10. Chapter Ten
Chapter Ten
Dallas
I cannot believe my good luck.
I mean, there are a lot of things lately that have been bad luck. Like the whole reason I’m even here in Willow Cove, the case of mistaken identity with Mr. Billingsley, and the fact that I have to conjure up out of thin air enough wedding revenue and happy clients to impress the mayor.
None of those things are good luck.
But I’ve booked not one, but two new weddings in one day. Now that is something.
Praises be to the wedding planner gods!
It took negotiation on my part. I had to know when to push the clients and when to back off on pricing and choosing a date. Mostly, I just didn’t give up.
I never give up, which is a secret to my success.
I wish that translated over to keeping the Death List from getting any more couples on it.
After meeting with the Goodens, the first clients, I ate my sack lunch and worked until the afternoon when the Mannings came by. I just got the call and it’s a go on them, too. Hallelujah!
Neither the Goodens nor the Mannings seemed too concerned with the fact that the rooms aren’t done, probably because Beck, in his calm way, insisted they’d be done in time. “That’s not a problem at all,” he’d said, multiple times, to all their questions and asks.
I guess he and I can set our differences aside and put on a professional face in public. And I have to admit, he was great with them—a real people person.
“We got another booking,” I say as he walks up to me while I’m putting things back in my car at the end of the workday. His crew has left, and I have a feeling he’s one of those bosses who’s a first in, last out kind of a guy.
I straighten from the trunk to see that he’s carrying all four of the barstools at once. Showoff.
“I was just about to grab those,” I tell him, trying to take one from him. He rotates away from me so that I can’t reach.
“And have to watch you struggling to carry them like earlier? No thanks. I’ve got it.”
“I was not struggling.”
“They’re almost as tall as you are. Let me put them in the trunk.” The edge in his voice tells me I’ve lost this battle. Doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it.
“It’s an exact science, Mr. Billingsley.”
“I’m aware, Ms. Cardon. I remember the Tetris situation you had going on in here. I’ve got it.”
I drop my head back. “Fine. Thanks,” I shoot out.
“No problem,” he says, while manhandling my stuff so the stools will fit. “Tell me about the other booking.”
“It’s with the couple who was here this afternoon.”
He sigh-growls as he sets a stool back down to lift my plastic box of color samples. If he’d only let me help, we could have been done now. “Sorry I couldn’t be here for that one,” he says. “My aunt’s car broke down.”
“That’s kind of you to help her.”
“She lives alone, and I was in the vicinity. It’s not a big deal.”
He seems uncomfortable with being complimented about helping his aunt, so I go back to the subject of the Mannings.
“I just heard back from the couple from this afternoon. Mary said she brought the Mannings over to see the mansion a few weeks ago. They had been on the fence, something to do with their families disagreeing. But after meeting with me today, they’ve decided to go with Willow Wood.”
“Well, congrats.”
I nod. “It will be a smaller affair than the Goodens’ because the Mannings aren’t going to be staying at the mansion. But still. That’s two down and four more to go.”
“You hoping for some shotgun weddings to crop up?”
“No.” I clutch his arm. “Please no shotgun weddings.” At his bemused expression, I shoot out, “Not that there’s anything wrong with that! But with two weddings already booked, things are looking up.”
“Which can only be a good thing for the YMCA wing, as well,” he adds. “Mayor Dobbs has a lot of sway with the board, so I’m hoping if she’s happy with the mansion, then…” He sniffs and rubs a knuckle across his nose.
He really wants to win the bid for the YMCA, doesn’t he? It’s kind of cute to see his heart on his sleeve like that. Not that I should even notice his cuteness. “Fingers crossed for us both, Mr. Billingsley.”
He slopes his head to the right. “Why are you calling me Mr. Billingsley? Is this in protest of me not correcting you when you kept calling me Billy?”
“No.” I glare at him.
It’s totally in protest. And maybe it’s immature. Or maybe it’s actually very mature? Since it’s uber-professional and all.
“Then why?” He moves another bin and box around to wedge the final stools in. “Everybody around here calls me Beck, except for some who can’t stop calling me Billy from when I was a kid. No one calls me Mr. Billingsley. It’s just weird.”
“I want to keep things professional. And I think that’s extra important on days like today where you’re joining the meetings with clients.”
“Was that okay? Stepping in like that?” He’s not meeting my gaze since he’s still fumbling with the stuff in my trunk. But there’s a hint of vulnerability in his voice.
I remember how broad his arms looked folded across his chest during the client meetings, and how his eyes tracked me every time I spoke. He seemed…amused almost. Or proud of me when I was doing my thing.
Except, proud of me? That can’t be it. The man does not like me.
I feel my lips twitch. He was an asset. “I guess it makes sense, since you’re renovating the space.”
“But.” He pauses, his gaze softening from its former hardness. “Was it okay with you that I was there? Or would you rather handle the client meetings on your own? I’ve never worked with a wedding planner before.”
I hesitate. Besides having Kaia, my assistant in Georgia, I’m used to mostly working on my own up until the day of the wedding when we pull in movers and others to set the spaces. “I’ve never worked with a construction manager before, so…” I shrug. “I don’t really know the protocol, either.”
“Obviously, I won’t be able to make a lot of the meetings, but it was helpful to me to be there today.” He finally finishes with the trunk and closes the hatch.
“Helpful to you?”
Leaning his back on my car, he folds his arms and jerks his shoulders in a shrug. “I didn’t know all that went into planning a wedding.”
“So you haven’t been through the experience yourself, huh?” Why I’m asking him about his marital history is beyond me. And yes, I’ve wondered. I can’t help it—it’s what I do. I see the world through the wedding planner lens. It’s both a blessing and a curse.
His brows go in the air. “The experience of planning a wedding?” He chuckles and rubs the back of his neck. Even with mussed up hair and dirt on the knees of his jeans, he’s still sexy.
Sexy just from the wedding planner lens. Nothing more!
He looks down at the pavement. “Not exactly.” He clears his throat.
Not exactly? What’s that supposed to mean?
“I avoid weddings, if I can help it,” he says. “Although, I can’t miss my brother’s wedding, can I?” He meets my gaze. “So getting a peek behind the scenes is helpful, I guess.”
My voice turns into sappy syrup. “Aw! You want to learn about weddings because of your baby brother.”
He grumbles out a sigh. “Don’t look so starry-eyed about it.”
“I’m not—But I can tell you don’t approve.”
His gaze whips around, as if he’s afraid someone else will hear. He takes a step closer. “I approve,” he insists, but his eyes belie his words. At my frown, he speaks again. “It’s a little fast, is all. How can you really even know someone after only a few months?”
“I’ve seen everything. Getting engaged after three weeks. Getting engaged after being together twenty years. Oddly enough, in terms of whether or not the marriage will make it, time together beforehand doesn’t seem to be much of a factor.”
If only I could figure out the secret sauce, what strange combo of things means a couple stays together. So far, the Death List from Kaia has given me few clues, and therefore, my brain can’t help but go to the only thing I can control: how I execute the weddings themselves.
Which means I have to execute them as perfectly as I possibly can.
No more slacking and last-minute attempts. No more fails.
Again, it doesn’t make logical sense, but tell that to my overworked brain.
His cheek twitches. Why is he always low-key annoyed with me? “In your very scientific research.”
“Hey. It’s a qualitative study, not a quantitative one. I’ve seen enough to know that. And I’ve seen enough to know there are always surprises.”
“How do you know when a couple doesn’t last? Do they stop sending you Christmas cards or something?”
“Sometimes.” I give him side eye. “I do stay in contact with a lot of my brides. It’s sorta nice to bond while helping someone with the most important day of their life.”
“Most important day?” His laugh holds disbelief, and he shakes his head. “I’d say all the days after, when you can keep showing up and prioritizing the relationship, are more important than the actual day.” At my scowl, he raises his hands in a stop motion. “I guess the actual day is important, too. The symbolism and all.”
“I don’t disagree that marriage is more important than the actual wedding. I’m not shallow, Mr. Billingsley,” I shoot out. “It feels like you’re devaluing my work.”
He groans. “I’m not. I have a lot of respect for what you do, especially after today, after seeing all that goes into it. That stuff’s crazy complicated.”
“It is. But I’m used to it.”
“You never answered my question. How do you know when a couple gets divorced?” His voice is strained. Perturbed.
I wave him off and move to get in my car. I’m not going to explain the mild level of intel work that my assistant and friend Kaia and I do. He would just think I’m psycho. “I have my ways. When’s your brother getting married?”
Beck gives a prolonged blink. He really is trying with all his might to avoid talking about this wedding. “They haven’t narrowed it down. But they want to get married before she starts her master’s degree in New Jersey in the fall.”
My mouth drops open. “I see a mansion beach wedding in their future.”
His brow makes a severe line. “Nope. They’re not traditional like that.”
“Oh, come on! Can you convince them? As you said earlier, the venue’s going to be perfect. Do they live here in town?”
“Yes.” His arms are crossed over his chest again, but this time, I’m pretty good at not noticing—too much—the All-American, tanned, very non-presumptuous bulges of the muscles in his arms.
I need to stop noticing anything about him. He’s frustrated with me about ninety-six percent of the time, closely rivaling my ninety-seven percent of the time that I’m frustrated with him.
“But they don’t want to get married here,” he says. “Trust me.”
“What’s your brother’s name?” I ask.
The vertical lines on his forehead deepen. “Just. Can you not? Please?”
I lean my elbow on the steering wheel so I can better see his face towering above me. “Can I not, what? What do you think I’d do? Stalk them and threaten them until they sign with us?” He hesitates and I cry out. “Really? You really think I’d go to those lengths?”
“You’re hardnosed. I’ve seen the evidence myself.”
“Just because I’m good at what I do doesn’t mean I’d go to those lengths. I just thought it might be nice, is all. You’re his brother, and you’ve been working to renovate this beautiful place.”
“He works with me, so he already knows about the venue, and he hasn’t said anything about having the wedding here, so I’m assuming…”
“Was he here today?” I don’t think so, but I could have missed him.
“No. He’s been on a different project.”
“Hmm. Does he ever come and work on this site?”
“When I ask him to, yes.” He holds out a hand in a stop sign motion. “Just don’t get any ideas. My brother isn’t getting married here.”
“What’s so wrong with it?”
The bulk of his upper body hunches, his shoulders inching closer to his ears. “It’s just not going to happen, Dallas. Besides, they might wait to get married. You never know.”
“Wishful thinking?”
His tongue moistens his lips. “Dallas, look. I really shouldn’t be talking about this with you.”
I stare through the windshield, suddenly a little embarrassed that I’m sounding like the town gossip, trying to get to know his and his family’s motivations and feelings. “Right. Professional standards and all.”
“That and it’s their business, not mine. They’re going to do whatever it is that they want to do, so—” he shrugs and swipes his chin with his knuckle.
“Right. Their business.” I tap the steering wheel with my fingers. “Well, if they change their mind, let them know I’d be more than happy to help them out.”
He frowns and gives a nod.
My mind is swarming with questions. Does the illustrious Mr. Billingsley have a complicated past? Maybe I could ask Mary. She did allude to some personal troubles recently.
No. What do I care? I’m going back to Atlanta soon. Office gossip? I’m better than that.
Except, can it be simple office gossip if it’s about a guy I can’t stop stewing over in my head?
I do the responsible thing and start my car. Back away from the handsome and infuriating man, Dallas. “Hey, despite what you may think, I’m an optimist,” I say. “This is going to work, Beck. It’ll be a great summer for Willow Cove.”
He grins broadly, looking at me expectantly, like he’s in on some joke that I’m not privy to.
I rub my nose, wondering if there’s something on my face.
“What?”
He presses his lips together before flashing another smile and raising his chin in the air. “You called me Beck.”