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“I’m really not in the mood to get dressed up and go out.”
“Okay, then I’ll cook dinner for you.”
I asked, “Do you actually know how to cook?”
“Not even a little, but I can probably figure it out.”
I didn’t know why he was trying so hard. “It’s okay. I really just want to get started on these invitations, so there’s less to do tomorrow.”
“If you insist.”
He sat back down on the corner of the desk and pulled the stack of wedding invitations from the box, and I asked, “What are you doing?”
“Helping you. It’ll go quicker if we work together,” he said.
“Yeah, but this is literally what you’re paying me for, to deal with stuff like this so you don’t have to.”
“Whatever. Let’s see who invited me to their wedding.” He looked at the first invitation and frowned. “This guy’s a douche. We made one movie together, and all he did was criticize my acting. I’m definitely declining the invitation, and I also really don’t feel like sending him a nice gift. Does that make me look like an ass, though?”
I pulled a pad of paper and a pen from the desk drawer as I told him, “I know what you can do instead. What’s your favorite charity?”
“There are tons of great ones. Right now though, I’m in love with this wolf conservation center in upstate New York.”
“That’s perfect. For every wedding invitation, we’ll donate money in the couple’s name to the wolf rescue. Then we’ll let the couple know about the donation when we return the RSVP.”
“Great idea.” He jotted down the couple’s name on the pad of paper, then looked at the next invitation and said, “Oh hell no. I slept with both the bride and groom, so talk about awkward.” He glanced at me and added, “Years apart, in case you’re wondering. No way am I going to this wedding.”
“Okay. Add them to the donation list.”
He flipped through the stack and said, “The only upcoming wedding I actually want to attend is Will Kandinsky’s, but he and Lorenzo haven’t sent an invitation yet.”
“That should be arriving soon. Their wedding’s in about two months, and I know they’re scrambling to get everything done on short notice.”
He asked, “Will you please be my date to their wedding?”
“Yeah. I mean, I’m going anyway because Will’s a good friend, but sure.” Okay, that had been a pretty lackluster response. But as much as I wanted to be his date to our friends’ wedding, I was sure he’d move on from whatever we were doing by then.
Harper chuckled and said, “That was remarkably unenthusiastic.” He picked up the coffee mug as he continued, “I know you’ll also be getting an invitation to Will’s wedding, but my point is, I want us to go together.”
“No!” I snatched the cup out of his hand when he went to take a sip from it and ended up sloshing some coffee onto his jeans.
“No, you don’t want us to go together, or no you don’t want to share your coffee with me?” Some of it had spilled onto his fingers, and he looked amused as he wiped his hand on his thigh.
“Yes, I’ll be your date to Will’s wedding, and no, don’t drink that. Buddy lapped up some of the coffee when I put it down for a minute, so it’s probably full of dog slobber.”
“Thanks for saving me from the slobber. I’ll go get us some more coffee, but let me finish looking through these invitations first.” He glanced at them one at a time and muttered, “No. Definitely not. Oh hell no,” as he dealt them onto the desk like playing cards.
“Got it. Seventeen nos, zero yeses. Same donation for each of them?”
“Yeah, let’s do a thousand dollars each to the wolves.”
“So…seventeen thousand dollars.”
He got up and grabbed the mug. “Actually, round it up to twenty grand, because seventeen sounds stingy. I’ll be right back.”
I’d probably never get used to the way wealthy people regarded money. I was happy it was going to a good cause, but it still stunned me that he’d spend that much like it was nothing.
I finished the list of couples so the donations could be made in their name, and then I started on the RSVP cards. “Regrettably, Mr. Royce will be unable to attend your wedding because he hates you, slept with you, or both, but he sends his regards,” I muttered, while I wrote a perfectly polite message on the cards.
I’d gotten through half of them by the time Harper returned. He was naked, except for a red apron, and he was carrying a plate covered with a silver cloche. “I forgot the coffee,” he said, “but I made us some dinner.” He carefully set the tray on the desk, then removed the metal lid with a flourish to reveal two martinis and two slightly mangled-looking grilled cheese sandwiches.
