Two Bar Mitzvahs (No Weddings #3)(18)

“I’m Suzanne Bradshaw. I understand you want a tour of the facilities.”

Kristen gathered her paperwork into a pile, tapped the stack onto the table, and stood, extending her hand. “I’m Kristen Michaelson. These are my sisters, Kiki and Kendall.” She pointed at each of us as she said our names. “This is my brother, Cade, and his girlfriend, Hannah.”

We nodded at our introductions except for Kiki, who gave a friendly single-handed wave.

When we began to stand, Suzanne seemed to take the “girlfriend” clue to heart, gravitating toward Kristen, who’d agreed to pilot this meeting. I’d promised to coordinate the actual event. But a frou-frou luncheon with a boring tour? All hers.

I stood and pulled Hannah’s chair away as my sisters followed Suzanne. I tugged Hannah’s elbow, holding her back, until we had a good fifteen-foot gap between us and the tour caravan. “I’ll keep on the lookout for potential closets. You scope out promising dark corners.”

She’d brought along her half-full beer, and I took the bottle from her, shifting it to my other hand as I wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

“You’re incorrigible.” Shaking her head, she looked left, then leaned back to look beyond me after we entered the main building through open French doors. “So how dark is dark enough?”

I choked out a laugh. “Really? Your hard limits don’t include exhibitionism?”

“I don’t know. Maybe we should find out.”

As the rest of the group rounded the corner, I crowded her up against the nearest wall, in plain view of the dining patio guests twenty feet away. “Here? Now?”

She gasped as I pressed my mouth to her neck. Sliding a hand up a bare thigh, I lifted her short hem inches at a time. Thank f*ck she’d decided to wear a sundress. She moaned her reply.

Yeah, we played a seductive game of chicken. Lust tried to overrule my brain, sending us full speed ahead. Yet there was only so far we could take indecency before a club member had us kicked out. A restraining order would make it impossible for us to hold the event here and cause us to lose a well-paying client.

Fuck. If only we’d crashed a random country club. Then I’d be down for all kinds of rule breaking and testing Hannah’s limits.

I sighed, dropping my forehead to hers. Her breathless pants matched mine until oxygen filtered back into our brains. “We are so scouting out a country club we never plan on doing business with.”

Confusion wrinkled her face. “What?”

“Are you two coming?” Kendall popped her head around the corner.

No. But we’d like to be.

Like good little event-planning teammates, we caught up and followed along with the group, feigning interest in the architectural details and coveted pieces of art as Suzanne pointed them out.

Yada. Yada. We know, Pilgrims on the Mayflower. Provenance back to Ben Franklin.

We get it. You’re important.

After the nickel tour of priceless artifacts ended, we finally got down to the nitty-gritty. Kristen flipped open her manila file folder, bending the cover back behind a yellow lined notepad. “When we spoke over the phone about room possibilities, you said we had a couple of options.”

Suzanne nodded, stepping down the hall. “You said you had two parties for a set of twins. We could do both in one room. This is our largest available that evening.” She opened double doors into a sizable space.

Scowling, I glanced at Kristen. “You want a battle of the bands? Heavy rock versus teen pop?”

Kristen shook her head at Suzanne. “No. What’s the other option?”

It had better be doable. From what Kristen had explained, the client wanted the event here. On that day and on their perfect time schedule.

“This way. We have neighboring rooms, both equal in size.”

Perfect.

After a quick check of each of the rooms, Kristen glanced at me, deferring to my judgment before agreeing. I gave her a nod, then shoved my hands into my front pockets and turned to leave. My work for the afternoon was essentially done.

The place would do. Although stuffier than most country clubs, my family’s club was only more tolerable by a matter of degree. They were all archaic establishments. But for the sake of serving as museums of times gone by, overflowing with fancy historical accessories to prove it, I supposed they served their purpose. Time capsules with ridiculous little sandwiches.

Plus, many events the bored wealthy members held were charitable functions to benefit the less fortunate. And I fully supported the means to that end.

Barbra Streisand once said at a concert I saw on TV, “Money is like manure; it’s not worth a thing unless you spread it around…” When I repeated the phrase later to my charitable mother, she’d informed me that Streisand first said the line in the musical Hello, Dolly!

I did not confirm that fact. The only musicals I agreed to tolerate were the future ones Hannah had committed me to. And said rare event would only take place because Hannah suggested we might have sex there. Damn. My mind kept guttering.

“Feel like attending any musicals in the near future?” I wondered if she remembered our discussion at my mom’s charity event all those months ago.

Her eyes glittered with amusement. “Sure. Why don’t I pick out the musical, and you can pick out the seats. Something in a dark corner, I’m guessing.”