“Well, we’re not drinking buddies or anything,” Gabriel smiles charmingly. “But I’ve run into him at a benefit or two over the years.”
“What’s he like?” she insists. She’s already pressed him for insider details about Alec Baldwin and Matt Damon.
He indulges her and I lean back against the cushioned seat, more relaxed than I can remember in… God, I don’t know when. He’s been wonderful with my parents, both of them under his spell.
And honestly, I am too.
Setting up front of the line passes for us at the Empire State Building. A private tour of the Met. A reservation for lunch at a restaurant smack dab in the middle of Times Square, just because my mom asked for it.
Because he wanted to do something nice? Because we’ve become friends? Because he… cares about me?
What does that mean anyway?
I let the live music from the trio of musicians near us drift over me, raising my glass to my lips again, only to realize I’ve drunk it all.
“Would mademoiselle care for another glass?” the waiter asks, materializing out of thin air.
“Um, yes, please.” I’ve never had wine like this. The French words had rolled right off of Gabriel’s tongue easily as he ordered a bottle for the table, but if it doesn’t come in a box, I’m not too familiar with it.
My wine is immediately refreshed, and I’m taken aback for a moment, not used to this level of service. It’s without a doubt the nicest place I’ve ever been, every aspect of it from the atmosphere to the food to the decor spot on. Soft, red walls and dim lighting invite conversation. Staff that seem authentically French and not just doing poor imitations of an accent mill around, attentive to their table’s needs. And don’t even get me started on the menu.
I watch Gabriel to my left entertaining my mom, my dad to my right having a religious experience with his cut of chateaubriand. If this had been a boyfriend meeting my parents for the first time, he would have passed with flying colors. I’d hold his hand under the table, playing idly with his fingers, exchanging stolen glances, both of us aware we’d be going home together afterward for one hell of a night in bed.
But he’s not my boyfriend. Obviously. And I shouldn’t get used to this fancy restaurant. This is a rare treat, not the norm.
I take a bite of my roasted duck, the meat tender and juicy, seasoned perfectly. But even as I acknowledge this, it’s almost like I can barely taste it. Everything is… too perfect, leaving me with a sense that I’m missing something.
But what?
After a fantastic crème brûlée I wish I could have appreciated more, Gabriel lets us use his town car to drop my parents off at their hotel.
He stretches out next to me after they leave, starting the drive back to my place. I could seriously get used to having a driver all the time. “So are you ever going to tell me about that dream you mentioned earlier?”
Oh God, I forgot about that. “No.”
“Come on,” he teases. “Not even a fantasy?”
“I don’t have any.” Especially not the one I had during dinner about him being my boyfriend.
“Now that’s a lie,” he laughs. “Everyone has something.”
The only other thing that comes to mind is an old one. “It’s stupid,” I murmur.
“Nothing is stupid. There are no rules in fantasies.”
“No, I mean, it’s not sexy or anything. I’ve had it since I was a kid.”
“Okay, well now I have to know.”
He turns to me, settling in like he’s ready for a good story, and I laugh at his eagerness.
“Well, some back story first. I snuck out of bed one night - I must have been nine or ten - and went out to the living room to see what my parents were doing after I’d gone to bed. I could hear my dad in the kitchen doing the dishes and my mom was watching this movie, an old black and white one.”
I smile to myself, recalling the innocent thrill of tiptoeing out of my room coupled with the anxiety of potentially being caught. Not that I would have been in serious trouble. Mom and Dad never believed in corporal punishment. Just the crushing weight of knowing you’d disappointed them.
“The guy on the screen walked up to the woman and cupped the back of her head tenderly, love in his eyes. Even that young, I could tell. And he told her she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever met, inside and out, and then kissed her.”
He watches me quietly, waiting for me to finish, the occasional streetlight we pass illuminating the darkness of the car every so often.
“It was the first time I can remember my heart fluttering. To me, it was just the most romantic thing. And I always wanted to have that same kind of experience.”
“What happened next?” he asks after I’m silent for a moment.
“I heard my dad shut the water off in the kitchen and I raced back to my room.”
“What was the movie?”
“I have no idea. I never admitted to my mom I’d secretly been watching.”
“So you’ve never had a guy tell you you’re beautiful?” Gone is the teasing from earlier, his voice now serious.
I shrug, suddenly self-conscious. “I mean, not like directly to me. I guess it was implied.”
“Because you are beautiful, you know.” I glance over, his expression more intense than I was expecting. “Everything about you is.”
I chuckle weakly, glad he can’t see the pink on my cheeks. “You don’t have to say that.”
“I mean it.”
My heart flutters, the same as it did all those years ago watching that movie.
The car stops, my graffiti-covered apartment building right outside.
“I’ll walk you up.”
The seven flights go by too fast as I try to figure out how to respond. He cares about me… and thinks I’m beautiful?
“I’ll see you at the hotel tomorrow?” he asks as we stop in front of my door.
“Yes.” I gratefully latch on to the safe topic of conversation. “And if you like it, we can lock in a date.”
“Got it,” he nods.
There’s a pause, both of us seemingly unsure how to end the night. Coming home from a nice dinner with any other guy would lead to a kiss at the door, maybe even an invitation inside.
But that won’t be happening tonight.
“Goodnight,” I whisper.
“Goodnight.”
I lean forward up on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek, having to balance my hands on his broad shoulders. There’s no imagining this time if I’m the one lingering too long, enjoying the slight scruff on his face, the smell of him this close. I definitely am.
Heat lingers in his eyes as I step back, his body suddenly tight with tension. Like he’s… restraining himself?
Or am I seeing what I want to see? What I wish could happen?
I quickly unlock my door and shut it behind me, needing to get away from him before I do something stupid.
Something that would risk everything.
Where the hell is Serena?
I check my phone again, giving a nervous smile to Tina, the event manager at Haven. It’s time for our tour of the wedding venue, but the bride is nowhere to be found.
“I’m sure she’ll be here any minute.” I know I promised I’d take care of things from now on, but this is one of the few instances she needs to be present for.
I glance at Gabriel, who simply shrugs in response. Really, though, why would he know where she is?
Tina gives me an answering smile, all teeth and no warmth. “Your whole party must be here before we can start the tour.” I normally appreciate an insistence on following the rules, but I’m not in the mood for it today.
My phone finally dings in response to the five text messages and three unanswered calls I’ve already sent Serena this morning.
Serena: I’m so sorry, I have an emergency. Go ahead and pick a venue. I trust your judgment.
I mentally scream, not caring about whatever emergency she has going on right now, but k
eep my face calm as I tell Tina, “Looks like it’ll be just me and Gabriel for the tour.”
She gives me a fake frown. “I’m sorry, but the bride needs to be present. In our experience, you can’t properly make a decision without both parties here.”
My shoulders slump, defeated. I spent all this time waiting for this specific place and I doubt she’ll reschedule another tour for me anytime soon. It would have been a personal triumph for me to coordinate a wedding here. Every event coordinator in the city who has run a wedding at this hotel has had a huge boost in business.
“You must have misunderstood,” Gabriel chimes in. “We were waiting for the wedding planner.”
Tina narrows her eyes at me. “I thought you were the wedding planner.”
“She’s my fiancee.” His arm slides around my waist, warm and sure, and he bends down to whisper in my ear, “Just go with it. It’s for show.”
I’m not complaining. Heaven help me because I like it a little too much.
She glances between us, suspicious of something, but has to take him at his word. “My apologies.”
She probably recognizes my voice from the phone, where I clearly introduced myself as the wedding planner, but it’s not as if she’s going to call Gabriel a liar to his face.
“Frances will conduct your tour today.” She leads us over to a bubbly girl a few years younger than me. “Let me know how she does on the feedback form you fill out at the end,” she frowns, eyeing the woman with distaste.
Well, I’ll obviously give her a perfect score now.
“Hi, there,” the girl shakes our hands enthusiastically. “I was so excited when I saw your name on our calendar,” she tells Gabriel, looking at him in awe. She waits till Tina’s out of earshot before adding, “And if you decide to have your wedding here, we’ll fit you in. I promise.”
Oh, I like her already.
She shows us to the grand ballroom, Gabriel’s hand resting lightly on my lower back. I can barely focus on what she’s telling us about the room’s capacity and dimensions because the majority of my brain is zeroed in on that singular point of contact between us, his palm hot through the cotton of my dress. I’m in a world of trouble when Tina discovers my true identity later, but I can’t even worry about that right now. The only thing I can concentrate on is how much I like having his hand there. How right it feels.
And how wrong I am to be feeling this way.
I move away, pretending to study the crown molding on the walls, asking about bringing in our own catering, reserving a large block of rooms in the hotel for guests. Anything so I don’t fully step into his arms, demanding more of his touch.
But as she leads us to a slightly smaller room that serves as a cocktail hour area, his hand returns. And I… let it.
When his fingers trail featherlight down my arm, I let him do it.
When his hand brushes against mine and our fingers intertwine as we head to where the ceremony will take place, I let it happen.
It’s just for show, he said. For pretend. So they believe we’re a couple and can finish the tour.
What would it be like to marry this man? To stand under that arch and gaze into his bright blue eyes as we exchange our vows?
My God, am I delusional much?
“Isn’t it gorgeous?” Frances beams, making a sweeping motion with her arm that encompasses the area.
Decorated in an art deco style that reeks of classic New York sophistication, it truly feels like we’ve stepped back in time, the glitz and glamour of the Roaring Twenties permeating the atmosphere. No wonder this is such a highly sought out venue. The pictures online, as amazing as they are, barely do it justice.
“Can you see yourself getting married here?” she asks with excitement.
“Yes,” I breathe, forgetting for a moment it’s not really me that’s the bride.
I glance over at Gabriel, his eyes on me, expression serious. “Yeah, I can see it.”
He takes my hand again, bringing it up to his lips to press a soft kiss to my inner wrist. The action sends a wave of goosebumps across my skin, my body swaying toward him.
Wait, no. This is for pretend. I’m not the one getting married. I’m not Serena. Now she would look stunning here in this room, up at the altar with her willowy figure and timeless beauty.
“Would you two like a moment to discuss your final decision in private?” Frances asks.
“Yes,” I nod, stepping away and crossing my arms over my chest.
She exits, leaving us alone. Gabriel mimics my position, leaning one shoulder against the wall. “You like the place?”
“I love it,” I admit. “But it’s not me getting married here,” I force myself to say. “Do you think Serena will like it?”
He shrugs. “You know as much as I do about her. Probably more.”
“Why don’t you try to get to know her? She’s going to be your wife.”
Do I sound as disappointed aloud as I do in my head?
“I’m not interested in her,” he says, looking steadily at me. “I’m interested in someone else.”
My breath catches, caught up in his gaze for just a moment before I remember the situation.
It doesn’t matter if he’s interested. He’s not available.
“Gabriel…”
“She couldn’t even bother to show up today to choose a place to get married. She’s obviously really invested in this.”
I don’t know what to say, how to spin this. Being forced to marry someone… I can’t imagine it. “I- I’m sure it’ll work out.”
He rolls his eyes, annoyed with my inane comment as he pushes off the wall, pacing the area in front of me. “What am I going to do?”
I bite my lip, considering it. Though it feels sacrilegious to even suggest, I ask, “Have you asked your dad how long the marriage has to be for? Could you get divorced somewhere down the line?”
“I don’t know,” he admits. “I’m afraid to bring it up in case he says it isn’t an option. And I don’t want him to think I’m already plotting a way to get out of it. He’d find some way to hold that against me.”
I wince. Giving up that part of your life for potentially forever? Is it even worth it? “Maybe you could take up a hobby?” I say it jokingly, hoping it’ll lighten the mood.
The corners of his lips twitch. “A lifetime hobby, huh? Think I could knit the world record for the longest scarf? Start gardening and grow the biggest pumpkin?”
“Maybe solve world hunger,” I offer. “Or better yet, world peace.”
He laughs, the sound tinged with desperation, enough to have me automatically reaching out for him, hugging him tightly, my only thought to comfort him, soothe him.
He brings his arms around my lower back, the same way he did last time I hugged him, and bends his head to rest in the crook of my neck. We stand like that for a solid minute, but at some point, it’s not about lending strength anymore.
I cautiously stroke my hand through his dark locks, coarser than I imagined they’d be considering how much money he has to spend on haircare if he wanted. His arms unwrap from around me, settling his hands on my waist, squeezing gently.
I don’t want to let him go, don’t want to face reality as he brings me even closer into his body, moving his head till it’s directly in front of me, a hairbreadth away.
He pauses, giving me the chance to retreat, to tell him I don’t want this.
But I do.
His mouth descends on mine, soft at first, tasting me, exploring. I revel in the connection, continuing to run my fingers through his hair, encouraging him, discovering how much I’ve been holding back, denying my feelings for him. Because the truth is, I’m interested in him too.
Extremely interested.
I tug at the strands, eliciting a deep moan from him, the sound sending a rush of arousal through me. He picks up the pace, licking his way inside my mouth, maneuvering me till my back’s against the wall, his hard body pressed against mine, not a sliver of space betwee
n us.
His kiss deepens, devouring me, everything I didn’t know I wanted, and I match him, greedy, hungry for more.
When was the last time I got hot and heavy with a guy? When it felt this insanely good? And not only the physical aspect, but knowing it’s him. Gabriel. Not Harold Bishop’s son or the heir to a billionaire fortune, but the man who’s done so much for me. Cares about me.
And I care about him too. More than I realized.
A loud clearing of the throat has us breaking apart, our breaths harsh in the quiet of the room.
Tina regards us with displeasure, not impressed with our display. “Have you made a decision?”
Where’d she even come from? She was supposed to stay in her office. To her credit, though, she acts professionally in the face of what we were doing, and I quickly slide out from between Gabriel and the wall, pasting on my customer service smile. “Yes, we’d like to lock in a date.”
I follow her, glancing back once at Gabriel, his hair disheveled, eyes still alight with desire as they track my movements across the room.
He doesn’t join me as I secure a day for the wedding, just a couple weeks from now after a “sudden cancelation” magically freed up a spot in their calendar.
I’m glad for the break from him to get myself under control, mentally slapping myself for throwing caution to the wind like that. This is my job at stake. My career. What was I thinking? I can’t risk it all.
But the worst part is… I also can’t find it in myself to regret it one bit.
Chapter Eleven
Gabriel
“Ms. Sweet,” I nod, passing by Mackenzie in the conference room as I take a seat at the boardroom table.
“Mr. Bishop,” she murmurs in reply, the words sounding much more seductive when she says them to me than to my father.
I swear there’s a flirtatious look in her eyes, but maybe that’s just me projecting my own wants. After that hot kiss yesterday afternoon at Haven, I haven’t been able to get her out of mind.
Resisting the Billionaire Page 10
