Grabbing the tub of Jordan almond bundles in pink tulle, he follows me from setting to setting as I distribute the favors.
“Ha!” he barks out. “I texted you. Tried talking to you when you were here on Wednesday, and again yesterday. Not my fault you’re too chicken to spend five minutes alone with me. Besides, you were already assigned to the Henley brides. Connie and I just put a few details down in ink.”
I take a breath and try to rein in my emotions. It doesn’t work. “First, why would you need to put anything in ink? Second, your cryptic text that ‘we should talk’ the day after we had sex doesn’t exactly scream, ‘I’m hammering out some contract stuff that impacts your future.’”
What was I supposed to think? I may not be as proficient in the art of casual sex as he is, but I watch enough TV and movies to infer that’s a conversation I don’t need to have.
Jason blanches, dropping an f-bomb under his breath. But I’m not done. “And third, I’m not chicken, so get your ego in check.”
I was totally chicken and flustered. The first time his name came up on my phone, I nearly dropped it in the sink. And when I saw that text—yes, I was disappointed. And then embarrassed and a little hurt, but I figured I had no one to blame but myself. I’ve been on the receiving end of Jason’s mixed messages before. I know better.
Turns out, I was completely off base. That text wasn’t Jason making sure we were “good” or whatever he was going to say to make sure I didn’t get the wrong idea. It was about business.
So now we can add quietly mortified and pissed to the list of all the things I’ve been since last weekend too.
“Look, Jason, I’m busy. You might have noticed it’s June. High season. I don’t have a lot of free time right now.”
“Why didn’t you stay Saturday? I was hoping we could talk.”
I stumble but catch myself with a grumble. Because what kind of question is that?
“About this contract?” I meet Jason with a level look. “I’ve told you before, I don’t want to work for you. You knew that.”
He makes one of those masculine sounds of frustration behind me.
Welcome to the club, buddy.
Only then, he steps closer. Close enough to run his fingers against the back of my arm. I look at him, irritated by how good it feels. By how it makes me want more. And most of all, irritated because I don’t like the idea that Jason might be exploiting an attraction to smooth my ruffled feathers. Distract me from my mad with hinted possibilities.
Don’t think about the possibilities!
“That contract doesn’t change things between us,” he says quietly. “You don’t work for me. I’m not responsible for a review or anything else.”
No. But it did underscore what his primary objective was with me. And I just feel… a little disappointed and vulnerable in a way I’m not a huge fan of feeling. “Jason, you wanted to ensure the Henley brides have the most positive experience possible. You signed a contract to get it. Now get out of my hair and let me make sure you get what you were after.”
He stops while I continue to move around the table, the look on his face one of deep concern.
“Laine, that text was a mistake. I didn’t mean it the way—”
The door swings open, and Sherilyn, one of my Blissful Brides assistants, hustles in, purple hair pulled back into a neat knot, face flushed, eyes bright and excited. “I’m back, I’m back. Plumber arrived and Harry says they’ve got it handled.”
“That’s a relief, but are you sure you don’t need to be there? We can manage just fine without you.” I can definitely get another set of hands in here.
She smiles sweetly and, taking the tub from Jason, starts working her way around the table. “My dad’s going to stop over too, so we’re good. I appreciate it, though.”
Jason is still standing there watching me, but I’m not ready for the conversation he wants to have. Not yet. “Sherilyn, since you’ve got this, I’m going to go check in with Lisa and Missy. Jason, thanks for your help. Have a good afternoon.”
“I’ll find you later,” he says with a hard scowl.
I have no doubt he will.
I offer my most professional, totally insincere smile, knowing he’ll see right through it. The tightening of his jaw satisfies me on a level that maybe it shouldn’t, but that’s what he gets for blindsiding me.
Three hours later, the sunset ceremony has gone off without a hitch and I’m watching the photographer snap the last group shots of the wedding party in the rooftop rose garden. I’ve just come back from checking the ballroom where the final presentation is immaculate. The kitchen confirmed the count for the meals. The cake is behind ropes. And the freshly minted Mr. and Mrs. can’t stop beaming at each other. They can’t stop touching. They can’t stop laughing at whatever quiet private jokes they’re sharing. This is the kind of day that lures the romantics into the wedding industry. The kind of day where it’s easy to believe in true love and forever. To want it for yourself.
The photographer calls for a shot, and the bride and groom stare at each other with unabashed adoration. These two wouldn’t have cared if the cake had been a Sara Lee. They wouldn’t have cared if the flowers smelled like swamp. All that mattered to them was being together. Couples like this make romance contagious and I can’t help but wonder how many of their friends will be signing up for the big show next June. Quite a few, I suspect.
A prickle of awareness washes over me and I turn to find Jason walking my way, wearing a light gray suit I’ve reluctantly admired on him before. The lake breeze plays in the strands of his dark hair as he nods toward the couple. “Looks like you’ve got a winner this week.”
He’s irritatingly handsome standing against the evening sky, and I almost ask him if he’s simply incapable of leaving me alone. Except, then I think about the way he looked at me this afternoon, like I was the one missing something.
I think about the way it used to be with us. Before that night at the bar. The easy conversation and comfortable companionship, the way we’d laugh for hours. We’d been friends. And yes, I’d thought there was more, but damn, that friendship had been good. It meant something to me.
After, it wasn’t all Jason either. He pulled back, no doubt. But I’d been so embarrassed. So hurt. And then, it was just different. Him avoiding me. Me avoiding him.
Me antagonizing him.
Him frustrating me when as abruptly as things ended with us, he was back. Acting like we were still friends. Like nothing had changed.
Like maybe he missed the way we were too.
Or maybe not, but tonight, I think I’d like to believe in the possibility.
“Absolutely a winner this week. Just keep your bellboys away from the cake. These two deserve the one they ordered.”
Jason stops at my side, leaving a bare inch of space between us. An inch that’s immediately swallowed up when he leans in close to my ear. “I’ll admit a part of me wouldn’t be opposed to another ‘accident.’ But that might be a hard sell two weeks in a row.”
My cheeks flush warm, and heat unfurls low in my belly. First, at his casual reference to interest in a repeat of last week. Then second, recalling our flimsy excuse: my heel breaking, causing me to fall into the cake while accidently knocking Jason in with me.
I cut him a sidelong look. “You think your guys believed it?”
Rubbing at the back of his neck, he at least has the decency to look away. But even the sliver of his guilty smile is too potent to endure. “No one called me a liar to my face.”
I can’t help but laugh, watching as the bride and groom ruin a picture by falling into a kiss that spurs a round of cheers from the wedding party.
“These two have got it right,” he says, stepping in close so his body blocks the breeze and his chest warms my shoulders. “Today’s about love for them. These are the couples I like to watch.”
“Yeah, me too. They didn’t stop smiling through the entire ceremony, even laughed at one point, some
small joke between them. Made everyone feel like falling in love.”
The photographer is done, and when the happy couple looks my way, I raise a hand and start toward them. I only miss one step when I catch Jason’s parting words— “Maybe everyone should.”
Jason
After leaving Laine to the reception, I head back to my office to take care of some long-overdue business. I should have had a drink first, but sharp senses are probably better for this one. Leaning forward in my office chair, elbows resting on my knees, I yank at my hair with one hand while the other fists the phone at my ear.
I fucking hate this. I don’t want to have to think about the woman whose slow, sultry voice pours through the line like acid into my ear.
“What do you want?” comes her lightly accented demand.
“You know what I want, Sophia. Don’t play games with me.”
“Well… you knew what I wanted, but I didn’t get it, now did I?”
I sit up and spin my chair to face the back wall of my office. “How’s Enrique?”
“Who?”
A long pull on a thin cigarette filters through the line, conjuring a million unwanted memories. I wait her out.
“Oh, of course. Enrique. I barely remember his name.” She hums. “It seems he meant more to you than to me.”
My fists ball, and I close my eyes before replying. “Sophia, think of this as a business opportunity.”
Another drag and a short laugh. “But, Jason, I always have.”
If my molars survive this conversation it will be a miracle. Even now she has power over me. It infuriates me that she maintains that control—that she can influence my emotions in the slightest way.
Closing my eyes, I think about Laine. About the taste of her lips and the sound of her laugh. It makes everything better.
My fists relax and, leaning back in my chair, I let go of my anger. “Good. If it’s business, we should have no problem coming to an agreement.”
Following some debate, we work out a time and set up a meeting. I disconnect the call and pull up the photo I shouldn’t have on my phone. It’s Laine leaning against a pillar in the lobby. She’s watching one of her brides kiss the groom before they left the hotel last year.
Dil totally busted me taking it, and the shit he gave me was relentless, but I’ve got zero regrets.
The smile on her face is sweet and wistful, and it makes me feel like a fool for waiting this long to go after her. I flip to the one I caught of her from last week with cake and frosting everywhere. This smile isn’t sweet or wistful, it’s challenging and hot and maybe a little threatening. But instead of demanding I delete it, she’d just laughed, rolling her eyes when I turned the screen to show her.
I fucked up with her that night in the bar. So bad. I realized I was in over my head and freaked out. Pulled away when I should have pulled her into my arms and held on tight. But I didn’t trust it.
I was so stupid, thinking a little time to reset was all we’d need. Not sure how to go back to the way we’d been before toeing over the line. And then going fucking crazy each week when I saw her but couldn’t be with her.
When she wouldn’t give me her sass and the only smile she had for me was the plastic one that was worse than getting the finger.
But then one day it happened. She stopped pretending I wasn’t there. The shit she gave me was just some offhand crack about nothing… only it felt like something. Like a second chance. Like maybe a way back to being friends. Because Laine can’t back down from a fight. She loves to dish it. And so I left every door open. I egged her on and baited her back into engagement.
Working out a plan of baby steps to fix what I broke.
Get her to fight with me.
Get her to smile for me.
Get her to forgive me.
Get her to fall for me.
We aren’t back to where we were that night in the bar, but I have to believe we can get there again.
She didn’t take me seriously last week when I asked her out. And even after she’d let me into her body in the prep room, she didn’t seem any closer to letting me past her guard. And now this goddamned contract. It’s just the latest fuck-up in what feels like an endless string with this girl.
Christ, why can’t I stop?
The only thing I know for sure is that this time I’m not giving up. I want Laine. And I’ll do whatever it takes, for as long as it takes to convince her to take a chance on me.
Chapter 5
Laine
My work is done.
The dinner, the toasts, the cake, and the first dance—everything went off without a hitch. Slumping back in my seat at the table closest to the service doors in the ballroom, I reach for the flute of champagne that’s been waiting for two hours. It’s flat and warm, but it doesn’t matter, I’m ready to toast myself for a day without flaw.
My fingers no more than graze the glass when it’s swept out of reach and another fizzing flute is presented.
“Nothing worse than flat champagne,” Jason drawls, pulling the empty chair beside me closer and dropping into it before meeting me with the possessive, sexy stare I wish I could stop thinking about.
“I guess you’re my hero.”
“Glad you finally noticed. Have a sip of that bubbly and then take a spin around the dance floor with me. They’re playing our song.”
I pause with the flute halfway to my lips. But what the hell. After savoring a long, sweet sip of champagne significantly better than what’s being served, I offer my hand to Jason and allow him to escort me onto the floor. With a smooth sweep of his arm, he circles me into his chest and holds me close as the band covers “You Are the Best Thing.”
His big body is solid against my own, and the gentle press and pull of his warm palm against the small of my back is affecting me in all those old infuriating ways. His touch makes my skin tingle and the masculine scent of his cologne hits me like a drug.
There’s a tension low in my belly that’s hot, achy, and distracting me from rational thought.
“Are you still mad about the contract with Connie?”
My shoulders stiffen. Is that why he’s following me around? I sigh, because whatever the answer is, it doesn’t matter. “It bothers me, but I’m not mad.”
The hand at my back firms and he shakes his head. “Laine, for what it’s worth, I was trying to help. After what happened last weekend—the wedding falling through, not the fun stuff—I wanted to remind Connie of what a valuable asset she had. That’s all. But I’m sorry I didn’t wait until I had a chance to talk to you first.”
That’s the thing about Jason. He’s a good guy. Loyal and well intentioned.
We continue to move to the slow song, our bodies closer than two professionals would probably dance, but there’s more between us than a job. Especially after “the fun stuff” from last weekend.
“I shouldn’t have dodged you all week.”
“Why did you?”
“Look, I know what happened last weekend was a casual thing. And I’m totally good with that. But it’s not something I have a lot of experience with, and I just—I just thought it would be easier to sort of reinforce the whole one-time thing with a little distance between us.”
The song ends and I move to step away, but Jason’s hold on me stays firm. “No way. I’ve been waiting all week to get this close to you.” A Michael Bublé song is next, and after the first strains, Jason searches my eyes. “Do you want what happened to be a one-time thing?”
I lose step, but he’s got me. Pulling me in closer to keep us in time.
I should. I mean, it would be a lot safer to stick to the plan.
Jason’s interest can flip on a dime. His agenda is the driving force behind everything he says and does. And most of all, I can’t trust that I’m reading what he wants or how he feels accurately—because I’ve been wrong before.
After a beat, I ask, “You don’t?”
“Not even remotely.” When I blink at him, he laug
hs, pulling me closer to murmur in my ear. “Come upstairs with me, and I’ll show you exactly what I want.”
I shiver. My heart beats faster, and a needy heat unfurls deep in my center.
“Jason…” I don’t know what to say and it’s infuriating because a year ago I wouldn’t have thought twice before answering him. I would have been all in. But now, I second-guess everything. I don’t know how I feel about being this close to him because my body feels one way and my mind is pretty sure it’s a mistake. My heart just wants to beat it the hell out of there before it has the chance to get trampled.
“On the fence about leaving with me?” He adjusts the hand holding mine so his thumb is stroking back and forth in a soothing caress.
And damn if that simple touch doesn’t have every traitorous nerve in my body standing up and straining to get in on the action. Thoughts of last Saturday tease past my defenses. The not-quite-gentle touch, the taste of his kiss, the way he moved inside me.
God, even if this is the worst idea in the world, I don’t think I can pass it up.
Stepping out of Jason’s hold, I take a steadying breath. “Let me say goodbye.”
It takes less than ten minutes for me to wrap things up.
I’m officially off duty as I walk out of the ballroom to find Jason waiting for me on the other side. He slides his phone into the pocket of his suit pants and rests a hand lightly at my back for the short walk to the elevators.
A few guests are milling in the open area outside the ballroom, cocktails in hand, smiles on their faces. It’s a good way to end the event, and a good way to keep my focus from the man walking silently beside me.
But all too soon we’re stepping into an empty elevator and there’s nothing to distract me from what we’re doing.
He wants more than one night… but it’s still just sex, right?
“I can hear you thinking,” he says from close enough behind me that I can feel the heat from his body radiating into mine, his breath against my ear.
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