"Ha, ha." Grinning, he shook his head. "We've got a half hour drive ahead of us. The cabin has already been stocked with everything we'll need. All we have to do now is relax."
"Is the cabin isolated?"
"Technically, no. It just seems that way at times. It's about a mile from Mountain Lodge. A resort," he clarified when my expression turned questioning.
"What's the square footage of the cabin?"
"Two thousand."
"Hmm." I pictured his guests squeezed inside that amount of space, one standing on top of the other. "Forget the cabin for a moment and concentrate on the lodge. Does it have any areas designated for large gatherings?"
His eyes narrowed, blocking out the sudden, suspicious darkening, but he answered me anyway. "Yes."
"Well, the lodge sounds better suited for a party than the cabin does. Let's go there."
Now he frowned. "I prefer the cabin."
We were safely on the ground and my thoughts were clear, focused. So I wasn't taking his crap. "Still," I said, "I'd like to view the resort first, if you don't mind."
"I do mind."
"I didn't want to fly here, but I did. The least you can do is stop at the lodge."
"Damn it, Naomi."
Silence.
I wasn't backing down, wasn't going to rescind my request.
"Damn it," he said again. "We'll stop at the lodge." He massaged his neck and gazed up at the car ceiling. "I don't know why the hell I'm putting up with your bossiness. I'm in charge here. You work for me."
"I work with you. There's a difference. And just so you know, you're seriously starting to piss me off."
"Well, just so you know, this is the last time you're getting your way."
Jeez, what a sore loser.
"So, what do you think?" Royce asked.
I regarded him for a moment. We were in a secluded corner of a smoke-filled bar, drinking wine and listening to the hum of a saxophone in the background. The area was dim, lit only by candles. We had finished our tour of the lodge only a short while ago.
I didn't want to argue with him, but realized I might have no other choice since the information I was about to give him wasn't what he wanted to hear. "As lovely as this place is," I said, "it simply won't do."
"Have you already made a list as to why not?" Amusement glinted in his eyes. He wasn't angry, at least.
I exhaled a relieved breath. "As a matter of fact," I told him, "I have."
"This, I need to hear."
"This building isn't large enough, for one, and the cabin, which is smaller, won't be, either."
"And two?" He tried to cover his smile with his palm, but I caught the action.
His levity should have ruffled me. After all, if he truly wanted the party here, I had no other choice but to comply. Instead, I felt strangely at ease. The wine, perhaps? Or the company?
"Two," I said, "this is too rustic for our Arabian Nights theme."
"So we'll make it Arabian Nights meets Urban Cowgirl."
"Three," I said, acting as if he hadn't spoken, "I don't want the party held here."
"That's not a reason."
"It is to me. What about flying the guests here?"
"They'll love being flown in my jet, I promise you. And my mother will adore the clean mountain air."
"You can't fit three hundred people in your death trap of a plane."
"We'll cut down the list. Make it a small, private gathering."
He had an answer for everything.
Loud, raucous laughter suddenly rang out. A thirty-something man with long, wavy brown hair stood onstage, tapping on a microphone. "It's time for the karaoke entertainment hour," he said, his voice booming throughout the bar. "I know we've got some eager beavers out there, dying to get up on this stage and belt out a few tunes. Well, tonight's your lucky night. We've got a great selection."
The crowd cheered. Several people even raised their glasses.
"Who's first?"
One young man stumbled to his feet. His constant swaying and glassy-eyed expression made it obvious he'd had a little too much to drink. "I'll do it." His words were slurred, almost unrecognizable. The girl at his table giggled hysterically, urging him on. "I want to sing a sappy hong."
More giggling.
"Anyone else. Please," the man onstage begged, an edge of desperation evident in the tense profile of his body.
Silence.
I looked around and noticed that everyone else was doing the same. An instant later, I heard, "I dare you."
I whipped around, staring over at Royce. Surely he'd misspoken. He wouldn't have said-