“Yes.”
Hudson was quiet for a moment, then nodded. “I understand.”
“You do?”
“Contrary to what you believe, I’m not completely heartless.” He returned to his desk, putting physical distance between us. “Professional boundaries it is.”
I exhaled, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. I still intend to win this contract.”
“Not if I have anything to say about it,” I muttered, flipping him off with both hands when his back was turned.
“As we’ve said before, may the best planner win.” He glanced over his shoulder and gave me a small, tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
Sweet Surrender Bakery was exactly the kind of place I would have chosen for Manny and Lia. It was elegant without being stuffy and creative without being pretentious. The owner, Lillianna, was a French-trained pastry chef who’d once made a cake for Beyoncé’s birthday. I wished I’d had time to change out of my navy pencil skirt and white blouse. This outfit screamed “I take myself too seriously” when paired with my sensible heels, but a morning meeting with another potential couple had run long, leaving me no time to go for something more creative. I suppose Anica would’ve been proud of me. With my hair pulled back, I looked like her blonde dopplegänger.
I arrived fifteen minutes early, determined to establish rapport with Lillianna before Hudson could swoop in with his perfect manners and family connections.
“Mari Landry!” Lillianna greeted me with air kisses. “It’s been too long. How’s Anica?”
“Disgustingly happy and married to a billionaire. She’s good. We’re expanding the business to Chicago.” I grinned.
“Hence this high-profile wedding, yes?” She led me to a private tasting room in the back, a cozy space with soft lighting and a large table already set with plates and elegant cake stands. “A celebrity chef and an Oscar-nominated director. Very impressive.”
“We’re excited about the opportunity,” I said, carefully avoiding the fact that I was competing for the contract. “Though they have... unique requirements.”
“The other planner, you mean. I’ve heard the rumors. The famous Hudson Gable, expanding to Chicago and competing directly with Knot Your Average Wedding. Very dramatic.” Her eyes twinkled.
“That’s one word for it.”
“He’s handsome, no? I’ve seen his picture in wedding magazines.”
“If you like the Ken doll type,” I said dismissively, ignoring the treacherous flutter in my stomach. “All packaging and no substance.”
“Ah, you Americans. Always pretending not to notice beauty when it’s right in front of you. In France, we appreciate beauty openly. We don’t pretend indifference.”
Before I could respond with something appropriately cynical, the door opened, and Hudson walked in, looking edible in a light grey suit that made his eyes seem even greener. Manny and Lia followed closely behind, holding hands and radiating that nauseating newly engaged glow that made my teeth hurt. Maybe I was in the wrong business.
“Sorry we’re a few minutes late,” Lia said, embracing me. “Traffic was terrible.”
“Worth the wait,” I assured her, subtly repositioning myself away from Hudson, who was greeting Lillianna with a kiss on each cheek like he’d known her for years.
“Lillianna, your reputation precedes you,” he said with a charm that made me want to gag.
“As does yours, Mr. Gable,” she replied. “Now, shall we begin?”
We settled around the tasting table laden with elegant cake samples, each one a miniature work of art. Lillianna explained each creation, from the classics like vanilla bean with raspberry filling to the more adventurous matcha green tea with white chocolate ganache.
I sat directly across from Hudson, with Manny and Lia on either side of the table. The position gave me a perfect view of his face, and him anunobstructed view of mine. As Lillianna described the first cake, I had a sudden, wicked thought. If Hudson could make me uncomfortable with just his presence, maybe I could return the favor. Maybe I could shake that unshakable mask right off his stupid chiseled face.
A small voice in my head pointed out that I’d been the one who’d wanted professional boundaries, but it wasn’t like I was going to dry hump the man in front of our clients. It was just a little sensual flirting to throw him off a cliff…Err, I meant throw him off his game.
“For the engagement party, we’re thinking something unexpected,” Manny said, his chef’s palate clearly engaged. “Something that represents our blend of culinary expertise and cinematic storytelling.”
“What about a deconstructed cake?” I suggested, picking up my fork and running my finger slowly along the tines. Hudson’s gaze flickered to the movement, then back to my face. “Individual elements arranged like a film scene, with each component representing a chapter of your relationship?”
“That’s hardly practical for serving the amount of guests invited,” Hudson countered, his voice steady despite the slight darkening of his eyes. “A tiered design would be more efficient and still allow for artistic expression.”
