Page 27

When my phone finally buzzed, I tried not to look too eager as I checked it. The message wasn’t from Anica, but from her assistant, Devonna.

This is Devonna using Anica’s phone. She can’t respond right now. Major emergency at a client’s wedding.

Glancing at Angelina, I made sure her focus was on the view of the city before texting a quick reply.

Everything alright? Where’s the wedding?

Devonna responded quicker than before, probably because she had the phone handy.

Sprinkler system malfunction at venue in Brooklyn. Everything and everyone is soaked. Anica’s trying to salvage the situation. The bride is hysterical. The DJ equipment is ruined. Only bright side is that the drunk groomsmen sobered up fast after their impromptu shower.

I stared at the text. Anica was dealing with a crisis. At least Devonna was with her. Hopefully she was over her food poisoning. I doubted Mari was there.

“Is everything alright?” Angelina asked, running a manicured finger along my arm on the table. I pulled back.

“I’m sorry,” I said, already calculating the fastest route to Brooklyn. “Something’s come up. A work emergency.”

Angelina’s perfect eyebrows drew together in concern. “Anything serious?”

“Potentially,” I said, signaling for the check. “I’m really sorry to cut this short.”

“I understand,” she said, though her tone suggested she didn’t. “Business comes first.”

I paid the bill and walked her to the car, my mind already elsewhere. After a quick text to Devonna asking for the venue address, I drove Angelina home, trying to maintain polite conversation while fighting the inexplicable need to get to Anica as quickly as possible.

“I had a lovely time,” Angelina said as I walked her to her door. “Despite the abrupt ending.”

“Me too,” I replied automatically. “I’ll call you.”

She leaned in for a kiss, which I awkwardly redirected to her cheek. “Work emergency,” I explained. “I should really get going.”

If she was offended, she hid it well. “Of course. Good luck with your... emergency.”

As soon as she was safely inside, I sprinted back to my car, inputting the address Devonna had sent into my GPS. Twenty minutes away in current traffic. I could make it in fifteen if I pushed it.

As I drove, I tried to rationalize my behavior.

I was just helping out a service provider.

The kind of thing any decent client would do.

The fact that my heart was racing had nothing to do with Anica specifically.

I was just... a good person. Who happened to be abandoning a date with a perfect woman to help my wedding planner with a crisis that wasn’t remotely my problem.

The scene at the venue was exactly as chaotic as I’d imagined.

The hotel’s grand ballroom, which should have been elegantly decorated for a wedding reception, looked like a miniature tsunami had swept through it.

Water dripped from the ceiling, staff rushed around with towels and mops, and in the center of it all stood Anica, soaking wet and issuing rapid-fire instructions like a general commanding troops.

Her normally perfect hair was plastered to her head, her dress clung to her body in a way that was distractingly appealing, outlining curves that her usual professional attire only hinted at, and she had a smear of what looked like mascara under one eye. She looked like she’d been through hell.

She looked beautiful.

I made my way through the chaos, catching snippets of conversations about ruined flowers, drenched linens, and a bride who was apparently having a breakdown in the bridal suite.

“Anica,” I called, navigating around a cluster of soggy centerpieces.

She turned at the sound of my voice, her eyes widening. “Callan? What are you doing here?”

“Devonna texted,” I explained, reaching her side. “Said you had an emergency.”

“Yes, but—” She gestured helplessly at my suit. “You were on your date!”

“This seemed more important,” I said simply. “What do you need me to do?”

She stared at me as if I’d grown a second head. “But your date!” she repeated. “With Angie! The perfect match!”

“Anica,” I said, placing my hands on her shoulders. “Tell me how to help.”

“Well, the flowers are ruined,” she said. “We need replacements. The hotel has a garden, but the manager won’t let us use any of it without proper approval, which could take hours we don’t have.”

“Leave the manager to me,” I said. “What else?”

“The linens are soaked. We need dry ones.”

“Done. I’ll have someone arrange an emergency delivery.”

“The sound system is fried.”

“I know a guy with a mobile DJ setup. He owes me a favor.”

She looked at me with that mix of surprise and something else again. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because you need help,” I said simply. “And I’m good at fixing problems. Almost as good as I am at creating them, which is saying something.”

For a moment, she just looked at me, water dripping from her hair onto her cheeks. Then she nodded once. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

The next two hours were a blur of activity.

I charmed (okay, I bribed) the hotel manager into letting us harvest flowers from the hotel’s private garden by casually mentioning that my investment firm was looking at hotel chains for acquisition and how impressed I was with their “community spirit.” I called in favors to get a sound system delivered, promising the DJ who owned it a spot at my next charity gala.

I even helped rearrange the seating chart when we had to move everything to a smaller, but dry, auxiliary ballroom.

Working with Anica in crisis mode was like watching a master artist at work.

She anticipated problems before they arose, delegated tasks, and somehow managed to keep the bride calm through it all.

I followed her lead without question, taking orders from someone for the first time since.

.. well, probably since my grandmother had last told me to take out the trash.

And the strangest part? I was enjoying it.

“No, the tall centerpieces need to go on the round tables, not the rectangulars,” Anica instructed a flustered waiter. “The sight lines won’t work otherwise.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the waiter replied, clearly intimidated.

“And tell the chef we need the appetizers ready in twenty minutes, not forty,” she continued. “The timeline’s been compressed.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She turned to me, her expression all business despite her disheveled appearance. “The bride’s dress has water stains on the hem. Any brilliant ideas for that?”

“Actually, yes,” I replied, pulling out my phone. “My friend dated a costume designer who specializes in quick fixes. Let me make a call.”

Fifteen minutes later, a harried woman arrived with a steamer and some kind of fabric solution that, according to her, would “make water stains my bitch.” I didn’t ask questions, just directed her to the bridal suite.

When the ceremony finally began, only thirty minutes behind schedule, with fresh flowers, dry linens, and working music, the bride was radiant with relief.

“You literally saved the most important day of my life,” she told Anica, tears in her eyes. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“It’s my job,” Anica replied with a modest smile. “And I had help.” She glanced at me with a grin.

As the reception got underway, Anica and I stood alone in the empty auxiliary room, surrounded by the remnants of our frantic preparations.

Anica had somehow found time to fix her makeup and dry her hair, though her dress was still damp in places, clinging to her curves in a way that made me force my eyes to stay firmly on her face.

“You left your date with the perfect woman to help with this,” she said, shaking her head. “There is something seriously wrong with your brain. You should probably get that checked out. I can recommend a good neurologist.”

“Seemed like the right choice,” I replied, stepping closer to her. “The date was fine, but this was... an adventure.”

She looked up at me, her gaze searching my face. “You didn’t have to do any of this.”

“I wanted to.” Another step closer. I could smell her perfume now, something floral and subtle beneath the lingering scent of wet fabric. “Besides, what kind of fake fiancé would I be if I didn’t show up to help my wedding planner in her hour of need?”

Her lips quirked. “A normal one?” she suggested.

“I’ve never been accused of being normal,” I admitted.

“Why?” she asked, her voice softer than I’d ever heard it. “Why did you really come?”

I should have had a smooth answer ready. Some charming deflection or witty comeback. Instead, I told the truth. “Because you needed me.”

Her lips parted, her eyes widening a fraction. We were standing close now, close enough that I could see the faint freckles across the bridge of her nose that she usually covered with makeup. Close enough that if I leaned down just a little...

“There you are!” The mother of the bride burst into the room, her voice shrill with panic. “The DJ is playing the wrong father-daughter dance song! It’s supposed to be ‘Butterfly Kisses,’ not ‘Unforgettable’!”

Anica stepped back quickly, the moment shattered. “I’ll take care of it right away.” She glanced back at me, her professional expression firmly back in place. “Thank you again for your help. I should go?—”

“Come to my island this weekend,” I blurted out, surprising myself as much as her.

She froze. “What?”

“My island. In the Caribbean. Private getaway to recover from this chaos.” The words were tumbling out now, beyond my control.

“No wedding talk, no bride hunting. Just... a break. White sand beaches, crystal clear water, staff that will cater to your every need. I have a jet. We could leave Friday, be back Sunday night. Completely separate bedrooms,” I added hastily.

“Unless—I mean, not that I’m suggesting?—”

She stared at me, clearly shocked by the invitation. “Callan, I can’t just?—”

“Why not?” I challenged. “When was the last time you took a day off, let alone a weekend? You deserve a break, Anica. And I happen to have a very nice island with excellent break-taking facilities. Devonna and Mari can handle a week without you. Mari owns half of the company anyway, right?”

She hesitated, and I could see her weighing all the reasons to say no. I mentally prepared for her rejection. It’d been too spontaneous. I knew that. I just had hoped that maybe–

“Okay.”

Now it was my turn to be shocked. “Okay?”

A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Okay. But just as friends.”

“Of course,” I agreed, nodding a bit too energetically. “Just friends. Taking a completely platonic, friendly trip to a private island. Friends do that all the time. I took Kris to the Maldives two months ago. Very platonic. We braided each other’s hair and everything.”

She rolled her eyes, but the smile remained. “I should go fix this song situation before the mother of the bride has an aneurysm.”

“Go save the day,” I said. “Again.”

She started to walk away, then paused, turning back to me. “For the record, I’m glad you left your date to come help.”

“For the record, so am I.”

She hurried off to handle the music crisis, leaving me standing alone in the room, trying to process what had just happened. Shit. I’d invited my wedding planner to my private island. And she’d said yes.

The guys were going to have a field day with this.