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Tell that to my immune system. It’s not taking calls. Also, I think I might be patient zero for the zombie apocalypse. If I bite anyone, shoot me in the head. Unless it’s Callan. Then just let nature take its course.

I groaned, dropping my head into my hands. The Manhattan Wedding Professionals Expo was one of the biggest events of the year. We’d been planning our booth for weeks, and now Mari was out of commission on the day we needed all hands on deck.

My phone pinged again. This time from Devonna.

Won’t be in today. Food poisoning. Spent night on bathroom floor. So sorry. P.S. If you need me to drag myself in anyway, I will, but fair warning that I projectile vomited six feet across my bathroom. Twice.

“You have got to be kidding me,” I said to my empty apartment. Both Mari and Devonna out on expo day. The universe was clearly punishing me for something. Possibly for those thoughts about Angelina Mercy and the fountain. Or for mentally setting fire to her perfect bouncy hair.

I took a deep breath, trying to center myself.

I could handle this. I was Anica Marcel, wedding planning extraordinaire.

I’d managed a ceremony during a blackout with only the headlights from guests’ cars for lighting.

I’d coordinated a last-minute venue change when a hurricane flooded the original location.

I could certainly manage a simple expo booth by myself.

After speed-showering and throwing on my most professional navy dress, I loaded the booth materials into my car and headed for the convention center. Everything was fine. This was fine. I was fine.

By the time I arrived, it was clear that nothing was fine.

The booth next to ours—Enchanting Endings, our main competitor—had a three-person team efficiently setting up an elaborate display with a literal champagne fountain.

Meanwhile, I was struggling to haul boxes from my car while balancing a tray of sample mini-cakes that were already listing dangerously to one side like the wedding cake Tower of Pisa.

“Need a hand with that?” a voice drawled from behind me.

I whirled around, nearly dropping the cake tray, to find Callan leaning against my car. He wore dark jeans and a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up, looking more like a model for a luxury watch ad than someone who belonged at a wedding expo.

“What are you doing here?” I blurted.

“Good morning to you too, darling,” he replied, straightening. “And here I thought you’d be happy to see me. Most women generally are, what with all...” he gestured vaguely at himself, “...this.”

“I’m—I didn’t—” I took a breath. “We had to cancel our meeting. I texted you.”

“You did,” he agreed. “Something about being shorthanded for some expo thing. So I thought I’d stop by and see if I could help. I’m very good at helping. Also lifting heavy things, reaching high shelves, and looking decorative in a corner if needed. I make an excellent Christmas tree.”

I stared at him and Mari’s numerous comments about climbing him like a tree forced their way to the front of my brain until nothing useful was left except–

“You came to... help?”

“Don’t look so shocked.” He reached out and took the cake tray from my hands before I could protest. “In fact, I once helped an old lady cross the street. Granted, it was Gram and she threatened to disinherit me if I didn’t, but still.

Helpful.” He nodded at the boxes in my car. “Where does this stuff go?”

“Table at the back of booth thirty-five,” I said automatically, still processing his presence. “But you don’t have to?—”

“I know I don’t have to,” he interrupted. “I want to. Now, what else needs to be brought in? And please say it’s something heavy so I can impress you with my manly strength.”

I hesitated, weighing pride against practicality. The expo would open in less than two hours, and I still had to set up the entire booth.

“There are three more boxes in the trunk,” I said finally. “And a garment rack with sample dresses.”

“Consider it done. You go start setting up. I’ll bring everything in. And I’ll try not to flex too obviously while carrying things.”

“I—thank you,” I managed.

He grinned, and my traitorous heart did a little flip. “Don’t thank me yet. I expect full payment in embarrassing wedding stories later. The weirder the better. I want to hear about the drunkest mother-of-the-bride, the most inappropriate best man speech, and any and all wardrobe malfunctions.”

“Deal,” I agreed, heading toward the booth with the cake tray.

True to his word, Callan brought in the remaining materials. By the time I’d arranged the sample photo albums and laid out the business cards, he was wheeling in the garment rack.

“Where do you want the dresses?”

“Against that wall,” I replied, gesturing. “But they need to be arranged by style, and the white tulle one goes in front because it catches the light best, and?—”

“I got it,” he said, already rearranging the dresses. “Display 101: Put the eye-catching stuff up front.”

I blinked. “Yes, exactly.”

“Don’t look so surprised,” he said without turning around. “I’ve set up a tech booth or two in my day. Different product, same principles. Though wedding dresses are significantly prettier than server racks.”

Working together, we had the booth nearly complete in record time. The only thing left was hanging the banner, which proved problematic due to my height limitations.

“If I could just—” I strained on tiptoes, trying to reach the hanging hook on the booth’s frame. “Almost?—”

“Let me,” Callan offered, stepping closer.

“I can do it,” I insisted, grabbing a folding chair. “I just need a little boost.”

I climbed onto the chair, wobbling as I reached for the hook. My fingers brushed it, but I couldn’t quite get a grip.

“Be careful,” Callan warned, moving closer to the chair. “That doesn’t look stable. And while I’d love to catch you if you fall, I’d prefer you not get injured.”

“It’s fine,” I assured him, stretching further. “I just need to?—”

The chair shifted beneath me. I fell. Not gracefully.

Not in slow motion. And not silently either.

I yelped like a kicked puppy. Before I could process what was happening, strong arms caught me.

One moment I was plummeting, the next I was cradled against Callan’s chest, his heart beating rapidly under my palm.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice lower than usual.

I glanced up into his face, aware of how close we were. Close enough to count his eyelashes. Close enough to notice the tiny flecks of darker blue in his eyes. “I’m—yes. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He didn’t set me down immediately, and I didn’t ask him to. For a suspended moment, we just looked at each other, my hand still resting on his chest, his arms secure around me.

“I should probably...” I gestured vaguely toward the ground.

“Right,” he said, carefully setting me on my feet but keeping one hand on my waist until he was sure I was steady. “Maybe let me handle the high-altitude banner installation. Since I don’t need artificial height assistance.”

“Show off,” I muttered, trying to recover my composure.

“Always,” he admitted with a grin. “It’s part of my charm.”

“Whatever you say lightning pole,” I agreed. “My insurance doesn’t cover ‘death by wedding expo.’ Or ‘. embarrassment by billionaire rescue.’”

He reached up and secured the banner, not even needing the chair.

“Perfect,” I said, stepping back to admire our work. The booth looked professional, inviting, and, most importantly, completely set up.

“Not bad for a billionaire and a wedding planner,” Callan observed. “We make a good team.”

“We do,” I agreed before I could stop myself. “I mean, thank you for your help. You really didn’t have to do this.”

“I told you, I wanted to.” He shrugged, as if helping me set up a wedding expo booth was the most natural thing in the world for a CEO to be doing at 8 AM on a Saturday. “Besides, now I get to see you in action. Should be educational.”

I frowned. “You’re staying?”

“Of course I’m staying,” he replied, looking offended at the suggestion.

“I didn’t haul all this stuff in just to abandon you.

I’m here for the duration. Put me to work.

I’m great at selling things. I once convinced my third-grade teacher that my dog ate my homework, despite not actually owning a dog. ”

“This is a professional industry event,” I protested. “You don’t have to?—“

“Anica,” he interrupted gently. “Let me help. Please.”

The sincerity in his voice caught me off guard. This wasn’t Callan the cocky billionaire or Callan the ridiculously charming client. This was just... Callan.

“Okay,” I said finally. “But you have to follow my lead. No going rogue.”

“Scout’s honor,” he promised, raising three fingers.

“Were you even a Boy Scout?”

“For approximately three weeks,” he admitted. “Until the unfortunate incident with the campfire and a marshmallow catastrophe.”

“Do I want to know?”

“Probably not. There are still parts of New Jersey where I’m not welcome. The restraining order only expired last year. And marshmallows are still mentioned in hushed tones at scout meetings.”

Despite myself, I laughed. “Alright then. Let me give you a crash course in wedding planning 101...”

I had to admit, Callan was surprisingly good at all of it.

“So you’re saying you handle everything?” the bride-to-be asked, clearly impressed as Callan outlined our services.

“Everything,” he confirmed with a confident nod.

“Anica and her team take care of every detail, from venue selection to the last dance. They’re wizards, really.

I heard she salvaged a wedding where the best man showed up drunk, the flower girl had chicken pox, and the cake collapsed.

By the time she was done, you’d never know anything had gone wrong.

The only casualties were the best man’s dignity and the flower girl’s perfect skin dreams.”

The woman’s eyes widened. “Really?”