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

Rachael hushed her, "Not now, we need to find out who the winner is and who will go to bed on a tear-stained pillow."

"You mean for those of us who actually sleep on pillows and not on Xerox machines?" He jibed.

"Enough with the smack talk. Out with it."

"We're at a stale mate. Which, I think, means that Natalie has to work for the full day. Pity." Garret got up from his seat and began carrying the chair over to the table and Rachael mimicked him.

"I don't remember that being a part—" Natalie started, but Garret held up his hand to silence her.

"I didn't think you would. But didn't you say you needed to get back to work?" He raised an eyebrow, and Natalie stomped off, grumbling silent protests as she went. The words "stupid," and "unfair" were muttered a little louder than any of her other incoherent complaints.

"So are you willing to concede defeat?" Rachael hadn't bothered to get up. Instead, she watched Garret pace around the kitchen as he surveyed the land, straightening boxes of sweetener and fixing chairs into their correct places.

"Oh contraire. I'm intrigued now. Before, it was a service. Now it's a game." He smiled in a way that looked almost, well, roguish. It sounded stupid even as she thought it to herself, but if she didn't know him, she would think that he looked debonair. Like one of those nineteen forties guys who complimented ladies on her gams before swinging them around to a big band tune.

His face even fit that classically handsome mold—like Clark Gable or Lawrence Olivier. Rugged. Charming.

And now more than ever, particularly dangerous.

"It was a game. A game that you lost." She sat her coffee on top of the fridge after she'd moved from her chair, replacing it in front of one of the small kitchen tables.

"A game that we tied. Besides, you made a deal. Unless, of course, you don't want to get married?" He raised his eyebrows, and she realized with a jolt exactly how stupid she was being. He wasn't threatening her. It was the exact opposite of all that. He was helping her with something vitally important.

And besides, it wasn't like there was anything to fear about being around him all the time other than his work addiction rubbing off on her. They simply weren’t attracted to each other. If that had been a concern, she would have known by now, what with all the long nights they'd spent together on one project or another.

No, this was perfect.

Beyond perfect.

Garret was determined to be the husband she needed, and she could be the bride she was supposed to be. All they needed was a good story and some serious rehearsals. Like a bad high school play. Easy peasy.

"You're right." She couldn't shake the uneasy feeling in her stomach, so rather than deal with it, she did the one thing she knew how to do—she ran. "But I have work to do, too. And people will be here soon, so...you know."

She edged out the door, carrying her mug aloft so that the aroma drifted directly into her nostrils. The chicory sweetness was just the wake-up call she needed for a day that was already dreamily bizarre.

"You're right. I'll see in our conference later." Garret nodded his head, giving her permission to turn her back and book it as fast as she could to the safety of her closed office door.

She couldn't put a finger on it. Couldn't say what was happening. All she knew was that her lungs felt as though they were filled with water, and she was drowning inside herself. She was surrounded by plenty of space to breathe, and still she was inescapably over her head.

So. Not. Good.

* * *

It was the kind of day that dragged on. The kind that always felt as though an hour must have passed in the five minutes since the last time he’d check the clock. He clicked open his e-mail, scrolling through the invoice from the moving company he’d hired for the last of his ex-girlfriend’s things.

At least that was of his plate. No more calls or messages about being inconsiderate or wondering when he’d finally be coming home from work. The door was closed now. He could move on. Back to the things that mattered like paper pushing and trying to get investors on board with things they didn't bother trying to understand. The usual.

He tapped on his keyboard, trying to think up something, anything to focus on. Still, the only thing he’d been able to come up with since this morning was his deal with Rachael. Try as he might to stare at numbers and data, more questions swam in his head, blocking out the stuff he should have focused on. Every few seconds, he was adding new mental notes of things to ask his new fiancée before they paraded themselves in front of her friends and family.

It was strange. Normally he loved the challenge of convincing clients and investors, but today it seemed like old hat. He'd mastered his craft where that was concerned.

His new challenge? Well, that was the most complex and exciting development to date.

He glanced at his Rolex.

Damn. Five minutes since the last time I checked, and still thirty minutes until the workday ended.

He tapped his pen on his desk before flipping open a marble-bound notebook he'd been jotting in all day. The notes went on for pages. Questions about childhood memories, the way she liked to keep her house, everything he could think to know about her.