Roark crossed a leg to rest his ankle over his knee. “I thought you might want to get the full experience. Like you said, see what the guests will see if they’re sitting out here for a wedding. I brought snacks as well.”
Madison noticed a plate, covered with a cloth napkin, on the center of the table, and two steaming mugs of coffee with a little tray of cream and sugar.
“That better not be what I think it is under that napkin.”
“Depends. What do you think it is?”
“Some of those cookies from the kitchen.”
“In that case, it’s absolutely what you think it is. Wright put some aside and made fresh coffee. You said maybe later, and now it is later.”
“You’re not going to seal this deal on the virtues of some cookies.”
Roark leaned an elbow on the table and grinned. “That’s what you think, but you haven’t had these cookies yet.”
She swore her chair tipped toward him with the pull of that playful look. All day long she’d fought the draw. It was wearing her down. They had a deal to make, and flirting with Roark was not the way she did business. She rolled her eyes to play off his effect. “Fine. Unveil the cookies. Let’s get this over with.”
He turned toward the table and moved one of the pottery mugs closer to her. “Okay, but you can’t have any cookies until the color starts.”
“Color starts what?”
“Oh.” Roark whipped the napkin off the plate with a flourish. “You’ll see.”
Underneath the napkin lay ten—no, twelve—cookies. Six different frosted, two chocolate chip, two oatmeal raisin, and two of the Pumpkin Pleasure Rolls.
It was all she could do not to whine at the sweets. “I can’t eat six cookies.” Though she wouldn’t mind trying.
“Who said we’re splitting them evenly? I’m thinking ten for me, two for you.”
She laughed, realizing she’d done so more today than she had in years. She was rusty at it, but still as loud as always.
“Here we go. Now you can have a cookie.” He moved the plate closer to her. She chose a pumpkin one, only because she hadn’t stopped thinking about them since she first saw them.
Roark grabbed a chocolate iced cookie in one hand, his mug of coffee in the other.
They turned toward the horizon to see the first shades of orange and yellow stain the sky. “Lovely,” she noted. She wasn’t one to swoon at nature, but the view was pretty.
“It gets better.” He bit into his cookie and brushed the crumbs off his chest.
She refocused on the sunset and slowly, quietly, the colors went from a bright orange to burnt, to crimson, to a deep wine color. The color bled and paled, to violet and pink, until all that was left was a soft lavender with the navy blue of midnight chasing it across the sky.
A soft breeze caressed her skin, the uneaten cookie still in her hands. Madison blinked at the evening falling softly around her and realized her mouth was hanging open a little. “Is it like that every day?” Her voice was breathy, barely a whisper, and she didn’t like the sound.
She sipped her coffee, now lukewarm. How much time had gone by since she’d joined Roark out here? And why was she waxing poetic over a setting sun when that was just the sort of ridiculousness she’d never entertain?
“Not every day.” Roark reached for another cookie. This time a strawberry frosted. “But we do get a lot of them.”
“It’s spectacular.”
From the corner of her eyes, she could see Roark turn toward her. “Isn’t it? It’s nothing magical like people say, but that doesn’t make it any less beautiful. Our cleaner air, plus the high clouds we get this time of year, light scattering through particles in the atmosphere, that’s the secret to our sunsets.”
Yes, Roark was a kindred cynic, for sure. It didn’t ruin the quality of the view for her though. In fact, it enhanced it. He made the sunset real, something she could rely on.
“So the climate is perfect for pretty sunsets in September?” she asked.
“Some of the prettiest.”
That meant she’d have guests at least ten times as wowed as she was, because she wouldn’t tell them about the atmosphere and particles. This location was perfect, and she’d make sure she got it without a sky-high price tag. The bride and groom’s grumpy manager would be satisfied with not spending a load of money and, more importantly, the wedding couple would have the location of their dreams.
Then Madison’s name would spread through the entertainment industry like A-list gossip and she’d be the It woman for fabulous weddings and events. She wasn’t working this hard for anything less.
She envisioned patting herself on the back and bit into the cookie. “Oh . . . my . . . god.”
The cookie’s name was 100 percent justified; her eyes really did roll back into her head. When she got it together, she looked over at Roark.
He was smiling the smile of a man who’d told her so. “I know.”
“What’s in this thing? The soul your chef sold for it to taste so good?”
Roark slapped the table. “I’ll have to tell Wright you said that, but I don’t know what’s in them. A cheesecake-type something or other? He won’t tell me details and I’m not sure I want to know. Probably enough sugar to warrant a ban by the FDA. We don’t question perfection.” He grabbed one of the pumpkin ones too.
“No offense, but how can you eat these cookies and, first of all, not have diabetes, and second of all, still look . . . the way you look.”
He grinned and she knew, this time, she was the one busted. “How do I look?”
“You know how you look. Answer the question.”
“I limit myself to one a day. Usually,” he added before she could point out she’d seen him have at least four today. “Today I’m giving a tour, so it’s special. I haven’t had dinner yet either, so I’m starving. I tell Wright that he’s the reason I run every day. If I didn’t run, I’d have to cut these out of my life completely, and that’s just not going to happen.”
He was a runner. She ran too, but not because of cookies. Running was the only time she was clearheaded and free. Now would be the time any normal person might mention they also ran. Share commonality, open up a little, bond over personal details.
Madison didn’t do personal details.
She looked at the half-eaten cookie in her hand. “I’m keeping you from dinner. We should probably wrap this up.”
“I’m not that hungry. Had about a half dozen cookies, after all. Besides”—he tapped the table with his finger—“we need to talk about your decision. You’ve had the tour, the view, and the cookies. What do you think?”
This was it. He’d either work with her on this or laugh in her face. “I might be interested in booking Honeywilde for this wedding, but there are a few . . . stipulations.”
Roark turned his chair into the table and slid forward, both elbows propped on it. “I’m listening.”
Madison turned her chair too, matching his posture. “I would need to book the inn for longer than just a weekend.”
“That can be arranged.”
“We’re talking a big event here.”
“How big?”
“The entire inn and the restaurant. No other guests allowed in or out for the extent of the booking.”
Roark lifted his eyebrows. “Which would be . . . ?”
“For a week.”
His eyebrows stayed up. “You want to book the whole inn, for a week?”
“Restaurant too. You won’t necessarily have people staying here that entire time, but they want it booked up and blocked off for setup and privacy.”
“Privacy? Who are they, royalty?”
“Let me worry about who they are. What I will tell you is I’m definitely interested in Honeywilde as the location.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“But there’s a catch.”
“And that is?”
“I need it in three weeks.”
Roark didn’t exac
tly laugh in her face. First he stared at her, slack jawed, looked up to the sky, and then he laughed. “Are you nuts? Our inn isn’t available in three weeks. You book this sort of thing months in advance.”
“I don’t have months of advance notice. They’re getting married at the end of September and they’re getting married here.”
“We already have guests booked that weekend.”
“How many?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes you do. How many?”
He glanced away. “Ten rooms.”
“I can compensate the cost or pay for their visit any other weekend they’d like to stay. Done. Next issue.”
“You cannot throw together a wedding and have it here in three weeks.”
“It’s actually less than three weeks. And watch me.” Madison reached for her portfolio and slid it over in front of her. “Now, I’m going to write down a figure, payment for the whole week at Honeywilde. You can tell me what it will take to comp the displaced guests and we’ll tack that on to the end.”
“Before you go writing down any figures, be aware that I know how reasonable our rates are. Don’t start out trying to lowball me when I know you normally plan events for clients with means. They can afford us.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You don’t know who my clients are.”
“How do you know? We have resources here too.”
“I’m sure you do, but all the resources in the world wouldn’t tell you whose wedding I’m planning.”
“No, but it told us the kind of weddings you plan, and they’re not the cheap kind.”
A flash of heat, not entirely uncomfortable, shot through her body and fired her mind. Roark wasn’t playing around.
“But I’m out on my own now. I could be planning for a conservative affair.”
He grinned. “Or it could be a huge affair and you’re playing it cool. I imagine you play it cool very well.”
She concentrated on writing down a figure rather than holding his gaze. She tore the paper from the notepad and pushed it over to Roark.
“What do you think?”
He winced, shaking his head. “I think you’re trying to hurt my feelings. And after I gave you cookies and everything. This won’t cover us, and even after you comp a few guests, word will get out that we cancelled their plans. You and I both know the price tag on this event has to be worth risking our reputation.”
She kept her expression carefully blank and waited. A man like Roark could probably sniff out weakness or desperation if she so much as flinched.
Roark sat back, studying her. He kept staring, his jaw locked into place, gaze unwavering.
How many people buckled under that stare? He probably used it on his brothers and sister all the time.
Roark grabbed the paper off the table. With her pen, he wrote down another number, but kept it close so she couldn’t see. “As much fun as it is having a staring contest with you, I’m willing to write down an amount that is as low as I’ll go, still make a profit, and feel good about the risk to our name.”
Her pulse jumped. She loved the rush of the deal, the high of getting what she wanted. If his number was in any way a reasonable amount, she’d win.
Roark put his fingertip on the table again. “But, I’m only going to offer this rate if you can offer something to me.”
A foreboding rush hit her like vertigo. She shook it off because surely Roark wasn’t like that. “Offer what?” Madison managed to ask without clenching her teeth.
“This couple getting married has to be in the public eye, right? I mean, they must be somebody if they need the whole place and the privacy and all that.”
She nodded, torn between relief that he wasn’t being the pig her former boss had always been and the niggling feeling she’d given away too much information.
“Then the inn could potentially get some publicity out of this.”
She opened her mouth to argue and he shook his head. “I know it might be a hush-hush thing until the wedding is over. Top secret, all that jazz, I know how it works. After the fact though, I want a few bragging rights. That’s all.”
“I’m not going to sell out a client. Ever.” She balled her hand into a fist.
“Who’s selling them out? I’m talking about some sentimental, romantic pictures for publicity after the fact. Not paparazzi type crap, but . . . a tasteful editorial on their nuptials.
“I don’t want a little article in the local paper either,” he said. “I’m talking a piece in Southern Living, InStyle. Magazines do wedding issues. Something in color about this great wedding and how it all took place at the Honeywilde Mountain Inn and Resort. See how charming? Look how unique. People magazine wedding feature. Everybody flock to the inn, right now, and book in for a week.”
She bit at the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. “How do you even know about wedding spreads in People magazine?”
“I go to the grocery store. I know things.”
Madison shook her head. “This is their wedding, their celebration of love, and you’re trying to use it to your benefit? To make money?”
“You aren’t doing the exact same thing?”
She wasn’t answering that. They both already knew the answer.
He propped his elbows on the table again and leaned forward, but his shoulders relaxed tenfold. “Look. You and I, we don’t bullshit, right? The publicity of a high-profile wedding like this, even if it comes out after the event, is invaluable to you as an event planner. Why not get some value-added for Honeywilde? I’m only looking out for me and mine, same as you.”
He was right. She’d be the total opposite of mum about this wedding once it was over. It’d be the first thing listed in her portfolio and the bomb she’d drop when trying to attract new clients.
“You’re a tactical businessman, I’ll give you that.” She’d be lying if she said she didn’t admire it. And find it extremely hot.
“I’m not that tactical.” He shook his head and gave her that same guilty grin like when he’d been caught eating cookies.
The laughter that catapulted out of Madison shocked even her. She couldn’t help it. A giddy high from working this deal took over, and she was riding it.
“You know you won’t get any other inns on such short notice or at an insider price,” he added.
“Oh, I’m an insider now?” She looked at the number again and then at him.
“If you get us a spot in Southern Living, you’re a VIP for life. All I want are a few pictures.”
“You know I can’t guarantee that now. I have to talk to my client.”
“I know. But the wedding is three whole weeks away. Influence. I know you have it.”
She shook her head, trying to think. Whitney and Jack would be easy. All they cared about was getting the place. If it involved a few extra photographers and a quote, they’d jump on it.
The turnkey was their manager. He’d been a sour pill about the whole wedding from the get-go. Anything that wasn’t his idea was a piss-poor one.
Madison straightened. That was it. She’d have to make him think the whole publicity thing was his idea.
She broke off a bite of her cookie and popped it in her mouth. “I may be able to work with you on this deal you’ve laid out, if their manager is in agreement.”
“Manager?”
“He’s a piece of work, but any publicity has to be approved by him. You’ll have to charm him. I’ll have to charm him. We’ll all have to be a big ball of charming, but a lower price tag is a good place to start.”
“I believe you’re trying to manage me.” Roark smiled.
“You’re the one who threw out this rate along with wanting my client’s participation. For that, we need to get their manager on board and that means knocking a grand off this price. And, for the week of the wedding, I’ll be running the inn right alongside you. Will that be an issue?”
Roark looked down at the number and back up. “A grand less than this and y
ou’ll get us the promo?”
“Regional, at least. Southern Living, Southern Style. Maybe even People.”
He sucked his full bottom lip between his teeth before giving her a firm nod. “If you get us in a nationwide magazine, you can have us at that price and run whatever you want. Now can you tell me who’s getting married?”
“After we sign.”
He glanced at his watch. “I can draw up the paperwork within the hour, but you’ll want to review it before signing.”
“Working late isn’t a problem. I’m staying over. My bags are in the car. I only have three weeks to plan a wedding, after all.”
To his credit, Roark’s only show of shock was a quick pop of his eyebrows. Then he smiled. He pushed away from the table and stood. “Madison Kline, you have yourself a deal.” He stuck out his hand to shake on it.
“And a wedding to plan.” She stood as well, and slid her hand into his.
A shiver of excitement made her skin tingle, her blood sing. She told herself it was merely the thrill of closing this deal. It had nothing to do with Roark, the fire in his eyes or his warm hand wrapped around hers.
Chapter 4
“Are you going to tell us who’s getting married here, or do we have to guess?” Devlin propped an elbow on the arm of the sofa so he could hold his head up. Eyes closed, he lifted a coffee mug to his lips.
Roark held back the smart-ass answer itching to break free. The day was too new to start sniping at one another. Last night included about two hours of paperwork and signing contracts, and finally getting Madison checked in.
Settling into one of the chairs by the great room’s fireplace, he decided he’d rather ease into the day gently than dive in headfirst by taking on Dev. He took a long sip of his black coffee before he answered. “The lead singer and lead guitarist of the band Red Left Hand will be having their wedding at Honeywilde.”
“Oh yeah? I’ve heard of them.” Dev nodded.
Sophie slapped her hands together with way too much energy for seven in the morning. “You’re lying!”
A Moment of Bliss Page 4