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“I appreciate it.” Owen remained standing after she left. No point in taking a seat as he’d be on his way soon enough. Instead, he studied the photos displayed on the walls. More locations he recognized, though he let his eyes skitter over those, uninterested in the bouquets and dresses. He stopped on a photo of a couple in front of a pond. It wasn’t flashy. There was no arbor of roses above them or a brick windmill for storied ambience. It was just a pond backed by a forest of tall evergreens. The couple wasn’t wearing the traditional white and black and there wasn’t an explosion of roses in her hand. She wore a casual dress that reached her knees in a floral pattern, while he was in cotton pants and a loose white shirt. They were looking at each other, just a tiny upturn to their lips, as though they were sharing a secret joke. As though they were the only two people there.
Which, Owen supposed, was how it should be.
The click of the door handle interrupted his perusal and he spun, turning on his smile as he did.
“Mr. Ford.” The woman who walked through the door was cool and blonde. She could have been related to the young receptionist. She wore a cream-colored suit and a lilac dress shirt and her pale hair was twisted back, not a strand out of place. Owen suspected no strand would dare to break free of the neat updo. Not if it wanted to live to tell about it. “I’m Grace Monroe.”
He moved to take her proffered hand, expecting it to be as cool and stiff as everything else in this place. Like a marble statue, beautiful to look at and smooth to the touch, but lifeless.
He was wrong.
Her fingers were warm and soft as they wrapped around his. He couldn’t help stroking his thumb across them, appreciating the velvety surface. Her eyes were dark blue, like the sky just before the sun dipped below the horizon. They widened at him again when he smiled.
She pulled her hand free, quickly and crisply, like the way she walked. “Can I offer you a beverage?”
What was it with these people and the offering of beverages? Did he look dehydrated? “No, thank you.” But he did take a moment to secretly drink her in. The smooth lines of her suit, hiding and covering everything beneath. He wondered if her skin beneath was as warm as her hand. He wanted to reach out and touch her again, but she moved away, stepping around him to lay a folder on the glossy table.
He caught the waft of her scent as she passed. The bright pop of grapefruit and the sharpness of mint. Clean and fresh. “Will your fiancée be joining you?” she asked.
“Oh, I’m not the one getting married.” Owen realized she’d misunderstood who he was. A miscommunication from the receptionist. From him. Perhaps he should have been clearer, since he did share the groom’s last name.
“I see.” Her cool eyes landed on him. “Then who would you be?”
“The brother of the groom.” He took a half step toward her just to see if he could get a whiff of her perfume again.
She raised an eyebrow at him. “And you would be here because?”
“Because my brother was unable to make the meeting and he asked if I’d come in his place.” Suddenly, the thought of leaving as soon as he’d arrived didn’t sound quite so appealing. Owen smiled at her. “Perhaps it was fortuitous.”
“How so?”
“Well, if I hadn’t come, then I wouldn’t be able to ask you out.”
“Mr. Ford.” Grace’s eyes went frosty. “This is a place of business and I do not date clients.”
Owen blinked. He’d been rejected before. Not often, but it had happened once or twice. “But I’m not a client. I’m the brother of a client.”
“Close enough.” Her fingers twitched and Owen saw her nails were painted the same pale pink as her lips. She opened her mouth, but whatever she’d been about to say was cut short by a knock at the door.
“Ms. Monroe?” The pretty receptionist entered the room. “Ms. Laurent is here.”
The frosty film in Grace’s eyes disappeared and was replaced by a look of polite welcome. “Thank you, Hayley.” Grace greeted Julia warmly, showing a spirit of effervescence that took Owen by surprise. Not quite the cool Ice Queen she tried to portray. The dichotomy intrigued him. It had been a long time since a woman had intrigued him.
“Owen?” Julia’s brow furrowed when she spotted him standing there. “What are you doing here? Where’s Donovan?”
“His flight was delayed.” Owen glanced at Grace, who was watching him with no hint of that effervescence. “And he couldn’t get in touch with you to let you know. He roped me into coming in his place.”
“Did he?” Julia couldn’t hide her grin. “How much did that cost him?”
“Just his undying gratitude.” Owen included Grace in his cheerful explanation. She didn’t smile back.
“Well—” Julia’s voice drew his attention “—I appreciate you coming, Owen, but don’t feel obligated to hang around. I’m sure you have something else to do.”
Owen continued to look at Grace, who stared at him, a small pout on her lips. Clearly, his leaving would be no skin off her back. “Actually...” He sent her his most charming smile. He’d crack her facade if it killed him. “I think I’ll stay.”
CHAPTER TWO (#u69848c76-d197-5492-8fa9-2ede113db198)
GRACE COULD FEEL irritation and something else burn up the back of her neck and warm her cheeks. This man, this charming, flirty, handsome man in his casual shorts and cartoony T-shirt, with his hair mussed and flip-flops on his feet, unsettled her. She didn’t like being unsettled.
Raised by a pair of unconventional hippies on Salt Spring Island, one of the Gulf Islands off the coast of BC, meant Grace was well aware of how unsettled life could be. It was something she’d fought against her whole life, longing to fit in, to be like the families she saw on TV sitcoms with parents who were married, who set rules for their kids and expected them to work toward well-paid white-collar careers. Instead of scrounging in the dirt on the family’s organic farm and saving her pennies to buy the glossy magazines her mother claimed were rife with material consumerism.
Grace breathed in slowly. The room was an ideal seventy-two degrees, which felt cool in the summer season. She reminded herself that after today she wouldn’t have to put up with Owen Ford again. That this wedding, like all her weddings, would find its rhythm and settle into the detailed and organized plan she’d create for it.
Really, Owen was a good reminder to her and everyone on her team that there was no fraternizing with the clients. Not with the wedding party, the family or the guests.
It was a hard-line policy, but one Grace felt was necessary. Weddings were ripe for sexcapades. Alcohol flowed, bodies pressed against one another on the dance floor, while everyone was groomed and dressed to look their best. And with the cultural overtones that were wrapped up in the idea of a wedding night, sex was on the brain.
Grace expected her staff to rise above all of that, and to ensure her events stayed classy and professional no matter what. Amorous couples were dispatched to conduct their business in private. Grace had personally caught guests going at it in the garden, in the bathroom and in the limo booked to whisk the newlyweds off at the end of the night. In all cases, she’d politely interrupted and suggested the couple in question might prefer to take their activities to a more private location. Like the bank of hotel rooms she always booked for her events.
She had a feeling she’d need a suite of rooms for Owen Ford.
The moment that thought entered her mind, Grace pushed it away. Owen’s personal amusements were none of her business. She was here to plan a wedding, not worry about what kind of problems the brother of the groom might cause. There would be plenty of time to worry about that once the location was selected, the cake ordered and the flowers chosen.
“Let’s discuss basics, Ms. Laurent.”
“Oh, please, call me Julia.”
“Call me Owen.”
Grace forced a polite smile she didn’t feel. “Of course, Julia. Please call me Grace.” She purposely didn’t look at Owen, keeping her attention focused where it should be—on the person getting married. “You said during our initial phone call that you’re thinking about a winter wedding. Did you have a specific date in mind?”
Julia talked about the quiet time in the restaurant industry and how she and her fiancé hoped to take advantage of that. Grace listened with both ears, but kept an eye on Owen. He looked too casual, too comfortable. And who came to a business meeting, even if it wasn’t his business, in shorts and flip-flops? Would it have killed him to put on a pair of pants and some closed-toe shoes?
“So January?” She returned her gaze to Julia. She was going to be an easy bride. Grace could already tell. None of the barely suppressed nerves or the tightly wound personality that some of her brides had.
They discussed a few options. Day or evening. Hotel or private venue. Indoor, outdoor or a mix of both. The number of guests. Their proposed budget made it clear that money wasn’t going to be an issue. No, any difficulties were going to come from availability and desire. Grace flicked another glance at Owen, who hadn’t added much to the discussion. He’d just sat there.
She felt the burn rise back up her cheeks when she saw he was looking at her and closed her leather notebook with a delicate flip. “I think we’ve got a good start.” She started a new book for each wedding she planned, filling the pages with notes and pictures on anything and everything. The wedding party, engagement parties, photographers, the dress, the food, every detail that might arise and plenty that didn’t.
Grace’s business offered full-service wedding-planning services and that meant she handled everything no matter how big or small. Though she’d started her own business just four years ago, she’d been in the industry for nine, honing her skills at larger, more established event-planning companies before branching out on her own. She’d already carved out a niche. The wedding planner for those who wanted style and class, traditional elegance.
She was expensive, but then so were her results. But her clients got what they paid for. Every detail was exquisite, every movement planned and prepared so that the whole day was a magical experience.
“I’ll come up with some prospective plans and send them to you and your fiancé. Perhaps we can schedule another meeting next week to discuss them?” Grace liked to move quickly. Although winter weddings weren’t nearly as popular as summer or spring, the best locations always booked up quickly and often months or years ahead of time. She didn’t want to get caught flat-footed on what was sure to be one of the biggest weddings of the season.
She’d manage the media attention, too. She had contacts at the papers, reporters who would be all too happy to feature a pair of local celebrities and their splashy event. Or she could bar them, keeping photos and attention directed elsewhere to allow the bride and groom privacy.
“And please let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you,” Grace said. She’d learned over the years that keeping in regular contact with her clients was the best way to manage any surprises. This way there were no last-minute bombs dropped that she couldn’t negotiate.
“Absolutely.” Julia stood, pushing her dark hair off her shoulder. “Thank you so much, Grace. I’m really looking forward to this.”
Grace was, too. Not just the wedding day, but the deeper meaning behind it. Grace could always tell which brides were about playing princess and had been planning their wedding since they were six and which were motivated not by the ceremony, but the future it represented.
She smiled, feeling Julia’s happiness wash over her. This was why she did it. To know that she had a hand in creating a happy day that would hopefully lead to a long and happy future. A future she wanted for herself. And one she planned to start working toward now that her business was more secure and didn’t require her to work quite so many extra hours.
“I’ll see you out.” Grace was conscientious about not excluding Owen from the conversation, much as she might like to. She led them down her “hall of fame,” where she displayed the photos from her favorite events, walking slowly, allowing them to pause and study the black-and-white prints. The reaction often gave her a solid base from which to start.
Did the bride halt in front of garden photos or rocky cliffs? Did her eyes widen at the clean lines of a regimented wedding party or the scattered cluster of bodies? The photos often gave the couple ideas, as well. Most times, they specifically referred to a photo or two during their second meeting.
Grace noted Julia’s pauses, the hesitation by the cityscapes. Rooftop patios with the buildings laid out below them. Night shots where the streetlights twinkled in the distance. Good. Very good.
But she didn’t feel quite so good when she glanced at Owen. His eyes were on her rather than the pictures. Grace swallowed and kept her gait steady.
She didn’t expect him to study them. Not exactly. He likely would have no say in the choices made, but she didn’t expect him to gawk at her, either. She longed to fiddle with the cuff of her suit jacket or straighten her skirt, but that would betray the uncertainty writhing within her and she wouldn’t do that.
Instead, she took long, slow breaths, the way she’d learned in her Pilates class. The deep and full inhalation and the complete exhalation. It was meant to cleanse and invigorate and Grace generally found this to be true when she was in class. The long, lean bodies stretched around her, each of them working to reach the same goal. But now, she just felt light-headed.
She was glad when they reached the lobby and the safety it provided with both her new hire, Hayley, and the front door.
“Grace, thank you again.” Julia turned with a warm smile and took Grace’s hands in hers. It didn’t surprise Grace, the extra touching. She made connections with her clients—they were entrusting her with one of the most important days of their lives and a connection was natural. But Julia’s sincerity did.
“It’s a pleasure.” Which was pretty much what she said to all her clients, but this time she meant it. “I’ll be in touch by the end of the week.”
But while Julia moved toward the frosted-glass front door that led out to the sidewalk, Owen didn’t follow. Grace felt her molars clamp together, but she made certain there was no other physical indication of her unsettledness. “Mr. Ford? Is there something I can assist you with?”
“I think I forgot something in the boardroom.”
Grace held her tongue. Waspishly asking what that could possibly be wouldn’t win her any points. Not with him, not with Julia, not with Hayley and not with herself. “Of course. I’ll show you back.”
“You go on ahead, Jules,” Owen said to his sister-in-law with a friendly wave. “And tell Donovan he owes me.”
Julia laughed as she pushed the door open and stepped out into the summer afternoon, but Grace didn’t feel like laughing. Or smiling. Exactly what was he on about now? She knew he hadn’t forgotten anything. He hadn’t been carrying anything when he’d arrived and he’d placed nothing on the table or the chair.
It embarrassed Grace that she knew this with such certainty as it meant she’d been watching him, paying close attention even when she hadn’t wanted to. “Exactly what are we looking for?” she asked as they walked back down the hallway to the boardroom.
He didn’t answer until she pushed open the door and he followed her inside. Grace had always loved her boardroom. The round, shiny table, the padded chairs that had been selected for comfort as well as style, the dove-gray walls and crystal chandelier. It wasn’t large because it didn’t need to be. Grace didn’t have a board of directors and she saw no need for more than eight people to ever be in the room at one time. Any more than that and it meant there were too many voices, too many opinions—usually from everyone other than the couple getting married, which was something she tried to avoid.
But right now, the room felt too compact. Too small. Too full of Owen Ford.
“I didn’t forget anything.”
Grace’s toes curled in the points of her high-heeled shoes. She’d known that, but she hadn’t expected him to come right out with it. No, she’d expected a staged search that would end when he suddenly “remembered” that he hadn’t brought along whatever item he’d pretended to leave behind with him in the first place. She moved across the room to straighten the line of water glasses that were slightly off. “Was there something else, then?”
“Yes.” He moved toward her, all warm intent and male conceit.
Grace felt the unwelcome response of her own body. The tug of heat, the whip of interest and the curiosity that flooded her system. She forced herself to hold her ground, not to back up until she bumped into the wall. There was no need to give him the high ground, moral or otherwise. They were in her space. She was in control. She left the glasses—those could be straightened later—and crossed her arms over her chest, stopping him in his tracks. “What is it you want, Mr. Ford?”
“Well, first, I’d like you to call me Owen.” He grinned, a charming, rakish grin that Grace had little doubt got him what he wanted most of the time. “And second, I’d like you to go out with me.”
She didn’t need time to consider her answer. “No.”
“Is that a no to question one or question two?”
“To both.” She didn’t smile or waver. It would only egg him on and she had a feeling Owen would be a handful without any encouragement.
“Now, why is that?” He took another step forward.
He was crowding her, even though he was too far away to touch. “As I’ve already explained, I don’t fraternize with my clients.”
“I’m not a client.”
Grace didn’t bother to correct him, didn’t want to engage him any more than was absolutely necessary. “Is there anything else, Mr. Ford?”
Owen didn’t say anything, but tilted his head and studied her. Grace felt like a bug under a magnifying glass, which had been a favorite pastime of her brother’s growing up until her mother caught him at it and gave him a lecture on respecting the life of all Earth’s creatures.
But if Owen thought she’d flounder, scrabble away or otherwise panic, he was wrong. She did what those little bugs never had—remained completely still and let him look. She knew she looked presentable and put together. She prided herself on it. Not a hair out of place, with understated and expensive jewelry, and artfully applied makeup. He’d find nothing there.
“I can’t quite figure you out,” he finally said.
“I’m not a puzzle.”
Owen shrugged. “And yet I find you puzzling.”
Grace had no doubt he’d used this line before. But she was made of stronger stuff. He was handsome and clearly comfortable in his own skin, but that was hardly enough. “Then I suppose I’ll just have to remain one of life’s little mysteries. I’ll show you out.”
She moved to step around him. He moved with her, their arms brushing. Grace felt his heat through the thin material of her suit jacket and was glad she’d left it on. “Maybe we could go for coffee,” Owen suggested as she led him out of the boardroom and back into the hallway.
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”
“And why’s that?”
“Mr. Ford.” She leveled a cool look at him as they walked. “As I’ve explained twice, I keep my personal and professional lives separate.”
“I’m not part of your business.”
“You’re in my office as part of a wedding I’ve been hired to plan.” Grace walked a little faster.
“That my brother and sister-in-law hired you for.” He kept up easily, his flip-flops slapping against the soles of his feet. Grace hated the sound, the loud smack disturbing the quiet hush of the space. “I don’t have anything to do with it.”
“You’re family. That makes you a client by association.”
“What about if I file for emancipation? My parents will be devastated, but they’ll understand when they meet you.”
Grace tried not to laugh. She really did, but Owen’s playful nature and silly banter finally got to her. She felt the corners of her mouth curl up. “Fine, Mr. Ford. If you file for emancipation, we’ll go for that coffee.” She pushed open the door that led to the lobby. “Otherwise? I’ll look forward to seeing you at the wedding.”
He followed her into the quiet space, where the only sound was the click of Hayley’s keyboard as she entered files into the system. “I’ll look forward to it, too.”
Grace turned to look at him and felt a pulse of attraction. His dark eyes, dark hair that flopped over his forehead and mischievous grin. Her throat felt dry and she wished she’d taken a glass of water from the boardroom. Oh well. As soon as she got rid of him, she could chug a bottle in the privacy of her office. She was determined to do so immediately. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Ford.”
