holding up a finger to signal that we’ll be a moment. “Why did they come here?”
I shrug, half ashamed, half guilty. “To visit me, I guess.”
“Not because they want anything from you?”
“What? No.”
I immediately bite my tongue at my tone, like the idea of them wanting something from me is preposterous. He obviously doesn’t have a good relationship with his father.
“Then go spend the day with them,” he gestures.
“We have work to do.”
He makes a scoffing noise. “We both know Serena and I couldn’t care less who our photographer is. We wouldn’t even notice if you hired anyone at all. Whoever you have up on your screen now is fine. Hire them.”
“What about their portfolio?”
“Why don’t you want your parents to come in here?” he counters with, serious for a change.
I swallow hard, then hang my head down. “I never told them I moved offices. They think business is better than it is.”
I shouldn’t be admitting this to him. Rule one is to always project confidence in front of your clients. Yes, I have those connections. Yes, I can make that happen.
Not I bit off more than I can chew and it turns out I can’t attract as many events as I thought I could.
But Gabriel’s become more than a client lately. He’s a… confidante. Someone I can’t seem to keep my mouth shut around.
Or treat purely professional.
“Mackenzie,” he says softly. “Invite them in. They came to see you.”
He’s right. I can’t ignore them.
I motion for them to come in through the flower shop entrance, watching as they greet Diana and pause at the doorway of my office, gazing around.
“What are you guys doing here?” I ask, standing and pasting on a smile.
“We wanted to surprise you,” Mom exclaims, hugging me tightly. She leans back to look at me, an unspoken question about Gabriel in her eyes, but thankfully restrains herself from asking about him aloud.
“Hi, sweetheart,” Dad murmurs, coming over to hug me next. I know he had no part of this plan to visit, at least. He’s always been content to just go along with whatever Mom wants.
“So this is your new office?” she asks as tactfully as she can. “We went to your old one, but it was a different business. I had to look on your website to find this address.”
She doesn’t have to outright say she’s disappointed for me to get the hint. It’s why I didn’t tell her in the first place.
“It was a sudden move,” is all I say, trying to stay as diplomatic as I can. “And I recently redecorated. That’s why I’ve been so busy.”
“Well, it looks great,” Dad says in an attempt to smooth things over.
There’s an awkward lull and I gesture to Gabriel, glad to have him here now as a buffer. “And this is Gabriel Bishop. I’ve been working closely with him lately planning his upcoming wedding.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he says warmly, shaking both their hands. “Do you come to New York often?”
“This is our third time,” Mom replies, surveying his tailored clothes and the heavy watch on his wrist. “Are you the… billionaire?” she whispers, unable to help herself.
Ugh, kill me now.
“My father is,” he says easily, not taking offense at the inappropriate question.
Her eyes widen, as if she’s in the presence of royalty or something. I guess he would be the American version, though.
“How long will you be in town?” he asks, completely at ease with them interrupting us.
“A couple days. Mackenzie seemed a little down the last time we spoke and I wanted to make sure she was okay.”
The guilt in me thickens. “I’m fine, Mom.”
“She was probably just busy,” he says. “She’s had a lot of new bookings lately.” He looks over at me, almost sounding… proud. Of me. “But that doesn’t mean she can’t take a day off every now and then. Go,” he insists. “Spend the day with them.”
“But-”
He pulls me aside to the corner by the window. “They came all this way. And you never know-” He pauses, swallowing heavily. “You never know what’s going to happen. You should treasure the time you have with them. They seem like wonderful people.”
“Okay,” I agree faintly, knowing he must have his mom on his mind.
“How about I get you all tickets to something?” he asks the group. “The Guggenheim? Botanical Gardens? What sounds good?”
“Ooh, what about Times Square?” Mom apparently has no problem taking him up on his offer right away. “Those New Year’s Eve parties look so fun on TV.”
“Mom, you don’t need a ticket for that. It’s free to walk around. Besides, it’s Spring.” God, could she sound any more bumpkin?
Gabriel’s answering expression thankfully comes off as more amused than annoyed. “How about the Empire State Building then?” Yep, that’s more the touristy type of thing my mom’s interested in.
“How exciting! Mackenzie never had time to go on our last two visits.”
“I’ll have Vivian set it up,” he tells me. “And how about I take you all to Chez Alexandre’s tonight?”
I bite back the automatic denial of any kind of charity. Chez Alexandre’s is one of the most exclusive restaurants in Manhattan rig
ht now. I’d never be able to eat there in a million years otherwise. And it beats my earlier plan of taking my laptop home with me and getting more work done while I heat a frozen meal in the microwave.
Mom gushes at him in thanks and Dad shakes his hand, the two of them wandering into the florist shop after Gabriel asks for a moment alone with me.
“No answering emails today, okay? You deserve a day off. Go act like a tourist and enjoy the city.”
I don’t admit that I’ve never actually gone to the Empire State Building since moving here. Or spent a morning meandering through Central Park like I always intended. Mom’s right. I’ve been too busy.
“You’re being awfully generous.”
He grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “What’s the good in having my dad’s money if I can’t spend it on the people I care about?”
He cares about me?
I mean, he did make sure I was taken care of while sick. And covered for my business. And gave my office a much needed makeover.
Wow, what am I even bringing to the table to repay him?
“Thank you,” I tell him sincerely, suddenly feeling unworthy.
“I’ll text you the reservation time later. See you at dinner.”
He leans in and casually kisses my cheek, nothing untoward about it. The way a friend would.
And yet, my face still burns hot, that particular spot tingling. And I’m fairly sure it’s only my imagination that believes he lingered a beat too long, that my cheek somehow feels different now.
Especially after that dream this morning.
I watch him leave in a daze, barely hearing my mom go on and on about how nice he seemed as I usher her and Dad out of the shop.
“I thought New Yorkers were supposed to be rude. But he was just delightful. His bride is one lucky girl.”
“More than she knows,” I murmur, my chest aching for some reason.
Chapter Ten
Mackenzie
“You know Robert De Niro?” Mom exclaims, her voice a little too boisterous for the atmosphere of Chez Alexandre’s. I glance around to see if anyone noticed, but then take another sip of wine when it appears we’re in the clear. We’re tucked away in a corner booth, safe from prying eyes. I guess this is the kind of table you get when you’ve got billionaire connections, though.
Resisting the Billionaire Page 9
