Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Campbell
I’m in the meeting room, which has become my makeshift office during the final days of this event. It’s also functioning as storage for the decorations that’ll go in the pavilion tomorrow. I’ve had sketches and diagrams sent to the staff. My notes with Chef have been triple-checked.
I can’t wait until I can dig into a big event that doesn’t have me feeling severed and sewn up with each step of the process.
Reclining in the chair right beside the spot Durban fucked me on last night, I take a deep breath.
I can’t believe we did that. I risked getting discovered, and from the way Jamison was side-eyeing me the rest of the night, there’s a lot of suspicion.
I could barely look at Durban until the luncheon was done.
I didn’t miss the way January glared at me either.
I don’t know what more she wants. I’m giving her the wedding of my dreams, and if she thinks I’m sneaking around with Durban, so what? She should be relieved I’m not trying to steal her man. She can have him with a bow on.
I swipe a hand down my face. Time to go get the pavilion prepped. I rise, gather my stuff, and shut off the light. Oh, right, my headphones are charging. I need music to do my admin stuff, or my mind wanders. I dig those out of the wall, and I’m walking toward the door when voices make me stop.
“I don’t know why you insist on having her at the dinner.” As if I conjured January, her voice snakes into the meeting room.
“Keep your voice down, Jan.” Stanford has that tone, the one that used to make me feel so small. He could always put me in my place so effortlessly. Instead of January’s very justified question, he turns it around on her.
Hasn’t she told him she hates that nickname?
“Well, then answer me,” she replies almost as loudly as before. “You’re surrounded by guys. I’m not allowed—”
“Did I come to your quaint luncheon?”
I almost snort. January’s gathering had four courses.
Yes, they included a spinach salad, tiny sandwiches, veggies with some fancy marinade that Chef was excited to try, and mini pastries, but it was an experience.
I made sure of it. Just like I’m putting on the most masculine stag party, or whatever Stanford and his buddies are calling it.
His prime rib dinner with four different sides and a pistachio-cream-filled cannoli from Dee’s Sweets is going to be so good, the whole wedding party is going to talk about it for years.
Chef’s making a plate for me to eat before the dinner begins, so I don’t miss out. No leftovers for me.
“I know, but it just seems like you’re making this about her and not about us.” January’s whining now.
“Aw, babes-a-million, you know it’s only about us. You wanted our wedding here.”
I hold back a gag on babes-a-million. How did I not see that as red flag number twelve? It’s because you’re one in a million, babe. I roll my eyes at his excuse. Maybe his other exes and I can form a babes-a-million club.
I will January to see that he’s turning this argument on her. Once her eyes are opened, she won’t be able to unsee it. I still care for her, but also, I would love for her to ditch his ass.
Successful career, successful wedding. If I repeat that enough, I’ll make it through tonight and tomorrow.
“I wanted the wedding here, but I didn’t want her to plan it.” January sounds so pouty my lower lip sticks out for her. “She’s gotten fired twice.”
I bristle when he chuckles.
“Thankfully, she can pull her shit together for us.” He says it so smoothly, I almost miss the insult.
Bastard. “Tonight, I’m hanging with the guys as a big thank-you for coming out to Nowhere, Montana, with us.
My dad and I are going to celebrate that we’ll no longer have to waste time bumming around this big, boring state and can finally get back to civilization.
Then tomorrow? Tomorrow, baby, you and I are going to say our vows and we’re going to become one. ”
“You and me,” she says in a cringey baby-girl voice.
There’s a loud smooching sound. “Us. And you’re going to show me that new lingerie you bought just for tomorrow night.”
“What if I give you a preview?”
My gag reflex is going to revolt if I keep repressing it. The kissing sounds grow more frequent and somehow deeper. Gross. What if they come in here and know I was listening?
I’d be mortified and look like a pervert. Clothing scrapes along the wall, and adrenaline pours into my veins. I am not going down for eavesdropping when I was in here doing my job.
Thinking fast, I stuff my headphones on and rub my eyes. Then I rush out and pull to a stop when I see them. Stanford yanks himself off her, his eyes hooded and his lips glistening.
Again, gross. I used to be into that. Before Durban, with his dark eyes and the way his mustache marks me like I’m his property.
“Ohmigosh,” I say and fake a yawn. “If you need the meeting room, it’s all yours.”
“Were you sleeping?” Amusement dances across Stanford’s face.
“It’s going to be a late night and a long day tomorrow.” I smile primly when I see the judgment in January’s eyes. “Since I get breaks, you know, legally, I took a siesta. Well. See ya.” I start walking away.
“You heading out to the pavilion?” Stanford asks.
“Yep.” I don’t stop.
Their voices fade behind me. I push out the door by the kitchen and round the back of the lodge to head toward the pavilion.
Staff is already treading back and forth, getting the tables and chairs cleaned and set up.
There won’t be any decorations but the big, boring Montana landscape.
Stanford thinks it’s good enough to impress his buddies. I think it’s the perfect decor.
Durban would too.
My belly flutters. He’s going to be here soon.
“Hey, Campbell, wait up,” Stanford calls from behind me.
I’m tempted to sprint. I don’t slow. “How can I help you?”
“I need to talk to you about tonight and tomorrow.”
“Okay.” I wave to the sous chef, hoping that’s enough to dissuade Stanford from whatever he wants to say.
“Privately.”
I go rigid and come to a stop twenty yards from my goal. “What’s up?”
He looks around. “Here?”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to be private.”
He has the grace to look chagrined. “I want a different bartender.”
“Excuse me?” Does he think he can ban Durban? It’s Stanford’s wedding, but damn. I’m not a miracle worker. And I need Durban around for my sanity. If I have to stand in my little corner tonight and watch Stanford drink and boast for hours, I’ll lose my shit on the bride and groom so fast.
“Durban Hennessy. He’s not allowed here.”
I bark out a laugh. “Be serious.”
“I am.”
He is. Shit. Stanford is going all alpha male, and it could tank this wedding.
I can’t think of me, or he’ll sniff that out.
I’ll appeal to the common sense I hope he has.
“Do you think bartenders grow on trees?” Maybe that’s not the best tactic.
“You hired Foster House to provide a wet bar. Iverson just had a baby and he can’t pull himself away, and the other three have to run the distillery while Durban is here. ”
“Then swap him out.”
I cross my arms, trying not to make it such a defensive stance. My anger writhes to get out, and I struggle to contain it. RIP my professionalism. “You want to play dictator with who serves the drinks, you’re going to realize they don’t care, Stanford. You need them. They don’t need you.”
He lifts his chin, the picture of arrogance. “I do not need them.”
“And all the people that January told would be treated to a rustic Montana experience, from the food to the drinks to the people who produce and serve them? What is she going to tell them?”
His expression ripples with displeasure. The cracks are visible. It’s working.
“It’d be embarrassing.” I shrug, like, what can you do?
“I don’t want him serving,” he reiterates.
“What’s the real problem? Does January resent his presence?”
“She said you two were unprofessional yesterday.”
She can suck it. “What did she see?” He cocks a brow, but I continue the stare-down. In the name of irritating him more, I fiddle with the horseshoe charm on my necklace. “What does she think we’re doing?”
He works his jaw back and forth. “You’re fucking him.”
As often as I can. “Say I am. Was it in front of guests?”
“Was it during the luncheon?”
“Was what? Restocking the bar? Or getting my head in a better place when your bride and my former best friend invited me to sit at someone’s dirty spot and eat any leftovers available?
” I press my lips together. I’m not going to make this any more personal; otherwise, I will be the reason for it and the blame for it.
“I would hope even you can see how far out of my way I’m going to be professional.
I’m not the one who betrayed someone who trusted them without question.
I’m not the one who planned a wedding at the home of the person they betrayed.
And I’m not the one holding the family’s legacy over their head to pull off a hiccup-free ceremony. ”
His jaw gets harder with the more I say. I’ve pushed him too far. I’ve hit his pride and that of his bride.
“This could very easily be a train wreck,” I say in a gentler voice. “It’s up to the three of us to show everyone else that the atmosphere is celebratory.”
He’s softening, then his gaze lifts over my shoulder, and fire flashes in his eyes. “He’s here.”
The hot brush of Durban’s gaze caresses the back of my neck, and a sensuous shiver traces over my skin. I melt against his invisible touch, and Stanford’s shrewd gaze latches onto whatever dreamy expression has plastered itself across my face.
To keep that professional front up, I dig out my phone. “Right on time. Early even. Excuse me while I catch him up on how the rest of the evening’s going to go.”
I ditch Stanford, but I have to make a hard decision, and it’s right when I could use Durban’s special stress relief the most.
Durban