The Wedding Date by Ally Blake Page B

she’d called the hotel, and they’d all but cried with relief at being able to give her room to someone on the list of people desperate for it. Bradley would be driving on within the hour.
    ‘Sure,’ she said, a sly smile stretching across her face. ‘I’m game.’
    ‘Excellent. Now, we need to talk terms of the bet. What’s in play? Ladies first.’
    She thought about asking for an extra week off, at his expense. Now she was here, now she’d survived seeing her mum, it seemed like something she might be able to handle. It seemed like something she might need.
    But it was unlikely she was ever going to get a chance as good as this to beat him at something. She had to make the most of it. ‘I get co-producer credit if you make a show here.’
    Bradley’s forehead creases were back with a vengeance. Everything suddenly felt all too quiet. She could hear her own breaths gaining speed. Her heart-rate was rocketing all over the place. She wondered if she’d just screwed everything up royally.
    Then she thought again. She
deserved
a producer credit, considering the amount of input she’d had in his productions to date. And if this was what it took for him to realise she meant more to his organisation than a way with middle management …
    ‘Deal,’ he said.
    ‘Really?’ she squeaked, jumping up and down on the spot as if firecrackers were exploding beneath her feet. She swished a hand across the sky as if she was looking at a podium at an awards ceremony. ‘I can see it now:
co-produced by Hannah Gillespie.
“And theaward goes to Hannah Gillespie and Bradley Knight.”’
    ‘Don’t you mean Bradley Knight and Hannah Gillespie?’
    ‘These things are always alphabetical.’
    ‘Mmm.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘And if I
do
get a room?’
    ‘You won’t.’
    He grabbed his leather bag and her heavy suitcase and walked towards the hotel as though he was carrying a bag of feathers. She hurried after him.
    ‘Bradley? The terms?’
    ‘What does it matter? You’re so sure I’m not going to win.’
    He shot her a grin. An all too rare teeth and crinkly eyes grin. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach. Big, broad-winged, jungle butterflies.
    He wouldn’t win. There was just no way. But this was Bradley Knight. So long as she’d known him—whether it was getting the green light on every show he pitched, getting any time slot he wanted, or keeping his private life private—he
always
got his way.
    She jogged up the steps, puffing. He took them two at a time as if it was nothing. At the top he slowed, opened the door, and waved her through. She shot him a sarcastic smile and, head held high, walked inside.
    Two steps in, they came to a halt as one.Hannah breathed out hard as she realised with immense relief that the Gatehouse was as beautiful as she’d hoped it would be. All marble floors and exposed beams and fireplaces the size of an elephant. It was fit for kings. But not Knights. No Knights.
    ‘Stunning,’ he said.
    ‘And fully booked,’ Hannah added.
    Bradley laughed, the deep sound reverberating in the large open space. ‘You are one stubborn creature, Miss Gillespie. I do believe it would behove me to remember that.’
    She couldn’t help but smile back.
    Until he said, ‘I’m coming to your sister’s wedding.’
    ‘I’m sorry? What?’
    ‘If I get a room tonight it would be a waste not to thoroughly check out this part of the world. And if I’m here it would be the height of rudeness not to take up your sister’s invitation.’
    ‘And the hits just keep on coming!’
    His eyes gleamed with the last vestiges of a smile. ‘Are we on?’
    The jungle butterflies in her stomach were wiped out by a rush of liquid heat that invaded her whole system. Red flags sprang up in its wake, but the prize was simply too big to back down now.
    ‘We’re on.’
    He narrowed determined eyes, looked around,then took her by the shoulders and aimed her at the bar. ‘Give me five minutes.’
    ‘What the heck?