Roark shook his head. “Devlin is being overdramatic.” He turned toward his middle brother, placing the tip of his finger on his desk blotter. “I am not kicking Trevor out. I’m saying, of all the times he could show back up, now isn’t ideal. He took off without any consideration for us, he shows up here without a word of notice, and his return has thrown you all into an uproar. He can’t treat this place like a hotel.”
“It is a hotel.” Devlin raised his voice. “We live in a hotel.”
“Hey!” Sophie pointed at him. “ No yelling. You know the rules.”
“Thanks,” Roark muttered off to the side.
“Don’t thank me. I agree with Dev. I’m as ticked as anyone that Trev left and we haven’t heard a peep from him, but this is our home. He’s here, his room is unoccupied—hell, the whole floor he lives on is unoccupied. He stays.”
Roark’s gaze caught with Madison’s. That floor had been a little occupied.
Trevor finally spoke up. “I’m right here. You guys keep talking about me like I’m not here, but I am. It’s not a big deal. Seriously. I can crash with a friend till Monday. Keep the peace and all that.”
“No. That’s bullshit.” Devlin turned around, looking at Madison.
What was she supposed to say? She knew what Trevor meant to Roark. What they all meant, but here was the lost baby brother, for the love of god. Roark bellyached about him, but the deep groove in his brow and the clench of his jaw meant he was doing this because, for some reason, he thought he had to.
If he thought it was best for his family and Honeywilde that Trevor not be here right now, he was wrong.
“Dev, it’s okay. Not worth arguing over.” Trevor shrugged, as casually as if he was deciding on what to order for dinner. “I have people I can visit for a few days. Whatever.” He shrugged again, his gestures so much like Roark’s.
More so than Devlin, Trevor looked like a younger Roark. A very tan, relaxed version of Roark, and even though he said whatever, the guy looked like someone had just kicked Beau. Madison had to speak up.
“It’s not going to bother me or disrupt the wedding if he’s here.” She attempted a casual tone, even though it suddenly mattered very much that he stay and that Roark stop looking so miserable. “As long as it’s not a distraction for all of you, I’m certainly not opposed to him coming home.” At least Trevor had a home, so, by god, he ought to be back in it.
Every Bradley in the room turned to look at her. Madison arched an eyebrow, waiting.
“See?” Sophie opened her hand toward Madison. “Reasonable. Trevor could even be another set of hands for the weekend. We could use his help setting up chairs, and definitely in the kitchen.”
Roark studied his sister. She looked at each of her brothers in turn. “And I’m sure we can all be grown-ups and deal with our drama later. Right?” The cutting edge in her gaze meant they all had better agree with her, and quickly.
“Of course we can.” Roark crossed his arms. “It’s not that. I don’t want there to be any issues this weekend. Everything is set to go. Nothing, and no one, is allowed to screw it up.”
Dev nodded, running a hand through his hair. Way too long on top to be considered professional, it flopped over as soon as he was done touching it, a strand falling in his face. “We get it, Roark. No trouble, no commotion.”
“Good.” Grabbing his phone, Roark stood and came from behind his desk, arms out in the international sign for everyone get the hell out of my office.
As everyone began to vacate the premises, Sophie moved close to Madison.
“Thank you,” she said.
“For what?”
Sophie looked back and forth between Roark and Trevor, as Trevor stepped right into Roark’s outstretched arms and hugged him.
Sophie nudged her. “I think you know why. It’s nice not being the only peacekeeper around here.”
But she wasn’t a peacekeeper. She stared back at Sophie, unsure of how to take the compliment.
As Sophie walked away, Trevor squeezed Roark, and Madison couldn’t look away from the expression on Roark’s face.
Roark gripped his brother’s shoulder. “You could’ve died in some damn jungle and how would we know?”
Trevor laughed, patting him on the back as he let go. “I wasn’t going to die in a jungle.”
He walked past Madison and gave her a grin, the width and shape of which was disarmingly similar to Roark’s. “Sorry I didn’t get to introduce myself, but I heard all about the famous event specialist extraordinaire.”
“Go.” Roark turned his brother toward the door with both hands on his shoulders. “Unpack and settle in before I change my mind.”
But she’d noticed Roark had never actually said Trevor couldn’t stay. He’d merely argued for reasons why the situation wouldn’t be ideal, and then accepted that his staying was going to happen anyway. The Bradley family had had an entire debate and argument over what seemed to be a foregone conclusion, that of course Trevor was going to stay in his home.
Madison shook her head. Maybe someday she’d understand the way this family worked.
The thought froze the smile on her face.
There would be no someday. She hadn’t freaking moved in with the Bradleys to live, she was here for a job. In a matter of days, she’d be gone. She couldn’t keep trying to understand how the Bradleys operated, why Devlin was often so quietly unsettled, or how Sophie had mastered the art of saying about half a dozen things with a single look. No biscuits and honey every day, and no more Roark.
After Sunday there’d be no more of his steady presence and humor, his straightforward take on life that she completely understood. She would no longer get to stretch out beneath him or rise above him as they wrung climaxes from each other with the kind of dogged determination only they could appreciate.
She’d always known their arrangement was temporary, but the time frame suddenly felt too short. What if they could keep it temporary, but make it . . . temporarily longer?
“You okay?” Roark turned to her as his brother left the office.
“Yeah.” She blinked. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just going over this afternoon in my head.” All she could do was hope she was a marginally better liar than the other day, because she wasn’t even in the same zip code as okay. She needed some time to come up with a different plan. If she suggested she come up some weekend, would that be too much like a commitment? Like long-distance dating?
She didn’t do long distance. Hell, she didn’t usually do anything.
He tapped at his phone, looking over his list. “Big day today. It’s finally here.”
Finally here. That meant no time for her to think, no days left for her to come up with a brilliant plan. Today she had to kick into full-time event supervision mode.
“Want to grab some coffee really quick?” Roark asked.
A nod was all she managed. No more sipping black coffee with Roark either, stealing his because it tasted better, and knowing he’d let her, because that’s how he was.
She dragged her feet on the way to the coffee trolley. The wedding of her career was finally here, and all she wanted to do was put it off.
Chapter 23
The next day, a menagerie of people unlike any Roark had ever seen, strolled into the lobby of Honeywilde. He did his best not to so much as twitch an eyebrow.
The bride and groom, their band, and the wedding party totaled twelve all together, sporting everything from denim and leather, rivets and studs, and what looked like crushed red velvet, to a jacket of pink shag carpet. They had a lot more than their ears pierced, and hair that covered the spectrum from platinum to deep purple. One girl had streaks of what could only be described as cheetah print. It actually looked really good on her.
His mother would be having a fit if she still ran the place.
Roark smiled, delighted.
The bride and groom’s band, Red Left Hand, enjoyed the contradiction of having fresh-faced, sweet-looking Whitney as lead vocalist
, backed by a bunch of guys who looked like they’d done several stints in county.
Madison made all of the introductions and maintained such casual calm that any outsider would swear all of this was no big deal.
But Roark noticed the tightness around her eyes, the smile that he knew as her business smile. Her hair was smoothed back in the perfect low ponytail. Not a thing out of place.
“Roark, you’ve met Whitney Blake, the bride to be, and Jack Winter, the groom.” Madison stepped aside so they could shake.
“Welcome to Honeywilde,” he said, Sophie beside him, vibrating with excitement.
Jack tilted his chin and shook first. The black tattooed letters were more striking in person, curling over his knuckles, the sleeve of tattoos more intricate, traveling up his arm and disappearing beneath his rolled-up shirt sleeve.
Whitney shook Roark’s hand next.
“Hey.” Her accent came out Southern sweet and smooth, looking and sounding like someone’s favorite granddaughter. She was the antithesis of Jack, yet when she looked at him and said, “We’re thrilled we get to be here,” she looked absolutely elated.
“We’re glad to have you.” He smiled, not only thinking about what this wedding meant for the couple, but how much it meant to Honeywilde and his family.
Sophie caught his gaze, giving him a threat-laden stare. She’d pop up from her spot like one of those suction-cup toys if he didn’t introduce her soon.
Roark held his arm out toward his sister. “Allow me to introduce you to the people who run Honeywilde. We’re all here to help you in any way.”
Sophie’s arm shot straight out to shake Whitney’s hand.
Madison went on to introduce the staff to the band members, and Roark stepped aside. This was her event, after all.
Staff gathered the luggage from cars and took it to the appropriate rooms while the guests mingled and enjoyed champagne at the side bar Devlin had arranged. Madison stepped close to Roark’s side, remaining quiet and watchful.
“Everyone looks pleased, all smiles so far,” he said.
“You think?” She nibbled at the inside of her cheek.
“Absolutely. Look at them.” The whole group looked like they were on vacation. Not a stress line among them.
“You did well. And Dev was right with his side bar suggestion.” He kept his hand low, but opened it, palm facing out. She gave in and joined him in a surreptitious high five.
Eventually, the wedding party was shown to their rooms, where they’d find the lavish welcome baskets that Madison and Sophie had put together. Roark had seen the contents as Sophie topped them with apricot-colored bows. He’d asked her if he could have one too.
As soon as the great room was free of guests, Madison spun toward him and the rest of the staff gathered there. “We have exactly an hour and a half to have this area ready for a casual dinner of mixed grill, and the requisite relaxing evening.”
Beside him, Trevor chuckled. “As long as it’s requisite chilling out.”
Roark nudged him with his elbow on his way to help everyone set up. Madison was in the zone, so everything was requisite. He dug that about her.
The list on his phone had four check marks as they covered everything discussed: tables, food, drinks, background guitar music. Check, check, check and check.
Madison fussed with a strand of her ponytail as they waited for the guests to reappear.
“Nervous?” Roark asked, moving to stand by her side.
She released the strand of hair. “No.”
Their small party of early arrivals began to trickle down, sitting at the oversized round table set up in the great room.
Once the bride and groom were downstairs, everyone seated and stuffing their faces with barbecue and all the fixings, Roark stepped around the corner toward the lobby. He leaned against the wall by the stairs, out of the room where he could still keep an eye on everything but not look like he was keeping an eye on everything.
“How do you think it’s going so far?” Madison appeared behind him.
He had to clench his teeth to keep from cursing in surprise. “You scared the hell out of me. Where’d you come from?”
She peeked around him to check on the guests. “I was back here spying before you thought of it, but I went to check with your head of housekeeping to make sure they were doing turn-down service and all that.”
Roark pinched his lips. “They know what they’re doing. We’ve had guests stay here before.”
Madison returned his pinched-lip look. “You asked Devlin about icing the beers three times today. I’m allowed to check with housekeeping.”
He put his hands up. “Okay, you’re right. You warned me you’d be all up in my business and micromanaging my people. You manage away, because it’s going great so far.”
“I think it is, anyway.”
Roark glanced at the table of people, all laughing and talking a lot louder than necessary, then turned to Madison.
She was twirling her hair again, sucking on the inside of her cheek. She was legitimately worried. Of course she’d never admit as much, but he’d been around her long enough to know this wasn’t her normal look. Madison was somewhere between fretting and quietly freaking the hell out.
“Hey,” he said, trying to get her attention.
She kept studying the table of guests.
“Hey.” He moved to block her view so that she had to look at him. “It’s going great. Fantastic, if you ask me. This weekend is going to be epic. Don’t worry.”
Madison studied him before standing a little taller. “I’m not worried.”
He considered arguing the point. He’d never seen her this way. She was obviously worried, but it wouldn’t help her if he pointed it out. He wanted to remind her that to be nervous was normal, as was needing reassurance. And he was there for her.
It was exactly the kind of statement and offer that would freak her out even more.
“I know you’re not worried,” he said instead. “You’ve got nothing to be worried about. The inn has never looked better. I’m merely making an observation.”
The tightness around her eyes softened as she released her hair, her shoulders relaxing. She didn’t thank him with words, but she closed the short gap between him and reached for his hand. Tangling their fingers together, she held his hand. Only seconds passed, but in the short span of time, her eyes said thank you a thousand times.
She gave his hand a gentle squeeze before letting go. “I need to go check with Wright on dessert.”
Madison was a blur of motion, gone in an instant, and it didn’t matter. Because that was the first time she’d reached for him that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with intimacy.
Once dinner and dessert were over, the plates picked up and the table clean, the wedding party sipped on their drinks and shared stories about being on tour—a few of which had to be made up. No way that stuff happened in real life.
The drum player started debating the merits of a song they were working on. “It’s brilliant, and commercial radio will hate it,” he said.
“No one is going to hate it,” Whitney insisted.
“Why don’t you let us hear some of it and we can tell you if it’s crap?” one of the three bridesmaids asked.
The bass player groaned, slumping in his chair. “I thought we were taking a break from the tour so these two could bend to social standards and participate in an institution known for its failures.” He gestured toward Whitney and Jack.
Jack flipped him off. “If you guys are in such a fucking twist about this song, what’s it hurt to play it for someone?”
“You just like to hear you’re right.” The bass player returned his middle finger with a smile.
Madison nudged Roark in the arm. “I know someone like that.”
He reached over, skating his fingers across her ribs enough to make her squirm before she shushed him.
The band bickered a little more, but it ended in Jack going to get his
guitar and Whitney shaking her head about singing. It took a little coaxing, but she eventually buckled to the encouragement of their friends.
Whitney’s voice was low, a little raspy, sounding nothing like she looked. The song was beautiful, but that wasn’t what captured his attention.
What stood out, even more than Whitney’s voice and the chords Jack played, was the depth of affection in their eyes as they looked at each other.
Jack stared at Whitney, eyes wide, like he was watching for falling stars, afraid he’d miss the best of them. When he’d glance toward his guitar, Whitney would study him, smiling like she was in on a secret that only the two of them shared.
The two of them didn’t just love each other; they were amazed by one another.
Roark glanced around to see if he was the only one noticing this. Finally, he braved looking over at Madison. Her face was a mask of porcelain calm, but she fiddled at the ends of her hair, staring at the two of them without blinking.
Surely she saw it too. These two people loved each other, and in less than two days, he and Madison were going to give them the kind of wedding that suited who they were. Not a wedding for anyone else, only for them.
The mood was—dare he say—romantic. A thrill of pride tickled him, and even as he relished taking part in the event, it meant the inevitable drew closer.
“Hey,” he whispered, waiting until she looked at him. He mouthed the rest, his fingers crossed beneath his crossed arms. “Come by my room when we’re done here? Late dinner?”
The corner of her mouth curled up as she nodded.
Time might not be on his side, but he was damn well going to make it count.
Chapter 24
“I have everything we need, with congratulations from the kitchen and a request that we finish up some leftovers.” Roark wheeled a trolley toward her, with two platters, presumably of grilled meat and veggies, and a bucket with four beers on ice.
She helped him carry the plates over to the coffee table in his den area, then the platter and bucket of beer.
So. This was Roark’s room, and it was exactly what she expected. Clean, orderly, nice quality, and comfortable. Neutrals ruled the color wheel, with the odd splash of color in picture frames and paintings. She guaranteed those were Sophie’s doing.
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