Lucky Love

by Nicola Marsh

  His gaze flickers to my breasts before returning to my face. “You’re a babe. You could get any guy you wanted. Why resort to Qwikie-Dates dinners?”

  A babe? Yeah, a babe who consistently attracted jerks. Like him.

  “This is my friend’s idea of a joke.”

  “That explains it.” His hand inched across the tablecloth until it reached mine.

  “See anyone you fancy?” He ran his index finger lightly along the back of my hand while maintaining eye contact.

  I didn’t go for sleaze and I bet he cracked onto a different girl every night at these dinners.

  “Not really.” I slid my hand away, picked up my wineglass and took a sip. The Shiraz was as good as the food; no use letting it go to waste.

  “The evening’s winding down soon. Why don’t you stick around and we can finish this bottle at the bar?”

  Logic demanded I walk away.

  “Besides, Nat would kill me if I didn’t look after you.”

  I stiffened.

  Nat hated anyone abbreviating her name. Only the privileged few—her family, Marlon and I—did it. So why the hell was he calling her that?

  My spidey senses tingled. Uh oh. Now I had to stick around to discover why Lachlan the Lech was fraternizing with my best friend and was close enough to call her Nat.

  I nodded. “Okay.”

  He sat back with a confident grin and his smugness grated, as if my agreeing had never been in doubt. Cocky bastard. The type of guy I used to go for. Ugh. Shoot me now.

  As the Seven Dwarves and the female desperadoes filtered out, I braced for more of Lachlan’s questionable charm. But I’d put up with it to discover what the hell Nat was playing at.

  “Tell me about yourself.” He placed a glass of wine in front of me without asking. Arrogant and sleazy.

  “Not much to tell. I work at an events company. Weddings, mostly.”

  He winced. Yeah, like I didn’t already know he hated matrimony, considering he was schmoozing up to my married BFF.

  “What about you?” The faster I figured out his connection to Nat, the faster I could get out of here.

  “I’m a law clerk.” He squared his shoulders, like he expected to make Supreme Court judge next week. “I do this occasionally to help out a friend when she’s busy with her kids.”

  Okay, maybe he had a nice streak and the arrogance was a front.

  “She’s eternally grateful.”

  So much for that theory.

  I tried a different tack. “You know Nat pretty well, then?”

  “Yeah, though she swore me not to tell you.” I didn’t like his wolfish expression. “Nat’s the greatest.”

  Shit. My instincts screamed he had the hots for my best friend. And I vaguely remembered she’d mentioned some spunky law clerk she flirted with for kicks.

  Not good.

  “Do you work with her?”

  “Yeah, we’re pretty close.” I didn’t like his suggestive eyebrow wiggle. I liked the fact it implied Nat was close to this creep even less. “Hasn’t she mentioned me?”

  “Nope. She’s too busy talking about her husband to mention trivialities.” Take that, smart-ass.

  He had the audacity to pat my hand. “Don’t go getting jealous. Plenty of me to go round.”

  Resisting the urge to knee him in the balls, I downed the rest of my drink. I needed to have a serious conversation with Nat. Though this creep was probably full of his own self-importance, I had to make sure she wasn’t doing anything as stupid as flirting with danger.

  I stood. “Thanks for the drink.”

  He almost fell off the bar stool in his haste to join me. “What about a night cap at my place?”

  I refrained from sticking two fingers down my throat and making gagging noises, just. “No thanks. Deadlines.”

  And instantly regretted inventing a lie for this cretin.

  He shrugged. “No big deal.”

  He’d already flipped open his cell phone and hit redial before I’d taken two steps. I gritted my teeth as I heard him invite himself to some poor woman’s house to catch up. Is that what they called it these days?

  As I headed home, I made several vows: ring Nat first thing in the morning and ask WTF was she thinking, never trust anyone—even a best friend—to set me up with a guy, and maybe check out airfares to California.

  Love couldn’t be any worse than this.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Aunt Flo’s tips to be lucky in love.

  Comparing prospective life partners to Chris Hemsworth isn’t wise. The reality will never live up to the fantasy (though dress-ups with Thor costume may help?)

  Not surprisingly, Nat wouldn’t take my calls the next day. Marlon said she’d gone to work, where she was unreachable, and she’d switched her cell off.

  The inquisition would have to wait. It figured Lachlan was a work acquaintance and he’d probably dreamed up a little courtroom fantasy. I couldn’t contemplate the other scenario, where I’d totally misjudged my best friend and would strangle her for messing with her marriage.

  After a coffee, I scanned the weekend papers. An article on page three caught my eye. Cameron Lovell had jetted into town for his upcoming nuptials, the same ones I’d been helping coordinate. Though I’d never met the guy I’d seen his picture a few times and hadn’t been all that impressed. In this photo, a half-blurred profile shot, he looked like a typical businessman: short back and sides, rimless specs, permanent frown, briefcase in hand.

  Some of the girls at the office said he was a hottie—personally, I couldn’t see the attraction. And funnily enough, I couldn’t imagine Amanda going for someone like him either. He looked too boring, too staid, though the guy’s billions probably worked like an aphrodisiac.

  Folding the newspaper in half, I made a decision. Seeing the article on Lovell’s pending nuptials prompted me to think of the pile of work waiting on my desk. Last week had been a bust productivity-wise as it took me five days to recover from the James debacle. And I had three weddings coming up over the next two weeks with a stack of unfinished details waiting for my attention.

  So, feeling like a total loser, I headed into work on a Saturday. A few other foolhardy souls were scattered through the office as I snuck in, sat behind my desk and switched on the computer.

  A quick scan of my emails elicited nothing more interesting than a couple of crude jokes I’d seen before. Facebook had the usual weird animal pics with slogans. Twitter was abuzz with the latest football draftee being caught peeing in public.

  Plum out of procrastination tools, I’d have to work. I dragged the Lovell-Shaw file across the desk and flipped it open, scanned the contents, making brief notes on Post-its for last minute essentials.

  The guest list looked like a who’s-who of the celebrity world. That’s what happened when the bride owned the runways from Milan to New York and the groom had more money than he knew what to do with.

  Engrossed in table settings for five hundred guests, I didn’t hear anyone enter the office until someone cleared their throat about two feet away from me.

  “Yeah?”

  My abrupt ‘what can I do for you?’ didn’t make it past my lips as the darkest eyes I’d ever seen fixed on me with a penetrating stare that left me pinned like an amoeba under a microscope.

  “Hi. Cameron Lovell. I came past on the off chance someone would be working today and here you are.” He smiled and I learned what the attraction was besides his millions. He had a great smile. Potent. “I admire weekend diligence. You should come work for me.”

  Bet that would go down a treat with Amanda. Me ditching her for her ex.

  I closed his file. “What can I do for you, Mr. Lovell?”

  “Call me Cam.”

  “I’m Jazmyn. Is there something you wanted?”

  He ran a hand through his hair, an uncertain gesture that surprised me. Rich guys were never tentative. They had confidence to burn yet Cameron appeared rattled.

  “Could we get out o
f here and discuss it over coffee?”

  He glanced over his shoulder twice, as if he expected to be waylaid by Amanda at any moment.

  I should’ve shooed him into my cubicle and made him spill. But it was a beautiful spring day in Sydney, it was Saturday and my curiosity was piqued. Besides, I had to ensure this wedding went off without a hitch and if there were some kind of problem, Amanda would kill me if I didn’t work it through before the big day.

  “There’s a Starbucks on the corner?”

  “Perfect. Lead the way.”

  I picked up my handbag and stood, prickles of unease raising the fine hairs on my arms as he placed a hand in the small of my back and guided me toward the door.

  He was standing too close.

  It wasn’t anything overt but I didn’t like having my personal space invaded—unless I invited a guy to do it.

  I tried to ditch the hand as we hit the street but he stepped closer.

  Great, that’s all I frikkin’ needed, for the paparazzi to plaster an ugly photo of me across the tabloids. I could see the headlines now: SLOVENLY SLUT OUSTS TITILLATING TARA FROM CUTE CAMERON’S CLUTCHES. Tack-a-rama.

  I sidestepped and started walking quickly so he had no hope of getting too close. He fell into step beside me and I sped up, doing a weird half-jog/half-walk so he wouldn’t touch me.

  Thankfully, Starbucks wasn’t far and I almost vaulted two teenagers in an effort to grab the last table. A table with seats as far from each other as possible.

  “What’ll you have?”

  “Cappuccino please.”

  “Coming right up.” He touched my arm and I gritted my teeth. What was with the touchy-feely stuff?

  Perplexed, I watched him place our order at the counter. I wasn’t picking up flirting vibes from him but the standing too close and the hand touching? Weird.

  Last thing I needed was to get him offside, what with his wedding being my biggest coup yet. If I pulled off the perfect Lovell wedding, I’d be renowned in Sydney as the hostess-with-the-mostest. But if he kept touching me, I’d deck him, wedding or not.

  “Here you go.”

  He deposited my cappa on the table and to my horror he pulled his chair opposite to line up alongside mine.

  “By the file on your desk, I take it you’re the whiz organizing Tara’s extravaganza.”

  Not my wedding but Tara’s extravaganza. By the tone of his voice, he sounded like he’d rather skinny dip in a shark tank than get married.

  “It’s your wedding too,” I said, hoping my instincts were wrong. Was Cam getting cold feet? Goodbye commission, goodbye wedding planner of the century.

  “You think?” His bitterness confirmed it. I’d need to do some serious damage control.

  “Don’t tell me I’m putting in all these extra hours for nothing.” I aimed for levity, hoping he’d divulge what the hell was going on.

  “I’ll have to make sure you’re suitably compensated.” He sipped at his coffee, staring at me over the rim of the cup, and I resisted the urge to squirm. “You have great eyes.”

  Uh-oh. He’d entered into murky flirty territory.

  “Thanks.” I glanced away before he saw my distaste. “So, what’s this advice you need?”

  “It’s about the wedding.” He placed his cappuccino on the table. “How far has the agency got with the planning?”

  “We’re almost done. All that’s left is flowers and finalizing seating arrangements once the last RSVPs come in.”

  “Great.”

  By his frown, it wasn’t.

  “Is something wrong—?”

  “I want out.”

  With those three little words, my heart sank.

  Bye-bye promotion. Sayonara massive bonus.

  Playing it cool, I tipped a sugar into my coffee and stirred. “Of the wedding or the relationship?”

  “Both.”

  “I see.”

  I didn’t. Why had the richest guy in the country waited until now to ditch his fiancée and cancel the wedding?

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to the agency about, off the record.” He shook his head. “How difficult is it to stop proceedings at this late stage?”

  “You’ll have to talk to our CEO—”

  “I’d rather not.” Considering Amanda was his ex, I wasn’t surprised. “Mandy and I don’t get on too well these days.”

  I had a sneaking suspicion that would change once she heard her old flame was up for grabs again.

  “I can liaise with her, sort out the technicalities.” Though my head ached just thinking about what was involved in cancelling a wedding of this magnitude. “And we’ll need Tara’s agreement to stop proceedings before we can do anything.”

  “Not a problem.”

  By his pallor, it would be.

  He placed his hand on top of mine where it rested in my lap and I stiffened. “Thanks, you’ve been great.”

  He squeezed. I extricated my hand on the pretext of a sneeze. “Is that all?”

  “No.” He draped his arm across the back of my chair, his fingertips deliberately brushing my shoulder.

  Hell, what was he up to?

  His fingers edged along my sleeveless top, snagging on my bra strap. Yikes.

  “Would you like to have dinner with me?”

  “Are you freaking kidding me?” I stiffened like he’d prodded me with a thousand volts. “You’re hitting on me two seconds after I’ve agreed to help cancel your wedding?”

  His eyes narrowed and his lips compressed as I belatedly questioned the wisdom of yelling at Cameron Lovell, one of Australia’s corporate giants, in the middle of Starbucks on a Saturday afternoon.

  Rather than appearing daunted, he tried to kiss me to shut me up. Seriously.

  Appalled, I reacted without thinking. My elbow shot out and connected with his ribs in a satisfying thud.

  “Fuck.” He clutched at his side and stood, towering over me, anger twisting his mouth. “I could have you fired.”

  I shot to my feet and didn’t hesitate in going toe to toe with the arrogant sleaze ball. “Good luck with that.”

  He stared at me, gobsmacked, as I grabbed my bag and made a run for it.

  It wasn’t until I hit the street that I realized something.

  With the shit I’d been putting up with lately, his threat didn’t seem so scary.

  By the time I made it back to the office, I wanted to kill someone.

  Preferably every sleazy, Neanderthal guy who thought it was okay to cheat. Not only had I lost my biggest event ever, I’d have to explain to Amanda—omitting the part where the groom tried to stick his tongue down my throat.

  As I barged through the glass doors and headed for my cubbyhole, for the first time in ages I wondered what I was doing here. I usually loved my job. But I went through a philosophical stage every now and then, contemplating the wisdom of my life choices: my job, my apartment, my guy. Uh, I hadn’t managed to secure the last one yet.

  I glanced around at the cream shag, the minimalist chrome and glass desks and the crappy old coffee machine that produced sludge. Familiar and comforting suddenly held the appeal of a root canal performed by Edward Scissorhands.

  Maybe I needed a change? Aunt Flo and her crazy Love were looking more appealing by the minute.

  The moment I thought it, I knew I had to do something proactive to stop me chucking in my job and boarding a plane. I had upcoming weddings to finalize, a ton of quotes to do for next year’s spring weddings, venues to Google and a stack of invitations to dream up romantic drivel for.

  I kicked a pot plant on the way to my cubicle and would’ve kicked the water cooler too if Brody hadn’t stepped in front of me.

  “Hey, what’s up?”

  “You don’t want to know.” I tried to push past him but he snagged my hand, dragged me into his office and kicked the door shut.

  “I’ve never seen you this wound up.”

  That’s because he hadn’t seen me made a fool of by a young guy who’d
wanted to shag me on a bet. Hadn’t been on a mortifying speed dating dinner with the seven dwarves. Hadn’t been felt up by the richest guy in Australia who also happened to be the disgruntled groom of the wedding of the year.

  Yeah, I was wound up. In fact, wound up was a gross understatement. And in that moment, as I stared at my hand still being gripped by Brody, every crappy thing that had happened to me over the last month—make that year—coalesced.

  “Wound up doesn’t come close to how I’m feeling,” I said through gritted teeth, dragging in deep calming breaths that didn’t work. “Try fuming, incensed, super pissed.”

  “Why—”

  “Because Cameron frikkin’ Lovell has cancelled his wedding and celebrated by practically shoving his tongue down my throat.”

  Brody’s eyebrows shot up.

  “I’ve had a gutful of sleazy guys.”

  The corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement.

  “And my loony aunt wants me to travel to some crazy Love town to find my dream guy unless I find him before the end of the month.”

  “Is that all?” The corners of his mouth twitched. If he laughed I wouldn’t be responsible for my actions. “Cameron’s a prick. Hand over his file to someone else so you don’t have to deal with him again.”

  He took a step closer. “The guy thing? My mum told my sis she has to kiss a lot of frogs to find a prince, or some such crap.”

  Another step closer brought him within aftershave distance as a waft of something cool and crisp tickled my nose. “As for the problem with your aunt, why don’t you use a pretend boyfriend to get her off your back?”

  His calm logic riled me further.

  “Yeah? And where would I find one of those?”

  “I’ll do it.” He spoke so softly I thought I’d imagined his offer.

  “You?” I laughed, annoyed by the leap of my pulse. That’s all I needed, for my secret crush to become my fake boyfriend. “Yeah, right.”

  “You got a problem with that?” He gripped my upper arms and my heart jack-knifed.

  I’d seen Brody catatonic after Friday night drinks; I’d seen him casually teasing every Sunday. I’d never seen him look at me the way he was looking at me now.