He picks up a metallic silver spray, one that I plan to use on roses for Serena’s bouquet, and glances at the back of the can. “I offer to pay for funeral expenses for any that aren’t so lucky. Some families take me up on it, some don’t. Maybe they feel like it’s charity,” he shrugs, the solemnity surrounding him so different from the rakish attitude he sported at the bar two nights ago.
My hand reaches out halfway toward him before I realize what I’m doing, and I quickly snatch it back. “That must be incredibly difficult to deal with.”
“It’s the right thing to do.”
“Why don’t your brothers help?”
He shakes his head. “They’re busy with actual work.”
I frown. “Nonprofit work is still work. Even if you’re not getting paid.”
“Nonprofit?”
“That’s what it sounds like to me. You meet with the kids, with their families. Offer them financial assistance. And it’s all in connection to the wing your family donated. If you haven’t started one already, you should.”
He turns to me, both serious and earnest. “But I don’t have any money.”
Now I pause. “Aren’t you a billionaire?”
He rolls his eyes. “My dad is. I assume I’ll inherit something one day, but who knows?”
“So how do you pay for the… funerals?” I whisper.
“I charge it to one of his credit cards.”
“And he doesn’t notice?”
“That money’s a drop in the bucket for him. He’s not missing it.”
“You sound like some Robin Hood figure.”
He grins, the first true one I’ve seen from him in the last hour. “Should I get some green tights? One of those vest tunic things? Cap with a red feather?” He squints. “Or is that Peter Pan?”
I laugh, then suddenly remember what we’re supposed to be doing. I take the can from him and spray a white rose until it’s gleaming silver. “What do you think?”
He takes it from me and the stem shifts in my hand, catching a thorn. “Ow!” I stick my thumb in my mouth, the copper taste making me wrinkle my nose.
“Oh, shit. I’m sorry.” His fingers encircle my wrist, tugging until my thumb pops free, and bends down to look at it. “I didn’t even think of thorns. Here.” He grabs a paper towel off the counter and folds it quickly to apply pressure to the cut. His hand is warm against my own, something about those long, dextrous fingers making my stomach flip disconcertingly.
I follow the line of his arm up past his wrist to a sinewy forearm, up further to that bicep, flexing subtly as he concentrates on his task.
I break away, the paper towel fluttering to the ground, unexpectedly breathless. “I’m just going to wash this out. I’ll be right back.”
I squeeze into the minuscule bathroom in the corner, turning on the sink to let cool water flow over my thumb, glancing in the mirror at my flushed cheeks. Good Lord Mackenzie, get it together. He was innocently touching you. There’s no reason to get all flustered.
Yes, it’s been a while since a guy touched you, but that doesn’t mean you get to notice this one. He’s off limits.
“Mackenzie?” his deep voice passes through the door. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, fine.” It comes out squeakier than I’d like, but it’ll have to do.
I turn off the water and pat it with another paper towel, pasting on a smile as I exit. “Why don’t we finish up the flowers?”
He looks down at my hand where I’m clutching the makeshift bandage to my thumb, and I carefully peel it back to show him I’m fine.
“Yeah, sure.”
We decide on a combination of dyed and sprayed flowers to create a bouquet for Serena, with hues running the gamut from dark navy to a pale dusty blue, with metallic silver as an accent. The same color scheme is echoed in the arrangements we choose for decorations throughout the ceremony and reception halls, but without a venue picked out, we’ll have to wait to make final decisions.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks as we enter my office.
“It was a scratch. See, all better.”
He lightly touches my thumb, studying the thin red line that’s already starting to scab over, and I hold still, afraid to even breathe with how close he is. If I do, I’ll catch wind of that cologne again. Or maybe it’s just something uniquely Gabriel.
He lets go of me, seemingly satisfied. “So what’s next?”
“Well, your dad asked if I could take some pictures of you and Serena planning the wedding, but I obviously can’t do that if she’s not here. So we’ll have to do that another day. Other than that…” I shimmy around between the desk and chair to sit down, looking over my planner. “I have notes of every vendor we want to meet with, and I’ll set up appointments for those in the next week. Once they hear that magic Bishop name, we should be able to get in fairly soon.”
“So that’s it then?”
“For today, yeah.”
“Cool. You want to go grab lunch or something? A business lunch,” he clarifies, lingering by the doorway.
I close my planner, ignoring the tug in my stomach declaring it’s past meal time. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”
“But you said we’re done for the day.”
“We’re done,” I motion between us. “But I still have other work to do. You’re not my only client.”
“Oh.” He only appears taken aback for a moment before he says, “Well, maybe I can help you.”
I give him a level look. “You want to help me?”
“Yeah.”
Why in the world would he do that?
“You think I’ll mess it up, don’t you?” he asks, sticking his hands in his pockets, a rueful smile on his face.
“What? No.”
“Fair assumption,” he shrugs. “I’ve never had a job.”
He’s trying his best to appear nonchalant, but it almost comes across as too casual. Does it mean more to him than he’s letting on?
“Are you asking for one?” I grin slyly, attempting to lighten the mood.
“What do you have for me?”
I chuckle, not sure if he’s serious or not, but I throw my hardest task out there anyway. “You know what I need? A garden sanctuary here in the city.” Freaking Danielle hasn’t let up on her request for the impossible, insisting I make it happen or she’ll be taking her business elsewhere. I’m tempted to tell her to go shove it. “It needs to allow kids and dogs, yet is somehow also private, upscale, and within a modest budget.”
“Hmm.” He leans against the doorframe, rubbing a hand over the stubble on his jaw. It makes a hypnotic rasping sound in the quiet of the office, my attention focused on him. “It has to be private?” he asks, pulling me out of my reverie.
“Yes,” I sigh, leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms over my chest. “Apparently that’s a necessity. The woman can’t have just anyone walking in on her child’s first birthday party.”
“Does she live in a building that has access to a garden?”
“Of course not.” I roll my eyes. “That would be too easy. And trust me, this lady could not afford a place like that.”