I scanned the document quickly, then signed. The rest of the group were out on the patio beyond, admiring the view.
“Thank you so much,” the young woman grinned at me again. “Have a good show.”
I frowned as I walked towards the French doors. There was no way I wanted facetime on their ridiculous program, but I’d do whatever I had to to ensure our resort would be a part of their big day.
I waited in the doorway, watching the two cameras capture whatever another woman—probably the wedding planner—was describing. Thebride and groom moved with her as she panned from the grounds in the distance to the patio. Even though I could only see her back, there was something about the woman in pale pink, a familiarity. When she turned, I had to stifle a gasp.
Damnit. I’d been so busy appreciating her ass that I didn’t even bother to consider that it was one hundred percent off limits.
Emilia Marino. Again.
I felt her eyes land on me for a beat longer than necessary.
“Andrew!” Kristen yelped when she spotted me. “Ohmygod, hi!”
I ground my teeth as both cameras swung to me. Kristen jogged over to where I was standing in the shadows and the guy with the mic on a stick followed behind her. She looked more polished than when we’d been together, but still adorable with the blonde pixie cut that only she could pull off. Fame had changed her look, but hopefully not her sweet personality.
“I was hoping we’d run into you,” she beamed at me. It felt like she was holding back from hugging me. “What’s new?”
“Oh, not much,” I lied smoothly. I tried to ignore the mic that was now hovering over my head. “I’m thrilled that you’re considering the Ashford for your wedding. What do you think so far?”
She was joined by the handsome, muscled-up guy in a tight button down who had to be her fiancé. He immediately slid a possessive arm around her shoulder and studied me with a wary expression while the cameras captured every second of it all. Emilia hovered in the background, glaring at me while chatting with Ginny, our marketing manager who’d stepped up to pinch hit making the sales pitch.
He thrust out his hand. “Hey, bro, I’m Carter LeMonde. Do you work here?”
Kristen giggled. “You could say that. This is AndrewAshford.”
A beat while Carter’s brow scrunched up, then the slow burn realization. “Oh, okay. Got it.” He waved his finger in the air. “Nice place.”
I forced myself to be humble. I needed these two. “Why, thank you. We’re very proud of it. I’m hoping that you can envision your big day happening here.”
Carter pursed his lips. “It’s definitely got potential, but we’ve got two other strong contenders we’re checking out.”
I flicked my eyes at the camera. I wasn’t about to ask which resorts because I didn’t want to give them any airtime. Theonlychoice for them had to be the one they were currently standing in.
I nodded and hoped that I looked understanding. Fuck, this TV shit was already exhausting and I’d barely been at it for three minutes. Did Ireallywant to subject myself to this?
“We’re considering letting our fans vote on which resort we should pick,” Carter continued. “Twenty million followers can’t be wrong.”
I forced my expression to remain neutral. But twenty million? Yeah, no matter what I had to make sure we landed this account, even though it came with the ridiculous reality charade. The publicity would be priceless.
I needed to get to Emilia, to convinceherto convince them that there was no better spot for a demi-celebrity wedding.
Based on the way her expression hardened every time she glanced my way, I knew I had my work cut out for me.
“Ginny,” I called out to her. “Why don’t you show our guests the Vista Suite?”
My meeting planner cocked an eyebrow at me but gave a nod that she understood. The suite was always held in reserve for our ultra-premium guests, since many of them refused to plan ahead but expected us to be ready for them regardless. We’d housed royalty, presidents, and captains of industry in the grand space, so the idea that I was allowing reality TV stars to use it conveyed just how important they were to me.
“Wonderful,” she said with a nod. “Kristen, Carter, would you please follow me?”
“Emilia,” I called out to her as she fell in line behind the group. “May I speak with you for a moment?”
Her shoulders slumped and she looked like a surly teenager. She’d clearly already forgotten that she was being recorded and anything she did could and would be used against her on national television. She stalked over to me, waited for the cameras to clear the room, and crossed her arms defiantly.
“Are you going to subject me to jokes about being an alcoholic again, or should we wait for the cameras to come back?”
“Let’s move past that,” I said smoothly, using my customer service voice. “Our focus should be on the couple of the hour, not any issues you might have with me.”
