Six Month Rule (Kingston Ale House) (5 page)

Chapter Seven

“It’s brilliant!” Holly exclaimed, swiping through Will’s proposal on his tablet. “
We’re
brilliant. This is exactly the direction I wanted to go, and—and I love it, Will. I really love it.”

Will leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, and he grinned. Holly knew he wasn’t playing a part. This wasn’t the grin he wore when they’d met Marisa last week. It wasn’t painted on to appease her. Those steely blue eyes that always gave her the notion that Will Evans was somewhere other than here—they were fully present and accounted for, crinkled at his temples.

If they’d both been standing and not had a table between them, Holly would have hugged him. Because they were going to get their venue, and Marisa Gonzalez was going to thank them for choosing her hotel.

“You seem right pleased with yourself,” Will said. His sleeves were rolled, and the tension that usually tightened his shoulders was nonexistent.

Holly was looking through his slides again and nodding.

“A boho-chic party to tie in with Tallulah’s line, and the VIP tickets getting them into the fashion show as well as the New Year’s gig—I love it. There aren’t enough themed parties. This one will stand out.”

Holly rolled her chair closer to Will, sliding her own tablet in front of him. He stayed put and let her fly through slides of Tallulah’s designs along with her mock-up of the set. The runway would be made of artificial grass and flowers, and the models would walk it barefoot, the polar opposite of the few European shows Tallulah had done already.

“I know this isn’t Tallulah’s norm, but then again neither is launching in Chicago with a small boutique firm. I want to capture the free spirit of her line, to make the show retro, or a throwback, you know? Like Woodstock…without the nudity and drugs.”

Will stayed silent as Holly spoke a mile a minute. At first she didn’t care, because she couldn’t contain her excitement. But when she paused for a breath, she hesitated. Still nothing from Will. He sat with his elbow on the table, head resting in his hand as he watched the slides.

“Oh, shit,” Holly said. “You
hate
it. I mean, I love it. I really do. But if you think Tallulah will say no, tell me now, okay? I still have until tomorrow morning to rework it for Marisa. It has to be right for the hotel
and
the client. I get that. I—”

He straightened to look at her, shaking his head, so Holly shut up.

“Tallulah’s going to go mad for this.” Will’s voice was soft yet intent. He cleared his throat and stood. “Sorry, I just remembered I have to speak with Andrea about something.”

“Did someone say my name?”

Holly and Will both turned toward the door, where Andrea stood in an ivory halter jumpsuit. Holly offered a silent
harrumph
to anyone in the fashion world who thought thirty-five was too old to walk the runway. Just look at Andrea Ross. It was more than what you saw on the outside that made her shine. It was her confidence, and Holly liked to think she had some of that in herself as well.

“Right, yes. I was on my way to see you,” Will said. “If you have a minute.”

Andrea strode to the table and pressed her palms to the dark wood.

“Actually,” she said, but the smile she wore was tentative, and Holly was sure bad news was on the way. So much for her horoscope getting it right for once. “I just got off the phone with Marisa Gonzalez. Reception accidentally forwarded her to me rather than to the conference room.”

This was it, Holly thought. They’d lost the venue before they even had a chance to do the proposal. She could feel the adrenaline from today already slipping away.

“Will, I’m sorry, but something came up, and she had to cancel your meeting tomorrow. She wants to meet Friday night instead.” There was apology in Andrea’s voice. “She said she’d love to buy you two dinner for canceling, that you could pick the place.”

“Ooh! We could do Kingston Ale House, my sister’s boyfriend’s brewery. Friday nights are pitcher specials, and they have the
best
sweet potato fries in the city. Not that I’ve been thinking about them all week. And I could probably get Jamie—he’s my sister’s boyfriend—to do dinner on the house anyway, so that would sweeten the deal even more.”

Holly paused. Why wasn’t anyone joining in her enthusiasm? And why was Andrea only addressing Will? And why was Friday night over Thursday morning a big deal?

She couldn’t see Will’s face, only his stubbled jaw that was clenched with tension. He ran a hand through his dark waves and breathed out a long breath.

“I’ll cancel my flight,” he said. Andrea nodded slowly but didn’t say anything else before leaving the room. And then without looking at her, he spoke to Holly.

“It looks like we have all we need for Friday, then. Would you give Marisa the details, say we’ll meet her there at seven?” His voice was even, but Holly could tell he was holding something back.

“Of course,” she said. “Will, is everything okay?”

He faced her then, and gone were the crinkles at the corners of his eyes.

“Yes,” he said. “Smashing.” And then he stared for a few seconds at what looked like an overnight bag on the floor by the couch.

Why did this guy seem to have one foot out the door at all times?

“I guess that’s it for today, then. Thank you…Holly,” he added.

Well, he didn’t call her Ms. Chandler, though it seemed he wanted to. And he’d most definitely just dismissed her for the third time in ten days. But this was different. She could tell. So Holly said nothing. This didn’t seem to be the time to reeducate Will Evans on the social mores of an equal partnership in the workplace.

But she made a mental note to do so later.

…

Holly fidgeted with the Gemini charm that hung around her neck. She wasn’t one for superstitions and good-luck charms…okay, so she had a thing for stars, and she maybe sometimes thought they navigated tiny aspects of her life. So sue her for wanting tonight to go perfectly. She was wearing her lucky necklace, dammit.

“You’re doing it again,” Brynn said.

“Huh? What?” Holly glanced down at the miniature silver constellation in her hand. “Oh,” she added. “I guess I am.”

Her sister rested her palm over Holly’s, and she stopped tugging at the necklace.

“You’re Holly Chandler,” Brynn said.

“Stating the obvious, are we?”

“I’m just saying I’m not used to seeing you like this, all nervous and stuff.”

Brynn swiveled back and forth on the bar stool next to Holly, her wild curls bouncing on her shoulders as she did. Holly loved this new Brynn, who was really the old Brynn. It was the Brynn in the middle who’d gotten a little lost, thinking her unrequited high school crush was the one who got away when all along it was Jamie, her best friend. It just took them ten years to finally get it right. And now here her sister was, more glass-half-full than she’d ever been, and Holly had started moving in the other direction.

“Well, I’ve never wanted anything this badly. It might also be the first time I’m at risk of
not
getting what I want,” Holly admitted.

Brynn barked out a laugh. “What about Eponine in
Les Mis
your freshman year of college? You called me after your audition,
sure
you’d never be allowed on stage again, and you stole the freaking show.”

Holly shook her head. “It was in the bag. I was just a drama queen back then.”

“So all those times you thought you wouldn’t get a part, that was you crying wolf? I sent you a cookie bouquet and everything for that one!”

Holly shrugged. “I did enjoy those cookies. And it’s not like it was any different than you losing your mind about some calculus exam and thinking your life was over.”

Brynn groaned. “That was the AP exam, Holly. And it saved me a whole year of college math that would have been a repeat of what I’d already done.”

Holly gave her sister a pointed look. “What’s the highest score on the AP exam?” she asked.

“A five.”

“And what score did my dear old sister get?” Holly continued.

Brynn mumbled something and looked down at the Sox T-shirt she’d promised Jamie she’d wear if she ever came into the bar on game night. In fact, game night was what sold Marisa on meeting at Kingston Ale House. A die-hard Sox fan herself, she’d jumped at the chance to go to a Northside bar that was playing a Southside game.

“I’m sorry,” Holly said. “I couldn’t hear you.”

“A
five
,” Brynn said at full volume. “Fine. We’re both drama queens.”

Holly smoothed out her own shirt, a vintage Woodstock tee she’d found at an upscale resale shop, and hoped she wasn’t too casual for a meeting. But this was a bar where they’d be watching a baseball game. She’d told Will no suits allowed, and that was pretty much the extent of any conversation between the two of them since Andrea disrupted their meeting two days ago. Who knew which Will she’d see tonight—arrogant and dismissive? Counterfeit and putting on a show? Playful and teasing with a genuine smile? Or sullen and enigmatic, the only Will she’d seen for the past two days? Whatever flight he’d had to cancel, it hadn’t agreed with him. But tonight she crossed her fingers for brilliant and determined—the man Marisa Gonzalez had met and the one she needed to see.

The brewery door swung open, and a gust of late-June heat cut through the air-conditioning. Holly’s mouth fell open.

“What?” Brynn asked, but then she followed her sister’s gaze. “Is that—is that
him
?”

And by him she meant the guy in the door frame, searching the bar most likely for a familiar face—Holly’s face—because when his eyes found hers, his features relaxed into an almost smile. He took her in, and wait—no—now he was full-on grinning. But Holly was sure her chin was still resting on the floor. Because stalking toward her now was Will Evans in—denim.

It wasn’t just the dark wash or the fact that his snug-in-all-the-right-places jeans ended at a pair of black-and-white Adidas sneakers—
worn
Adidas sneakers. Like, he hadn’t just purchased them today. And it wasn’t even the fitted forest green pocket tee that stretched over biceps she hadn’t known existed under his suits. It was everything, from the loose waves of his hair to the five-day-old almost beard to that crinkly-eyed smile that was as elusive as a unicorn.

Something began to quiver and dance in her belly, like…like…a butterfly.

She tried to recount the last time she had dairy, but Holly never got her chance.

“Looks like we beat Marisa, yes?” he asked, and then Will’s eyes bounced from Holly to Brynn. “You must be Brynn,” he said, shaking her hand. “I’m Will. Holly talks about you quite a lot.”

Brynn’s face broke into a mischievous grin.

“Well, Will. I don’t think I’ve heard nearly enough about
you
.”

…

Something was definitely in the air—or the brew—because not only was Marisa blown away by their ideas, enough to give them 20 percent off her original quote, but the White Sox were winning, and on more than one occasion, Holly caught Will Evans smiling. Like now, while he and Marisa played pool and she nursed her pint at a nearby high-top, he looked almost happy.

Not that Holly cared about his happiness.

Except that she kind of did, especially seeing how shaken he’d been when Andrea told them Marisa had to cancel Thursday’s meeting and reschedule for tonight. He was meant to be going somewhere on a plane, somewhere he obviously wanted to be rather than here, and though she barely knew him, it had tugged at her heart the tiniest bit to see him full of disappointment. So yeah, it was nice to see him enjoying himself. Plus, she was going to be working with the guy for the next five and a half months putting this show together, and a happy Will was much easier to work with than that brooding guy she usually got to see. He did wear brooding well. There was no doubt about that. But when he smiled, like really smiled, Holly forgot about resenting that she had to wait another half a year before Andrea offered her partner.

“You’ve got your stargazing face.”

Brynn was helping out behind the bar tonight, and she’d just brought the table another pitcher of Jamie’s chocolate stout, even though Holly hadn’t finished her second pint. Or was it her third?

“Huh?” Holly asked.

Brynn nudged her shoulder with her own.

“Not like I blame you,” Brynn continued. “I mean, jeez, Holl. All I’ve heard you talk about is what a jerk this guy is, but you never said he looked like
that
. Not that
that
”—Brynn nodded toward Will and Marisa, the latter of whom seemed to be heckling the tall drink of British water as he scratched trying to sink the eight ball—“excuses jerky behavior, but tonight he’s been nothing but super—”

“Charming?” Holly interrupted. “Delightful? Way too easy on the eyes when he smiles?”

Brynn hopped onto the stool next to her sister. “Like I said—stargazing face.”

Holly waved off her sister’s insinuations. “He’s a coworker.” She cocked her head to the side. “Actually, since his client hired Trousseau for this event, you could consider him my boss.”

Brynn chuckled. “His client also hired him, sweetie. So…level playing field, if you ask me.”

Holly shrugged. “It’s just a crush, and an intermittent one at that. This is not typical Will Evans. Plus, I’d like to restate the obvious—we work together. Conflict of interest.”

This time Brynn threw back her head and laughed. She almost toppled her stool.

“If Andrea Ross had any sort of fraternizing-at-the-office rules, you never would have hooked up with Charlie for your little six-month experiment. You’re just looking for excuses not to be…” Brynn slapped her hand over her mouth, but it was too late.

“Happy?” Holly asked, brows raised. “Is that what you were going to say? Because that’s Mom’s line, sis. And you know what it means when you start parroting your own mother, right?”

Brynn shook her head wildly. “You can
never
tell Mom I did that. I’ll never hear the end of it, even if she might have a point.”

Holly groaned. “I’m happy,” she argued, though the statement would probably be more believable if she was smiling when she said it. “I love what I do, and I love living life on my terms. Add anyone else into the mix, and there’s bound to be disappointment.” Holly drained the pint she’d been nursing. Yeah, it had only been two. She could stand another, so she refilled her glass one more time. “Maybe it sounds selfish to you, Brynn, but the six-month thing? It’s not an experiment. It’s like my entire dating life since high school has been the experiment, and the only constant is the breaking point. Six months. The newness wears off, and either feelings fizzle or I get accused of not being present enough in the relationship anymore. So I pulled out the biggest variable in the equation—expectation. If we both know going in that whatever this is has an expiration date, then we let the thing run its course and go our separate ways without all the hurt. Honeymoon phase plus no broken heart. Win-win.”