An Unlikely Bride For The Billionaire

He surveyed her as he took a huge bite of cake. She tried not to fidget under that oddly penetrating gaze.

‘Don’t you ever let your hair down just a little?’

‘This is my job. And this—’ she gestured around ‘—is my place of employment. I have a responsibility to my employer to not “let my hair down” on the job.’ She tapped her pen against the notepad. ‘I think it’s probably worth mentioning that you aren’t my employer’s only wedding account either.’

She spoke gently, but hoped he sensed the thread of steel beneath her words. There also were cages that needed cleaning, animals that needed feeding and logbooks to fill out. They weren’t all going to get magically done while Dylan lingered over coffee and cake.

And it didn’t matter how much he might temporarily fill her with an insane desire to kick back and take the rest of the day off—that wasn’t going to happen.

‘Ouch.’ He said it with a good-natured grin. ‘But you’re right. Carla and I have taken up enough of your time for one day. Especially as we’ll be back tomorrow.’

He was coming too? She tried to ignore the way her heart hitched.

‘Mia, do you know what line of work I’m in?’

Even she, who’d spent most of her adult life living under a rock, knew what Dylan Fairweather did for a living. ‘You created and run Fairweather Event Enterprises.’ More widely known as Fairweather Events or FWE. Dylan had made his name bringing some of the world’s most famous, not to mention notorious, rock acts to Australia.

Under his direction, Dylan’s company had produced concerts of such spectacular proportions they’d gone down in rock history. His concerts had become a yardstick for all those following.

FWE had been in charge of last year’s sensationally successful charity benefit held in Madison Square Garden in New York. He was regularly hired by royalty to oversee national anniversary celebrations, and by celebrities for their private birthday parties and gala events. Dylan Fairweather was a name with a capital N.

‘The thing is...’ He shuffled towards her, his expression intent now rather than teasing. ‘I know that Plum Pines has its own events team, but I want to be the person running this particular show.’

Very slowly, she swallowed. ‘By “this particular show”, I take it you’re referring to Carla’s wedding?’

He nodded.

Her heart thumped. Nora would be disappointed.

‘I want to do this for Carla,’ he continued, fully in earnest now. ‘The only thing I can give her that’s of any worth is my time. You have to understand it’s not that I don’t trust the Plum Pines staff, it’s that I want to give my sister something that’ll actually mean something to her—something she can cherish forever.’

Mia almost melted on the spot. To have someone who cared about you so much that they’d go to such lengths... That was—

‘Mia?’

She started. ‘I’m afraid I don’t have the kind of clout to authorise an arrangement like that. But I’ll present your case to Nora and Mr Coulter. Please be assured they’ll do everything they can to accommodate your and Carla’s wishes.’ She bit her lip. ‘They may have some additional questions that they’d like to ask you.’ Questions she lacked the expertise and foresight to ask.

He immediately slid his business card across the table to her. ‘They can contact me at any time.’

She picked it up. It was a simple card on good-quality bond, with embossed lettering in dark blue—a deeper and less interesting shade than his eyes.

He slid another card across the table to her. ‘Would you write down your number for me, Mia?’

She dutifully wrote down the Plum Pines office number, along with Nora’s work number.

He glanced at it and his lips pursed. ‘I was hoping for your number.’

Her hand shook as she reached for her tea. ‘Why?’

‘Because I think you could be an ally. You, I believe, approve of my plan to be Carla’s wedding co-ordinator.’

She hesitated. ‘I think it’s a lovely idea.’ Surely it couldn’t hurt to admit that much? ‘But I think you ought to know that I have very little influence here.’

‘I think you’re selling yourself short.’

‘If you want to speak to me directly, ring the office and ask them to page me.’ She couldn’t believe she’d told him to do that, but she couldn’t find it in herself to regret the offer either.

For a moment she thought he’d press the matter. Instead he stood and held out his hand. ‘Until tomorrow, then, Mia.’

She stood too and shook it, eager to be away from him. ‘Goodbye, Dylan.’

She didn’t tell him that in all likelihood she wouldn’t see him tomorrow. Funny how suddenly the eastern boundary didn’t seem as exciting a prospect as it had earlier in the day.

She’d barely settled down in the meeting room with the office laptop, to type up her copious notes for Nora, when the receptionist tapped on the glass door.

‘Mr Coulter wants to see you, Mia.’

To grill her about how things had gone with the Fairweathers, no doubt. She’d have rather discussed it all with Nora first, but she couldn’t very well refuse to speak to him.

Taking a deep breath, she knocked on his door, only entering when he bellowed, ‘Come in.’

She left the door ajar. She didn’t fully trust Gordon Coulter. ‘You wanted to see me?’

‘Yes.’

He didn’t invite her to sit. The smile he sent her chased ice down her spine.

‘It’s my very great pleasure to inform you, Ms Maydew, that you’re fired. Effective immediately.’

The room spun. Mia’s chest cramped. She couldn’t lose this job. It was all that she had. Her fingers went cold. She needed this job!

* * *

‘You’re terminating my contract? But...why?’

Dylan stood on the threshold of Gordon Coulter’s office, his head rocking back at the words he heard emerging from the other side of the door.

Gordon Coulter was firing Mia?

‘Your behaviour with Dylan Fairweather today was scandalous and utterly inappropriate. You’re not here to make sexual advances towards our clients. You’re here to perform your duties as efficiently and as capably as possible—a duty that’s obviously beyond you and your bitch-on-heat morals.’

Darkness threatened the edges of Dylan’s vision. Mia hadn’t made one inappropriate advance towards him—not one! His hands curled into fists. A pity the same couldn’t be said for him towards her. He hadn’t been able to resist flirting with her in the café—just a little bit. He hadn’t been able to resist making her laugh again.

This was his fault. How could he have been so careless as to put her in this position?

Gordon continued to wax lyrical on a list of Mia’s imaginary faults and Dylan’s insides coiled up, tight and lethal. Gordon Coulter was a pompous ass!

‘But even if I was prepared to overlook all that,’ Gordon continued, his tone clearly saying that he had no intention of doing so, ‘I refuse to disregard the fact that when you entered the emu enclosure you put the safety of a member of the public at risk.’