The Wedding Planner and the CEO

‘I’m Rafe Edwards,’ he said. ‘Saw that winning goal you scored on your last match. Good effort.’

‘Thanks, man. This is Clarissa. Clarrie, this is Ralph Edwards—the fireworks guy.’

‘Rafe, please. I might have Ralph on my birth certificate but it doesn’t mean I like it.’ His smile widened as Clarissa batted ridiculously enhanced eyelashes at him and then he turned his head.

‘Gidday, Penny. How are you?’

‘Penelope,’ she said tightly. ‘I actually like the name on my birth certificate.’

Whoa...could she get any more uptight? Rafe turned back to the delicious Clarissa and turned on the charm.

‘How ’bout we find somewhere we can get comfortable and have a chat about what I might be able to do for you?’

Clarissa giggled. ‘Ooh...yes, please...’

‘Why don’t we go out onto the terrace?’ Penelope’s tone made the suggestion sound like a reprimand. ‘I just need to have a word with Pierre and then I’ll join you. I’ll organise some refreshment, too. What would you like?’

‘Mineral water for me,’ Clarissa said. ‘Sparkling.’

‘A cold beer,’ Blake said. ‘It’s turning into a scorcher of a day.’

‘I’m not sure we’ve got beer in the kitchen at the moment.’

Blake groaned.

‘My apologies,’ Penelope said. ‘I’ll make sure it’s available next time.’ She scribbled something on her clipboard.

‘Coffee for me, thanks,’ Rafe said. ‘Strong and black.’

The look flashed in his direction was grateful. ‘That we can do. Would you like a coffee, too, Blake?’

‘Have to do, I s’pose. At least we’re gonna get to talk about something cool. Do we get to choose the kind of fireworks we want?’

‘Sure. We need to talk about the music first, though.’ Rafe led the way through the French doors to the terrace. ‘I’m guessing you want something romantic?’

* * *

Music wasn’t being discussed when Penelope took the tray of drinks out to the group. Rafe had a laptop open and Blake and Clarissa were avidly watching what was on the screen.

‘Ooh...that one. We’ve got to have that. What’s it called?’

‘It’s a peony. And this one’s a chrysanthemum. And this is a golden, hanging willow. It’s a forty-five-shot cake so it goes for a while.’

‘Nice. I like them loud.’ Blake was rubbing his hands together. ‘Man, this is going to be epic.’

‘With it being your wedding, I was thinking you might want something a bit more romantic.’ Rafe tapped his keyboard. ‘Look at this for an opening, maybe.’

‘OMG.’ Clarissa pressed a hand to her open mouth. ‘You can do love hearts? For real?’

‘Sure can. And look at this. Horsetails look a lot like bridal veils, don’t you think?’

Clarissa hadn’t looked this happy since the first fitting of her wedding dress. Before she’d started to find tiny imperfections that had to be dealt with.

‘I want it to be romantic,’ she breathed. ‘And I’ve got the perfect song. Whitney Houston’s “I Will Always Love You”.’

Blake rolled his eyes and shook his head. Rafe lifted an eyebrow. ‘Nice, but the tempo could be a bit on the slow side. Maybe a better song to dance to than accompany fireworks?’

‘It’s soppy,’ Blake growled. ‘We need something loud. Fun. Wasn’t the whole idea to end the night with a bang?’

Clarissa giggled. ‘Oh...we will, babes, don’t you worry about that.’

Blake grinned. ‘You’re singing my song already.’

Rafe’s appreciative grin faded the moment he caught Penelope’s gaze. He took a sip of his coffee.

‘What about Meat Loaf?’ Blake suggested. ‘“I’d Do Anything For Love”?’

‘Not bad. Good beats to time to effects.’

‘No.’ Clarissa shook her head firmly.

Penelope was searching wildly for inspiration. ‘Bon Jovi? “Livin’ On A Prayer”? Or the Troggs? “Wild Thing”?’

‘Getting better.’ Rafe nodded. The look he gave her this time held a note of surprise. Did he think she wasn’t into music or something? ‘Let’s keep it going. Bon Jovi’s a favourite of mine. What about “Always”?’

The words of the song drifted into Penelope’s head. Along with an image of it being passionately sung. And even though it was Rafe she was looking at, it was no excuse to let her mind drift to imagining him with wild, rock-god hair. Wearing a tight, black singlet and frayed jeans. Saying he would cry for the woman he loved. Or die for her...

Phew...it was certainly getting hot. She fanned herself with her clipboard and tried to refocus. To push any image of men in frayed jeans and singlets out of her head. So not her type.

She liked designer suits and neat haircuts. The kind of up-and-coming young attorney look, like her last boyfriend who’d not only graduated from law school with honours but was active in a major political party. Disappointing that it had turned out they’d had nothing in common—especially for her grandparents—but she didn’t have time for a relationship in her life right now anyway.

She didn’t have time to pander to this group’s inability to reach an agreement either, but she couldn’t think of any way to speed things up and half an hour later they were still no closer to making a definitive choice.

Further away, perhaps, given that both Clarissa and Blake were getting annoyed enough to veto any suggestion the other made and getting steadily snarkier about it. Any moment now it would erupt into a full-blown row and the hint of annoyance in Rafe’s body language would turn into disgust and he’d walk away from a job he didn’t actually need.

Penelope was increasingly aware that time was running out. They had a meeting with the florist coming up, Pierre was going to return for another dance lesson and there was a rehearsal with the celebrant in the garden at four p.m.

‘Did you have anything else you needed to do while you’re here?’ she asked Rafe.

‘A bit of a survey.’ He nodded. ‘I need to get a feel for the layout and check where I’d position things. I’m thinking a barge on the other side of the lake but I’ll be able to get a good view if I go upstairs and—’ He stopped abruptly. ‘Is that a problem?’

‘We’re not allowed upstairs,’ Clarissa confided. ‘Apparently it’s one of the biggest rules about using this venue.’

‘Is that right?’

It was no surprise that Rafe wasn’t impressed by a set of rules and his tone suggested he wouldn’t hesitate in breaking them. She could imagine how well it would go down if she forbade the action and she certainly didn’t want to get him offside any more than he was already, thanks to the sparring young couple.

If he had to go upstairs in order to be able to do his job, maybe she’d just have to turn a blind eye and hope for the best. At least she could plead ignorance of it actually happening if word got out and she could probably apologise well enough to smooth things over if the owners were upset.