Page 56

ANICA

“Your wedding sounds like it’s going to be magical,” I said, shaking hands with the beaming bride-to-be. “My assistant will email you our availability for consultations by the end of day.”

As the couple walked away, I checked our growing list of potential Chicago clients. Twenty-seven solid leads in just a couple hours. Not bad for our first Midwest expansion event.

“Your business partner seems... intense.”

I glanced up to find Mrs. Sullivan, the expo coordinator, surveying our booth. Her gaze was fixed on Mari, who was currently rebuilding a toppled display of sample centerpieces while muttering what sounded suspiciously like death threats.

“Mari’s just excited about our Chicago launch,” I offered with a smile.

“And your booth neighbor, Mr. Gable, seems equally... enthusiastic about the expo.”

I followed her gaze to Perfect Day Planning’s immaculate booth.

Hudson Gable had introduced himself this morning as a transplant from some high-end LA company who’d decided Chicago needed his particular brand of wedding expertise.

I’d only spoken to him briefly during setup, but he seemed to know what he was doing.

He was tall, impeccably dressed, with a very familiar kind of smile to my husband’s, in that he seemed to know exactly how handsome he was without needing to mention it.

What had seemed like professional courtesy at 10 AM had devolved into something far more sinister by noon.

“Did she actually move his sample books?” Mrs. Sullivan asked, nodding to Mari, who stuck her tongue out at Mr. Gable when she thought no one was looking.

“She told me he moved ours first,” I explained.

“While Mari was in the bathroom, she said he completely rearranged the books. There was a sticky note that just said ‘Fixed it’ with a smiley face. Although, between the two of us, I didn’t see the sticky note.

She also claimed he stole our consultation with the young couple by telling them our ‘vintage aesthetic’ was code for ‘outdated techniques.’”

Mrs. Sullivan’s eyes widened. “I’ve coordinated this expo for eleven years, and I’ve never seen two vendors develop such an intense rivalry in less than two hours.”

“And I’ve known Mari since college, and I’ve never seen her this fixated on someone she just met,” I said, glancing at my best friend. “I apologize for any... disruptions she’s caused.”

“Just keep it professional,” Mrs. Sullivan warned before marching away.

I turned to find Mari at our backdrop, aggressively straightening a banner. “Any chance you could dial it back a notch with the neighbor? We’re trying to make a good first impression in Chicago.”

“He started it,” Mari hissed, not looking away from Mr. Gable’s booth, where he was calmly explaining something to a potential client.

“Did you see what he did to our brochure display while you were helping that other couple? He switched them all with his own materials! Three couples picked up his brochures from our display!”

“That’s actually pretty clever,” I said, then immediately regretted it when Mari shot me a look that promised she’s spit in my coffee for a week.

“He’s not clever. He’s a pretentious saboteur with product in his hair.” She squinted suspiciously. “Look at it. No one’s hair naturally does that. It’s unnatural.”

Mr. Gable did have great hair, I’d give her that.

The kind that belonged in a men’s grooming commercial, dark and artfully styled in a way that looked effortless but definitely wasn’t.

His booth was also objectively gorgeous; sleek and modern with a striking black and gold color scheme that made our blue and silver look almost quaint by comparison.

“Have you considered that maybe?—”

“If you say I’m attracted to him, I will superglue your emergency kit shut and replace all your protein bars with those disgusting keto ones Callan likes,” Mari threatened, pointing a finger at my face.

“I have never been less attracted to anyone in my life. He’s a snake in Italian leather shoes who thinks he can just waltz into our territory with his stupid holographic display boards and his ridiculous custom scent diffusers. ”

“His booth does smell amazing,” I murmured before I could stop myself.

Mari’s eye twitched. “I’m going to get coffee. Don’t fraternize with the enemy while I’m gone.”

As she stomped away, I caught Mr. Gable watching her retreat, his expression unreadable except for a slight quirk at the corner of his mouth; not quite a smile, more like the look of someone who’d just moved a chess piece exactly where he wanted it.

When he noticed me looking, he gave a polite nod before turning back to his client.

I was so distracted by the strange tension between our booths that I didn’t notice Callan until he was right in front of me, looking unfairly handsome in my favorite charcoal suit that made his blue eyes even more striking.

“There she is,” he said, leaning across the display table to peck me on the lips. “The most successful wedding planner in two cities.”

“Three if you count the pop-up in Boston,” I corrected, unable to prevent the smile spreading across my face. After a year of marriage, he still had that effect on me. One look and I was twenty degrees warmer and significantly wetter in places that had no business responding during business hours.

“How’s the expo going?” he asked, glancing around at our setup. “You guys did a great job, even without my help.” He put his hands in his pockets. “Sorry about that. I had that call with–”

“I know. Don’t worry about it,” I said, smiling.

“Mari and I kicked ass at this long before you came around to haul heavy boxes.” I beckoned him inside the booth.

“And to answer your question, twenty-seven potential clients, two booking deposits, and only one vendor rivalry threatening to escalate into physical violence.”

Callan raised an eyebrow. “Mari?”

“Who else? She’s developed a pathological hatred for the wedding planner next door.” I nodded toward Mr. Gable’s booth. “They’ve been passive-aggressively sabotaging each other all morning.”

“Ah, the guy with the hair.” Callan studied Mr. Gable and shrugged. “Mari mentioned him in approximately fourteen furious texts in the group message. Something about ‘symmetrical features that belong on Mount Rushmore but with the personality of a shark in Gucci loafers.’”

“That’s the one.” I finished arranging a display of sample invitations. “Though I have to admit, his setup is impressive. Those holographic displays showing venue transformations? Genius.”

“Should I be jealous that you’re admiring another man’s... displays?” Callan’s voice dropped to that low register that made my stomach flip and my thighs clench.

“Depends. Are you here to just visit, or did you come with a purpose?”

His eyes darkened as he leaned closer, his breath warm against my ear. “I missed my wife. And I was thinking about what happened the last time we were at a wedding expo together.”

“Cal,” I warned, glancing around to make sure no one could hear us. “We’re working.”

“You know what else we could be doing?” His eyes held that mischievous glint that never failed to short-circuit my professional boundaries. “I saw a supply closet by the south entrance. Locked, but I happen to know how to get a key for fifteen minutes using a hundred dollar bill.”

“Of course you do.” I rolled my eyes even as my pulse quickened.

“So is that a yes? Or a hell yes?”

“I can’t just leave the booth unattended.” I gestured to the displays we’d spent hours perfecting. “And Mari’s getting coffee.”

“What about me?” Mari appeared beside us, clutching a coffee cup and shooting at least three scathing glares at Mr. Gable.

“Callan was just leaving,” I said quickly, ignoring the heat crawling up my neck.

“No, he wasn’t.” Mari’s gaze darted between us, a knowing smirk spreading across her face.

She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Oh my god, you two were about to sneak off for wedding expo sex. Seriously? It’s been a year.

Aren’t you supposed to be in the ‘comfortable Netflix and sweatpants’ phase by now? ”

“Some of us don’t believe in phases,” Callan replied. “And some of us appreciate taking breaks to properly... reconnect with our spouses.”

Mari made a gagging noise. “Get out of here before you contaminate our booth with your marital bliss. I’ve got this covered.” She glanced toward Mr. Gable’s booth and narrowed her eyes. “Besides, I need to keep an eye on Lucifer over there.”

“Be the bigger person,” I advised, even as I gathered my purse.

“Impossible. I’m only five-foot-three and spite is my primary personality trait.” She waved us away. “Go. Fifteen minutes. Any longer and I’ll assume you’ve been kidnapped and call security.”

“Twenty minutes,” I countered.

“Seventeen and I want details later,” Mari bargained.

“No details, and I’ll bring you a real coffee tomorrow morning from that place across the street from the hotel,” I offered.

“Deal. Now scram before I change my mind.”

Callan didn’t need to be told twice. He placed his hand on the small of my back as he guided me through the crowded expo hall, the heat of his palm burning through my dress in a way that made it difficult to walk normally.

The supply closet was exactly where the janitor Callan had paid said it would be, tucked away in a quiet corridor far from the main expo floor. The door swung open to reveal a cramped space filled with cleaning supplies and folded tables.

“Very romantic,” I deadpanned as he pulled me inside and locked the door behind us. “Nothing says ‘I love you’ like the smell of industrial floor cleaner and the ambiance of fluorescent lighting.”

“Would you prefer rose petals and string quartets, Mrs. Burkhardt?” He grabbed my waist, drawing me hard against him so I could feel exactly how much he’d missed me. “Because I can have those here in thirty minutes if you’re feeling under appreciated.”