Best Laid Plans, Robyn Kelly [read e books online free txt] 📗
- Author: Robyn Kelly
- Performer: -
Book online «Best Laid Plans, Robyn Kelly [read e books online free txt] 📗». Author Robyn Kelly
The check is made out to JW Events, even though I haven’t given him my company name. I remember he told the little tyke he wanted everything he could get on me. I can see the dossier now. Jillian Whitkins, thirty-one, widowed, owner of JW Events. Last known date with a man: no record found. Then there would be lots of pictures of my parties. I should warn him not to believe everything he sees on the Internet.
I wonder what I could find out about him. I bet he was born rich. He certainly acts like someone who’s been privileged all his life. A rich kid who’s always thought he’s better because he’s better off.
As much as I’d like to read the unauthorized biography of Jackson Hunter, it’s none of my business. A week from today I’ll be free of this man forever, so it’s best not to dig myself in any deeper. He can remain the mysterious, enigmatic, drop dead gorgeous, wealthy client who lures women into little black dresses.
He catches me staring at him as he hangs up the phone. He smiles that same smile that caused $362 worth of broken champagne flutes, and my toes curl.
“I’ll have the complete party file waiting for you at reception. You can use what my team planned as a guide, including the guest list. The hardest part will be the time constraint.”
The hardest part will be working for him. But I’ve got $150,000 to spend and everything—and everyone—has a price. “I’ll need your brother’s contact info.”
“My brother is out of the country and doesn’t get back until Thursday. Leave him out of the loop. I have enough trouble keeping him focused on his work as it is.”
Oh, I feel sorry for his brother. This man is such a control freak that I can’t help needling him a little. “Would you like me to hire a photographer?” I try to hold a poker face but I know my eyes are giving me away. He tilts his head a little to the side. From the way he’s studying me, I doubt people joke with Jackson.
“I have a photographer I always use. I’ll give you her contact info.”
He stands up suddenly, signaling the meeting is at an end. I ought to get out of my chair but he’s hovering over me, blocking me. His hands come down and land on the armrests, and now I am trapped. As much as I want to look at his hands, it’s Topaz Olympus that’s got my attention.
“I’m leaving for Brussels tomorrow. I won’t be back until Thursday. I’m going to trust you to handle this. It should be cookie-cutter for an experienced planner like you. And just so I’m very clear: no whips, no chains, no half-naked men, and no kink. This isn’t one of your theme parties.”
“Yes, sir.” Where did that come from? “I mean, Jackson.”
“Oh, you can call me sir.”
He straightens, and I finally have room to push myself up out of the chair. I’m grateful to find my dress isn’t clinging. He places his hand on my back, between my shoulder blades, and I almost jump out of my skin.
“Did I shock you again?”
Yes would be the easiest answer, but not the truth. There’s a very different current running through me now, and it’s best to keep it to myself. “I thought you were going for my phone.” If I’m going to lie, I might as well make it a good one.
“You’re safe from me—today.” His hand in my back gently guides me out of the conference room, toward reception. Pippa is sitting on the sofa and her long, straight hair looks like it’s trying to escape, thanks to the static electricity. I should have some empathy. Maybe tomorrow. Right now I just want to enjoy the view of Pippa having a bad hair day. She sees Jackson and tries to pat it back in place, but the hairs cling to her hand and get teased wilder and wilder.
There’s a can of anti-static spray sitting next to a manila envelope at reception (and no one has offered it to Pippa). Jackson hands me the envelope. “Here’s what we have on the party.”
The envelope is pretty thin so I doubt this is much of a birthday celebration. “If I have any questions, how can I reach you?”
“Email me with any critical questions, but I expect you to protect me from the minutia. And one more thing…”
His hands grab my arms. Those beautiful hands. He’s so close and his grip is so tight. “Ohhh.” I blush after making that noise again. I’m being held by the sexiest man in the world, and I sound like Homer Simpson.
Jackson smiles that annoying, smug smile, and I want the earth to swallow me up. He leans into my ear. “I want you to wear this dress at the party. Consider it the uniform for the night.” His voice is so low only I can hear, but despite the lack of volume, there is no doubt he expects to be obeyed.
I think the dress orgasms again.
The first thing I do when I get home is get out of the dress and tights, and then call Robert. I tell him we have one more job. I’m relieved to find he’s available, and I think he’s relieved to know that I can afford to keep him on another week or two.
Then I tell him who the event is for. I had filled him in on some of the details of my excursion last night. Now I can give him the name that goes with the face—and hands.
“You want to do business with that man?”
“It may have been a peace offering.” That’s the story I’ve decided to tell myself. It’s not based on any reality, but it isn’t not healthy to have an adversarial relationship with a client. And I’ll only be lying to myself for one week. “He specifically said he wanted to be involved as little as possible.”
“Still, can you trust him?”
“I’m holding a deposit check for $150,000.”
The phone is silent. Then I hear the click of his keyboard. “He is hot. The Bay Weekly says he’s the most eligible bachelor in San Francisco.”
And based on his personality, he will probably be a bachelor for a very long time.
“He’s a billionaire. He’s hot and he’s a billionaire. Life is so unfair.”
I try to soften the blow. “Money doesn’t buy happiness.”
“That’s a lesson I’d like to learn the hard way.” His voice suddenly goes from playful to concerned. “Oh Jillian, you need to read this.”
“Robert, stop. If it’s personal, I don’t want to know. If it’s financial, I already have his check. I only want to know if he has a history of suing event planners. Anything else you can tell me after the event. That is a hard limit.” I don’t need to know anything personal. This isn’t his birthday party. And he’s got a girlfriend.
“Yes, sir.” I can tell by Robert’s playful tease that I’ve gone a little Dominant. We started using phrases from Christian Grey’s contract in front of our clients a few years ago, to their delight (though I’m still not clear about the difference between a hard limit and a soft limit). At some point, we started using the phrases even when the client wasn’t around. Maybe that’s why people think we’re a couple.
I open the manila envelope with the event details, and we start discussing a strategy. The guest list is fairly small—only twenty people or so. I can tell this was planned by his corporate team. Their notes make it sound more like a business dinner than a birthday party. I’m certainly not going to be able to bill $150,000 for a party like this. I can’t even plan a theme if I don’t know anything about the birthday boy.
Robert is thinking the same. “I’ll start making calls tomorrow morning to see what’s available Friday, but we can’t make a decision until we know what we’re doing. You need to do some of your world-class snooping on the brother.”
“I prefer to call it research. I can bill for research.”
We end the call and I go to work. Facebook has thirteen Bryan Hunters, but only one looks twenty-four years old. Even better, according to his page, he is in Italy and bored out of his mind.
You wouldn’t know he’s Jackson’s brother by looking at him. Where Jackson is controlled energy in a business suit, Bryan is rocking the hipster look with his Buddy Holly glasses and skinny jeans. His hair and beard are both artfully disarranged. If Jackson is a top dog, then Bryan is definitely a show dog.
There are a bunch of selfies with a pretty blonde named Monica. A few at Ocean Beach, the Marin Headlands, and Golden Gate Park. But the majority of their pictures together are in clubs and restaurants.
Checking the guest list, I don’t see anyone named Monica. I need to contact Bryan and get some details. If I’m doing the math right, it should be about four in the morning in Italy. I send my friend request and am surprised when it’s instantly accepted. I send a private message that I’m planning his birthday party and need some info. He shoots back his Skype username and within a minute we connect.
I can’t tell whether his hair is styled or he has bed-head. He’s checking me out, too. “Have we met before? You don’t look familiar.”
“I’m an outside planner. Your brother asked me to help.”
“At the Il Fratello Fortunati? He doesn’t
Comments (0)