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I tossed my phone onto the bed, annoyed at my so-called friends and even more annoyed at myself. This was ridiculous. I was not thinking about Anica Marcel. I was focused on my date with Angelina, who was perfect, accomplished, and exactly what I needed for my arrangement.

Grabbing the burgundy tie, I knotted it with perhaps more force than necessary.

Anica wasn’t even my type. Sure, she was beautiful in that understated way that snuck up on you.

And yes, she had a sharp wit and didn’t take my shit and seemed genuinely unimpressed by my wealth.

And okay, when she laughed, really laughed, it did something strange to my chest and I sometimes got hard.

But none of that mattered. She was my wedding planner. A professional I’d hired to do a job. Nothing more.

Angelina was waiting outside her building when I pulled up, looking like she’d stepped straight out of a magazine.

Her dress, a slinky black number, hugged every curve, accentuating her perfectly round tits and her even rounder ass.

Both likely fake, but still very pleasing to my eyes.

And my dick. Her hair was styled in perfect waves, and her makeup was flawless.

She was, objectively speaking, a knockout.

“You’re late,” she said with a smile as I opened the car door for her. “I appreciate punctuality.”

“Sorry,” I replied, trying not to think about how often I had started arriving on time to meetings with Anica. That was different. That was... a thing I did.

“You look handsome,” she observed as I slid into the driver’s seat. “I like a man who knows how to dress.”

“Thank you,” I said, pulling into traffic. “You look incredible. That dress is stunning.”

“Tom Ford,” she confirmed, resting her hand lightly on my thigh. “I thought you’d appreciate it.”

Her touch should have been exciting. Angelina was a beautiful woman who was clearly interested in me.

Her hand on my thigh should’ve had me uncomfortably hard in my trousers.

But no. Apparently my dick was broken. Instead, I was comparing it to the way Anica had gripped my arm when an elderly mother of the bride had nearly knocked over the cake display at the expo.

“I hear the view from this restaurant is spectacular,” Angelina was saying, her hand inching higher on my thigh as she leaned forward, her cleavage on full display. “Though not as spectacular as the view from your penthouse, I’m sure.”

There was no subtlety in the invitation. Any other time, I would have suggested we skip dinner altogether. Instead, I gently placed my hand over hers and moved it back to a more neutral position, using the excuse of needing to shift gears.

“The restaurant does have an amazing view,” I agreed, keeping my tone light. “And the chef trained in Paris. Their lobster risotto is supposed to be incredible.”

If she was disappointed by my redirection, she didn’t show it. “I love lobster,” she said. “And Paris. I spent a semester there during business school.”

“Paris is beautiful. Though I prefer the Italian coast. Less crowded, better food.”

“I have a villa in Positano,” she mentioned casually. “Perhaps we could visit sometime. The view from the terrace is breathtaking, and the balcony wall is very sturdy for… activities.” She squeezed my leg and I cleared my throat.

Again, the invitation was clear. And again, I didn’t pursue it.

What the hell was wrong with me? A gorgeous, successful woman was practically propositioning me, and all I could think about was whether Anica had managed to book that couple who’d been wavering about their date at the expo.

And whether she’d gotten home safely. And if she’d eaten anything besides that sandwich I’d bought her and the protein bar she’d mentioned.

I wondered what flavor she liked, or if there was a certain brand.

We arrived at the restaurant, where the ma?tre d’ recognized me immediately and showed us to the best table on the terrace. The view was indeed spectacular, the lights of the city spread out before us like scattered diamonds on black velvet.

“This is lovely,” Angelina said, her voice warm with appreciation. “Thank you for bringing me here, Callan.”

“I’m glad you suggested the place,” I said with a smile.

The conversation flowed easily enough as we ordered drinks and appetizers. Angelina was intelligent and well-spoken, with interesting insights on the tech industry and philanthropy. On paper, she was perfect. In person, she was perfectly pleasant.

And yet.

I knew I was just going through the motions, nodding and responding appropriately while part of my mind kept wandering back to someone else.

To another woman. Shit. I really did live up to the playboy rep.

Though, I didn’t really have a desire to sleep with the woman across from me, so maybe I was developing a new reputation.

“So,” Angelina said, taking a sip of her wine. “Tell me more about these wedding plans. The Rhodes Estate, was it?”

I refocused on our conversation. “Yes, it’s a beautiful venue. Classic elegance with modern amenities.”

“Impressive,” she nodded. “My friend got married there last year. They had to book it two years in advance. How did you manage to secure it on such short notice?”

“I have connections,” I replied vaguely. “And my wedding planner is quite resourceful.”

“Ah yes, the wedding planner.” Angelina smiled. “She must be quite talented to arrange everything so quickly. Have you settled on the cake flavor yet?”

“Cardamom-honey with rosewater buttercream,” I answered automatically, remembering the tasting with Anica.

Angelina raised an eyebrow. “That’s... specific. You seem quite invested in the details.”

“It’s my wedding,” I said with a shrug. “Might as well make sure it’s exactly what I want.”

“Of course.” She nodded. “What about the flowers? Please tell me you’re not doing basic roses.”

“Absolutely not,” I replied, slightly offended on Anica’s behalf. “We’re using a seasonal mix of native blooms with some architectural elements for visual interest.”

“Impressive,” Angelina said, studying me. “And the wedding favors? Please tell me you’ve thought beyond almonds.”

I hesitated. Anica and I hadn’t actually discussed wedding favors yet. “That’s... still being finalized.”

“And the first dance song? The dinner menu? The seating arrangement?” She pressed, her eyebrow arching slightly higher with each question.

“We’re working through the details systematically,” I replied, trying not to sound defensive. “My planner has a very thorough process.”

“Hmm.” Angelina took another sip of her wine. “It seems like there’s still quite a lot to arrange in a short time. You know, my friend Allison is an excellent wedding planner. She specializes in expedited timelines. Perhaps I should introduce you?”

Something in my chest tightened. “I’m very happy with my current planner, thank you.”

“I’m sure she’s lovely,” Angelina said with a dismissive wave. “But Allison has connections with all the top vendors. She could probably get you better deals, more exclusive options.”

“Anica Marcel is the best wedding planner in Manhattan,” I said, my voice sharper than intended.

“She has impeccable taste, unparalleled organizational skills, and a work ethic that would put most CEOs to shame. She has connections with every worthwhile vendor in the tri-state area, and she’s personally saved dozens of couples from wedding disasters that would have sent lesser planners into early retirement. ”

I took a breath, but apparently wasn’t done.

“She organizes her emergency kits and can recite the contact information for every decent florist in Manhattan from memory. She can spot a poorly constructed cake from fifty paces and has a sixth sense for which bridesmaids will cause drama. She makes wedding magic happen with nothing but pure determination and possibly some kind of wedding planner superpower that mere mortals like me cannot comprehend.”

Angelina blinked, clearly surprised by my vehemence. “I... see.”

“And frankly,” I continued, unable to stop myself, “I don’t appreciate the implication that she’s anything less than exceptional at her job.”

A tense silence fell between us. I realized I’d overreacted spectacularly to what was probably an innocent suggestion. Angelina studied me for a long moment, then her expression softened.

“I apologize. I didn’t mean to insult your planner. I was just trying to be helpful.”

I took a deep breath, trying to regain my composure. “No, I’m sorry. That was an overreaction on my part. Anica—Ms. Marcel —has just been working extremely hard on this wedding, and I respect her.”

Angelina nodded, though something had shifted in her demeanor. “Of course. Let’s talk about something else, shall we? I read about your new AI initiative in Tech Quarterly. Very impressive.”

The conversation moved to safer ground, but something had changed. The easy flow was gone, replaced by a more cautious exchange. Angelina tried to salvage the evening, even subtly running her foot up my calf under the table in what I recognized as an attempt to reestablish our earlier connection.

A month and a half ago, I would have been intrigued. I checked my watch, wondering if the expo had generated as many bookings for Anica as she’d hoped.

When Angelina excused herself to the restroom, I pulled out my phone and texted Anica before I could think better of it.

How many official bookings did we end up with yesterday? Did I help set any new records?

I stared at the message for a moment before hitting send, wondering if it was inappropriate to text her while on a date with a potential bride. But it was a professional question, right? Just checking in on business matters. Totally appropriate.

A few minutes passed with no response. Angelina returned, looking refreshed and even more beautiful, if that was possible. But my attention was divided, part of me still waiting for that text notification.