Page 8 of Just One Summer with the Grumpy

My mind whirled. I was a wedding planner, not her vacation planner. Had Blythe dealt with clients like this?

Kamia Holland, I reminded myself. This woman would soon become a multi-millionaire. She could squash me in her sleep. I imagined her in that beautiful penthouse, staring at the view she would only enjoy through glass and the ocean she wouldn’t touch, and tried to see this incredible paradise from her perspective.

“Of course,” I said evenly. “Snorkeling isn’t a great pre-wedding activity anyway. I do have a few ideas though. I’ll be sending you a little gift in a few minutes. Will you still be in your room?”

“Where else would I be?” the woman snapped.

Outside, on one of the most beautiful islands on Earth.But I was too smart to say that aloud, instead falling on the three lines I’d learned working at the Greek restaurant last year. “Thanks so much for letting me know about your experience. Your feedback is always appreciated. We’re grateful for your business.”

“I should say so.” My phone beeped. She’d hung up.

I gritted my teeth and shoved the phone back into my pocket. It bulged—too big. I hated large phones and too-small pockets. Why couldn’t there be man-sized pockets in everything? It wouldn’t solve my bridezilla problem, but it couldn’t hurt either.

With a sigh, I gestured to the assistant across the room. The man scurried over. I’d expected my office to at least have four walls, but no. I worked in a rented building with an open wall facing the hotels lining the beach. Granted, those elements were pretty tame and the view…well, pretty, if not of the beach itself. Most of the island was covered in lush greenery, and the resort was no exception. But the fresh air felt distracting at times. I found it hard to sit at a desk with paradise just outside the door. Er, wall.

“Yes?” my assistant asked. I kept forgetting his name as he didn’t wear a name tag, but the clean-shaven dark-skinned man with tightly shorn black hair always wore a smile. I’d liked him immediately.

“I need a gift basket, preferably with gift cards. Big ones. What ideas do you have?”

He cocked his head. “Gift cards?”

That’s right. Island. “Um, salon…money? Prepaid?” The second I said it, I knew Kamia would never set foot in a salon here. Not when she’d paid thousands of primping dollars in New York before coming here. She’d insist they would ruin her perfect finishes. “Actually, never mind. How about food? Are there healthy food places around here?” Food always made people feel better…unless they were on a wedding diet, which Kamia likely was. The woman probably survived on straight lettuce and pills these days. “Nope. Won’t work either.”

My assistant—I really needed to write down his name—smiled again, making me instantly jealous of his straight white teeth. “It’s okay. You are dealing with hard client, yes?”

“Very.”

“She need massage. All ladies need. I know American masseuse, very expensive. I will arrange immediately. You want basket, I will make.”

I’d forgotten. This guy had worked under every wedding planner since Chase founded the company. He had way more experience taming unruly bridezillas than I did. “Thank you. Can you make it—”

“Pretty?” He grinned again, knowingly this time. “Yes, miss. I know the person who make ones for other planners. It will be perfect.”

“You’re saving me. I really appreciate it.” I hoped Chase paid the guy well. Probably not half as well as he deserved.

As he left, I remembered Chase’s run-in with that worker yesterday at the pool. Apparently, his reputation of being hard on employees wasn’t too far off. But what had the guy meant when he said Chase wouldn’t be in charge much longer? Such an odd thing to say about the owner of a corporation. And why was Chase here in the first place?

Focus,I ordered myself, turning back to the sheet of paper in front of me that read BATTLE PLAN in bold letters. If I took this step by step, Ty would be mine by the end of the month.

I wrote a few ideas, complete with bullet points, and felt a swell of excitement inside. I was really going to do this. I, Daphne Porter, had finally begun to chase my future like a cowboy chasing a train. I could claim what the universe told me was mine.

“See you, Agwe,” Chase called in the distance.

Chase.

I leaped to my feet and hid the Battle Plan, straightening a stack of papers over it before remembering I would look busier with a messy desk. I brushed a few pages off and accidentally scattered the entire stack just as Chase stepped inside.

One of the papers went flying toward him, arched upward, and then sank slowly to the floor at his feet.

He eyed it in confusion, then picked it up. “Battle plan?”

With a squeak, I hurried around the desk and swiped it from his hands. “It’s just what I call my to-do list,” I lied. “Sounds more fun that way.”

Chase stared at me. “Do you always have ‘Find out where he’s staying’ on your to-do list?”

Crap. At least I hadn’t used Ty’s name. “Oh, that’s just a client. A groom. Husband-to-be. But not mine, obviously. I wanted to make sure his accommodations were acceptable. He has very high expectations.”

Amusement entered Chase’s eyes, though it didn’t quite reach his mouth.Those lips.So perfect. “All our clients stay at the resort, the one associated with the company. It’s part of their package. You didn’t know that?”

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