Country Love (A Billionaire BWWM Romance) (19 page)

Chapter Two

Sanniyah

This
place is one of those coffee shops that treat the art of brewing as if it were
some sort of magical alchemy. I grow impatient watching the baristas measure
liquid in beakers and ended up just pulling my water bottle from my bag and
sitting down with a wide smile.

"It
is such a pleasure to meet you, Miss Easton," I say, extending my hand.

The
blushing young white girl in front of me is not at all what I was expecting.
She pumps my hand enthusiastically, excitement shining in her wide blue eyes. I
was expecting someone snobbish and refined, but Camilla Easton is as
infectiously eager to please as a Labrador puppy.

"Call
me Cammy," she says in a girlish voice. I know from my research that she
is twenty-six years old, same as me, but she has such a young air about her
that I instantly feel protective.

"Cammy,
congratulations!" I smile all the harder. "What an exciting time for
you!" It's my standard line, one I've used a million times before, but
this time I find myself meaning it.

"It
is," she looks down shyly at the gigantic, shining boulder on her ring finger
and twists it nervously. "I'm sorry that Greg couldn't come today, he got
called overseas last minute. Had to fly out this morning."

Of
course I knew that her fiancé, Gregory Milton, is a hotelier eagerly expanding
his empire. Briefly, I wondered which of his hotels would be the one to host
this wedding

"He
has a bit on his plate," I soothe, and she smiles at my reassurance. I reach
into my briefcase and pull out my booking sheets, spreading them out in a fan
shape for her to see. "When you made this appointment, you told me you
were looking for an October wedding, correct?" I swallow hard.

"That's
right," Cammy practically whispers. "I know it's short notice, but
Greg's mother is in poor health..."

I wince
a little.
"Yahya, you need to be
ready to say goodbye," she told me. How can I possibly say goodbye? I'm
not ready for this. It's too sudden. This isn't supposed to be happening, he
was in remission. He was fine!

Then I
snap back to Cammy.

"Say
no more," I say reassuringly, even though I don't feel reassured at
all.
 
"Tell me about your
vision."

This is
my favorite question, because it gets the brides talking and I can sit back and
make notes. Typically, the bride will get so caught up in the descriptions of
her perfect day that, just by listening closely, I get everything I need to do
my job perfectly.

And
then I get to take the credit when everything falls into place. It's a win-win
really.

But
instead of bubbling over about chocolate fountains and dress colors, Cammy just
looks stricken. "I don't...really have a vision?" she sounds ashamed.
"Or, rather...I did. But it changed."

I
smile, discreetly cracking my knuckles. This will be a little harder than I
thought. "Well, we can start with the basics. How many guests do you plan
on inviting?"

"It
really depends...." She is looking down, not meeting my eyes. I can feel
my grip on her loosening, and I start scrambling.

"Low-key,"
I announce, blindly grasping at straws. "You're not a fussy girl and you
don't like a fuss being made about you." I smile winningly as she looks
up, meeting my eye for the first time since I walked in. Yes, I'm on the right
track. I soldier on. "You don't really want a huge guest list, just those
that are closest to you. Something casual, but elegant, full of personal
touches. A real celebration of you and Greg and your love."

Her
shoulders are moving lower and lower the more I talk. "Something
low-key," she repeats. "That would be lovely."

"I
can definitely do that." I am already picturing the shabby chic decorations,
the simple ceremony. I make a note of the caterers that could supply and
elegant menu with a rustic touch. The press release I will send out practically
writes itself.
"From the homeless
shelter to haute couture, the improbable rise of Sanniyah Jones, wedding
planner extraordinaire."
That's good. That's really good. Discreetly,
I write it down in the margins of my notebook while pretending I'm taking notes
for Camilla.
 
"You don't have
to worry about a thing, Miss Easton. Sanniyah Jones Events is all about making
your day specifically yours."

"Call
me Cammy," she repeats, softly.

Oops.
"Of course, Cammy. Like I said, you really don't need to worry about much.
I can start location scouting as soon as today." October is only four
months away. I am going to have to scramble, call in favors, plump some egos,
but it's nothing I can't handle.

"I
do know the location," she interjects.

I raise
my eyebrows. Well this helps. "Ah. That's wonderful." One of her
fiance's properties, I would guess. That would make catering easier. I lift my
pencil. "I'll call and find out availability as soon as we're done
here."

"I
know it's available."

I scoff
internally. All of the best places are already booked months, sometimes years
in advance. I really hope I don't have to disappoint her. "Well that will
make my job easier!" I say. "Go ahead and give me the name, and if
you have a phone number, that would really help. But don't worry if you
don't."

She
looks around, then lowers her voice. "I have the number, but I don't want
to say it out loud." She reaches for my pad of paper. Confused, I hand it
to her and she scratches out a number with a strange area code. "They say
you're the best in the business, Miss Jones. But this information comes with a
confidentiality clause."

"You
have my word." I can't make heads or tails of the number anyway.
"I'll call them today and get everything lined up."

"Everything
is ready for you already. The helicopter is at your disposal."

"I'll
need a helicopter?"

"Yes."
She lowers her voice further. "To get to Annika Island."

"Annika
Island." The name rings a very faint bell. I am just starting to put it
together at the same time Cammy explains, so that the realization hits me with
a quick one-two punch.

"My
brother's island. Carter is going to be hosting the wedding."

Chapter Three

Carter

I'm on
hold, but not for long. By the sound of his huffing, Dennis Fallon must have
sprinted to the phone the minute he heard I was calling.

"Carter!
Good to hear from you! How's the weather?" he wheezes into the receiver. I
wonder mildly what I'd do if my congressperson had a heart attack and dropped
dead right now.

"The
weather is pretty much the same as yours, Dennis. I'm only fifteen miles
away."

"Of
course, of course." He sounds embarrassed, and I'm getting annoyed. I was
expecting news from him today and it's already 11:45 in the morning. "So
how can I help you?"

"You
know damn well why I'm calling, Dennis, cut the shit."

Dennis
exhales heavily and I can picture him collapsing into his leather swivel chair.
I used to spend a lot of time in his office...back before the accident. I had
the layout memorized and I doubt he had changed anything in two years.
Congressman Dennis Fallon was not a man who moved quickly...on anything. It was
a quality I admired in him back in the day, but now I was impatient to see
results.

"Dennis?"

He
hears the warning in my tone and sighs again. "It's stuck in committee for
the time being. I'm having a real hard time with these First Amendment
nuts." His voice rises. "The rights of journalism and speech and all
that."

"It's
not fucking journalism," I explode. "It's harassment and it should be
fucking illegal. My parents...."

"I
know, Carter, believe me, I know. We're going to get justice, you just gotta
hold tight on this. Laws like this are never easy."

I sigh
and sit back, looking out the great, expansive window and over the bay. Dennis
is somewhere over the horizon, a quick helicopter ride away. I could fly there
right now, grease his palm again, speak the only language he seems to
understand.

But I
can't do that.

I'm
already breaking out in a cold sweat at the very thought. My hands are shaking
as I reach for the pills I always keep close by. I don't need Dennis to know
that I have worked myself into a damn panic attack over his ineptitude.

And the
wedding too, I remind myself. I promised my baby sister that I was well enough
to host her big day and I'd be damned if I wasn't going to make good on my
promise.

"Carter?"
Dennis is shuffling the phone around. "You still there? Damn phone
connection, cutting out...."

"Fine.
Keep me informed," I interrupt him crisply, and hang up before he can say
goodbye.

I sit
back in my chair and look back out over the water. The gulls are wheeling over
the bay, and I can tell by the angle of the sun that I need to head out there
if I want to get my daily swim in before my conference call. But I can't stop
staring at the gulls as they swoop and dive en masse.
How can they stand to be so near each other? Jockeying for food,
resources...air itself?

Fuck. I
turn my head away from the windows. It's a sorry fucking state of affairs if
fucking seagulls are enough to trigger an attack of the crippling agoraphobia
that has confined me to Annika Island for two long, lonely years. Time heals
all wounds, they say, but the hurt is still right there, red and rubbed raw by
guilt.

I should have died. Not them. It was me
they were after. It was me they wanted. Not my parents.
 

Chapter Four

Sanniyah

I open
up another browser tab and then angrily close it down. Then I smack myself on
the hand for good measure.

"Focus,
Yahya," I admonish myself. "Time for working."

But my
fingers seem to have a mind of their own, and before I can stop myself, I have
a new tab open and I am typing Carter Easton's name into the browser window.

The
results are instant...and lengthy. I scan down the page, feeling my mouth start
to gape.

His
smiling face, startlingly good looking in a way that makes my breath catch, is
everywhere.

I know
who Carter Easton is. Everyone does. But I never realized just how much the man
had been in the public eye a few years ago. I had been struggling to put myself
through business school back then, with no extra time to pay attention to the lives
of the rich and famous, so I had missed out on what a craze he was. Now, as I
scroll through the years of coverage, I feel myself reacting with a mixture of
fascination and revulsion. Fascination with the man himself. Revulsion at the
sheer depth of detail splashed all over the internet.

 
There were reams of interviews,
snapshots, paparazzi photos. Telephoto shots of him on the beach, his chiseled
torso on proud display, though it is clear he has no idea he is being watched.
Clearly private moments and conversations, a cheek kiss with a woman that
caused wild speculation, only to turn out to be his mother. Details of his
dating life, his hobbies, his childhood home, all out there for me to read at
my leisure.

I feel
like a peeping Tom....

Quickly,
I close all of the tabloid articles, hot shame consuming me out of nowhere. I
pause for a moment, thinking that I should really stop right here. I've learned
too much already, stuff I have no business prying into. He is a client now, and
he deserves my professional detachment. I really should stop researching him. I
make as if to shut my laptop.

Instead,
I open up his Wikipedia entry and keep on reading, compelled to know more about
the man.

The
picture that accompanies his article is the same headshot I keep seeing
everywhere, and once again I feel that strange fluttering in my belly as I
stare at the screen. He is handsome in a way that can only be described as
"rugged," as if Bradley Cooper and Chris Hemsworth somehow had a baby
who grew up to be a CEO.

And he wasn't
just your average CEO, not by a long shot. Carter Easton
was
Easton Ventures.
His
annual shareholder meetings brought movie premier levels of excitement, and the
accompanying press was always breathless in its coverage. He seemed to enjoy
stunt appearances too, whether it was the summer he tested out the new line of
mountaineering equipment by climbing all of Colorado's fourteeners himself, or
building a submersible to test the depth resistance of the Easton brand of
diving watches. He started Easton Ventures as a touring company and quickly
moved it into a brand. His brand. He was an adventurer, a maverick and people
wanted to be just like him. And the press loved him.

And then
he just
disappeared
.

I close
Wikipedia and go back to my search. I scroll back up, wondering if I had missed
something. I knew about the disappearance, but what I didn't know, was why.

And
then I find it. The very first article, oddly enough in the business section of
the local paper, titled rather ominously. "Easton Ventures Founders as
Rumors Swirl Around CEO."

The
first paragraph was terse enough to make my lip curl.

"Easton
Ventures, the outdoors behemoth, took a nosedive in the markets today amidst
rumors of charismatic CEO Carter Easton's nervous breakdown. Easton, 28, has
not been seen or heard from since the night of the fiery wreck that took the
lives of his parents, Annika and Dale Easton. Carter Easton blames the
paparazzi for chasing his parents' car under the mistaken impression that he
was in it. Easton's PR team is scrambling to repair the damage done by a
garbled and disturbing press release sent out by Easton himself in which he
vows to seek justice in the courts by any means necessary."

I sit
back in my office chair and nervously chew on my fingers. Is that all? There
has to be more. I search again, this time for
latest news Carter Easton
, and the very same headline I saw in the
checkout aisle pops up again.

"The
Broken Billionaire: Why is Carter Easton Hiding?"

The
language in this article is much more florid, going into wild, speculative
detail about his reasons for disappearing. But a few paragraphs stand out.

Cocky, swaggering Easton was once the darling
of the glitterati, part of the clique of rarified jet-set explorers who aren't
content with the idleness of the rich. Carter Easton was a man of action.
Impulsive to the point of recklessness, he still had the magic touch necessary
to smooth any ruffled feathers.

But now the ruffled feathers are his own.
Sources close to the Eastons say that he spends all of his time in seclusion on
his own private island, unwilling, or rather, it seems, unable to set foot on
the mainland. Those same sources say he visits the company that bears his name
only under the cover of darkness and that he has all but given up control of
the company he founded to crusade against the paparazzi.

When I
am done reading, I swallow back the sick feeling fluttering in my stomach. A
reclusive, paranoid weirdo, and I'm supposed to meet with him tomorrow. On his
private island…where I will be completely at his mercy. No one has seen, or
heard from him in two years, and yet I'm supposed to just fly off in his
private helicopter like a lamb to the slaughter.

I grab
my phone and fire off a text to my best friend Tricia. "I'm going to meet
with a client tomorrow. I want you to check and make sure I make it home
okay."

She
beeps back. "You afraid of axe murderers?"

I
shiver a little. "Something like that."