I give the world’s quickest shrug. “If we’re going to take a stab at a groomzilla or something else that works, the least he can do is give us something to work with.”
His smirk makes me shudder.
“Simple. The perfect big day means a smooth day. Not having to worry about details. That’s what people pay a fortune for in this industry, from wedding planners to photo booths to where we come in with fashion. If it were my wedding, all I’d care about is a well-fitted suit and the perfect dress for my bride with every last detail signed, sealed, and delivered. With the logistics solved, we can get lost in each other instead of obsessing over what we’re wearing or who’s doing what.”
Wow.
That’s actually sweet.
Not the kind of answer you’d expect from a capital douchebag.
If I’d thought to ask Jay the same question and gotten an answer less spectacular, maybe I wouldn’t have been abandoned in a church full of people to announce there’d be no show today. But hey, we might as well not waste the open bar and cake.
My parents already paid for the damn thing anyway.
I wouldn’t have wound up in a prepaid honeymoon suite bawling my eyes out while my mother took care of getting everything cleaned up. I wish I could forget that day, and now I’ve put myself in the one place where forgetting feels impossible.
“Not that the clothes would stay on long anyhow,” Burns adds with a wink, not directed at anyone in particular.
Nice save, Captain. That’s closer to the answer I expect from a man who’s part moose and just as graceful, too.
Why did I have to ask?
I’m positive people are starting to notice the hellfire Burns puts under my cheeks—and yes, I’ll own that terrible pun.
The men at the end of the table laugh.
“I think I might faint,” Cheryl whispers, prolonging my torture. “Men with a butt like his shouldn’t be allowed to say things like that in public.”
Oh, lovely. So I’m not the only one who’s noticed he’s part sculpted steel where it counts. In hindsight, that should be a dead giveaway he isn’t living off Regis rolls.
A pang of jealousy shoots through me. Right at the precise second when every woman in the room starts fanning themselves.
I give Burns my best I’m-about-to-stab-you look, gathering my words.
“If you need a well-fitted suit and the perfect dress for your bride, you’re not exactly oblivious to what you’re wearing,” I point out.
He starts to roll his eyes but catches himself at the last second. “The average man doesn’t care about beading, lace, or ruffles, I’ll grant you. Your typical groom rarely thinks beyond a straight tie.”
“Women do.”
“Some do. Some don’t. Our product line spans the spectrum from simple to more extravagant dresses—something for every flavor, but not for every price point. Our upcoming dresses will always be remarkable and bleed high-end confidence.”
Oh, I’d enjoy making him bleed, all right, violent little creature that I am.
He cocks his head and continues. “Luxury means status to people who milk their money out of curated social media posts and reality TV. The rest of our luxury buyers put craft and quality first. You can market a luxury wedding line as simple if you focus on the design quality and the clothing itself, made with the finest materials available.”
“Craft and quality are features. Not benefits,” I say sweetly. “A wedding dress only gets worn once. You don’t need it to last forever.”
He goes quiet for a moment.
I’m expecting another scowl, a harsh comment, but he actually looks like he’s thinking it over.
“The benefit is the original design and its unmatched quality, Miss Poe. All our customer needs to do is put it on,” he says slowly.
“Not usually true of a wedding dress. You put it on after a corset. It’s not a pleasant experience.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, unless you’re wearing a very simple A-line or a short dress, and even then you might still need a corset holding you together.”
“I know what a corset involves, even if I’ve never worn one myself. Obviously,” he admits, a slight redness blooming under his trimmed beard.
Holy crap.
He blushes.
I made Lincoln damn Burns blush in a company meeting. That’s my kind of payback.
“Wedding dresses need so much structure,” Cheryl says with the weariness of a woman who knows from personal experience.
The other ladies in the room nod enthusiastically, including me.
For a second, Lincoln goes stock-still. Then he crosses the room on measured strides, stroking his bearded chin, and sits down beside me.
“You make an interesting point. There’s more to this structure aspect than I thought...”
His foot brushes mine under the table, probably from an absentminded sweep of his leg.
My breath catches at the whisper of a touch. I tuck my legs under my chair, pressing my thighs together.
“Sorry, Nevermore,” he mutters, though his eyes are anything but apologetic.