by Lila Kane
“Tall, honey blonde, and angry,” I say. I point to the booth on the other side of the bar, but doubt he can see much.
“So much for laying low.”
“I don’t think she has any idea who I am.” Not in this neighborhood. Not how she was dressed. She didn’t seem like a businesswoman.
“She looks hot.”
I nod in agreement. She is. All that wild hair, a flash of temper. I wonder whose wedding she’s trying to sell. Hers? I almost pull the flyer from my pocket, but decide against it. I’m not prone to snap decisions. I have to think about this.
In the meantime, I’m going to enjoy my evening away from the press, away from prying eyes, and with a good view of a sexy woman.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
T he next morning, I wake to find the flyer on my end table like a reminder. A reminder that I don’t have a bride—I don’t even have a girlfriend—and I definitely don’t have a pending wedding.
I sit up and scrub my hands over my face. I press the button beside the bed to open the screen over the windows. Outside, the sky is a dramatic blue and buildings rise up around me.
The view is picturesque, and suddenly I’m wondering why I don’t have anyone to share it with.
Sure, I could call Monica or Stephanie. One of them often joins me at functions and dinners. I have fun with them. But lately…I want more. I don’t want one-night stands.
But more than that, I don’t want to explain to my partners, my friends, my family that I’m bringing Monica or Stephanie wherever I’m going, but we’re nothing more than friends. With benefits, of course, but still.
I need to start thinking like a businessman. It’ll look good to have the same woman on my arm at charity balls. The same woman with me when I attend weddings. The same one walking out of my building with me when I head to work.
It’ll look good for business and it’ll take off some of the personal pressure.
I pluck the flyer from the end table and read through it more thoroughly this time. I can’t tell who the woman is from this, only that she’s selling everything. A wedding venue, the cake, flowers—the honeymoon? Damn. What happened? Had she called off the wedding? Or maybe this has nothing to do with her at all and she’s just helping a friend.
But a woman who’d sell her wedding dress is clearly bitter about something. Probably an asshole fiancé who chickened out at the last minute.
I’m curious about the situation, but even more curious about the woman. She’s included a number at the bottom of the flyer. Nothing is stopping me from calling it.
Worst case scenario, I ask her to coffee or have lunch with a sexy woman. Can’t hurt.
I ignore the advice I’m sure Derek would be giving me right now and dial the number, hoping the woman from yesterday answers.
CHAPTER THREE
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Brianna
“I ’m just calling you so you know where I am,” I tell Deb as I lock up my apartment and head downstairs.
“Not near your apartment, right? I wish you would have waited for me. It’s a guy—are you sure?”
“Yes. He called this morning and asked to get together to talk about the items on the flyer. I said I’d meet him for coffee at my place—which he doesn’t know I work there, of course. But there will be plenty of people there—people I know. I promise I’ll be safe.”
“But a guy?”
“Maybe he wants to surprise his fiancée,” I say. “I don’t care—this was the whole point of putting up the flyers and making the ad, right?”
“Yes. But…you sure you don’t want me to come? I know karate.”
I laugh as I walk down the sidewalk. “No. If he gets all psycho, I’ll toss my hot coffee on him and run.”
“Fast. Call me when you’re done.”
“Yep.” I end the call and enjoy the stroll.
I didn’t tell the guy we’re meeting at the coffee shop I work at. I figured it’d be safer so people would have my back. Maybe not the best idea, though, if he does out to be a stalker. Then he’ll know where I work.
But he didn’t sound like a psycho. He sounded genuinely interested. He asked a few questions in his deep husky voice, making me picture some tall, dark-haired man who just wanted to give the fiancée he adored the best wedding ever but didn’t have the money to do it.
My instincts said he was safe, so I agreed to meet.
I arrive early to grab my coffee and explain to one of my co-workers I’ll be outside with a mystery man, and then sit under the shade of an umbrella.
Being a barista is just my side job. My true passion is graphic design—but it takes years to build up a reputation and clients and…well, these last several months I haven’t being building a reputation so much as catering to Chet.
Asshole.
Before I can mentally berate him anymore, I see him. Not Chet and not the guy I’m supposed to meet, but him. The guy from the bar. The guy I’m pretty sure sent me and Deb a drink halfway through the evening.
Hell. He’s even hotter in the daytime—now that I can see dark stubble lining his jaw, and eyes bluer than the ocean. He’s not dressed up this time. Just wearing dark-wash jeans and button-down shirt, folded up on his forearms like some sort of model.
He spots me and grins. “Hey.”
I lean back in my seat, lifting my coffee. Playing it cool. “Hey.”
“They have good coffee here?”
I nod. “The best.”
He sits. “I might grab some in a minute.”
“I’m—you can’t—” I break off, realizing I’m definitely not playing it cool now. “I’m meeting someone.”
He thrusts out a hand. “I’m Michael.”
“But…” I glance around, like there has to be someone else coming. Or like someone is playing an elaborate joke on me.
But I’ve learned that’s the way of the universe lately. Everything feels like an elaborate joke on me, designed to make me wonder why I ever even get up most mornings.
“You’re Brianna, right? I talked with you on the phone this morning.”
Common courtesy has me reaching out to shake his hand, though inside I’m sputtering expletives.
“I’m…I didn’t.” Grr! Why can’t I get a grip on myself? I breathe in deep and try again. “Yes, I’m Brianna. I didn’t realize when I saw you the other day that you were looking for a wedding. Or wedding stuff. Whatever.”
“I didn’t realize it either.”
I frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s complicated, and part of the reason I’m here.” But instead of explaining, he stands and gestures to the door of the shop. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to grab a coffee. I’ll get you another one, too. What are you having?”
I tell him, though I’m sure it’s a terrible idea that I’m here. I’m positive he bought drinks for me and Deb. So…what? He was cheating on his girlfriend or fiancée? Or maybe he just felt sorry for the woman selling her wedding.
Or maybe…maybe he’s helping out a friend or a sister. Maybe they need wedding items and he’s the lucky one who gets to screen the psycho selling her wedding dress.
I’m not sure, but I remind myself how much I need the money. The least I can do is hear him out.
When Michael returns, he sets my coffee in front of me and takes his seat again. He crosses one leg over the other and leans back in his chair like we’re old friends. Like he’s already comfortable with me.
That’s when I notice…he looks familiar. I’ve seen him before. Maybe at a meeting or maybe even in the coffee shop? No, that’s not it. I’ve seen him somewhere else.
“You’re staring,” he says.
I drop my eyes and flush. “Sorry. You look familiar.”
“I was wondering if that would come up.”
“What?”
“You might have seen me…around.” He grins. “Like in the papers. Or on a magazine. Michael Parsons.”
“Shit—you’re right. I
did see you on a magazine. Wait…” I search my memory. “They were talking about your fiancée—you are getting married.”
“Well—wait…that’s a bit of an embellishment.”
“But you’re looking to get married?”
“You could say that,” he answers.
A little too cryptic for my taste. But it isn’t my business. In fact, if I’m treating this like business, I just need to close the deal.
“I have set prices for each item on the list, but I’m willing to negotiate,” I say. Something flickers in his gaze—surprise maybe—but I don’t stop. Business. “I’d prefer to sell as much as possible as a package, but again, I’m willing to negotiate.”
He angles his head, thinking. Doing more than thinking. It looks like he’s trying to figure me out. Then he nods. “I’m willing to buy the entire package at the price you name.”
I blink, shocked. “You are?”
“Yes. On one condition.”
My stomach clenches. So, there are going to be negotiations after all. I straighten my shoulders. I can do this. “What’s the condition?”
“You tell me why you’re selling your wedding.”
CHAPTER FOUR
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Michael
S he’s holding back, I can tell. I can see the anger in her eyes when she talks about her ex and him cutting out on her a week ago. But she doesn’t go into details. Damn. I expect for her to bash him, and I wouldn’t mind—he deserves it—but she only coolly tells me he’s out of the picture and she was left with the debt for planning the wedding.
And most likely a broken heart. I don’t have to be a genius to know most women wait for their weddings their entire lives. Once they’re engaged, they live and breathe wedding dresses, tulle, flowers, honeymoons, veils, and cakes. Their entire lives become their weddings.
But Brianna doesn’t give anything away. She just sits calmly, sipping her coffee, and assessing me over the rim of her mug. With eyes the color of chocolate—melted milk chocolate.
Damn. I hadn’t seen her eyes in the bar last night. My fault, really, as I’d been distracted by her long legs, her tiny waist, and yeah—her breasts. I’d nearly gotten a hard-on showering this morning because I’d thought about her long, honey blonde hair swishing over her shoulders, just touching the tops of her breasts…
“That’s all,” she says, snapping me back to attention. “My sad story.”
She says it with a wry grin, clearly making fun of herself. I like it. That she can make light of something that had probably broken her heart. That she didn’t run away at my weird request.
But then, I’m not a threat. After all, she thinks I’m engaged. Or with someone.
The ridiculous thing is, her story, her presence—all of it—has pretty much guaranteed I’ll be with someone by the end of the day. I want Brianna. And clearly she needs me.
Or my money, at least. But we can negotiate.
“So she’s not your fiancée?” Brianna asks. Before I can answer, she grimaces. “No, wait—that’s none of my business. I just spilled my guts to you, of course, but you didn’t say you’d reciprocate, so really—”
“Hold on.” Her eyes lock on mine. “I’m making it your business.”
Those chocolate eyes narrow. “Why?”
“Because I’m hoping you’ll help me with something.”
“I’ll give you the entire wedding experience—that was the deal, right?” She grins. “But it’s going to cost you.”
“I’m not worried about that.”
She smirks. Of course, anyone who knows me knows that money isn’t a problem. Brianna isn’t stupid, she knows I’ll pay whatever she wants—it’s pocket change. She just doesn’t know what else I want right now.
“Okay, what do you want help with? Figuring out how to ask her? I might not be the best help—remember? I got dumped.”
I don’t miss the hint of bitterness in her tone. And for a brief moment, I find myself wanting to reach out and touch her. To comfort her. To tell her not all men are like that, she just wasn’t with the right one. That things don’t have to be like that.
Especially if she takes me up on the offer.
“What’s your dream proposal?” I ask.
She lifts her eyebrows, surprised by the question. “Why?”
“Just curious. In case I need to ask someone to marry me sometime soon.”
“Oh. Yeah. Well, just be sincere. I…” She looks away, watching people cross the street. She’s playing it pretty cool, but I see a suspicious glitter in her eye. “I like to be surprised. It doesn’t have to be dinner or something fancy, just a moment—one sincere moment where we can look in each other’s eyes and know we’re making the right choice. The rest is just details.”
“That easy, huh?”
“That easy. So, are you going to ask her soon?”
I rub the back of my neck, trying not to laugh. Brianna has no idea what’s coming—I almost feel bad for keeping her in suspense. But the other half of me is certain she’ll say no. Which would be a damn shame because I’m actually beginning to like this woman.
“Can I tell you a secret?” I ask.
She leans in, her lips curving. “Yes.”
“There is no fiancée. No girlfriend, not even a potential girlfriend.”
Her eyes cloud with confusion. “But…the magazines—”
“Were wrong. And the papers, too. I…sort of made her up. Someone general. I was sick of my family and my partners nagging me about settling down, so I said I already had. Sort of. And from there, well…the story took on a life of its own.”
“Wait…there isn’t anyone?”
“No.”
“Then—then why do you need all my wedding stuff?”
“Because I’m hoping there will be a wedding.”
“With…who?”
I lean back in my seat, my eyes locking on hers. I feel the heat in them, the way my body is responding to hers because she’s still leaning toward me with questions on her face. Hell, I want this woman.
“That’s the part I’m hoping you can help me with.”
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Keep reading for your bonus story, INSIDE OUT.
Brett knows me better than anyone else. After all, he’s practically family. He’s been friends with my older brothers since high school. But we’re not kids anymore and Brett doesn’t look at me like he used to. In fact, Brett hardly looks at me at all. I was beginning to think he hated me. Until we get snowed in at my family’s cabin. Until we get a fire going and it’s just the two of us.
Alone.
Brett used to know me as a friend, but he’s about to get to know me intimately…inside and out.
<<<>>>
CHAPTER ONE
I barely made it.
By the time I reached the cabin, the world was lost in a sea of white. I knew we were expecting a storm this weekend, but it wasn’t supposed to be a blizzard. And it wasn’t supposed to get bad until the middle of the night, not by dinner.
I hauled my bag inside and dumped it on the floor in the foyer, and then breathed in deep. There were worse places to spend a week in a blizzard. The only thing I worried about was if the rest of the family would make it.
Both my brothers were supposed to come, and they were planning on bringing along Brett. My breath shuddered out. Brett. Family friend and long-time crush.
Who was I kidding? He wasn’t a simple crush. I’d known Brett since we were kids. He used to pull my hair and tease me. Then in high school he acted like an older brother and screened all the guys I dated. And now?
Now he just avoided me.
I peered out the window with a frown. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to make it. As much as I wanted Brett here, part of me never wanted to see him again. Every time I tried to tell him how I felt, he had something to do. Somewhere to be. Som
eone else to talk to.
I don’t know what I’d done to offend him, but it had to have been something.
When my phone rang and I saw my brother’s number, I answered right away. “Hey, Jeff.”
“Where are you?”
“At the cabin.”
“Damn. You bring provisions?” he asked.
I walked to the kitchen. “The fridge was stocked a few days ago, but I still brought some snacks. Why? I thought you were bringing stuff.”
“Yeah, I was. But not anymore. Didn’t you hear? They closed the highway.”
Outside the window, the snow was so thick I couldn’t even see the road. “Wait—you’re not coming?”
“Can’t.”
“But…what about Drew? He and Brett were supposed to come, too.”
“Drew had to run into work. He was supposed to come with me.”
My stomach clenched. “And Brett?”
“He left an hour ago—should be there soon.”
Fuck. Maybe the road was closed before he got past. Not that I wanted to be stuck at the cabin all alone for a few days—or until the blizzard passed—but it’d be way less awkward. I could read a book. Drink some wine. Pine over Brett…
“This sucks,” I said, opening the refrigerator. Might as well check out the rations.
Jeff laughed. “Hopefully it’s only until tomorrow night. The snow’s supposed to slow down and we’ll head up then.”
A day alone with Brett was bound to feel like a month, but again…wine. Reading. I could even pop in a movie and lose myself in that. Brett could fend for himself.
“Let me know when you’re on your way,” I said.
Jeff promised to call me tomorrow, and hung up. At least the fridge was stocked. I grinned at the wine rack. That was stocked, too, which meant Brett wouldn’t bother me in the slightest.
I pulled down a bottle and opened it before grabbing my phone and attaching it to the wireless speaker on the counter. Music would pass the time. Later I’d start a fire and decide what to do next.
By the time I’d had almost an entire glass, I’d almost forgotten I was up here alone. I dawned my slippers and spun in the kitchen, dancing to 90s hip hop with my glass in hand. When the chorus started, I sang at the top of my lungs, pulling off some pretty stellar dance moves.
