Page 13 of Resisting the Billionaire

Mackenzie

At some point during the consultation, I give up on trying to engage Serena, who’s just sitting there all mopey picking at her nails. I understand this arrangement isn’t ideal for either of them, but at least Gabriel is helping with decisions.

And he’s surprisingly… committed to it. I can’t tell if it’s a way to prove his dad wrong or to make good on his comment earlier that he’s on my side, but it’s for sure not due to any warm feelings toward Serena. Every time she shrugs a non-reply, his irritation with her becomes more and more visible. I admit, her behavior is annoying, but I’m not in any position to give her a dressing down. Despite being hired, my employment still seems tenuous.

I set up meetings for us to visit vendors for catering, cake, wedding attire, venues, and a whole laundry list of other tasks until we’ve got everything scheduled. A sense of accomplishment races through me as I check them off in my planner, reveling in that familiar thrill. The disorder and uncertainty of my business in the past few months as I’ve struggled to get enough events to pay off my debts has taken a toll on my mental state, and for the first time in a long while, I take a full breath. Everything will be okay.

I glance at the clock on my phone, seeing we’ve been at it for an hour and a half already. “We could decide on flowers now,” I suggest. “If it’s okay with both of you, we could use what’s available here in Diana’s shop. She has a great selection.”

“Sounds good with me,” Gabriel says, standing and stretching, his back audibly popping. He’s not in a suit today, but his blue polo and gray slacks bring with them a different aesthetic, revealing even through his shirt a toned upper body and arms more muscular than I was expecting. Biceps are my one weakness, and his are thick with muscle.

No, bad Mackenzie. No looking. He’s the groom in the wedding you’re planning.

Serena stands too, slinging her designer bag over her shoulder. “I actually have to get going.”

“Oh, okay. Do you want to wait to decide on flowers?”

“No, no,” she waves absent-mindedly at me, already turning toward the door. “Anything you pick is fine.”

She’s halfway out before I remember to ask, “What about your bouquet?” Brides always have an opinion about that.

“Whatever you choose is good,” she calls out, the bell over the main door ringing a moment later as she exits.

Gabriel sticks his hands in his pockets, giving me a wry smile. “You’d almost think she’s not excited about this.”

I duck my head to hide my own grin, squeezing out from behind my desk to go into the flower shop. I walk ahead of him, feeling his eyes on me. It’s not an unpleasant sensation, I’m just… aware of it, a tangible thing.

“So if we’re going with blue and silver, our options are more limited than they’d be with other colors, but we’ll definitely still make it work. We can dye anything or use floral sprays to create what we want.”

He stops at an arrangement of sunflowers, mums, and daisies, bending down to sniff. “What about hydrangeas or hyacinths?”

I stare at him. “How do you know about those?” Seriously, what straight man knows off the top of his head what flowers are naturally blue?

He grins, explaining, “My mother was a gardener. She loved to grow flowers. That’s how I know you smell like-” He steps into my personal space, bringing his face slightly toward my neck, close enough to feel his body heat. “Gardenias.”

My hand drifts up to rub at the spot behind my ear I put perfume on this morning, conscious too of his own scent - some kind of expensive cologne that smells heavenly.

He moves away, seemingly unaffected by my proximity. “She would have loved this place,” he continues, glancing around. “It reminds me of her.”

I’m not sure whether I should admit I did some in-depth digging on him last night after being so caught off guard yesterday. I discovered his mother died after a battle with cancer.

After a moment’s hesitation, I say, “I read online that she passed away. I’m sorry.”

He turns toward a different flower arrangement, focusing on that. “It was a long time ago.”

There’s an awkward pause and I hastily clear my throat, continuing, “I saw that your father named a cancer wing at the children’s hospital in her honor.”

His lips tighten. “Yep, he did.”

“And that picture of you there the other week-”

He twists toward me, those blue eyes intense again. “What?”

I take a step back, confused at his sudden change in demeanor. “Weren’t you there for a photo op or something?”

I immediately sense I said the wrong thing when his eyes go as frosty as his dad’s. “You think I’d go visit them just for publicity?” He turns away, jaw clenched. “You know what? I’m done for the day. Whatever flowers are fine.”

“Wait.” I grab the sleeve of his polo, stretching it out slightly. Oh God, that was probably expensive, wasn’t it? It’s one of those with the little alligator symbol over the left side. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you, honest.”

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