Heck, she wasn’t sure of anything anymore, except that she desperately wanted to just be married and move on to the next chapter in their lives. To be able to relax and just enjoy being together.
The door opened and a small woman walked in. Gretchen looked up automatically, and the woman visibly recoiled at the sight of her. Well, okay, that was different. Did she have flour on her face? Gretchen surreptitiously licked her thumb and brushed it over the corners of her mouth just in case.
The woman moved to the front desk, a large manila envelope clutched in her hand. She leaned in over Maylee’s desk, her hair nearly touching the poor, mangled religieuse. “I’m here to see Mr. Buchanan.”
“Did you have an appointment?” Maylee pulled out her planner.
“I don’t, but he’s going to want to see me.” She looked over at Gretchen again, then leaned farther in toward Maylee. Her voice dropped. “It’s imperative.”
Okay, well now Gretchen was curious. She pretended to flip another page, watching the woman out of the corner of her eye. The woman was pretty, with cute little nude heels that showed off her perfectly tanned calves despite the fact that it was winter. She wore a black turtleneck over a short red skirt and had a Christmas tree pin over the breast of her sweater. It was a very cute, very together look that Gretchen would have never been able to pull off.
Maylee gave the woman an uneasy look, her gaze flicking to Gretchen. “Mr. Buchanan just finished his call. I don’t think—”
Down the short hallway, the door to Hunter’s office opened. He stepped out, adjusting his jacket, and Gretchen felt a little flutter at the sight of him. He was so handsome. God, just looking at him did all kinds of dirty things to her. Some people might not like the heavy scars across his face, but they revved her engine like nobody’s business. Just thinking about him made her all hot and bothered, and she crossed her legs so she could squeeze her thighs tight. She’d worn sexy underwear today, since she’d planned on coming in to the office. Maybe a lunchtime quickie was in the works . . . but his office was all windows. So . . . maybe not.
Damn it.
His eyes lit up at the sight of her in the lobby, and then his gaze moved to the woman waiting at the counter with the envelope. His expression grew cold, distant.
And that was odd. Gretchen felt a weird prickle of alarm.
“Mr. Buchanan,” the woman said, stepping forward. “I need a moment of your time.”
His jaw clenched in the way it did when he was pissed, and then he nodded. “Get in here.” He pointed at his office, then glanced back at Gretchen. “Give me a moment.”
“Sure,” she said, bewildered at his stiff tone and rude treatment of the woman. This wasn’t like her Hunter. Her sweet, thoughtful, romantic Hunter was always gracious, always kind. But the look he was shooting the woman who smugly strolled into his office was full of disdain and even dislike.
What . . . what was going on?
The moment Hunter’s office door closed, Gretchen got to her feet and put the magazine down. She tiptoed over to the door, ignoring Maylee’s small protest. She was going to be the boss’s wife—she could do what she liked. And right now, she wanted to know what was going on.
So she put her ear to the door and snooped.
***
Hunter couldn’t hide his frustration at the woman standing in his office. “What are you doing here?”
Ms. Kenler stepped toward him, ignoring his bad mood, and held out the envelope. “I brought the pictures. I thought you might want to see them before things proceed.”
Her superior attitude irritated him. That, coupled with the fact that she’d showed up to his office even after he’d specifically told her not to? It made his mood rather foul. “I’m paying you good money, so I might as well see what I’m getting out of this.” He held his hand out.
She placed the envelope in his hand. “I think you’ll see the pictures are as we agreed.”
He’d be the judge of that. Trying to surprise Gretchen for their wedding was trickier than he’d anticipated, mostly because, well, he planned big. He’d tried to think of the perfect gift to give her, and one concept had come to mind—a replica of Ina Garten’s Barefoot Contessa kitchen. She loved cooking shows and loved baking for the recipe book she was working on, but it kept them apart during the daytime. So he wanted a new kitchen for her in Buchanan Manor. Upstairs. Next to his office. So he could be near her all day long instead of a floor and half the manor apart. So he could walk next door and kiss his wife if he wanted to.
And because he liked spoiling her, he might have gone overboard and requested the same kitchen for the private island he’d purchased her as a second wedding gift. The money wasn’t the problem.
The contractors he was working with? They were a fucking pain in the ass. For one, they weren’t on time with anything. For two, they were terrible at keeping things under wraps. He’d wanted it to be a surprise for Gretchen, but so far he’d had to make up an excuse about water damage to keep her out of that wing of the house, and now the interior designer was showing up here at his office?
He’d have fired her fucking ass except for the fact that they were a week away from completion. Theoretically. That was, providing the crews she’d sworn would be done last month would in fact, be done by Christmas. He didn’t believe Ms. Kenler, but he didn’t have a choice at this point. It was too late to hire anyone else.
So he pulled out the pictures and began to flip through them. He could watch the progress of the work on his house, but for the island? He was having to rely upon pictures. And since the woman seemed to constantly have trouble with her email, she kept showing up to his office. He’d have thought she was fishing for attention if it weren’t for the fact that he’d told her quite specifically that the specialized kitchens were for his fiancée, and the fact that he wasn’t much to look at. But still, sometimes he wondered. “And the price?”