by Marina Adair
“You might want to change the top while you’re at it.” He grinned. “Not that I mind the view, but it might cause some heart problems with the older guests.”
Darcy’s gaze dropped to her shirt and the two beautiful buds peeking through the translucent fabric, and she gasped. Hell, Gage was in his prime and her top was causing some serious gasping and heart palpitations on his end.
“Don’t worry, I didn’t peek. Much.” He leaned in and whispered, “Although, if you know you’re going to take a swim, you might just consider skinny dipping. You’d get the same effect, only you wouldn’t have to hang-dry your lace bra and panties.”
“You can’t see my panties.”
No, he couldn’t, but she didn’t need to know that. The narrowed eyes and pursed lips were enough to tell him that she was ticked just thinking about him seeing her panties. And that was a far better state than the tears that had been threatening a moment ago.
“Look,” she said pointedly, crossing her arms over her chest, which did nothing—except pull the fabric tighter. “I’m grateful that you found the ring and helped me out of the fountain, and I have no clue as to why you’re here,” her tone said she didn’t care to find out either, “but I need you to leave.”
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I didn’t come to ruin your big day. I’ll get out of your way as soon as my meeting is over.” And he found the abomination in bows he was stuck dog sitting.
“Oh, it’s not my big day,” she clarified. “I’m the planner for the wedding that is supposed to start in less than an hour.”
He looked at her outfit, while although cream and dripping, it wasn’t bridal attire. The skirt, the buttoned silk top, even her hair said professionally elegant. Not bride to be.
A heaviness that he didn’t even notice he’d taken on lifted at her admission, and he wanted to kick himself. She wasn’t getting married? So what? It didn’t matter. Kyle was gone, Gage was still struggling to make peace with things, and Darcy would always be off limits.
No matter how great she still looked. Even scratched up and sweaty, she was as gorgeous as ever.
“Well, if you’ll just direct me to the manager’s office,” he asked. “I’m late and don’t want to keep him waiting.”
She looked at her watch and froze, an expression of resignation washing over her.
“Actually, you’re early,” she said, so full of dread he felt sweat bead on his forehead. She stuck out her hand. “Darcy Kincaid, owner and exclusive planner for Belle Mont House. I believe the editor from Wedding Magazine said you’d be dropping by tomorrow.”
Chapter 2
“Can you define exclusive for me?” Gage asked, not sure if he was going to laugh or lose his shit. Both were distinct possibilities, and he knew with complete certainty that he was screwed.
“It means I am the only person allowed to design, plan, or oversee events at Belle Mont House,” she said, her eyes full of fire, her attitude dialed to untouchable.
Which in no way explained why his fingers itched to reach out. Sure, he liked fire and attitude on his women. He’d always especially liked it on this particular woman. But after five years of no contact and a boatload of disappointment—on both sides—he’d assumed he’d gotten past the attraction.
She’d made her choice, and he’d made peace with it.
“And what if my client wants someone else to plan the event?”
“Then they need to find a new venue. I have a list of recommendations in the office,” she said, ever so helpful. “Just let me know who your client is and I’ll have my assistant send it over.”
She handed him a card, which she pulled from who knows where. The point was, she stepped forward to give it to him, so close he could see the sun dance in her eyes, and he caught a whiff of something floral and—Jesus help him—sexy.
“I’m not at liberty to say who the event is for until we have nondisclosure agreements signed,” he said, and she rolled her eyes. Right, lame excuse, but he knew the second she heard who his client was, any bargaining chip he held would be voided. “What can I do to make you feel comfortable entertaining the idea of bringing in someone else to plan the wedding?”
“Nothing.”
The way she said it, with a bravado that was too big to be real, told him that she wasn’t as rigid as she was letting on. As an agent for some of the world’s top musicians and sports stars, Gage had negotiated enough deals to know that everyone had a price—it wasn’t always money, although money was the easiest to leverage.
But nothing with him and Darcy had ever been easy.
“Look, they don’t want another venue, they want Belle Mont House. My client’s fiancée is set on having it here.” Only because she’d heard some European princess who was loosely related to Grace Kelley had been married there once upon time. “But he will only agree to it if you ensure that it won’t turn into a media frenzy. Can you guarantee that?”
Gage watched the way those beautiful eyes darted around the grounds. He knew what she was seeing. Besides the assistant she’d mentioned, there were only a few hired servers and wait staff walking around, and if her wedding was to start in an hour, he doubted she had more coming. Bottom line: she didn’t have a staff large enough to handle a high-profile event. Let alone one that could easily become a media circus. And she knew it.
“If security is a concern, I can look into a solution that would satisfy your client’s concerns. I’d even be open to using a security company he’s used before,” she said. “But as far as running the event, I was very upfront with Lana that I would design and plan the wedding.”
Shit.
“Lana didn’t mention that,” he said, referring to the magazine editor he’d spent the last two weeks courting to make this last-minute-wedding happen. A deal that, if it went south, his client would have his ass.
And it wasn’t just any client, it was his biggest client. Rhett Easton, prodigy guitarist, front man for one of Rolling Stone’s bands-to-watch, and one of Gage’s older brothers. While Rhett was finishing up the press tour for his band’s first album, Gage had been drafted to make sure his upcoming wedding went off without any problems.
Which wouldn’t have been a problem if they’d decided to be like every other couple on the planet and give themselves at least a year to plan a wedding.
“How much would it cost for you to look the other way for once and let someone else run the show?” Gage asked.
“I looked the other way once. It didn’t work out so well for me,” she said, painful silence weighing thick in the air.
“I’m not Kyle,” he said quietly.
Even though Kyle and Gage were twins, they couldn’t have been more different. Where Kyle was impulsive and outspoken, Gage analyzed every possible outcome and didn’t mince words. Kyle loved the flash, and Gage was content to be the guy behind the curtain.
“No, but it doesn’t matter, because Kyle will always be there. Every time I think I can move on, start over, he’s there.”
Anger simmered beneath the surface. “You’re blaming him for not being able to move on? It was you moving on so abruptly that landed us all here to begin with.”
“You don’t think I know that? That every day I don’t think, ‘If I had just confronted him instead of running, would he still be here?’ I know what I did, and I am so sorry for not having the courage to stand up in front of everyone I knew and loved, and say I couldn’t go through with the wedding. But things were complicated, Gage. Everything with Kyle was always so complicated, so one sided. The man could fight with a tree stump. Out of everyone, you should know that.” She rested a hand on his arm and an intense charge shot though him.
He looked down at her hand and let it stay there, just this once, let the heat of her hand melt through the fabric, slide along his skin, and he imagined what it would feel like to have her touch other places on his body.
“I get why your mom blames me,” she said, and his gaze jerked to hers. “But at some point, I fig
ured the emotions would fade and you would see that maybe there was more to the story than me getting cold feet.”
Gage wasn’t sure what had gone down between Darcy and Kyle, but for as many great things as Kyle had done, he’d also racked up some pretty shitty ones.
When their dad passed away, Kyle took it the hardest. He was so angry at the world he ignored the strength and direction he’d gained from working alongside a man as great as Benjie Easton. He tended to veer off course from time to time and make questionable decisions, but Darcy had a calming strength that grounded him.
“I’m not asking you to forgive me, Gage. I’m just asking you to understand,” she said. “I’ve worked too hard to rebuild this house to ever look the other way again.”
“Even if you lose what could be the biggest wedding of your career?”
“Your client is looking for a premiere venue with a six-week lead time at the beginning of peak wedding season. There is no other option.”
“You and I both know that a spread in Wedding Magazine opens up a lot of options.”
“It does, but your client signed a deal with Wedding Magazine,” she said. “They signed it knowing that they’d be working with me. I already gave Lana a verbal agreement, so as far as I am concerned, your issues with me have nothing to do with this deal. If you don’t want to see me, then don’t come, but don’t you use those big agent,” she punctuated the last two words with a finger to his pec, “scare tactics on me, Gage. I’ve seen you negotiating a multi-million-dollar contract, just like I’ve seen you begging to the porcelain god for mercy after too many tequila shots. So you don’t scare me.”
Darcy was good at masking her emotions, but he knew her well enough to see the signs. She was scared of losing this account.
“I’m not trying to scare you, just pointing out the facts,” he said. “If my client walks because of your unwillingness to be flexible, do you really think Wedding Magazine won’t just roll over for the chance to follow him to the next venue?”
He watched her confidence fade and the uncertainty of it all take over as the woman, who’d once looked at him with nothing but warmth and trust, looked up at him with panic and betrayal in those caramel eyes.
“I know you have no reason to help me, Gage. But I can do this. I need to do this wedding,” she said quietly. “You know how good I am, and how much I’d bring to this kind of event. Your client won’t get the same experience with any other planner. I’m not asking for a handout. I’m just asking for a fair shot.”
There was something about the way she looked at him, it was the same look she’d had when she’d confided in him about how hard she’d worked to create a better life than the one she’d been born into, that tugged at his heart. That made him want to give in.
So he glanced up at the sky and took a deep breath, trying like hell to distance himself from the desperation he saw on her face. What it was about the leggy brunette with the sad smile that still got to him? It was her eyes, he decided. Her big, brown, melt-your-soul eyes that he could never ignore.
She was as real as a woman could get. Funny, caring, sexy, and so damn warm it drew people in. Darcy didn’t just listen, she took a genuine interest and great care with peoples’ dreams—with their lives. Around her, he couldn’t help but feel loved.
Which was why her runaway bride moment had come as such a shock. Darcy was honest, loyal, and devoted—right up until the second she walked out on Kyle and shattered his world.
No, she didn’t let him drive that night, but Kyle wouldn’t have been at a bar shitfaced and spinning off his axis if she’d handled things differently.
So yeah, he’d signed that magazine deal on Rhett’s behalf. And, yeah, it was obvious Darcy needed the publicity this would bring, but none of that mattered. It had taken his family five years to get back on track, and he wasn’t about to blow that. This time, his mother would see her son walk down the aisle.
Collateral damage or not, Darcy had to go.
“The client is Rhett,” he said, and her face went completely pale. “So you being the planner is not an option.”
“I was hired to plan an Easton wedding?”
“Yup. Which is why I’ll have a list of five of the best planners in the country emailed to you tomorrow. I’ll leave it up to you to pick the final one, but, Darcy, if you want this event, it won’t be you.” Then, before he gave in to the way her eyes misted over, Gage upped his douche factor and hollered, “Fancy, come.”
❀❀❀
Gage walked through the doors of the historical craft beer bar in downtown, letting loose a string of choice words when he saw three of his five brothers. He knew why they were there. Even knew why they wore amused as shit looks on their faces.
After the day he’d had, Gage wanted nothing more than to go home, shower, and grab a cold beer. Which was ironic, because the day he’d had left the first two as non-options. Only leaving the cold beer still in play.
That was the reason he’d asked his brothers to meet.
Stout was known, not only for its deal making environment, working as the official meeting place for politicians, businessmen, and celebrities, but it was started by their late father. So not only did it feel like a second home, it was the one place the brothers always came when they needed to talk.
And tonight, they had a lot to consider.
Deciding the best course of action was to man-up, take the reaming, then drop the bomb that was sure to wipe those smug looks right off their faces, Gage headed toward the bar. Fancy pranced behind him with his head high and his tail waving proudly, as if he wasn’t the pussiest dog known to man.
“You courting a new client around town?” Clay, the youngest and, up until two seconds ago, his favorite brother, wanted to know. He was dressed in his usual sports jersey with a cracked lip and black eye, looking as if he’d been in a bar fight or training hard for the upcoming season—which being an NFL MVP, it could have been either.
“Funny thing about that,” Gage said, handing Rhett the leash. “I called Stephanie to see where she wanted to meet for the hand-off, you know, the one I offered to do on the way to my big meeting, because you were at that interview and she couldn’t make it to the groomer in time. She explained she was getting her dress fitted in L.A., then thanked me for agreeing to dog sit.”
“That was nice of you,” Rhett said, picking up the dog and setting him in his lap.
“I’m not dog sitting,” Gage clarified. “And how the hell is she supposed to plan a wedding if she’s out of state?”
“The woman could organize a hostile takeover of a first world country from her iPhone.” Rhett leaned back and folded his hands behind his head, making himself right at home. “The in-person stuff, that’s why we have you.”
“You don’t have me. I said I’d pull a favor with the location. Not plan a wedding while dog sitting a glorified rat who likes to tear off people’s fingers.” He glared at Fancy, who was too busy licking himself to notice. “What’s up with that?”
“They must have been wearing R-I-N-G-S,” Rhett said.
“Rings?”
Littleshit lunged forward, nearly taking Gage’s hand off in the process. “Jesus, what’s wrong with that thing?”
“Nothing.” Rhett patted the rat’s head in praise. “Stephanie paid some fancy dog trainer to the stars to teach him how to carry the rin—” Rhett stopped abruptly when Fancy’s eyes went into Cujo mode. “He’s our R-I-N-G bearer, so he’ll carry it down the aisle.”
Rhett pointed to his ring finger in case anyone missed what it referred to. Then he glanced at Gage’s shirt, wrinkled with little muddy paw prints, and grinned. “How did the meeting with the potential client go?”
“He was the NHL’s rookie of the year, right?” Owen, the middle brother and the owner of Stout, asked. He reached over the bar to refill the pitcher, sure to ruffle Littleshit’s ears in the process. “Tony Carter. He was in here the other night, served him and a couple of his teammates. Nice guy,
big tipper.”
“But did he seem like a dog lover?” Rhett asked, and all of the brothers burst out laughing. Loud, amused, shit-eating laughter that made Gage want to punch someone in the nuts.
Even Littleshit was laughing. Those lips of his peeled back to give a nice flash of his damn needle teeth. The ones that had done a bang up job of turning his leather car seats into strips of jerky on the ride over.
“Didn’t matter,” Gage said, taking a seat, sure to elbow Rhett in the process. “Told him my brother was so pussy-whipped that he had a set of matching bows and collar at home that his soon-to-be-wife bought him. Playtime attire, is what I hear they call it.”
“Jesus, man,” Rhett said, suddenly serious. “That leaks and the press will run with it. I’ll never be able to go into a pet store again without someone wondering why I’m buying dog treats.”
Fancy never came up in his meeting because he paid the doorman at his building a hundred bucks to watch the rat while he landed a new client. Not that Gage mentioned that to Rhett. He’d gone out of his way to screw with Gage’s day, so letting him sweat it out for a bit wouldn’t hurt.
“So he signed?” Clay asked.
Clay might be two years younger than Gage, making him the baby of the family, but he was the most level-headed of the brothers. Always had been. His ability to keep focused in the storm made him one of the best running backs in the NFL. And a big reason why Gage wanted to meet with his brothers—get their opinion.
“He signed,” Gage said. “Thanks for intro, the way the kid was pumping my hand, like I was the pope, told me you really hyped me up.”
“It’s not hype if it’s true. You got me a ten percent jump in bonus during the last negotiations with the Seahawks. That’s more than any other running back in the league makes. As far as I’m concerned, Tony is the lucky one,” Clay said, then raised his glass. “Congrats, bro.”
Gage did a round of toasts, with a few hard pats to the back from each of his brothers, and he waited. Waited for the rush, the excitement he normally experienced after closing a big deal. But, just like at the meeting, it was nowhere to be found.