Bargaining with the Bride (Honeybrook Love, Inc. 1)

"Swingers," he half smiled. Beyond her fury at being wrong—again—she felt something else bubbling up in her chest.

“That’s so money, and you don’t even know it.” She smiled back. He looked surprised, but happy. He opened his mouth to respond, but Natalie cleared her throat with a pointed look in Rachael’s direction.

Her friend was right. They could talk about it later. Right now, she had to have her game face on.

Natalie didn't wait for them to ask this time, she just spoute

d out her next question, examining her cuticles before she pointed to Rachael with a lazy finger. "What is your spouse's favorite color?"

Spouse? That sounded straight up wrong. Alien, even. Still, she couldn’t allow herself to be distracted by the idea of Garret standing up there at the altar…She shook off her chills. Yeah, they’d definitely have to deal with things one step at a time.

She examined him, trying to ignore his smug satisfaction. He was wearing a gray suit. Come to think of it, he usually wore gray or black. They suited him well, matching his sleek, black hair and dark blue eyes. The cut was always angular, drawing attention up to his broad shoulders and back down to his lean waist. But what did he wear with the suit?

Most days he wore...blue? Yeah, blue ties in different shades, just like today's royal blue.

Even before she said the answer, she knew she was right.

Frustratingly enough, he wasn't fazed. In fact, his practiced disinterest could have rivaled even Natalie's genuine disinterest.

Rachael had a secret weapon, though. She knew her wardrobe—clearance special clothes galore, and every single item was a different shade. Finally, this was something he wouldn't be able to guess.

"Well, obviously your favorite color is..." He trailed off, smiling to try and hide his frustration.

It didn't work.

"Do tell?" She beamed.

"It's purple," he said. Too casually.

And genuinely incorrect.

"Nope. Next question?" Rachael smirked.

"Okay, the score is tied. One more question, then I actually have to work. Since, you know, this is an office and everything. Square?" Natalie asked, refilling her coffee.

They both agreed, staring each other down as they waited for the last question to decide who was the weak, and who was the strong.

"What is your spouse's favorite meal?" Natalie pointed to Garret.

"Pork fried rice." Garret didn't even bother pausing for breath. The bastard.

"Well—"

"Don't lie. Every time we order lunch, you want Chinese. Whenever we get Chinese, you get the same thing. It's your favorite." The bored, convinced tone in his voice made correcting him all the sweeter.

"Except that my favorite food is meatloaf."

"Meatloaf? Whose favorite food is meatloaf? You’re on death row, and you turn to the warden to order your last meal, and you say, ‘Yes, I’d like your finest meatloaf’?"

"It's a delicious and misunderstood staple of American society," Rachael crossed her legs, smirking in her victory. She knew it. She shouldn't have been so worried after all. What could he possibly know from spending eight, okay, fourteen, hours a day working with her? Nothing.

Though, in the end, that still sort of made her the loser, didn't it?

"Well, then, what's my favorite meal?"

"You seem like a fillet mignon type of guy. Mashed red potatoes. Probably a snooty vegetable. Like asparagus."

"There are snooty vegetables?" Natalie chuckled.