Page 1 of Bride on the Dotted Line

Chapter 1

Sienna

No sign of him.

I tap my nails against the rim of my glass, counting the seconds slipping away. It’s been thirty-four minutes. No e-mail, nosorry, I’m going to be lateorlet’s reschedule.Just me, the dregs of a gin and tonic, and my unraveling patience.

Across the restaurant, a door swings open. I glance up, but it’s just a group of tailored suits and briefcases. The host guides them to a table near the window, quipping about the warmer weather. Plush seats are pulled out. Sparkling water is poured.

None of those suits are the man I came here to meet.

Sighing, I go back to my phone.

Mason, 2:46PM

Still at Café de Mario?

Sienna

Yeah. Starting to think he’s not coming.

Lena

Ugh.

Typical.

Mason

Hang on a little longer. If he’s not there in twenty, we’ll re-negotiate.

Fine. Give it thirty, though. We need this deal.

Translation:Ineed this deal, but Mason and Lena are nice enough to pretend they need it just as badly.

Lena

Sounds good. Talk soon.

Mason

If he does arrive, put in a good word for me.

Lena

Mason … can you at least TRY to be professional?

Mason

What? He’s a babe!

I drain the last of my gin and tonic, hiding a bemused smile behind my glass. Mason asking me to flirt with a client for him isn’t exactly new. A billionaire client running late isn’t surprising, either.

As PR managers, we’re always on their clock. The busier the client is, the less they care about the public, their reputation, or the team scrambling to fix their messes. Most of the time, convincing them to change their habits is like banging my head against a brick wall.

Case in point: Nick Harwood, the man I’ve come here to meet.

“He’s out of control,” the Harwoods’ lawyer told us over speakerphone on Monday. All three members of Charters PR Management—Lena, Mason, and me—were gathered in our meeting room on the third floor of 77 Blackstone Center, sipping coffee and exchanging looks.

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