Meant To Be

Three

Right, exactly what level of hell had she reached?

Claire Bridgewater had experienced hot. Damian Garcia believed that she'd had an affair with his father, and knew what blistering felt like when her face was plastered over the front pages of the tabloid press accusing her of stealing Damian’s fortune.

But tonight she’d stood inside the flames, her skin melting.

Now, as Zach Harrison’s jet cut through the dark night, Claire felt frozen, her heart encased in dry ice. Maybe true hell was this dead-on-the-inside, will-never-recover feeling.

Claire flopped down into the chair opposite Zach Harrison and eyed her brother through half-closed eyes. A bright blue bruise colored his jaw, and his lower lips were swollen. She loved Alfred, but right now she didn't like him even a little bit. The only man she felt remotely charitable toward was Zach Harrison, who'd offered her a ride out of the nightmare that was her latest professional disaster zone. He was also sitting across from her, ankle in his knee, deep in thought.

Claire swallowed down a groan and felt her stomach cramps. Her reputation, along with her company, had been dancing on the knife edge of ruin for weeks but her brother gate-crashing her most illustrious clients’ gala evening and worse, grabbing the mic from singer Jesse Humphrey and placing himself front and center while ranting about rich losers and liars, had pushed her off that silver-thin edge.

And since she would be, if she wasn't already, a person very nongreat by morning, why had Zach Harrison, CEO of Harrison Airlines, rushed to her rescue? He was rich, successful, and gorgeous, so she had no idea why he'd offered them a lift on his plane heading back to Vegas. But she wasn't complaining; she needed to get Alfred back under the radar as soon as possible and Zach had offered her a way out.

Alfred was hunched over in his seat, mumbling to himself. Thank God he stopped ranting, his words and sentences not making any sense.

Claire couldn't pull her eyes off his face. Alfred had been a pain in her ass, especially these last few years, but he was her baby brother; she'd always looked after him. Initially, she'd blamed his actions on a combination of drugs and alcohol, but earlier she touched his left arm and he cried out. Teresa rolled back his sleeve shirt to see a small but distinctive puncture Mark on his forearm. In a place where it would be difficult for him to self-inject. Like so much else about this night, nothing made sense.

But hell, why was she surprised? This was her insane life; everything and anything was possible.

Claire looked from Alfred to Zach and found his eyes studying her. Claire waited for a kick of attraction, for a spark, and sighed when nothing happened. Maybe she wasn't responding to him because she was exhausted and overwrought because Zach was everything she normally found attractive in a man. At six or so, he was tall but perfectly proportioned with wide shoulders, narrow hips, and long, muscular legs. His voice carried the accent of expensive British education, was deep and luscious, and his face masculine and sexy, and his skin the color of old sepia photographs.

But he wasn't, dammit, Damian.

Gah!

As if she'd summoned him, Claire heard the discreet beep of her phone and there was his name, flashing on the screen. Her heart whimpered and her stomach clenched. Nope, she couldn't talk to him, not tonight, possibly never again. For the past few months, since she'd stumbled back into his orbit, she'd felt off-kilter and was constantly uncertain about what she'd face on any given day. She'd been a duck, serene on the outside but paddling like hell under the water. As a result, she was utterly drained on just about every level. Tonight she'd bled out every pint of energy she’d ever possessed.

Claire simply did not know if she'd be able to pick her head up and struggle on. Curling up in a ball and weeping sounded more fun than fighting another day.

She was done. Possibly for good.

Zach cleared his throat and Ckaire lifted her head to see him holding out a tumbler of whiskey. Taking the glass, she glanced at Alfred. He'd fallen asleep, his head between the edge of the sheet and wall of the plane. Tossing back her whiskey, she lowered the glass and met Zach’s sympathetic eyes.

“Would you like another?” Zach asked, his words holding the snap of Eton and Oxford.

Claire shook her head. “If I do, I'll collapse in a heap and then you will have two Bridgewaters to deal with.”

Claire blew out her breath and gestured to Alfred. “I am so sorry. I know I'm repeating myself, but I don't know how he found out where I was working or what prompted him to—” She hesitated, looking for words. Destroy my career? Embarrass the hell out of me? Bankrupt my business? “—do what he did.”

Zach lifted his shoulder in a quick shrug. When he didn't respond, Claire took a deep breath and bit the bullet. “I will absolutely understand if you want to rescind your offer to have me plan your wedding.”

Zach stared at her for a long time and Claire resisted the urge to squirm. She wouldn't blame him if he pulled his wedding; he'd floated the offer earlier in the evening, back at the gala, before her carefully planned event went to hell on horseback.

Unbidden, snapshots of the evening jumped into the big screen of her mind. Alfred rips the microphone from Jessie’s hand, his incoherent screaming. Damian, bigger and stronger than her lanky brother, tackles him to the ground, his fist connecting to Alfred’s face. And all of it is streaming live to Jessie’s fans around the world.

Claire placed her hand on her heart and tried to rub the pain away. But nope, it wasn't going anywhere.

Zach tapped a long finger against the Waterford tumbler and shook his head. “Up until your brother's unfortunate interruption, the gala evening, and the weekend, were going well. I'm intelligent enough to see how much work you put into the preparations and how dedicated you are to your job. What he did wasn't your fault.”

At the unexpected bite of support, Claire felt her eye sting. “Thank you.”

“Let's discuss my wedding.”

Claire frowned. It was close to three in the morning, she was exhausted, and, after a crackpot evening, Zach wanted her to talk about flowers and food? Claire slapped back her frustrations. He was offering her a lifeboat as she trod water in a stormy sea.

Okay, then. She'd talk about weddings. “Sure.”

Then she realized that she had no idea who Zach was marrying and, come to think of it, was still surprised to hear of his engagement. She'd pegged him as a confirmed bachelor, someone who wasn't interested in settling down. She pulled a smile up onto her face. “Who’s the lucky lady?”

Zach stared at her for a moment, his eyes not leaving hers. “You will be informed in due course.”

Okay, then. That was a super-weird response. Claire worked hard not to show her shock, to react in any way other than polite acquiescence. Why the secrecy? Wasn't the bride supposed to be part of this discussion? What was going on here?

Her thoughts scrambling, Claire linked her hands around her knees and tried to corral her thoughts. Right, moving on. “Do you have a preference on where you would like to marry? When? How many guests? What's your budget?”.

Zach held her eyes when he dropped what Claire hoped would be the last bombshell of the evening. “You have an unlimited budget and I'm offering to pay double your normal fee.”

“What's the catch?” she asked, not sure she wanted to know.

Zach smiled. “I need you to organize the wedding of the year so that it can take place in the thirtieth.”

“Of what month?” She needed at least six months to prepare; six months was tight but doable.

Zach held her eye and didn't flinch. “I am getting married on the last Saturday of this month, Claire.”

Two weeks?

Frick.

Claire held out her glass and nodded to the whiskey bottle. “Can I have another? And, respectfully, are you insane? There is no way I can plan a wedding in two weeks.”

Zach pulled out his phone and dialed. “She said she can't do it,” he said to the phone on the other line. He then handed her the phone. “He wants to talk to you.”