The Wedding Planner and the CEO. Alison Roberts
to observe.
To bask in the glow of satisfaction he’d had from the moment he’d driven through the ornate gates of this historic property.
A property he now owned, for heaven’s sake.
Who would have thought that he’d end up with a life like this? Not him, that’s for sure. Not back in the day when he’d been one of a busload of disadvantaged small children who’d been brought to Loxbury Hall for a charity Christmas party. He’d seen the kind of kingdom that rich people could have. People with enough money to make their own rules. To have families that stayed together and lived happily ever after.
Yes. This was a dream come true and he was loving every minute of it.
He was loving standing here, too.
This room was stunning. A few weeks ago he’d had to use his imagination to think of what it might be like with music playing and people dancing on the polished floor. Reality was even better. He was too far away to get more than a general impression of the girl who was dancing but he could see enough. A wild cascade of platinum blonde waves. A tight, low-cut top that revealed a cleavage to die for. Enhanced by silicone, of course, but what did that matter? She was a true WAG and Blake Summers was a lucky young man.
What a contrast to Ms Collins—standing there clutching a clipboard and looking as tense as a guitar string about to snap. You’d never get her onto a dance floor as a partner, that’s for sure. His buoyant mood slipped a little—kind of reminding him of schooldays when the bell sounded and you had to leave the playground and head back to the classroom.
Never mind. As she’d pointed out herself, this could well be the last time the reception rooms of Loxbury Hall would be used as a public venue and there was a kind of irony in the idea that he could be putting on a fireworks show to mark the end of that era for the house and the start of his own occupation.
Remarkably fitting, really.
Rafe walked towards her as the music faded. Was her look supposed to be more casual, given that it was a weekend? If so, it hadn’t worked. Okay, it was a shirt and trousers instead of a skirt but they were tailored and sleek and she still had that complicated rope effect going on in her hair. Did she sleep like that and still not have a hair out of place in the morning?
Maybe she didn’t sleep at all. Just plugged herself in to a power point for a while.
Good thing that he was close enough to extend a hand to the young man standing beside Penelope. That way, nobody could guess that his grin was due to private amusement.
‘I’m Rafe Edwards,’ he said. ‘Saw that winning goal you scored on your last match. Good effort.’
‘Thanks, man. This is Clarissa. Clarrie, this is Ralph Edwards—the fireworks guy.’
‘Rafe, please. I might have Ralph on my birth certificate but it doesn’t mean I like it.’ His smile widened as Clarissa batted ridiculously enhanced eyelashes at him and then he turned his head.
‘Gidday, Penny. How are you?’
‘Penelope,’ she said tightly. ‘I actually like the name on my birth certificate.’
Whoa...could she get any more uptight? Rafe turned back to the delicious Clarissa and turned on the charm.
‘How ’bout we find somewhere we can get comfortable and have a chat about what I might be able to do for you?’
Clarissa giggled. ‘Ooh...yes, please...’
‘Why don’t we go out onto the terrace?’ Penelope’s tone made the suggestion sound like a reprimand. ‘I just need to have a word with Pierre and then I’ll join you. I’ll organise some refreshment, too. What would you like?’
‘Mineral water for me,’ Clarissa said. ‘Sparkling.’
‘A cold beer,’ Blake said. ‘It’s turning into a scorcher of a day.’
‘I’m not sure we’ve got beer in the kitchen at the moment.’
Blake groaned.
‘My apologies,’ Penelope said. ‘I’ll make sure it’s available next time.’ She scribbled something on her clipboard.
‘Coffee for me, thanks,’ Rafe said. ‘Strong and black.’
The look flashed in his direction was grateful. ‘That we can do. Would you like a coffee, too, Blake?’
‘Have to do, I s’pose. At least we’re gonna get to talk about something cool. Do we get to choose the kind of fireworks we want?’
‘Sure. We need to talk about the music first, though.’ Rafe led the way through the French doors to the terrace. ‘I’m guessing you want something romantic?’
* * *
Music wasn’t being discussed when Penelope took the tray of drinks out to the group. Rafe had a laptop open and Blake and Clarissa were avidly watching what was on the screen.
‘Ooh...that one. We’ve got to have that. What’s it called?’
‘It’s a peony. And this one’s a chrysanthemum. And this is a golden, hanging willow. It’s a forty-five-shot cake so it goes for a while.’
‘Nice. I like them loud.’ Blake was rubbing his hands together. ‘Man, this is going to be epic.’
‘With it being your wedding, I was thinking you might want something a bit more romantic.’ Rafe tapped his keyboard. ‘Look at this for an opening, maybe.’
‘OMG.’ Clarissa pressed a hand to her open mouth. ‘You can do love hearts? For real?’
‘Sure can. And look at this. Horsetails look a lot like bridal veils, don’t you think?’
Clarissa hadn’t looked this happy since the first fitting of her wedding dress. Before she’d started to find tiny imperfections that had to be dealt with.
‘I want it to be romantic,’ she breathed. ‘And I’ve got the perfect song. Whitney Houston’s “I Will Always Love You”.’
Blake rolled his eyes and shook his head. Rafe lifted an eyebrow. ‘Nice, but the tempo could be a bit on the slow side. Maybe a better song to dance to than accompany fireworks?’
‘It’s soppy,’ Blake growled. ‘We need something loud. Fun. Wasn’t the whole idea to end the night with a bang?’
Clarissa giggled. ‘Oh...we will, babes, don’t you worry about that.’
Blake grinned. ‘You’re singing my song already.’
Rafe’s appreciative grin faded the moment he caught Penelope’s gaze. He took a sip of his coffee.
‘What about Meat Loaf?’ Blake suggested. ‘“I’d Do Anything For Love”?’
‘Not bad. Good beats to time to effects.’
‘No.’ Clarissa shook her head firmly.
Penelope was searching wildly for inspiration. ‘Bon Jovi? “Livin’ On A Prayer”? Or the Troggs? “Wild Thing”?’
‘Getting better.’ Rafe nodded. The look he gave her this time held a note of surprise. Did he think she wasn’t into music or something? ‘Let’s keep it going. Bon Jovi’s a favourite of mine. What about “Always”?’
The words of the song drifted into Penelope’s head. Along with an image of it being passionately sung. And even though it was Rafe she was looking at, it was no excuse to let her mind drift to imagining him with wild, rock-god hair. Wearing a tight, black singlet and frayed jeans. Saying he would cry for the woman he loved. Or die for her...
Phew...it was certainly getting hot. She fanned herself with her clipboard and tried to refocus. To push any image of men in frayed jeans and singlets out of her head. So not her type.
She