by Maggie Way
“I have a press pass,” an unfamiliar man said, shoving his badge in Luke’s face. He was tall and beefy, and muscles bulged the arms of his poorly tailored suit.
“Who are you with?” Luke yanked the badge out of the man’s hand, then tossed it aside in disgust. “A tabloid? Who let you in?”
“France seems like an obvious choice for a destination wedding,” Press Pass said. “Toujour is headquartered there, and it’s rumored you own an apartment in the city.”
“Leave now, or security will escort you out,” Luke said.
Zoey would drag the man out herself if she had to. Anger boiled within, and she struggled to push her way through the crowd.
“It looks like you’ve put on a little weight, Brooke,” Press Pass said. “Are you waiting until after the baby to announce a date?”
Brooke’s hands flew to her flat stomach, and Zoey gasped. Her heels were glued to the cobblestone, and she couldn’t make herself move.
Luke grabbed Press Pass by the lapels, but the bulky man didn’t even blink.
“My sources say your ex-fiancé was in town a few months ago on business. Are you sure the baby isn’t his?” Press Pass asked.
Luke pulled back his fist, and Brooke shrieked, grabbing Luke’s arm. Zoey pushed aside a woman in a sequined dress, fighting her way to her best friend.
“Hit me,” Press Pass said. “I’d love to file charges against you.”
Zoey let out a growl, nudging another person aside. Luke would hit Press Pass if he didn’t shut up.
A man broke through the crowd, his back ramrod straight and his suit perfectly pressed without so much as a wrinkle. The whites of his eyes stood out in the chocolate of his skin, curly black hair cropped close to his head.
Mitch. Luke’s personal assistant-slash-best man. Zoey’s kryptonite.
Relief flooded Zoey—Mitch always knew how to handle the press—followed immediately by annoyance at his lack of faith in everyone but himself. A radio was already in his hand, efficient as always.
Zoey had admired that efficiency when he’d kissed her breathless in a quiet corner of a restaurant all those months ago. She’d love the way he’d commanded that moment.
She forced her lips into a scowl and pushed the memory away. She’d been an idiot to let that happen.
“Security’s on their way,” Mitch said, placing a steady hand on Luke’s arm. “Don’t do it, man.”
Luke shoved Press Pass away, and he laughed. Brooke wrapped her arms around Luke, her eyes luminescent with tears.
Three weeks until the wedding. There was no way they’d be able to keep the exact date and location a secret for another twenty-one days.
Two burly men in suits pushed through the crowd, their ferocious glares screaming security. They dwarfed Mitch, with his lanky frame and perpetually youthful face. Not that his arms had felt lanky when holding her tight. They’d felt strong and capable and oh-so-good.
“Your people are the ones who let me in here,” Press Pass protested as the security guards each grasped an arm.
“And now we’re withdrawing our permission,” Mitch said in that obnoxiously calm voice.
Press Pass let out a growl, his face bright red and shiny from perspiration. He yanked his arms free and stomped away, the security guards following close on his heels.
“Are you okay?” Zoey asked Brooke, pulling her in for a tight hug.
Brooke nodded, leaning into Luke. “He kept following me.”
“I’m taking Brooke inside.” Luke wrapped a protective arm around her. “Put him on the black list immediately.”
Mitch nodded, pulling out his phone. “I’m on it.”
Anger coursed through Zoey as she watched Luke lead Brooke away. She folded her arms and glared at Mitch. “Way to go, Best Man. How’d he get on the guest list?”
“Luke’s secretary went over it, not me. I won’t make that mistake again.” Mitch neatly placed his phone back in his pocket.
“I thought making sure the paps stayed clear was part of your job.”
“After tonight, I’m adding it to the description.”
“Well, isn’t that fantastic.” Zoey tossed back the rest of her champagne and set the glass on the tray of a passing waiter. Her purse slipped, falling down her arm and clattering to the cobblestone, right in front of Mitch.
Mitch bent to grab it, but someone else was already crouched near the floor, scooping up the small beaded bag.
“Beautiful women shouldn’t have to pick things up from the floor,” he said with a handsome smile, handing her the purse. He was perhaps ten years her senior, his dark hair dusted with gray, but in a way that looked intentional and not a result of age. It suited him.
“Thank you,” Zoey said, taking the purse back. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mitch fold his arms and glare at the man.
Zoey already wanted to get to know him better.
“Hi,” he said, holding out a hand. “I’m Alan.”
“Zoey,” she said, accepting his handshake. It was strong and firm, almost painfully so.
“That was crazy a minute ago, huh? I imagine the press is eager for even a moment with the happy couple these days.”
“Even if they have to lie their way into a party to get it,” Zoey agreed. She felt the burn from Mitch’s gaze, but stubbornly refused to look in his direction.
Alan’s eyes flicked over her figure, then gave a slow smile. “I’d lie my way into a party if it meant meeting you.”
Zoey laughed, putting a flirtatious hand on Alan’s jacket. The fabric was thin and a little coarse, which meant he probably wasn’t as wealthy as her usual type. But he was bold, and she liked that in a man.
She hoped Mitch was watching.
“You flatter me,” Zoey said.
“Not at all. I mean, look at you. Absolutely gorgeous.”
Zoey laughed again, peering up at him from underneath her lashes. “You’re not so bad looking yourself.”
“You work at that matchmaking firm with Brooke, don’t you? I recognize you from the papers.”
“You keep that close an eye on them?”
“No, but yours is a face I’d be hard-pressed to forget. Rumor has it you’re the maid of honor.”
“I don’t know how honorable I am.”
Alan threw back his head and laughed. “Witty. I like that in a woman. How about I buy you dinner? Maybe this weekend?”
Mitch’s hand landed on Zoey’s arm, his dark skin standing out against her lighter coloring. She felt a surge of satisfaction followed almost immediately by annoyance.
“Zoey, do you have a minute? I wanted to discuss a few things with you.” Mitch towed her away from Alan before she had a chance to protest.
“I’ll catch up with you later,” Alan called.
Zoey gave a little wave, then glared at Mitch.
“What are you doing?” Zoey hissed.
“That guy is clearly a reporter.”
“Oh, puh-lease.” She yanked her arm from his hand. Was Mitch that jealous, or just that distrusting? “Could you be any more paranoid? You saw what just happened to Press Guy. There is no way a pap would stick around after seeing that.”
“Sticking around is exactly what he would do. Your guard’s down, and he can sense it.”
“You are clinically insane.”
“Don’t you find it suspicious that he immediately brought up the wedding?”
“Did you not just see Press Pass led away by two angry-looking security guards? Of course he brought it up. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I was just about to agree to a date.”
“Wait. I wanted to finalize the plans for Brooke’s bridal shower. It’s Friday. That’s only three days away.”
The condescension in Mitch’s voice had her eyes rolling. “Yeah, I’m aware.”
Mitch looked around, as though making sure no one would overhear, then leaned forward and lowered his voice. “The Bibbidi Bobbidi Boutique will be ready for you at seven o’clock, and your dinner reser
vation is at Club 33 for eight-thirty. The limo will start pickups at five, beginning at yours and Brooke’s apartment.”
She heard the thinly veiled disapproval in Mitch’s voice, and wondered what he disliked more—the childishness of a bridal shower at Disneyland, the amount of money being spent, or the fact that Luke was funding everything, even though it was technically Zoey’s duty as maid of honor.
“Sounds great,” Zoey said. When Luke offered to foot the bill, she’d agreed without blinking. Brooke deserved the royal treatment. The bridal shower Zoey had planned was fun and relaxed—absolutely perfect for Brooke—and the price tag was pocket change for Luke, but six months’ wages for Zoey.
“I wanted to re-confirm the guest list. I have you down for eleven.” Mitch pulled a mini tablet out of an inside jacket pocket and flipped it open, pulling out a stylus. Zoey rolled her eyes. In the beginning, his uptight nature had seemed like a challenge—one she apparently hadn’t been up to.
“Twelve,” Zoey corrected. Alan stood at the bar, his back to her, but she sensed he was waiting for her to join him. “Someone else RSVPed.”
Mitch lowered his stylus. “When did you find that out?”
“A few days ago. I forgot to mention it.”
“It takes two seconds to send a text.”
Zoey crossed her arms as goosebumps prickled her flesh. Why, out of all the men in the world, did Mitch affect her so? “Sorry.”
He took a deep breath, closing his eyes for half a second. She knew he was trying to find his center, whatever the heck that meant. “I’ll call the boutique and club and see if we can change the reservations.”
“I’m sure they can squeeze another chair around the table.”
He drew his lips into a thin line. “I’ll let you know if there are any issues.”
“Why don’t you ever say what you’re really thinking?”
“I’d better make sure security got rid of the impostor.”
Zoey took a step closer, until their noses were practically touching. In heels, she could look him straight in the eye. “Just say it, Mitch.”
“Fine. It was inconsiderate of you not to notify me as soon as you were aware of the change. Now I’ll spend the drive home making calls instead of responding to emails, and you’ve inconvenienced both the boutique and the restaurant.”
“The phone calls will take you two minutes. I’ll make them myself, if you’d like.”
“Luke asked me to take care of it.”
But she heard the unspoken truth—he didn’t trust her to take care of it.
“It’s just a chair, Mitch. One extra person. A pretty slender one at that.”
“I’d better make those calls.” He motioned his head toward Alan, who quickly looked away and focused on his drink. “Be careful with that one, Zoey.”
She clasped her hands together and gave a simpering sigh. “I’m so glad you said that. My first instinct was to get drunk and spill all Brooke and Luke’s secrets, but now I’ll keep it to the one glass of champagne.”
Mitch closed his eyes—probably praying for patience. “I’ll let you know if there are any issues.”
Zoey watched Mitch stride through the crowd, his steps confident and sure. She understood why he had to make the arrangements. Club 33 was members-only, and Mitch had access to Luke’s membership information and credit cards. But she would be so glad when this wedding was over, and they could finally part ways.
Three weeks, she reminded herself. Just three short weeks until Brooke and Luke said “I do.” The deadline loomed before her, large and intimidating. Three weeks until she no longer needed to have contact with Mitch. Only a few short days until Brooke would pack up her half of the apartment and head to France for the final wedding preparations.
Maybe the press would go away and Zoey could finally admit she was quitting when Brooke got back from her honeymoon.
Zoey pushed all those concerns out of her mind. Live in the now, she reminded herself. Worrying about what would happen in a few days, or even a few hours, didn’t benefit anyone.
She strode over to the bar, standing close enough to Alan that their shoulders brushed.
“You came back,” he said.
“I couldn’t let you suffer through this party alone.”
He raised an eyebrow and took a sip of his Manhattan. “And bless you for that. What are you drinking?”
“A rum and Coke,” she told the bartender, who nodded. She leaned forward, letting her fingers skitter over the back of Alan’s hand. Mitch was so wrong about him. And she would prove it. “Now, I believe you were asking me out when we were interrupted.”
“There is literally nothing that would give me more pleasure. How about Friday night?”
“Can’t.” She gave a delicate shrug, one she knew drove men wild. “I’ve already got plans.”
“Not with another guy, I hope.”
She grinned. It had taken all night, but finally, she’d found a man who knew how to flirt. “A night out with the girls.”
“Clubbing?”
“Disneyland.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “I knew there was a reason I liked you. How about Saturday night, eight o’clock?”
“It’s a date.”
Chapter Two
Mitch leaned back in his chair, glancing at the ninety-six emails he still had to wade through before calling it quits for the night. He was leaving for Paris with Brooke and Luke on Sunday, and he wanted to get as much work done as possible before then. Which meant that Friday night meant nothing because he wouldn’t have a weekend. Again.
He’d thought life was busy when he became Luke’s personal assistant two years ago, but Luke hadn’t been CEO back then. In the nine months since Luke’s—and by default, Mitch’s—promotion, “busy” had taken on a whole new meaning. Mitch’s official job description was to enable Luke to do his job as CEO. That translated to anything from managing the media, to taking Luke’s phone calls, to dealing with his fiancée’s bridal shower.
Of course, all Luke had really asked was that Mitch pay any bills Zoey sent with Luke’s card. But Mitch had worked hard to foster a reputation as a professional, and he wasn’t about to let Zoey ruin it with her sloppily planned bridal shower. She certainly hadn’t complained when he offered to take care of all the reservations.
The last-minute RSVP had thrown him, and he’d been annoyed for three straight days, even though the boutique and club had been nice about it. He really hoped Zoey had everything under control for tonight. He’d taken care of all the details, but that still left a lot to chance. And when Zoey was involved, things rarely went smoothly.
Too bad he couldn’t attend the shower and keep an eagle eye on things.
Zoey was a whirlwind, pulling everyone into her schemes in a flurry of energy and excitement. She was everything he wasn’t—charismatic, bubbly, spontaneous. After they first met, he’d found himself making excuses to talk to her, and for a while, he’d thought she was as drawn to him as he was to her.
When she’d dragged him into a dark corner at the restaurant and pulled him in for a kiss, he’d been certain there was something special between them.
Until he caught her kissing another man the very next day. The message had come through loud and clear—Zoey wasn’t a serious girl, and any relationship with her would be purely superficial.
Mitch pushed Zoey out of his mind and focused on the email. His cell buzzed, and he picked it up, glancing at the text from his bank. His sister Jasmine’s tuition check for UCLA had been refunded. He set the phone down and returned to the email.
Wait. Jasmine’s tuition check had been refunded?
He grabbed the phone, rereading the text. It had to be a mistake. School started in just a few weeks. He quickly dialed the bank, knowing Luke wouldn’t mind if he took time out for this. Mitch had only been nineteen when his mother passed away, leaving her children orphaned and Mitch the legal guardian of his three younger siblings.
Jasmi
ne was the youngest at only nineteen now, and just about to start her sophomore year of college. Mitch worried about her more than Quincy and Aliyah combined. Jasmine lacked direction and focus—a trait she shared with Zoey—but he’d finally convinced her to give college a try, and she’d survived her freshman year with a decent GPA.
A quick call to the bank confirmed the refund wasn’t a mistake, at least not on their end. He located the university’s finance office number and called them next. Five minutes later, he hung up the phone and pressed his fingers to his lips, feeling the shock and anger pulse through him like a heartbeat.
Jasmine had withdrawn from school. And knowing his sister, it wasn’t just a semester off, but a permanent change of plans.
He picked up the rake from his desktop Zen garden and ran it through the sand in quick, angry motions. His baby sister would spend the next fifty years slaving away at some minimum-wage job, unable to advance, because she didn’t understand how important a college education was. She didn’t remember how hard it had been after their mom died, because Mitch had shielded her from it. She hadn’t been the one who had lain awake at night, wondering how they’d buy food for the next week, hoping the power wouldn’t get shut off, praying they wouldn’t be evicted. He’d taken it all on himself, and now she’d dropped out, because she didn’t understand.
Mitch let out a growl and threw the rake across the room. It hit the wall and bounced off, landing on the carpeted floor with an unsatisfying thud.
Jasmine had been hesitant to go to college, and it had taken some fast talking to convince her to come back for her sophomore year. But he’d helped her find a small apartment close to campus, and she seemed excited the last time they spoke.
Why hadn’t she talked to him before making such a life-altering choice?
He thought of his mother, working herself into the grave to provide a better future for them. The five-gallon jug of change he’d found hidden in the back of her closet after her death, with a sticker that said “college fund” taped to the outside. She’d probably spent years saving the coins, and it had amounted to less than one semester of tuition.