A Moment of Bliss (6 page)

“The pulling out of chairs, holding of doors.”

“Manners and social graces were big with granddad. I was about twelve when he passed, but by then, he'd already drilled into me how I was to behave around guests and grown-ups.”

“Do you hold doors for male guests and offer to drive your male business acquaintances around?”

“I might.” He wrinkled his brow, but with a playful tone in his voice.

“If it's all the same, I'll drive,” she told him.

He shrugged like it didn't matter to him either way.

That's how she ended up with Roark in her Audi, his broad shoulder nearly touching hers, his arm taking up all of the room on the center console.

“We should've taken my truck,” he muttered, shifting in the seat. “Not out of some male power-trip thing, but your car is pretty damn small.”

“There's plenty of leg room.” Madison fluttered her hand around her neck. “And did you just say damn in my presence?”

Roark rolled his eyes. “Stop it. And yes, I did.”

She took in the way he filled up the bucket seat. The sight of his long legs and thick thighs assuaged any guilt over his discomfort. “I need to know where Brenda's is located so I can get there alone. And if I drive somewhere once, I know it.”

He leaned over.. “Do you know how to get into town?”

Madison hadn't a clue.

Roark stared, waiting until she quickly met his gaze. Those gray-blue eyes were too near, too striking. She kept her eyes on the road.

“Down the mountain?” she tried.

His puff of laughter was so close, the warmth brushed her cheek. “Yes, down the mountain, smarty-pants. And after that?”

“No.” But he'd called her smarty-pants, like they'd been comrades for months.

Madison didn't know if the familiarity was merely Roark's nature or because he was accustomed to siblings, but he had a casual way of joking, teasing her as though they knew each other. The truly strange part was it didn't bother her as much as it normally would. If anything, it eased her self-doubt.

“Then a right onto Main Street and Brenda's is on the corner. Got it?” he asked.

“Got it.” She hadn't heard a single word of his directions.

It didn't matter though. He ended up repeating all of it; precise, detailed instructions on where and how to go as they reached each turn. Something told her that his brother and sister never agreed to drive him anywhere.

A strip of brick stores took up the corner of Main and Broad Streets, and Madison parallel parked a few doors down from the shop. Brenda's Flower Shop had a glass front, the window filled with trendy décor and gift items, artificial wreaths, and arrangements in unique combinations.

“Roark!” a voice cried out as soon as they got in the door. A woman, maybe in her midfifties—with her impeccable caramel skin, Madison couldn't tell—standing not much over five feet tall, floated toward them with outstretched arms. “What on God's green earth has made you drag yourself all the way into town?”

Madison made it her business to study the refrigerated cases along the wall, all filled with the usual roses and arrangement fare, along with seasonal flowers and unusual greenery.

Roark hugged the lady, their reflection filling the glass door. “It's not that far. You act like I never leave Honeywilde.”

“You don't!” Brenda exclaimed, her voice sharp in the small shop filled wall to wall with wares. “It takes a force of nature to get you down here. Nothing caught on fire, did it?”

“I came to talk to you about our next arrangements for fall. And to ask a favor.”

“Anything for you, handsome.” Brenda smiled up at him before turning to look at her. “And who is this lovely young lady you've brought to my store?”

Madison met Brenda's gaze in the reflection of the case. If she was capable of blushing, she'd be red from head to toe.

“Brenda, this is Madison. She's an event planner from Charlotte and she's planning a wedding at the inn.”

Madison turned and smiled.

“And she is gorgeous. Look at you.” Brenda fussed over her, taking Madison's hands and holding them out. “All put together, and I can tell you're smart. You look like you could be doing national news on CNN or something.”

A pang of nerves bounced around her chest at the attention. Brenda seemed sincere in every word, and Madison wasn't sure if she was flattered or embarrassed or both.

“I bet you put on one fine wedding, don't you?”

“I . . .” She stumbled for a reply. Compliments directed toward her personally, rather than toward her events, were totally foreign. And she wasn't sure she'd ever met anyone who was as up front with them as Brenda.

She didn't know what to say. “I . . . think so. Yes.”

Roark must've noted her struggle, because he got down to the reason for their visit.

“Wedding flowers in three weeks?” Brenda fisted her hands on her hips “Roark Bradley, have you lost your mind?”

“No, ma'am. And it's not all me. It's Madison's wedding.” He thumbed toward her, trying to share the blame. “Please, Brenda. I need you to make this work. You can't say no.”

“Did I say no yet?” Brenda put one hand out, counting on each finger. “I can make it work, but I'll need to order from my supplier by next week. Rush delivery. We'll need to make a decision this week on what and how much, to get it in time. I'll have to work nights to get the arrangements and bouquets done, along with what's already on slate.”

“I can make it worth your trouble,” Madison promised her.

She had to work with Brenda, and not because of the compliments or her welcoming nature. Her conviction behind all that warmth, the obvious dedication; when Brenda said she could make it work, the statement was fact, not fluff.

Roark was right. Brenda was
the
florist.

“If you're willing to work with me on style and getting the bride what she wants, you can name your price.”

Roark cocked an eyebrow at the both of them. “I'll have you know, I did not get the same offer for the wedding location.”

Brenda patted his arm. “That's because you're not me, honey.”

“I know. I'll owe you for this. Please say yes.”

Brenda considered him, hands still on her hips. “You most certainly will owe me one.
One
meaning you'll come into town more often. Last time I saw you was in the Italian place with that nice little teacher. What's her name?”

Roark lowered his chin and muttered, “Annabeth.”

Madison gave the cut flower case another once-over.

“That's it. Whatever happened there? If you don't want to take Annabeth out again, take Madison here. A nice man like you should get out more.” Brenda was on a mission, but then, Roark was the one who'd said he owed her.

He wrapped an arm around Brenda's shoulders. “I'll do my best, but who has time to date? Are you dating?”

She smacked at the hand on her shoulder. “We're not talking about me.”

“I have an entire resort to run, and increasing business for me means better business for you.”

“I know, I know.” She patted the hand she'd smacked. “I'm mothering you. I can't help it.”

Shadows suddenly passed over Roark's eyes, a sudden despondency that was too recognizable.

“I just don't want you to die up there, all alone on that mountain,” Brenda cooed.

Roark burst out with a laugh, the shadows chased away as quick as they came. “You do have a flair for the dramatic.”

“You bet I do.” Her hand palm up, Brenda indicated her shop.

“Fine. If you'll do this job, Madison will pay you a mint and I'll do my best not to die alone. Happy?”

“Ecstatic.” She took Madison's hands again. “Now you come see me tomorrow with what you have in mind and we will make this wedding”—Brenda snapped her fingers—“fabulous.”

* * *

Roark fitted himself into the Audi once more. “Told you she was a handful.”

Madison put on her seat belt and checked her mirrors before pulling out. “I like her, and she knows flowers. Thank you for the recommendation.”

“No problem.” He twisted around in the small space, trying to buckle himself in.

At the red light, she finally shooed his hand away and clicked the buckle into place. “You be sure to date so you don't end up on that mountain alone. And dead.”

“Right?” He grinned, shifting around to attempt comfort. “She makes me sound like a secluded mountain man or a damn hermit. You'd think I never come into town.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. As a matter of fact, I went out with that teacher again after Brenda saw us and
that
was the last time I was in town. I didn't have the heart to tell her we would not be going out again.”

Madison sucked air between her teeth. “That bad, huh?”

Roark glanced over at her, a glint in his pale gaze. “The Southern gentleman routine includes don't date and tell.”

She rolled her eyes.

“I will say, we came to a mutual agreement not to go out again.” His voice was the same mellow rumble as always. In fact, she'd yet to hear him sound anything other than calm and collected, the occasional irritation at his brother Devlin not included.

Madison stopped for the last light on Main Street and glanced over, Roark's profile one of strong lines and dark definition. He was undeniably handsome, but the longer she was around him, the more he proved to be a genuinely decent man, the kind of man she had little experience with, the more enticing he became. The corner of his eye slightly lined with a smile.

“I apologize if I damaged your delicate sensibilities.” She was teasing him.
Why
was she teasing him?

“I'll survive it. Somehow.” Roark looked over and caught her staring, but did nothing to call her out about it.

Madison focused on the road as it opened up from the town's traffic lights into a slow climb up the mountain.

“This afternoon I'll reach out to the guys I know at the sheriff's department about security and let you know what they say.”

“Good.” She nodded firmly. “I'm going to visit a couple of bakers, run some errands, and should be back before dinner.” She had no idea why she told him that. They weren't responsible to each other beyond work. They weren't even friends.

“I'll be there. Me and the biscuits.”

Madison risked glancing over again. Roark regarded her with a smile, his eyes hypnotic this close-up.

Okay. Maybe she had some idea.

R
oark was extremely proud of himself.

Not because he'd gotten in touch with the deputy sheriff and already had some officers lined up for the weekend of the wedding—all without any of them asking for details—but because he hadn't been in and out of his office all evening, asking about Madison or checking to see if she had returned.

He'd been out of his office exactly once, for dinner, but beyond that he'd been hard at work on resort business. It was almost nine o'clock at night, well after dinnertime, but Madison's schedule was her own. None of his business. He was the picture of impartiality and responsibility, and his evening went along as though having Madison at Honeywilde didn't affect him at all.

All the while he wondered if everything was okay, if things had gone all right in town, and if so, what was keeping her?

He shook off the concern.

Madison wasn't his to worry about. He already did enough of that with his brothers and sister. They were adults now, sure, but his role as their guardian had never worn off.

He should focus on the task at hand instead of stressing about those around him. Namely, the figures on his monitor that needed his attention.

Madison and her big wedding deposit had arrived at Honeywilde just in time. He'd taken her check to the bank as soon as she dropped it off. He didn't always tell his brothers or sister how far in the red they were each month, because there was no point in
everyone
having sleepless nights. This time though, they'd gotten dangerously low on money.

Without Honeywilde, the Bradley family would be lost, and he wasn't going to let that happen. This place was the one thing that'd always been there for them, an anchor in the storm of their parents' marriage. They'd already come too close to losing Honeywilde once; he damn sure wasn't going to let that happen now.

Fall was western North Carolina's busy season, and with this wedding they were about to turn their luck around. A huge color-spread in a magazine could put them in the black for good.

If Madison knew the photographer she wanted for Whitney's pictures, he wondered if there would be additional photographers for the publicity part. He typed a note into his phone's memo pad, reminding him to ask her.

She'd seemed pleased with Brenda, which was to say, she wasn't so flinty-eyed.

He'd noticed that when things went well or Madison found something funny, her eyes flashed, making them seem impossibly green, and her mouth curved up at the corners. It wasn't much, but she wasn't the sort to make obvious gestures like huge smiles or boisterous laughter. Her hesitant reactions made him appreciate them that much more.

A brief smile was her response to his display of good manners, or . . . what had she called it? The Southern gentleman routine.

If she only knew how hard he was working to maintain propriety, keep everything on a gentlemanly level . . .

He'd probably get the wrath of Madison if she knew how often he got distracted by her lips or that thing she did with the inside of her cheek.

Roark tilted his head, the numbers on his computer screen going blurry. Her ferocity wouldn't be such a bad thing, under the right circumstances and channeled just so. Someone so composed had to let loose sometime, right? She was probably a wildcat in bed.

“Not helpful,” he growled. Madison wasn't here for him to fantasize over.

Significant effort might be required not to do so, but he was up to the challenge. His mother may not have given them a lot of affection and attention, but she made damn sure they all knew how to behave.

His constitution reaffirmed, he went back to the matter of Honeywilde's outstanding bills.

A second later, his office door burst open. Madison rushed in until she reached his desk, slapping both hands down on top of it.

“He is going to be here tomorrow,” she ground out, her eyes wide.

“Who?”

“
Him
. Whitney and Jack's manager. Phil Troutman.”

Roark leaned forward and clicked off his monitor. This was the most emotion he'd seen from Madison yet, and it wasn't the type he wanted to see. “And this is a bad thing?”

She looked at him like he'd questioned what was wrong with having rabies. “It's a
very
bad thing. Where do you think I've been all night?”

Pushing herself away from the desk, she paced. “First I was on the phone, trying to talk him out of coming here, and then Whitney called and I had to calm her down. She's afraid he's going to monkey-wrench the whole thing. I know I told you we'd have to charm this guy, but let me warn you. He's a jerk. Evidently he's one hell of a business manager, I mean their band is huge right now, but he's unbearable when it comes to everything else.”

“I don't get why a business manager cares about their wedding arrangements.”

Madison stopped midstep. “He cares about their
everything
.” She took up pacing again.

“Okay. Then how do we deal with him?”

She stared down at her hands and didn't answer. “I knew he'd do something like this,” she muttered to herself.

“How awful do you predict it will be?”

“He called me when I got back from town and he was raising hell about the PR on the wedding. Whitney must have told him we'd talked magazine spreads. She's easily excitable and loves the idea. And she's too young to realize you keep a guy like Troutman out of the loop until it's too late for him to screw it up. He is
not
excited and does not love the idea.”

“Why?”

“I have to make him love this idea.”

Roark moved directly into her path and she came inches away from walking right into him.

“Stop for a second,” he tried. “You're muttering and pacing and I can't help you if you don't clue me in.”

Madison blinked up at him. “Help me do what?”

“Whatever it is you need help doing.” He shrugged. “You said this Phil guy coming here is a bad thing. Tell me why.”

“He's pissed that Whitney and Jack have done all of this without including him. The wedding, the publicity, all of it. Phil is going to try to nix the whole thing, especially the press.”

Hell no, he wasn't. This wedding and the press were going to happen. “He already got the special pricing on the inn. He's not nixing a damn thing. Why would he want to do that?”

“Who knows with this guy?” She threw her hands up.

Madison was flustered. He hadn't been aware she got flustered. “Let's think. There has to be a reason he'd come all the way to Windamere to be a party pooper.”

“Probably because he's a control freak and he's pissed that he's not in control of this.”

“Exactly.” Roark pointed at her. “He's not in control. You are. So what do we do to shut him down?”

“Appease him somehow. He insists that I—and I quote—fill him in on what the hell is going on, and do it quick.”

“He sounds charming.”

“Just wait. The bride- and groom-to-be are great, but I'm telling you, Troutman is a nightmare. You're going to get some firsthand experience, because if he has questions for me, he'll probably have an inquisition for you.” Madison flopped down in one of the chairs by his desk.

“I thought people like him lived in New York or L.A.” Roark went to the credenza behind his desk.

“I have no idea where he lives. The band is on tour right now, so god only knows where he's coming from. All I know is he's on his way here.”

“Then he can bring on the inquisition.” He opened the far right cabinet, grabbing two tumblers and the bottle of whiskey.

“I wish I shared your attitude.” Madison let out a huff of air. “Normally I do. I'm usually the picture of control, but for some reason this man—this one freaking a-hole—wrecks my nerves.”

“Maybe because he has a lot of power?” Roark sat in the chair beside her and put the glasses down on the desk.

“I've dealt with plenty of power over the years.”

“Then maybe it's because he's a muckity-muck in the music industry? He's not like normal people you meet every day. Add to that he's an asshole and it stresses you out.”

Madison eyed the glasses as he poured a finger of liquor in each, one corner of her mouth curling. “Did you just call him a muckity-muck?”

“Never mind that. Is it why he wrecks your nerves?”

She tossed a hand up and let it flop down on the chair of the arm. “I don't know. Maybe? Probably.”

He didn't want her to be anxious, but her reaction was somewhat comforting. Madison was human and capable of doubts, same as anyone else. And for whatever reason, she was letting him see that.

Another splash in each glass for good measure and he slid one toward her.

“I need—I mean, I'd like for this high-profile, high-end event
not
to be my last, and when I took on the job, I'd met only Whitney and Jack. Working with them was a no-brainer. Nice couple and they were so happy to have me handle this for them. If I make a name for myself doing these types of events, then I can pick and choose what I do next. No more killing myself from job to job, eighty-hour weeks to pull it all together.”

She picked up the tumbler and her gaze shot to his. “Shit.”

“What?” Roark turned his glass in his hand.

“I . . . I didn't mean—Forget I said all that. I'm venting because Troutman messes with my mojo. I'm fine. Really.”

He clinked his glass against Madison's. “I know you are. We all have someone who makes us nuts.”

“What is this, anyway?” She swirled the amber liquid around.

“Homemade whiskey. Grandpa called it nerve tonic. A little dab will do you. But sip it.”

Madison stared down at the drink and then tossed it back.

Roark watched her over the top of his glass as he slowly sipped his.

To her credit, she didn't hack and cough, but her eyes watered up. “Damn.” She fanned herself.

“I did say sip it. It's not a shot.”

She put the glass down and leaned back in the chair. “We need a plan for tomorrow.”

“I'm down with a plan. I like plans.” Roark grabbed his phone off the edge of the desk and angled himself in the chair to face her.

Madison mimicked his posture. “Troutman will probably get here before lunch, but knowing him, he won't call ahead to say he's almost here. He'll pop up without warning, like a wart.”

“I'll let our staff know. Warn them that there may be someone snooping around.” He added a note in his phone.

“And let them know he's a piece of work too. It's best to not react. I think he feeds off of it.”

“We call that a
very special guest
.”

Some of the tension finally left her face. “Oh yeah?”

“Yes,
a very special guest
is code for one who is difficult and hard to please. A guest who wants pita for lunch is worse.”

“Why is that so bad?”

“It's code for a pain-in-the-ass guest.”

Madison popped with laughter, covering her mouth to drown out the sound. He wished she wouldn't. The sound was loud and great to hear.

Rather than tell her so, he said, “I'll let Sophie and Dev know as well.” He hit Sophie's number in his favorites.

His sister answered. “What's up?”

“We're going to have a surprise guest tomorrow, the kind who likes pita for lunch. Whitney and Jack's manager will be here, inspecting.”

“For real?” He heard banging and a loud clank on Sophie's end of the line.

Roark would ask, but he wasn't sure he wanted to know. “For real. Will you let the restaurant and kitchen staffs know?”

“Yeah, I'm here now.” More banging echoed through the phone.

“And buzz Dev to let him know?”

“No. I most certainly will not.”

“Soph,” he started. He didn't want to deal with telling Devlin about their pita guest tomorrow, especially not with Madison sitting right there. He could predict his brother's reaction, and all conversations that included him telling Dev what to do eventually led to Roark cursing and Devlin not speaking to him.

“Don't Soph me. Call your brother. I'm half hanging out of a broken dishwasher at the moment.”

“What happened to the dish—”

“Call Dev.” Sophie hung up on him.

Roark stared at his phone and then peeked at Madison.

She watched him intently.

“I have to call my brother and let him know.” He rose from his seat as the phone rang.

“Yeah,” Dev answered. The echo of voices in the background meant he was most likely in the game room.

“We have a surprise guest tomorrow, code pita. Our bride and groom's business manager decided to pop in and make life difficult.”

“Managers have a way of doing that.”

“Could you let your staff know, and anyone else you see? I'll let reception know.”

“They aren't my staff, they're your staff, but yes, I will let them know.”

Roark worked his jaw. “Thank you. We don't know what time he'll be here, but Madison says he's a control freak, so don't let him get to you.”

Devlin's laugh was dry. “No problem. Got plenty of practice with that.”

He was not going to respond or let Dev get to him. Roark ended the call and sat back down. “Now they know. I'll make sure Troutman is sold on Honeywilde, but I don't know how we'll sell him on the publicity or that his musicians want to get married.”