I STARE DOWN AT THE ITINERARY that Jaleesa sent me and confirm that I’m in the right place at the right time.
Yup, and look, there’s a sign announcing a private event just outside the hotel bar and restaurant.
I pocket my phone, feeling so out of place that the nausea from the boat rears up again. At least, that’s what I’m calling it. I refuse to acknowledge that it’s nausea from nerves or uncertainty.
Am I the cutthroat businessman I wish I was? Nope. I still apologize if I take up too much time at the copy machine. Do I have good ideas? Yes. Do I have the inner confidence to strut around like I own the goddamn place? Not even close.
I was born and raised in a modest family where we put our heads down and work hard. Good things come to good people. No need to slice your way through life and hurt people on your path, but hell…that’s how it’s done, right? You can’t tell me Daddy Reggie went through life saying his ‘pleases’ and ‘thank-yous’ and built a multibillion-dollar business being an honest, nice man.
Nope, he took advantage of what was presented to him.
So here is an opportunity, take it.
I look up at the Lanai Bar just in time for Mr. Hopper to walk up to the front and start greeting people. Oh fuck, there he is. And just look at him. Posh, with his chin held high. Expensive, in a suit that I can only assume costs more than a weeks’ stay at the fifteen-hundred-dollar-a-night bungalows just outside this bar. And confident, as he greets everyone with a firm handshake and a slight nod.
He knows how to handle himself.
The head of his family, the leader of his company, and the man who holds the fate of my career—and sanity—in his hands.
Here goes nothing.
With two of his favorite cigars tucked into my suit jacket, a bit of a wobble in my step, and the uncomfortable sensation of nude underpants caressing my junk, I move toward him.
Jaleesa told me to carry cigars at all times just to get on Reginald’s good side. I don’t smoke but she didn’t care. She demanded I get them.
I’d like to blame the wobbly legs on my seasick adventures through the lagoon, but I think the majority of the wobble is from adrenaline and nerves all packed in very tightly.
And the nude underpants, well…we know why. But that brief glimpse of my side profile in the mirror of the bathroom had my confidence crumbling as I realized they truly made me look like a Resort Wear Ken.
That’s not how I want to present myself. I want to slap my penis on the table—metaphorically, of course—and say, “Daddy Reggie, here I am. Eat your heart out.”
But I think we can all agree on one thing…that’s not going to happen because as I step into the bar and wait in line to be greeted, inching closer and closer, I can actually feel my dick curl up into my scrotum, never wanting to return.
Should I be more confident, looking to jump the corporate ladder? Of course. But that’s not who I am. I’m not comfortable with the social game when it comes to business. I believe that if someone does their work, goes above and beyond with said work, they should be rewarded. None of this political-social mumbo jumbo. I like it clear-cut. I did my job, so you reward me now.
Unfortunately, that’s not how the world works, which is why I’m standing in line to kiss Daddy Reggie’s ass while wearing this cream getup that’s now sticking to me in ways that are extremely uncomfortable.
“Thank you for having us—we are so excited to be here,” Beatrice, the head of Human Resources, says ahead of me in line. Marion and Beatrice are friends, both crotchety wenches, both in competition for the office’s worst sneer. Marion has a leg up on Beatrice, but also…Marion isn’t here, so…
Hopper offers her a smile. “Of course. Enjoy yourself.” He gestures toward the room, welcoming them in and indicating that I’m next.
Here we go.
He turns toward me. His goatee’s perfectly trimmed and his transitional lenses covering those stark eyes are a dusty blue. His eyebrows are like daggers moving across his forehead, indicating every emotion he’s feeling. And from the crease they form between his eyes, I immediately know that not only is he confused by my presence, but Daddy Darling doesn’t recognize me.
Cue the sweat.
The tsunami of sweat.
From the back of my neck, down my spine, to right above my ass, like a ravine just gushing with nerves.
And as he stares at me, his eyebrows morphing from confused to irritated since I haven’t said one goddamn thing, I realize that this is probably worst-case scenario. This right here.
Him not knowing me.
Me not knowing what to say.
And no one around to interject.
Where’s his assistant with the subtle whisper explaining who he’s talking to? I’ve seen her do it before at functions. Do weddings not count as well?
Of course they don’t, you moron. He would know everyone he’s inviting to his daughter’s wedding.
Not me though.
Nope, I’m here. My nausea’s rolling all over again.
“Um, hi,” I say with a curt wave. “Mr. Hopper, what a grand evening, don’t you think?” I gesture to the ceiling. “Beautiful night. Gorgeous. A touch humid but can’t control Mother Nature. Just pleased there’s no rain, not that it would matter because we have a roof over our heads, but you know, for the ambience. Although, rain offers a peaceful ambience, so maybe it should rain.” He raises an eyebrow at me. “I mean, only if you want it to rain. Do you…want it to rain? Don’t answer that, of course you don’t want it to rain. No one wants to walk around in the rain unless you’re a tree dying of dehydration.” I nervously laugh. I point at him. “Trees don’t walk though, so, uh, got you on that one…” Abandon ship, man. Abandon ship. “So anyways, to sum it all up. Beautiful night, glad it’s not raining, trees don’t walk and I’m happy to be—”
“I’m so sorry about that, babe,” a female voice says just as a hand smooths up my chest while an arm wraps around my waist. “You know how brides are, they always seem to need their wedding planners, even if it’s the smallest of tasks like what sort of ribbon should be wrapped around their bouquet.”
Errr…what?
I look down at the woman next to me and it takes me a goddamn second to process—because Jesus, the breasts on this woman—but then I see her face, those eyes…those lips.
Maggie Mitchell.
What the hell is she doing?
“Are you a wedding planner?” Mr. Hopper asks, interrupting my very confused thoughts.
So many thoughts.
Like…where the hell did Maggie come from?
Why is she calling me ‘babe’?
And why the hell is her body wrapped around me as if we’re a couple?
“I am,” Maggie says as she drops her hand from my chest and holds it out to Mr. Hopper. “I’m Maggie Mitchell, Brody’s girlfriend.” Care to say that again? “We are so excited to be here this week. I can’t tell you how stunning this dream location is.”
Uh…what?
Girlfriend?
I know I passed out for a second on the boat after throwing up, but did I wake up in an alternate universe?
Hopper slowly takes me in and says, “Brody McFadden, right?”
Oh look, he does know me. Not sure if I should be thrilled or positively frightened after the whole trees don’t walk speech.
I swallow hard and nod. “Yup.” Do something, make this better. Oh! Cigars. Give him the cigars! Nervously, I reach for them in my pocket, fumbling like a class A imbecile and pull them out as I say, “I, uh, I brought you these to say congratulations on the wedding, well your daughter’s wedding, not yours…you’re already married to Regina. I mean, Mrs. Hopper, you’re married to Mrs. Regina Hopper.” I hold the cigars out to him, which he carefully takes. “Congratulations,” I add meekly.
And then to my shock, he smiles at me. Like, actually smiles. Shiny white veneers and all. “Thank you, this was very kind of you.” Well by God, the cigars worked.
But that doesn’t stop the sweat trickling down my temple.
Do not wipe it, not in front of him.
“Of course. Just glad to be a part—”
“Miss Mitchell,” Hopper says, focusing his attention back on her. Sure, yup, I’ll just stand here, accept the cigar win. “Would you mind if I spoke with you about a few things after I greet our guests?”
“Not at all,” Maggie says with ease. “We’ll grab a drink and when you’re ready, we can chat.”
“Wonderful, thank you.” Hopper connects with me. “Didn’t know you had such a charming girlfriend, McFadden. Glad you brought her.”
Charming?
How the hell did she become charming in less than a minute?
What about me? I gave you the cigars and offered you a funny anecdote to share with your cigar-smoking friends later about the weaselly employee who told you trees don’t walk. I guess I’ll take what I can get.
Maggie loops her arm through mine, pulling me back to the present and the apparent girlfriend I now have. Together, we walk into the restaurant and head straight for the bar. I spot a deserted section, the perfect place to have a “what the fuck” conversation.
I lead her over to the corner and then move her in front of the bar counter, pinning her there.
It’s where I get the first full look of her, wearing a tropical print dress crisscrossed at the top in all different ways, giving me peeks of her skin around her stomach, shoulders…and breasts.
Christ.
Then there’s her naturally beach-waved hair that flows all the way down to the middle of her back. She has one side pushed behind her ear with a flower clip holding it in place and her face has minimal makeup, a light coverage so I can still count the freckles across her nose and cheeks. Her hazel eyes are highlighted by a soft brown shimmer, and her lips, the main event, are glossy—just like they were at Gary’s wedding.
“You’re staring,” she says, breaking me out of my thoughts.
“The fuck I am,” I say as I reach for a napkin behind her and press it along my forehead and temple. Fuck…tropical locations are not for me. When I’m done wiping my sweat, I crumble the napkin in my hand. “What the fuck was that back there?”
She crosses her arms over her ample chest. “That was me helping you out.”
“That’s what you consider helping me out?” I ask. “You just made yourself my girlfriend in front of my boss.”
“I’m aware.”
I stare at her. “Why?”
“Uh, isn’t it obvious?”
“No,” I nearly shout.
“You know, this might not be the best place to discuss this.” She glances around. “Don’t want to start a scene.”
I place one hand on the counter behind her and lean forward so only she and I can hear. “I want to know what the hell is going on, because you just made it impossible for me to shake you this week.”
“Trust me, the last thing I want is to be attached to you. It was a tough pill to swallow.”
“Why are you even swallowing it?”
“Don’t guys like it when we swallow?” That know-it-all grin of hers crosses over her lips, the same grin that got me in trouble with her in the first place.
Let me tell you something about Maggie Mitchell. She’s a different kind of girl—oh, sorry, woman.
Unlike any woman I’ve ever met before.
She’s a combination of orderliness, confidence, and warmth. She has no problem saying what’s on her mind, barely possesses any aptitude for embarrassment—I witnessed this when she sang Queen’s “Don’t Stop Me Now” at her brother’s rehearsal dinner. It was off-key, and sometimes she hit notes only dogs could hear. But she also has a helping heart and will go out of her way to make anyone comfortable—well, anyone besides me.
She’s unashamed.
She’s a natural conversationalist.
She has an infectious energy.
But she can also be as cruel as they come when she’s out for blood.
And by the conniving look in her eye, she’s going to be sucking me dry.
Of blood.
Sucking me dry of blood.
Not anything else.
Just blood.
“Aw, look at you, you’re stunned.” She pats my cheek. “Never had a girl swallow before?” See what I’m talking about? She just says what she wants. I’ve never met a woman like that before.
“For your information, I’ve had plenty of girls swallow…” I pause and take a deep breath, not what I should be fighting about. But for the record, girls love swallowing me. “We’re not talking about that.”
“What are we talking about again?” She taps her chin, which irritates me even more.
I lean in close to her ear and whisper, “Cut the shit, Maggie. What the hell are you doing here? Did you follow me?”
“Oh, for God’s sake, I have much better things to do than to follow my brother’s moronic best friend around the resort I’m vacationing in.”
I lean back to look her in her eyes. “Then what are you doing here, next to me?” When I see her start to make a snarky remark, I say, “Tell me the goddamn truth.”
She huffs and looks over her shoulder. When she decides the coast is clear, she says, “I saw that the Hoppers were going to be here for Haisley’s wedding. I overheard a guest talk about how there’s some issue with the wedding party, and, given my profession, I thought it would be beneficial for my business to at least sniff out the problem. Unfortunately, when I started sniffing, I smelled you.”
“And yet the smell wasn’t bad enough to prevent you from claiming me as your boyfriend.”
“To get into the dinner.” She rolls her eyes.
“Uh yeah, genius, but guess who is here all goddamn week? Me.” I point to my chest. “And unless you want to make a mockery of the both of us, you’re going to have to be sniffing me for the rest of your stay thanks to your brilliant move.”
She just shrugs. “So be it.”
“So be it?” I lift up a little. “That’s your response? So be it? What if I don’t want you attached to me? I can walk up to Mr. Hopper and tell him the truth, that you’re some crazy lady, claiming to be my girlfriend just so you can have an in with the family and help your business.”
“You wouldn’t,” she says, eyes narrowing.
“Maggie, I’d pretty much do anything to humiliate you.” I actually don’t think I believe that sentiment, but I’ve been thrown for a loop, tension is high, and words are flying out of my mouth.
Her lips twist to the side, and I can see that brain trying to think up a response. Finally, she says, “Then do it.”
Of course she’d challenge me.
And in any other situation where I don’t mind looking like a goddamn clown, it would be my absolute pleasure to mess with Maggie Mitchell, but there’s too much riding on this. I just got here, Hopper barely recognized me, I fumbled around and made a fool of myself, and now I have to scrape together a good impression, despite this new hiccup.
Before I can answer, I hear a sweet voice from the side say, “Brody McFadden, is that you?”
I look to my right and sure enough, Haisley Hopper is standing before me in a short white sundress, her hair pinned back in beach waves with white flowers cascading down it.
Haisley and I actually interned together at Hopper Industries. She and her brothers decided early on that they wanted to prove to the company that there was no nepotism within their family and worked their way through the ranks. They held different positions within the company and, even though Haisley ended up going in a different direction, she still got a taste of what it was like to work with Hopper Industries.
“Hey, Haisley,” I say, seeing Maggie straighten up next to me. “Congrats on the wedding.”
“Thank you.” With a confused smile, she leans in. “Did you hit top management and I didn’t hear about it? Daddy only invited a few people from the company. The higher-ups, as he likes to put it.”
I chuckle and stick my hand in my pocket. “Jaleesa Richards sent me on her behalf. Hope that’s okay.”
“Are you kidding me? I’d rather have you here than…well…I actually like Jaleesa. Let’s say I’d rather have you here than someone like Beatrice, who is lovely but doesn’t really bring the fun, if you know what I mean.” She winks.
“What are you talking about?” I ask. “Beatrice’s lectures about proper use of office supplies aren’t riveting for a wedding week?”
“Not so much.” She glances over at Maggie. “Goodness, I’m so sorry.” She holds her hand out. “I’m Haisley. Are you here with Brody?”
Maggie shakes Haisley’s hand and smiles broadly. “I am. I’m Brody’s girlfriend, Maggie.” There she goes again, solidifying the inevitable lie. “It’s very nice to meet you and congratulations. Such a beautiful location.”
“Girlfriend?” Haisley glances over at me. “I thought you told me you’d never commit to anyone. I believe your exact quote was, ‘I will die alone, and the only true love of my life is the Chicago Rebels.’”
I shift uncomfortably, because yeah, I said that and yeah, I meant it.
“Looks like the right girl can change his mind,” Maggie says as she places her hand on my very sweaty back.
“I’m glad. You guys make a beautiful couple. How did you meet?”
“My brother is his best friend,” Maggie says. See, told you, natural conversationalist. She can literally talk to anyone about anything and be charming. “Gary and Brody met back in college. Since they’re both seven years older than me, we didn’t really hang out, but we reconnected this past year. Looks like this guy has been harboring feelings for me ever since my twenty-first birthday.”
How the hell did she pull that out of her ass?
And how the hell did she know…I mean…yeah, she’s right, but nothing happened that night.
But I do remember that night like it was yesterday. Gary invited me out to celebrate and watch his sister make an ass of herself. I like booze and I like comedy, so it was a win-win for me. I remember walking into the bar and arriving just in time to hear her announcement: she was going to get her nipples pierced. Never confirmed if that happened or not, but we did dance once together. She told me I smelled like Cheetos, and I told her that her face looked like a mugshot gone wrong. She pushed me away and I did a shot while she took off with her friend Hattie.
Did her face look like a mugshot gone wrong?
No.
It was the first time I had seen her in a very long time, and I specifically remember thinking that she was actually really fucking…well, we don’t need to go there.
“That’s so cute. So, who made the first move?” Haisley asks just as a tall, broad man in a button-up short-sleeve approaches and places his hand on her back. She glances behind her and smiles brightly at who I can only assume is Jude Galloway, her fiancé.
“It was Brody,” Maggie says. “I’m a lady, after all.”
I nearly snort.
A lady?
Okay.
Coming from the one who, according to her legendary tales from college, paid bar cover fees by flashing the bouncer.
“I love it.” Haisley places her hand on Jude’s stomach. “This is Jude, by the way. Jude, this is Brody. He works for Dad, and this his charming girlfriend, Maggie.”
Charming…again. Jesus.
Can’t a guy get an adjective attached to his name?
Right now, I’m thinking sweaty. Damp. Saturated. Some might say…moist between the legs. Are you gagging? I did that on purpose.
“Nice to meet you,” Jude says in a deep voice that makes me think he could fell a tree with a simple bellow.
I’m a masculine man. I can grow a thick beard, I have a great dick, and I lift enough weight to battle it out with some of the bodybuilders in the gym. But standing next to Jude almost makes me feel like a teenage boy freshly going through puberty.
Where the hell did she even meet this mammoth?
Like how tall is he? Six-seven, at least.
“Ah, I see that you’ve met,” Mr. Hopper says as he steps up to our group as well.
I snap to attention from the sound of boss man’s voice. Look alive, McFadden.
But as I nervously shift closer to the oh-so-charming one, I can’t help but feel how quickly this all escalated. I assumed I was showing up to this event by myself. I’d grab a drink or two for some encouragement and congratulate the couple, not even sure Haisley would recognize me. But now I’m surrounded by Hoppers with a girlfriend at my side and no drink in sight.
Haisley curls into her dad’s side and says, “Actually, Brody and I interned together. Brody was the one who helped me with my vacation rental business plan.” That’s right, I had a part in your daughter’s success. This guy right here. “But I just met his girlfriend Maggie, and she’s lovely.”
Hopper’s lips curl to the side as his eyes remain on me, almost as if he’s sizing me up. “Yes, I briefly met her as well.” He turns his attention back to his daughter. “She says she’s a wedding planner, which I think could be very beneficial to our current predicament.”
“Daddy, I don’t think—”
Hopper turns toward Maggie, completely ignoring his daughter. “We’re down a bridesmaid.”
“Daddy. I don’t want to bother her with this since she’s on vacation.” Haisley tugs on his arm.
“A very important bridesmaid. Have you ever dealt with something like that?”
“Oh yes,” Maggie replies. “On a few occasions.”
“What have you done?”
“Really, we shouldn’t be bothering her with this,” Haisley says.
“It’s fine,” Maggie says, waving her hand in dismissal. “I live for problem solving. With one wedding, they just left her out and the bridal party was uneven, but one of the girls walked with two guys. Another time there was a relative that filled in. Thankfully the dress was the same fit.”
“Ah, I see. Fill in,” Reginald says, thinking on it. “You know—”
“Daddy, I’m going to stop you right there,” Haisley says but Reginald just puts his arm around his daughter.
“You know, Maggie, since you have experience in the wedding business, it would only be fitting if you are able to take her place.”
Wow, okay. That’s an ask.
Haisley turns toward Maggie. “Please, don’t think that he’s serious.”
“Oh, I’m very serious. We need to fill the spot or else the party will be uneven and that’s not something I’ll compromise on. Three men, three women. If we don’t ask Maggie…we can ask Beatrice.”
Now that is something I’d like to see.
Beatrice or Marion—literally shivering in my linens.
“But Daddy, the twins said one of them would step down and then we could just have one less person on each side.”
“And not have both your brothers in the wedding?” Hopper shakes his head. “No. That won’t do. Maggie here will help us out, won’t you?”
Ooh, this is how the rich ask for something. The request coated in the possibility that said rich person is actually giving you an option, when in reality you have no choice in the matter at all.
“I would be honored,” Maggie says, which brings me back to reality because…holy shit, Maggie just said she’d be one of Haisley’s bridesmaids, meaning my “girlfriend” is in the Hopper wedding.
“Oh, you don’t have to say that. We’ve put you on the spot.” Haisley waves her hand at Maggie.
“Not at all.” Maggie smiles brightly, and I can almost feel her eating up this entire moment. “Trust me, I have plenty of experience where bridesmaids are concerned, and I’ve filled in before—at one of the weddings I planned. You’d be surprised how common it is. Consider it a new arm of my company—I’ll call it Bridesmaid for Hire, although I won’t charge you.” Maggie runs her hand over my arm. “I’d do anything for the things important to this guy.”
Shit, I’d gag from that load of crap if not for present company.
“Then it’s settled,” Hopper says with a clap of his hands. “We won’t talk about it for the rest of the night so we can enjoy the evening, but we’ll be in touch.” Hopper winks and then lends his hand out to me for a shake. Oh, don’t mind if I do. I gladly take it, grateful at least one thing seems to be going my way. “You’re very lucky, McFadden.”
I can feel just how fake my smile is by the way my skin stretches across my face. “So lucky.”
Practically humming with arrogance, he leads his daughter and Jude around the room. Haisley glances over her shoulder and mouths, “Thank you,” before directing her full attention to the other guests.
Well, that was…not what I was expecting.
Slowly, we both turn toward each other and when I meet Maggie’s eyes, all I can see is just how smug she is.
“You’re very lucky.” She rocks on her heels, repeating what the old man just said.
“Clearly they haven’t seen you in the morning. Pretty sure they’d change their tone.”
“As if you’d know what I look like in the morning. You ran scared before you could find out.”
Yup, I believe I deserve that jab.
She moves over toward the front of the bar where she grabs the bartender’s attention and orders a drink.
A drink. As if nothing spectacular—or absolutely fucking crazy—just occurred. My best friend’s little sister, posing as my girlfriend, is going to be in my boss’s daughter’s wedding.
How the fuck did that happen?
Whatever she just ordered, I’m going to need at least five of them to get through the night.
