‘I’m. On. Holiday. You want a room? You go in there and make it happen.’
‘Are you intimating I can’t even book a hotel room without you holding my hand?’
Hannah tried hard to get the image of holding Bradley’s anything out of her mind.
‘I’m not intimating anything. I’m telling you outright.’ She rubbed her arms and shivered theatrically. ‘It gets dark quick around here this time of year. Cold too. And you’re still a good two hours to Queenstown. Old copper mine. A couple of old motor inns there. You might just luck out.’
She heaved open the boot and dragged her luggage free. By the time it plopped at her feet she realised Bradley had eaten up the distance between them till they stood toe to toe.
She crossed her arms. ‘You won’t get a room.’
‘Want to bet?’
Hannah wasn’t a gambler by nature. She had an aversion to nasty surprises. But the odds were so completely in her favour. When Elyse had told her about Great-Aunt Maude’s absence 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 the award 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? I’ll give you twenty.’
As she headed to the bar his laughter followed like a wave of warmth that sent goosebumps trailing up and down her spine.
She plonked onto a barstool in the gorgeous, sparsely populated lounge bar. In twenty minutes’ time she’d know if she’d bet her way into a promotion, or if her impossible boss was coming to her little sister’s wedding.
Either way she needed a drink.
Hannah let the maraschino cherry from the garnish of her soul-warming Boston Sour slide around inside her mouth a while before biting blissfully down. A pianist in the far corner was tinkling out a little Bee Gees, and the view from the twelve-foot windows was picture-postcard-perfect.
She sighed as the whisky worked its magic. And finally, for the first time since she’d headed off that morning, she began to unwind enough to feel as if she was really on holiday.
‘Hannah Banana!’
She spun, to find Elyse barrelling her way. Her eyes instantly searched over her sister’s shoulder, but thankfully Elyse was alone.
Elyse threw herself into Hannah’s arms and hugged tight. ‘Isn’t this place gorgeous? You were soooo right in suggesting it. Tim and I owe you big-time!’
Hannah hugged back, at first in surprise. But soon she found it felt familiar, and really nice. She closed
