The Wedding Date (7 page)

For half a second she felt a stab of guilt.
Then she remembered that Bradley never did anything that didn’t somehow serve
him.

‘Fine,’ she shot back. ‘Play it your way. But I can tell you now you won’t get a room.’

For the first time that day she saw a flicker of doubt. So she rubbed it in good. ‘Winter is peak season in this corner of the world, so the Gatehouse has been booked out for months. And, apart from the other big party here—a high-school reunion—this wedding of ours is
huge.
My mother knows everybody, Elyse is too sweet not to invite everyone she’s ever met, and Tim’s mother is Italian. Half the territory will be here. If they have a broom closet they’ll be making a hundred bucks a night on it.’

He looked at the hotel, and at the glimpse of ragged peaks beyond. Then his jaw stiffened in the way that she knew meant he was not backing down.

His voice was smooth as honey as he said, ‘You clearly have a relationship with the management. Use your magic and get me somewhere to sleep. One night to see this mountain you have raved so much about. And then you won’t see me for dust.’

The temptation to wield her organisational magic in order to have him on his way the next day was mighty powerful. But after the day she’d had she didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him.

‘I’m. On. Holiday. You want a room?
You
go in there and make it happen.’

‘Are you intimating I can’t even book a hotel room without you holding my hand?’

Hannah tried hard to get the image of holding Bradley’s anything out of her mind.

‘I’m not intimating anything. I’m telling you outright.’ She rubbed her arms and shivered theatrically. ‘It gets dark quick around here this time of year. Cold too. And you’re still a good two hours to Queenstown. Old copper mine. A couple of old motor inns there. You might just luck out.’

She heaved open the boot and dragged her luggage free. By the time it plopped at her feet she realised Bradley had eaten up the distance between them till they stood toe to toe.

She crossed her arms. ‘You won’t get a room.’

‘Want to bet?’

Hannah wasn’t a gambler by nature. She had an aversion to nasty surprises. But the odds were so completely in her favour. When Elyse had told her about Great-Aunt Maude’s absence she’d called the hotel, and they’d all but cried with relief at being able to give her room to someone on the list of people desperate for it. Bradley would be driving on within the hour.

‘Sure,’ she said, a sly smile stretching across her face. ‘I’m game.’

‘Excellent. Now, we need to talk terms of the bet. What’s in play? Ladies first.’

She thought about asking for an extra week off, at his expense. Now she was here, now she’d survived seeing her mum, it seemed like something she might be able to handle. It seemed like something she might need.

But it was unlikely she was ever going to get a chance as good as this to beat him at something. She had to make the most of it. ‘I get co-producer credit if you make a show here.’

Bradley’s forehead creases were back with a vengeance. Everything suddenly felt all too quiet. She could hear her own breaths gaining speed. Her heart-rate was rocketing all over the place. She wondered if she’d just screwed everything up royally.

Then she thought again. She
deserved
a producer credit, considering the amount of input she’d had in his productions to date. And if this was what it took for him to realise she meant more to his organisation than a way with middle management …

‘Deal,’ he said.

‘Really?’ she squeaked, jumping up and down on the spot as if firecrackers were exploding beneath her feet. She swished a hand across the sky as if she was looking at a podium at an awards ceremony. ‘I can see it now:
co-produced by Hannah Gillespie.
“And the
award goes to Hannah Gillespie and Bradley Knight.”’

‘Don’t you mean Bradley Knight and Hannah Gillespie?’

‘These things are always alphabetical.’

‘Mmm.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘And if I
do
get a room?’

‘You won’t.’

He grabbed his leather bag and her heavy suitcase and walked towards the hotel as though he was carrying a bag of feathers. She hurried after him.

‘Bradley? The terms?’

‘What does it matter? You’re so sure I’m not going to win.’

He shot her a grin. An all too rare teeth and crinkly eyes grin. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach. Big, broad-winged, jungle butterflies.

He wouldn’t win. There was just no way. But this was Bradley Knight. So long as she’d known him—whether it was getting the green light on every show he pitched, getting any time slot he wanted, or keeping his private life private—he
always
got his way.

She jogged up the steps, puffing. He took them two at a time as if it was nothing. At the top he slowed, opened the door, and waved her through. She shot him a sarcastic smile and, head held high, walked inside.

Two steps in, they came to a halt as one.
Hannah breathed out hard as she realised with immense relief that the Gatehouse was as beautiful as she’d hoped it would be. All marble floors and exposed beams and fireplaces the size of an elephant. It was fit for kings. But not Knights. No Knights.

‘Stunning,’ he said.

‘And fully booked,’ Hannah added.

Bradley laughed, the deep sound reverberating in the large open space. ‘You are one stubborn creature, Miss Gillespie. I do believe it would behove me to remember that.’

She couldn’t help but smile back.

Until he said, ‘I’m coming to your sister’s wedding.’

‘I’m sorry? What?’

‘If I get a room tonight it would be a waste not to thoroughly check out this part of the world. And if I’m here it would be the height of rudeness not to take up your sister’s invitation.’

‘And the hits just keep on coming!’

His eyes gleamed with the last vestiges of a smile. ‘Are we on?’

The jungle butterflies in her stomach were wiped out by a rush of liquid heat that invaded her whole system. Red flags sprang up in its wake, but the prize was simply too big to back down now.

‘We’re on.’

He narrowed determined eyes, looked around,
then took her by the shoulders and aimed her at the bar. ‘Give me five minutes.’

‘What the heck? I’ll give you twenty.’

As she headed to the bar his laughter followed like a wave of warmth that sent goosebumps trailing up and down her spine.

She plonked onto a barstool in the gorgeous, sparsely populated lounge bar. In twenty minutes’ time she’d know if she’d bet her way into a promotion, or if her impossible boss was coming to her little sister’s wedding.

Either way she needed a drink.

Hannah let the maraschino cherry from the garnish of her soul-warming Boston Sour slide around inside her mouth a while before biting blissfully down. A pianist in the far corner was tinkling out a little Bee Gees, and the view from the twelve-foot windows was picture-postcard-perfect.

She sighed as the whisky worked its magic. And finally, for the first time since she’d headed off that morning, she began to unwind enough to feel as if she was really on holiday.

‘Hannah Banana!’

She spun, to find Elyse barrelling her way. Her eyes instantly searched over her sister’s shoulder, but thankfully Elyse was alone.

Elyse threw herself into Hannah’s arms and hugged tight. ‘Isn’t this place gorgeous? You
were
soooo
right in suggesting it. Tim and I owe you big-time!’

Hannah hugged back, at first in surprise. But soon she found it felt familiar, and really nice. She closed her eyes and a million small memories came flooding back to the surface. Sharing bedrooms. Sharing dolls. Sharing a secretly pilfered tube of their mum’s lipstick to paint their dolls’ faces. Memories she’d purposely tucked far away in order to make the move from Tasmania to Melbourne a completely fresh start.

‘It’s the least I could do,’ Hannah said, eventually patting Elyse on the back and pulling away before it began to feel too nice. ‘Considering I couldn’t do much proper bridesmaid stuff from the other side of the pond.’

‘You did just grand. Best maid of honour ever.’ Elyse’s eyes were already sweeping the big empty room. ‘So where’s your gorgeous man?’

‘Off to chat up the management,’ Hannah said, without thinking. She felt herself pinking and glanced into her drink. ‘But he’s not my
man.
He’s my boss. And he’s here to work.’

Elyse’s perfectly plucked eyebrows disappeared under her perfectly straight fringe. ‘So it’s pure coincidence that you came on the exact same plane? And that of all the places in all the world he
had
to be today it was Cradle
Mountain? The man has ulterior motive written all over him!’

Hannah coughed out a laugh. Her little sister might still look as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, but the girl was all grown up. ‘Believe me, there is less than nothing going on between me and Bradley Knight.’

Elyse leaned her elbows on the bar and tapped the floor in front with a pointed toe—an old habit from long-ago ballet training. ‘So he’s not here because he’s secretly in love with you and is afraid you’re going to run away with the best man and leave him broken-hearted?’

This time Hannah’s laughter was uproarious. ‘I’m sorry to break your romantic little heart, but Bradley would be more likely to fear a sudden departure on my end would leave him with no dry-cleaning.’

She glanced out through the arched doorway to see the man in question still leaning on the reception counter. His dark wavy hair curled slightly over the back of the wool collar of his leather jacket. His jeans accentuated every nature-hewn muscle. Even from that distance the man was so beautiful he almost shimmered—like a mirage.

She glanced at the guy behind the reception counter and smiled to herself. If he’d managed to land a woman she might have begun to worry her bet was on shaky ground.

‘So he’s not coming to the wedding, then?’

Hannah dragged her eyes back to Elyse, smile still well in place. ‘I’m afraid not. It was sweet of you to ask. But he really does have to work. He’s a workaholic. Big-time. Should have the word tattooed on his forehead. If they made marrying one’s job legal, he’d beat you to the altar.’

When she realised she was rambling, she put down her drink and with one finger pushed it out of reach.

A glutton for punishment, she looked back towards Reception in time to find Bradley’s eyes scanning the massive foyer. They angled towards the bar and stopped.

He was too far away for her to be sure, but she knew he had her in his sights. She could feel it as if a laser had pierced her stomach, burning her up from the inside out. The piano music and the chatter of newly arrived guests spilling into the bar became a blur of white noise behind the thump, thump, thump of her heart.

Bradley gave her a slight nod. All she could do was swallow. There was so much blood rushing to her face it felt numb.

‘Anyhoo,’ Elyse said, ‘everything’s going like clockwork. So tonight no organising from you. Just party! Okay?’

Hannah frowned at her toes a moment, before
lifting her head with a bright smile. ‘Party sounds great.’

‘Now, my love bunny and I haven’t seen one another all day, and the poor pet will be fretting. I’d best head up to our room and ease his mind.’

With a wink that told of salacious goings on, Elyse flounced off.

Elyse—all grown-up and irreverent with it. Her mother—not unhappy to see her. A pleasant kind of warmth that had nothing to do with flickering fires or Boston Sours or even Bradley Knight began to spread through her.

Until a hotel room key slid in front of Hannah’s face, with Bradley’s long, tanned fingers on the other end.

‘What is
that?’
she asked, her drink threatening to come back out the way it had gone in.

‘Do you really need to ask?’ Bradley drawled as he slid around behind her, the lapels of his jacket brushing against her back, causing her spine to roll in delicious anguish, before he straddled the bar stool beside her.

She spun on her seat to glare at him. Her knees knocked his before he shifted, placing a hand on her knee and allowing it to tuck neatly between his. Even then he didn’t let go—just rested a hand there as if it was nothing.

As cool as she could manage, Hannah said,
‘If you promised the man your firstborn son you’ve lost all my respect.’

The smile in his eyes gave her hot chills. As if she was sitting on the edge of a volcano. The kind from which you knew you ought to flee if only you could just let go of the primal urge to jump right in.

‘I didn’t do anything drastic,’ he said. ‘Or illegal. I simply negotiated. The only way I could get a room was to get us a suite.’

‘I’m sorry, did you say us?’

Bradley glanced at the bartender, who poured a fresh packet of peanuts into a small glass bowl. ‘Separate rooms off a shared lounge. Better even than the honeymoon suite, or so I’ve been told.’

While he was crowing, she was fast turning to a wobbly mess. But what could she say? They’d shared suites on numerous occasions before—at TV trade fairs or in pre-production on new shows—using the joint lounge as a makeshift office. Of course they’d been constantly surrounded by the half-dozen odd staff who travelled everywhere with him. Who were right now in New Zealand.

Her unimpressed air must have been crystal-clear, because he added, ‘From what I heard they only let the Platinum Suite to their most favoured VIPs.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘That’s my mother’s suite. I had to schmooze like crazy
to make sure she got that room in the first place.’

Something that seemed a heck of a lot like a blush washed across Bradley’s face. But Hannah was too infuriated to take any heed.

‘I bumped into Virginia at the desk. She overheard my predicament and offered to swap rooms. She now has your single, and we have her suite.’

Hannah had her face in her hands and was rocking on her chair by that stage.

Bradley’s thumb curving over her knee brought her out of her trance. She ran her hands down her face and did her best to act as though it was irrelevant that he was touching her at all.