Cara Colter - The Wedding Planner's Big Day

“Oh, great,” he said. “There’s nothing I like as much as a little competition. Let’s see who can give who a bigger headache.”

“The only way I could give you a bigger headache than the one you are giving me is if I smashed this lamp over your head.”

Her hand actually came to rest on a rather heavy-looking brass lamp on the corner of her desk. It was evident to him that she would have loved to do just that if she wasn’t such a prim-and-proper type.

“I’m bringing out the worst in you,” he said with satisfaction. She looked at her hand, resting on the lamp, and looked so appalled with herself that Drew did the thing he least wanted to do. He laughed.

* * *

Becky snatched her hand back from the brass lamp, annoyed with herself, miffed that she was providing amusement for the very cocky Mr. Drew Jordan. She was not the type who smashed people over the head with lamps. Previously, she had not even been the type who would have ever thought about such a thing. She had dealt with some of the world’s—or at least Michigan’s—worst Bridezillas, and never once had she laid hand to lamp. It was one of the things she prided herself in. She kept her cool.

But Drew Jordan had that look of a man who could turn a girl inside out before she even knew what had hit her. He could make a woman who trusted her cool suddenly aware that fingers of heat were licking away inside her, begging for release. And it was disturbing that he knew it!

He was laughing at her. It was super annoying that instead of being properly indignant, steeling herself against attractions that he was as aware of as she was, she could not help but notice how cute he was when he laughed—that sternness stripped from his face, an almost boyish mischievousness lurking underneath.

She frowned at her computer screen, pretending she was getting down to business and that she had called up the weather to double-check his facts. Instead, she learned her head of construction was also the head of a multimillion-dollar Los Angeles development company.

The bride’s future brother-in-law was not an out-of-work tradesman that Becky could threaten to fire. He ran a huge development company in California. No wonder he seemed to be impatient at being pressed into the service of his very famous soon-to-be sister-in-law.

No wonder he’d been professional enough to Google the weather. Becky wondered why she hadn’t thought of doing that. It was nearly the first thing she did for every event.

It was probably because she was being snowed under by Allie’s never-ending requests. Just now she was trying to find a way to honor Allie’s casually thrown-out email, received that morning, which requested freshly planted lavender tulips—picture attached—to line the outdoor aisle she would walk down toward her husband-to-be.

Google, that knowledge reservoir of all things, told Becky she could not have lavender tulips—or any kind of tulip for that matter—in the tropics in June.

What Google confirmed for her now was not the upcoming weather forecast or the impossibility of lavender tulips, but that Drew Jordan was used to million-dollar budgets.

Becky, on the other hand, had started shaking when she had opened the promised deposit check from Allie. Up until then, it had seemed to her that maybe she was being made the butt of a joke. But that check—made out to Happily-Ever-After—had been for more money than she had ever seen in her life.

With trembling fingers she had dialed the private cell number Allie had provided.

“Is this the budget?”

“No, silly, just the deposit.”

“What exactly is your budget?” Becky had asked. Her voice had been shaking as badly as her fingers.

“Limitless,” Allie had said casually. “And I fully intend to exceed it. You don’t think I’m going to be outdone by Roland Strump’s daughter, do you?”

“Allie, maybe you should hire whoever did the Strump wedding, I—”

“Nonsense. Have fun with it, for Pete’s sake. Haven’t you ever had fun? I hope you and Drew don’t manage to bring down the mood of the whole wedding. Sourpusses.”

Sourpuss? She was studious to be sure, but sour? Becky had put down the phone contemplating that. Had she ever had fun? Even at Happily-Ever-After, planning fun events for other people was very serious business, indeed.

Well, now she knew who Drew was. And Allie had been right when it came to him. He could definitely be a sourpuss! It was more worrying that he planned to take off his shirt. She had to get back to business.

“Mr. Jordan—”

“Drew is fine. And what should I call you?”

Barnum. “Becky is fine. We can’t just throw a bunch of tables out on the front lawn as if this were the church picnic.”

“We’re back to that headache.” His lips twitched. “I’m afraid my experience with church picnics has been limited.”

Yes, it was evident he was all devilish charm and dark seduction, while it was written all over her that that was what she came from: church picnics and 4-H clubs, a place where the Fourth of July fireworks were the event of the year.

She shifted her attention to the second no. “And we absolutely need some sort of dance floor. Have you ever tried to dance on grass? Or sand?”

“I’m afraid,” Drew said, “that falls outside of the realm of my experience, too. And you?”

“Oh, you know,” she said. “We like to dust up our heels after the church picnic.”

He nodded, as if that was more than evident to him and he had missed her sarcasm completely.

She focused on his third veto. She looked at her clumsy drawing of a small gazebo on the beach. She had envisioned Allie and Joe saying their vows under it, while their guests sat in beautiful lightweight chairs looking at them and the sea beyond them.

“And what’s your complaint with this one?”

“I’ll forgive you this oversight because of where you are from.”

“Oversight?”

“I wouldn’t really expect a girl from Michigan to have foreseen this. The wedding—” he managed to fill that single word with a great deal of contempt “—according to my notes, is supposed to take place at 4:00 p.m. on June third.”

“Correct.”

“If you Google the tide chart for that day, you’ll see that your gazebo would have water lapping up to the third stair. I’m not really given to omens, but I would probably see that as one.”

She was feeling very tired of Google, except in the context of learning about him. It seemed to her he was the kind of man who brought out the weakness in a woman, even one who had been made as cynical as she had been. Because she felt she could ogle him all day long. And he knew it, she reminded herself.

“So,” she said, a little more sharply than intended, “what do you suggest?”

“If we scratch the pavilion for two hundred—”

“I can get more people to help you.”

He went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “I can probably build you a rudimentary gazebo at a different location.”

“What about the dance floor?”

“I’ll think about it.”

He said that as if he were the boss, not her. From what she had glimpsed about him on the internet he was very used to being in charge. And he obviously knew his stuff, and was good with details. He had spotted the weather and the tides, after all. Really, she should be grateful. What if her bride had marched down her tulip-lined aisle—or whatever the aisle ended up being lined with—to a wedding gazebo that was slowly being swallowed by water?

It bothered her to even think it, but Drew Jordan was right. That would have been a terrible omen.

Still, gratitude was not what Becky felt. Not at all.

“You are winning the headache contest by a country mile,” she told him.

“I’m no kind of expert on the country,” he said, without regret, “but I am competitive.”

“What did Allie tell you? Are you in charge of construction?”

“Absolutely.”

He said it too quickly and with that self-assured smile of a man way too used to having his own way, particularly with the opposite sex.

“I’m going to have to call Allie and see what that means,” Becky said, steeling herself against that smile. “I’m happy to leave construction to you, but I think I should have the final word on what we are putting up and where.”

“I’m okay with that. As long as it’s reasonable.”

“I’m sure we define that differently.”

He flashed his teeth at her again. “I’m sure we do.”

“Would it help you do your job if I brought more people on-site? Carpenters and such?”

“That’s a great idea, but I don’t work with strangers. Joe and I have worked together a lot. He’ll be here tomorrow.”

“That wouldn’t be very romantic, him building the stuff for his own wedding.”

“Or you could see it as him putting an investment and some effort into his own wedding.”

She sighed. “You want him here so you can try to bully him out of getting married.”

“I resent the implication I would bully him.”

But Becky was stunned to see doubt flash across those self-confident features. “He isn’t talking to you, is he?” Becky guessed softly.

She could tell Drew was not accustomed to this level of perception. He didn’t like it one little bit.

“I have one of my teams arriving soon. And Joe. I’m here a day early to do some initial assessments. What I need is for you to pick the site for the exchange of vows so that I can put together a plan. We don’t have as much time as you think.”

Which was truly frightening, because she did not think they had any time at all. Becky looked at her desk: flowers to be ordered, ceremony details to be finalized, accommodations to be organized, boat schedules, food, not just for the wedding feast, but for the week to follow, and enough staff to pull off pampering two hundred people.

“And don’t forget fireworks,” she added.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing,” she muttered. She did not want to be thinking of fireworks around a man like Drew Jordan. Her eyes drifted to his lips. If she were ever to kiss someone like that, it would be the proverbial fireworks. And he knew it, too. That was why he was smiling evilly at her!

Suddenly, it felt like nothing in the world would be better than to get outside away from this desk—and from him—and see this beautiful island. So far, she had mostly experienced it by looking out her office window. The sun would be going down soon. She could find a place to hold the wedding and watch the sun go down.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll find a new site. I’ll let you know as soon as I’ve got it.”

“Let’s do it together. That might save us some grief.”

She was not sure that doing anything with him was going to save her some grief. She needed to get away from him...and the thoughts of fireworks he had caused.

CHAPTER FOUR

“I’D PREFER TO do it on my own,” Becky said, even though it seemed ungracious to say so. She felt a need to establish who was running the cir—show.

“But here’s the problem,” Drew said with annoying and elaborate patience.

“Yes?”

“You’ll pick a site on your own, and then I’ll go look at it and say no, and so then you’ll pick another site on your own, and I’ll go look at it and say no.”

She scowled at him. “You’re being unnecessarily negative.”

He shrugged. “I’m just making the point that we could, potentially, go on like that endlessly, and there is a bit of a time crunch here.”

“I think you just like using the word no,” she said grumpily.