A Groom For The Taking. Rebecca Winters
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‘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