Page 3 of Bridesmaid for Hire
You’re allowed to hate him. I actually hope that you do. I plead that you do.
So, after hearing all of that, you must be wondering, why am I letting this Henry Cavill look-alike—chin dimple and all—breathe heavily on my neck after he teased me with his tongue and then left me unsatisfied? Well, sometimes desperate times call for desperate measures.
Sometimes we’re dealt cards in our life that are harder to shuffle through than expected.
And sometimes you’re stuck on a small Polynesian island with no other option than to pretend the person you hate most in the entire world is actually your boyfriend…
CHAPTER ONE
BRODY
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY,” DEANNA SAYSasshe walks up to my desk, holding a piece of cake on a plate and grinning like she knows something I don’t.
Christ, she’s a vile human.
Pen in hand, I lean back in my chair and try to seem as casual as possible even though Satan’s hangnail is standing right in front of me. “Thank you.” I nod toward the cake in her hand. “I see that you’re enjoying the festivities.”
“And I see that your cake choice is just as bland as your face.”
See…Satan’s hangnail.
“Marion chose that cake. I dare you to say that to her.” Marion is the mother of the office, the crotchety old lady who has hung on to the job since Reginald Hopper started Hopper Industries. Once a sophisticated boss lady in a pencil skirt and pill hat, she’s now an elderly woman who complains about needing a permanent but never books herself an appointment, lending her to sport a more Albert Einstein-like look. If you ask me, I think she’s rocking it.
Deanna’s lips purse and she shifts, clearly not taking the bait. No one messes with Marion, not even Reginald. Hence why her job responsibilities include cake ordering, fridge restocking, and overall crankiness.
“Have you heard that Daddy Reggie is making a decision about the new arm of the business after Princess Haisley gets married?”
Firstly…Haisley is anything but a princess. Haisley Hopper is so misunderstood within the company. The youngest of the three Hopper kids, she has stepped away from Hopper Industries and, with her own money, invested in a vacation rental house that she redecorated and themed to Dolly Parton in Nashville. From the earnings and revenue, she invested in another house here in San Francisco that she themed around the movieClueless. And from what I’ve heard, she’s expanding even more.
Secondly, the term “Daddy Reggie” is only used around the lower-level employees in the office and if he ever heard that’s what we call him, we’d find our asses hitting the curb.
Thirdly…how does she always know this insider information? Drives me nuts. I swear she never works, just hovers around the office like a fucking troll, listening in on conversations and logging it away to annoy me later.
“Yeah, I heard that,” I lie. I never show my cards to this woman. “You nervous?”
“Not in the slightest,” she says with a grin that makes her lip curl into a snarl that would scare the dead skin off any snake.
I click the top of my pen, keeping my eyes trained on her. “Maybe you should be.”
She rolls her eyes. “Please. The Hopper family will be coming off the high of an extravagantweddingin Bora-Bora. Their heads will still be ringing with wedding bells, and when they’re presented with the two ideas, they’re going to be more attracted to my wedding services proposal than your idiotic boutique rental proposal.”
It’s not idiotic.
It’s actually quite intelligent.
A business proposal that not only helps the city’s economy but also Hopper Industries. Deanna just can’t look past her inflamed eyelids to see that.
Keeping my face neutral, I say, “Well, I guess we’ll see.”
“Just admit it, you’re scared.”
“I’m not scared.” Maybe a little scared. Her idea has merit. She wants to expand into the wedding industry, using commercial buildings as venues. And the fact that the Hoppers are going to be fresh from vows on a beach in front of a lagoon—The Regencymagazine did an entire article on the event—I might be in fucking trouble. “Cute that you think I consider you competition at all.”
She stabs a piece of cake and brings it to her mouth. “Keep pretending—it will keep you in a delusional state so your fragile male ego doesn’t shatter into nothing.” She starts to leave but then nods at my computer. “Also, might not want to have the competitor’s website up on your computer for everyone to see.”
“It’s called research,” I say as she walks away, her stupid, frizzy ponytail swaying with every step. “She’s so fucking annoying,” I mutter as I turn back to my computer where the Cane Enterprises website is in full view.
Huxley, JP, and Breaker Cane, the brothers who own the company, are Hopper Industries’ largest competitors. Based in Los Angeles, they’ve taken their business to both coasts and have recently moved up the Pacific Coast and started renovating old office buildings into affordable housing units. It’s a huge tax break for them and sheds a positive light on their company. It also spurs on the economy, creating an environment where lower-income families don’t need to spend all their money on putting a roof over their heads, meaning it can be spent elsewhere. It’s brilliant and I’ve been watching the transformation from a distance.
