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“Honestly, I expected you to sleep with your fake fiancée,” Damon admitted.
“Disgusting,” I said, making an effort to sound as affronted as possible. “Some of us have values. Honor. Standards. I could go on, but I don’t think a brute like you would even understand.”
Damon gave Chelsea a look like he was waiting for permission to pummel me. She shook her head and he sighed. “Would you just promise to keep your hands off the wedding planner? I don’t care if you end up sleeping with Mindy. But the wedding planner is off limits. Do you understand?”
“I understand what you’re saying.”
“And you agree to stay away from her?”
“I agree it’s important that I do my best not to let the obvious sexual tension between the wedding planner and I develop into a beautiful, sensual, orgasm-filled experience.”
Damon’s hands gripped the fabric of the sofa, making the leather creak. “Chris…”
“I got it, I got it. Dick in my pants. I promise.”
And that was the moment my brain decided to remind me how much trouble I could get into while my dick was firmly in my pants, but I didn’t feel like amending my promise, either.10BelleI tried to juggle the flower samples I was carrying and the book of fabric cutouts as I shoved open the door. My life had become a frenzied chaos of planning for what was easily the biggest wedding of my career.
Worse, every single time I’d set up a meeting with Chris and Mindy, she came up with a last-minute excuse and didn’t show. Frankly, I was worried for the health of their relationship. I’d never worked with a bride who wasn’t practically an hour early to all our meetings and filled with bubbly excitement. It was supposed to be her big day. Her biggest day. And yet I’d only seen the woman at our first meeting. It was strange, to say the least.
Aside from the obvious issue of trying to plan a wedding with only the groom’s input, it also meant Chris and I were spending way too much time by ourselves. In some weird, twisted way, it was even starting to feel like I was planning my own wedding, since Chris’ default position was, “whatever you think is best.”
A well-dressed waiter led me inside the restaurant where I was meeting Chris and Mindy. The whole dining room was circled by a massive aquarium that must’ve been fifteen feet tall. Colorful fish swam through brightly colored plants. A man in a scuba suit floated over my head with a net in his hand.
My business over the last few years had made me into something of a financial success. I could shop at the grocery store without worrying if I was buying the cheapest brands. I could eat out without crunching my budget. I could even splurge on first-class seats when I had particularly long flights ahead of me. But Chris existed in a world of money that was several leagues above my own. Everything was glitzy, top-dollar, and frankly a little fascinating.
It was like a whole subculture. There was the waitstaff of every kind, the hangers-ons who didn’t come from money, but were hoping to screw their way in from the looks of it. It was an entirely different world I’d never had access to before now.
This restaurant was just one example. Normally, you needed to book reservations almost a year in advance to get a table, but I guess the Chris Roses of the world were worth bumping someone’s reservation back for.
The gimmick of the restaurant was that you could literally watch them catch your dinner, and even though it had sounded silly on the website, in practice… I had to admit it was impressive.
Everything inside the dining room was bathed in dark blue, shifting light from the water.
Unsurprisingly, I found Chris sitting by himself at a table right against the glass of the fish tank. He was tipping back his drink but spotted me mid-sip and gave a lazy little salute.
I set all my things down on the table and sighed. “Mindy?”
“Take a guess.”
I sighed. By now, I’d honestly expected as much, but I was still annoyed. “Make sure she understands the majority of these choices we’re making are time-sensitive and permanent. She’s not going to be able to come in a week before the wedding and say she hates everything purple, or that she’s allergic to tulips.”
“I’d have to talk to her to do that.”
“What does that even mean? Are you two fighting or something?”
Chris was dressed well in a suit and tie. It even looked like he might’ve tried to approach his hair with a comb, but his wild, dirty blond mane was already going where it pleased.
Chris always looked good, but something about the blue light rippling over his chiseled face and eyes was mesmerizing. I had to force myself to look just a couple inches over his head to avoid sinking into fantasy land, which I’d learned was an occupational hazard around him.
