Читать книгу The Wedding Planner and the CEO - Алисон Робертс - Страница 7

CHAPTER ONE

‘NO?’

The smile was sympathetic but the head-shake emphasised the negative response and the receptionist’s raised eyebrows suggested that Penelope must have known she was dreaming when she thought her request might be considered reasonable.

‘There must be someone I could speak to?’ It was harder to say no face to face than over the phone, which was, after all, why she’d taken time out of her crazy schedule to fight London traffic and come to the company’s head office in person.

In desperation?

‘There’s really no point.’ The receptionist’s smile faded slightly. ‘You might be able to engage a cowboy to let off a few fireworks on a week’s notice but to get the kind of show the best company in the country has to offer, you have to book in advance. Months in advance.’

‘I didn’t have months. My bride only decided she wanted fireworks this morning. I’m talking Bridezilla, here, you know?’

There was a wary edge to the receptionist’s gaze now. Was she worried that Penelope might be capable of following her client’s example and throwing an epic tantrum?

‘I understand completely but I’m sorry, there’s still nothing I can do to help. For future reference, you can book online to make an appointment to talk to one of our sales reps.’

‘I don’t want to talk to a sales rep.’ Penelope tapped into the extra height her four-inch heels provided. ‘I want to talk to your manager. Or director. Or whoever it is that runs this company.’

The smile vanished completely. ‘We have a chief executive officer. All Light on the Night is an international company. An enormous international company. We do shows like the Fourth of July on the Brooklyn Bridge in New York. New Year’s Eve on the Sydney Harbour Bridge in Australia.’ Her tone revealed just how far out of line Penelope had stepped. ‘You might very well want to talk to him but there’s no way on earth Ralph Edwards would be interested in talking to you.’

‘Really? Why not?’

The curiosity sounded genuine and it came from a male voice behind Penelope. The effect on the young woman in front of her was astonishing. The receptionist paled visibly and her mouth opened and closed more than once, as if she was trying to recall all the vehement words that had just escaped.

Penelope turned to see a tall man and registered dark hair long enough to look tousled, faded denim jeans and...cowboy boots? One of the sales reps, perhaps?

‘She...doesn’t have an appointment.’ The receptionist was clearly rattled. ‘She just walked in and wants to book a show. A wedding...’

The man’s gaze shifted to Penelope and made her want to smooth the close fit of her skirt over her hips even though she knew perfectly well it couldn’t be creased. Or raise a hand to make sure no errant tresses had escaped the French braiding that described a perfect crescent from one side of her forehead to meet the main braid on the back of her head.

‘Congratulations.’ His voice had a rich, low timbre. It made Penelope think of gravel rolling around in something thick and delicious. Like chocolate.

‘Sorry?’ Was he congratulating her on her choice of this company?

‘On your engagement.’

‘Oh...it’s not my wedding.’

That was a dream too distant to be visible even with a telescope at the moment. And there was no point even picking up a telescope until she knew what it was she was looking for, and how could she know that until she discovered who she really was and what she was capable of? Come to think of it, this was the first step towards that distant dream, wasn’t it? The first time she was taking a leap out of any known comfort zone. Doing something she wanted—just for herself.

‘I’m an event manager,’ she said, after the barely perceptible pause. ‘It’s my client who’s getting married.’

‘Ah...’ The spark of polite interest was fading rapidly. ‘You’ve come to the right place, then. I’m sure Melissa will be able to help you with whatever arrangements you want to make.’

Melissa made a choked sound. ‘She wants the show next Saturday, Mr Edwards.’

Mr Edwards? The terribly important CEO of this huge international company wore faded jeans and cowboy boots to work? Penelope was clearly overdressed but she couldn’t let it faze her enough to lose this unexpected opportunity.

One that was about to slip away. She saw the look that implied complete understanding and went as far as forgiving the company receptionist for her unprofessional exchange with a potential client. She also saw the body language that suggested this CEO was about to retreat to whatever top-floor executive sanctuary he’d unexpectedly appeared from.

‘I’ll give her a list of other companies that might be able to help,’ Melissa said.

‘I don’t want another company.’ The words burst out with a speed and emphasis that took Penelope by surprise. ‘I...I have to have the best and...and you’re the best, aren’t you?’

Of course they were. The entire wall behind the receptionist’s desk was a night sky panorama of exploding fireworks. Pyrotechnic art with a combination of shape and colour that was mind-blowing.

The man’s mouth twitched. Maybe he’d been surprised, too. ‘We certainly are.’ Amusement reached his eyes with a glint. Very dark eyes, Penelope noticed. As black as sin, even. Her pulse skipped and sped up. There was only one thing to do when you found yourself so far out of your depth like this. Aim for the surface and kick hard.

‘It might be worth your while to consider it.’ She snatched a new gulp of air. ‘This is a celebrity wedding. The kind of publicity that can’t be bought.’ She managed a smile. ‘I understand you specialise in huge shows but New Year’s Eve and the Fourth of July only happen once a year, don’t they? You must need the smaller stuff as well? This could be a win-win situation for both of us.’

An eyebrow quirked this time. Was he intrigued by her audacity? Was that a sigh coming from Melissa’s direction?

‘You have a managerial board meeting in fifteen minutes, Mr Edwards.’

‘Give me ten,’ Penelope heard herself saying, her gaze still fixed on him. ‘Please?’

* * *

She looked like some kind of princess. Power-dressed and perfectly groomed. The spiky heels of her shoes looked like they could double as a lethal weapon and he could imagine that the elegant, leather briefcase she carried might be full of lengthy checklists and legally binding contracts.

She was the epitome of everything Rafe avoided like the plague so why on earth was he ushering her into his office and closing the door behind them? Perhaps he was trying to send a message to the junior staff that even difficult clients needed to be treated with respect. Or maybe there had been something in the way she’d looked when he’d suggested it was her own wedding she’d come here to organise.

A flicker of...astonishment? He’d probably have the same reaction if someone suggested he was about to walk down the aisle.

Maybe not for the same reasons, though. The kind of people he had in his life were as non-conformist as he was, whereas this woman looked like she’d already have the preferred names picked out for the two perfectly behaved children she would eventually produce. One girl and one boy, of course. She might have them already, tidied away in the care of a nanny somewhere, but a quick glance at her left hand as she walked past him revealed an absence of any rings so maybe it had been embarrassment that it was taking so long rather than astonishment that had registered in that look.

No. More likely it was something about the way she’d said ‘please’. That icy self-control with which she held herself had jarred on both occasions with something he’d seen flicker in her face but the flicker that had come with that ‘please’ had looked like determination born of desperation and he could respect that kind of motivation.

‘Take a seat.’ He gestured towards an area that had comfortable seating around a low coffee table—an informal meeting space that had a wall of glass on one side to show off the fabulous view of the Wimbledon golf course.

Not that she noticed the gesture. Clearly impressed to the point of being speechless, she was staring at the central feature of the penthouse office. A mirror-like tube of polished steel that was broken in the middle. The layer of stones on the top of the bottom section had flames flickering in a perfect circle.

He liked it that she was so impressed. He’d designed this feature himself and he was proud of it. But he didn’t have time for distractions like showing off.

‘Ms...?’

‘Collins. Penelope Collins.’

‘Rafe Edwards.’ The handshake was brief but surprisingly firm. This time she noticed his invitation and he watched her seat herself on one of the couches. Right on the edge as if she might need to leap up and flee at any moment. Legs angled but not crossed.

Nice legs. Was that subtle tug on the hem of her skirt because she’d noticed him noticing? Rafe glanced at his watch and then seated himself on the opposite couch. Or rather perched on his favourite spot, with a hip resting on the broad arm of the couch.

‘So...a celebrity wedding?’

She nodded. ‘You’ve heard of Clarissa Bingham?’

‘Can’t say I have.’

‘Oh... She’s a local Loxbury girl who got famous in a reality TV show. She’s marrying a football star. Blake Summers.’

‘I’ve heard of him.’

‘It’s a huge wedding and we were lucky enough to get the best venue available. Loxbury Hall?’

‘Yep. Heard of that, too.’

Her surprise was evident in the way she blinked—that rapid sweep of thick, dark eyelashes. He could understand the surprise. Why should he know anything about a small town on the outskirts of the New Forest between here and Southampton? Or an eighteenth-century manor house that had been used as a function venue for the last decade? He wasn’t about to tell her that this location did, in fact, give him a rather close connection to this upcoming event.

‘It could be the last wedding ever held there because the property’s just been sold and nobody knows whether the new owner will carry it on as a business venture.’

‘Hmm.’ Rafe nodded but his attention was straying. This Penelope Collins might not be remotely his type but any red-blooded male could appreciate that she was beautiful. Classically beautiful with that golden blonde hair and that astonishing porcelain skin. Or maybe not so classical given that her eyes were brown rather than blue. Nice combination, that—blonde hair and brown eyes— and her skin had a sun-kissed glow to it that suggested an excellent spray tan rather than risking damage from the real thing. She was probably no more than five feet three without those killer heels and her drink of choice was probably a gin and tonic. Or maybe a martini with an olive placed perfectly in the centre of the toothpick.

‘Sorry...what was that?’

‘It’s the perfect place for a fireworks show. The terrace off the ballroom looks down at the lake. There’ll be six hundred people there and major magazine coverage. I could make sure that your company gets excellent publicity.’

‘We tend to get that from our larger events. Or special-effects awards from the movie industry. There are plenty of smaller companies out there that specialise in things like birthday parties or weddings.’

‘But I want this to be spectacular. The best...’

She did. He could see that in her eyes. He’d had that kind of determination once—the need to get to the top and be the very best, and it hadn’t been easy, especially that first time.

‘Is this your first wedding?’

Her composure slipped and faint spots of pink appeared on her cheeks. ‘I run a very successful catering company so I’ve been involved in big events for many years. Moving to complete event design and execution has been a more recent development.’

‘So this is your first wedding.’

She didn’t like the implied putdown. Something like defiance darkened her eyes and the aura of tension around the rest of her body kicked up a notch.

‘The event is running like clockwork so far. Everything’s in place for the ceremony and reception. The entertainment, decorations and catering are locked in. Clarissa is thrilled with her dress and the photographers are over the moon by the backdrops the venue offers. We even have the best local band playing live for the dancing. You must have heard of Diversion?’

Rafe’s breath came out in an unexpected huff. Another connection? This was getting weird.

‘It was all going perfectly until this morning, when Clarissa decided they had to have fireworks to finish the night. She had a complete meltdown when I told her that it was probably impossible to organise at such late notice.’

Rafe had dealt with some meltdowns from clients so he knew how difficult it could be, especially when your reputation might be hanging by a thread. Maybe Penelope was reliving some of the tension and that was what was giving her voice that almost imperceptible wobble. A hint of vulnerability that tugged on something deep in his gut with an equally almost imperceptible ‘ping’.

‘When it got to the stage that she was threatening to pull the plug on the whole wedding, I said I’d make some enquiries.’

‘So you came straight to the top?’ The corner of Rafe’s mouth lifted. ‘Have to say your style is impressive, Ms Collins.’

He’d done the same thing himself more than once.

‘I know I’m asking a lot and it probably is impossible but at least I can say I tried and...and maybe you can point me in the direction of an alternative company that might be able to do at least a reasonable job.’

There was a moment’s silence as Rafe wondered how to respond. Yes, he could send her hunting for another company but nobody reputable would take this on.

‘Have you any idea what’s involved with setting up a professional fireworks show?’

She shook her head. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, too, and the childlike gesture of trepidation was enough to make Rafe wonder just how much of her look was a front. And what was she trying to hide?

‘Long-term planning is essential for lots of reasons. We have to have meetings with the client to discuss budgets and the style and timing of the show.’

‘The budget won’t be an issue.’

‘Are you sure? We’re talking over a thousand pounds a minute here.’

‘I’m sure.’ She sounded confident but he’d seen the movement of her throat as she’d swallowed hard.

‘The show gets fired to music. That has to be chosen and then edited and correlated to the pyrotechnic effects. The soundtrack has to be cued and programmed into a computer.’

Once upon a time, Rafe had done all these jobs himself. Long, hard nights of getting everything perfect on an impossible schedule. The memories weren’t all bad, though. That kind of hard work had got him where he was today.

‘The fireworks have to be chosen and sourced. The site has to be mapped and the display layout planned for firing points. There are safety considerations and you have to allow for a fallout range that could be over a hundred metres. You have to get permits. And this all has to happen before you start setting up—fusing all the fireworks together in the correct sequence, putting electric matches in each fuse run, and then testing the whole package to make sure it’s going to work.’

‘I understand.’ There was a stillness about her that suggested she was preparing to admit defeat. ‘And you were right. I had no idea how much work was involved. I’m sorry...’ She got to her feet. ‘It was very kind of you to take the time to explain things.’

The door to the office opened as she finished speaking. Melissa poked her head around the edge.

‘They’re waiting for you in the boardroom, Mr Edwards.’

Rafe got to his feet, too. Automatically, he held out his hand and Penelope took it. It was a clasp rather than a shake and, for some bizarre reason, Rafe found himself holding her hand for a heartbeat longer than could be considered professional.

Long enough for that odd ping of sensation he’d felt before to return with surprising force. Enough force to be a twist that couldn’t be dismissed. A memory of what it was like to be struggling and then come up against a brick wall? Or maybe articulating all the steps of the challenge of delivering a show had reminded him that he’d been able to do all that himself once. Every single job that he now employed experts in the field to do on his behalf.

He could do it again if he wanted. Good grief, he ran one of the biggest pyrotechnic companies in the world—he could do whatever he wanted.

And maybe...he wanted to do this.

He had everything he’d always dreamed of now but this wasn’t the first time he’d felt that niggle that something was missing. Wasn’t the best way to find something to retrace your footsteps? Going back to his roots as a young pyrotechnician would certainly be retracing footsteps that were long gone. Had he dropped something so long ago he’d forgotten what it actually was?

‘There is one way I might be able to help,’ he found himself saying.

‘A personal recommendation to another company?’ Hope made her eyes shine. They had a dark outline to their pupils, he noticed. Black on brown. A perfect ring to accentuate them. Striking.

‘No. I was thinking more in terms of doing it myself.’

Her breath caught in an audible gasp. ‘But...all those things you said...’

‘They still stand. Whether or not it’s doable would depend on cooperation from your clients with any restrictions, such as what fireworks we happen to have in stock. The site survey and decisions on style and music would have to be done immediately. Tomorrow.’

‘I could arrange that.’ That breathless excitement in her voice was sweet. ‘What time would you be available?’

‘It’s Saturday. We don’t have any major shows happening and I make my own timetable. What time would your clients be available?’

‘We’ll be on site all day. They have a dance lesson in the morning and we’re doing a ceremony rehearsal in the afternoon. Just come anytime that suits. Would you like me to email you a map?’

‘That won’t be necessary. By coincidence, I’m familiar with the property, which is another point in favour of pulling this off. The site survey wouldn’t be an issue.’

* * *

The massive image of exploding fireworks was impossible to miss as Penelope left the office but it was more than simply a glorious advertisement now. For a heartbeat, it felt like she was actually there—seeing them happen and hearing the bone-shaking impact of the detonations.

Excitement, that was what it was. Ralph Edwards might look like a cowboy but he was going to help her get the biggest break she could ever have. Clarissa’s wedding was going to finish with the kind of bang that would have her at the top of any list of desirable wedding planners. On her way to fame and fortune and a lifelong career that couldn’t be more perfect for her. She would be completely independent and then she’d be able to decide what else she might need in her life.

Who else, maybe...

Thanks to the traffic, the drive back to Loxbury was going to take well over two hours, which meant she would be up very late tonight, catching up with her schedule. She could use the time sensibly and think ahead about any potential troubleshooting that might be needed.

Or she could think about fireworks instead. The kind of spectacular shapes and colours that would be painted against the darkness of a rural sky but probably seen by every inhabitant of her nearby hometown and have images reproduced in more than one glossy magazine.

As the miles slid by—despite an odd initial resistance—Penelope also found herself thinking about the tousled cowboy she would have to be working with in the coming week to make this happen. He had to be the most unlikely colleague she could have imagined. Someone she would have instinctively avoided like the plague under normal circumstances, even. But if he could help her make this wedding the event that would launch her career, she was up for it.

Couldn’t wait to see him again, in fact.