Page 4 of Daddy’s Naughty Bridesmaid (Naughty Girls Book Club #4)

S urviving the morning yoga session is easy enough.

I'm naturally flexible and Catherine's college friends are too hungover to notice that I don't know the "traditional post-vinyasa chant" they apparently did in their college days.

Brunch passes in a blur of mimosas and wedding talk, with no sign of Matthew Dayton to complicate matters.

By the time I return to my hotel room to change for the welcome party, I've almost convinced myself that last night's electric tension was just champagne and wedding jitters. A professional hazard, nothing more.

Then my phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number.

Unknown Caller: Wear something blue tonight. It suits you.

I stare at the screen, my heart doing a little tap dance against my ribs. There's only one person it could be.

Me: Who is this? As if I didn’t know.

The response comes immediately: I’m still watching. Let’s see how long you keep up the facade.

Heat blooms low in my belly. I should be annoyed, but I rifle through my suitcase, pulling out the navy blue cocktail dress I packed as a backup. It hugs my curves in all the right places, the neckline dipping just low enough to be interesting without crossing into unprofessional territory.

As I slip it on, I tell myself I'm not doing it because he asked. I'm doing it because navy is a flattering color and the welcome party is at an upscale venue that requires cocktail attire.

I am a terrible liar, even to myself.

The welcome party is in full swing when I arrive at the botanical garden pavilion.

Fairy lights twinkle in the trees, a live band plays something jazzy and upbeat, and waiters circulate with champagne and hors d'oeuvres.

I spot Catherine immediately, radiant in a blush pink dress, holding court with a group of relatives.

I make my way to her side, slipping effortlessly into the role of supportive best friend. We take selfies, chat with guests, check on details with the coordinator. I'm so absorbed in my duties that I almost forget about Matt.

Almost.

"You look beautiful," comes his voice from behind me, low and warm against my ear.

I turn to find him standing closer than strictly necessary, looking unfairly handsome in dark slacks and a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Forearms were never sexy to me before… but his? His eyes move over me appreciatively, lingering on the blue fabric.

"You look nice," I say.

"You obeyed my instructions," he observes, nodding at my dress.

"Pure coincidence," I lie. "Blue is my color."

"It is," he agrees. His fingers brush my bare shoulder, so lightly I could almost imagine it. "Brings out the gold in your eyes."

Before I can respond, Catherine appears, looping her arm through mine. "Jackie! There you are. We need you for the game!"

"Game?" I echo, a note of dread creeping into my voice.

"'How Well Do You Know the Bride'!" She's practically vibrating with excitement. "All my closest friends are playing. It'll be fun!"

My stomach drops. A public quiz about Catherine's life and preferences? This is my actual nightmare.

Matt's eyes gleam with something between amusement and triumph. "Yes, Jackie, how could you miss the game? I'm sure you'll ace it, being such old friends and all."

I shoot him a look that could curdle milk.

"I'll be watching," he murmurs as Catherine drags me away.

Of course he will. Watching and waiting for me to slip up, to reveal that I don't actually know Catherine's favorite song or her childhood pet's name or where she spent her sixteenth birthday. I studied the dossier. I should be fine.

I am not fine.

The game is exactly as excruciating as I feared.

The wedding coordinator reads questions from cards while Catherine's actual friends answer confidently.

I rely on a combination of lucky guesses, vague answers, and the cheat sheet I'd memorized.

I recall Catherine's favorite color (lavender), food (sushi), and vacation spot (Santorini).

Basic information that could have been gleaned from any social media deep dive.

I'm holding my own until the coordinator asks, "What was Catherine's most embarrassing moment in college that only her closest friends know about?"

Shit.

This isn't on any cheat sheet.

I glance at Catherine, who's watching expectantly, then at the other bridesmaids, who all seem to know exactly what the answer is. My mind races through possibilities. Was it a drunken party mishap? A wardrobe malfunction? A regrettable hookup?

"Pass," I say finally, forcing a laugh. "Some stories are too good to share in mixed company."

There's an awkward pause. Catherine's smile falters slightly.

"Oh come on," the coordinator pushes. "Everyone else answered!"

I scan the crowd desperately and spot Matt at the back, watching with those perceptive eyes. He raises his glass slightly, a silent acknowledgment that he knows I'm floundering.

Then, inexplicably, he mouths something at me.

It takes me a second to lip-read, but when I catch it, I could kiss him. Actually kiss him.

"The karaoke incident," I say smoothly. "When Catherine thought she was auditioning for The Voice but was actually just screaming Lady Gaga into a hairbrush on the quad."

The crowd erupts in laughter. Catherine squeals, "Jackie! You promised never to tell!"

I shrug, all faux innocence. "Sorry, bestie. The people demanded answers."

Crisis averted. But why would Matt help me? What game is he playing?

The coordinator moves on to the next question, which I manage to answer correctly thanks to my research. When the game finally ends (I place third, respectable enough), I make my way through the crowd toward Matt, determined to figure out his angle.

But Catherine intercepts me, dragging me onto the dance floor where the band has shifted to something slower and more romantic. "Dance with me! Greg's doing shots with his groomsmen and I need my bestie!"

So I dance with the bride, then with her cousin, then with one of Greg's friends who has wandering hands I expertly deflect. All the while, I'm aware of Matt circling the periphery, never quite approaching but always watching.

It's past eleven when the band announces the last song. I'm contemplating slipping away. I've fulfilled my duties, made a respectable showing, survived the game without completely blowing my cover, when a warm hand lands on the small of my back.

"Dance with me."

It's not a question. Matt's palm is firm against my back, guiding me onto the dance floor before I can object.

The band plays something slow and bluesy, the kind of song designed for bodies to press close together in the warm Carolina night. Matt's hand slides to my waist, the other taking mine, holding it against his chest where I can feel his heartbeat.

"Why did you help me?" I ask, because I can't stand not knowing. "With the game."

His lips quirk into that almost-smile. "Maybe I didn't want to see you crash and burn publicly."

"How gentlemanly," I say dryly. "Or maybe you just want to be the one to expose me privately."

He pulls me closer, his breath warm against my ear. "There are many ways I'd like to expose you, Jackie."

The heat in his voice sends a shiver through me. My body responds embarrassingly quickly, melting against him almost involuntarily.

"Why are you here?" he asks, his voice low enough that only I can hear. "What's your angle?"

"I told you?—"

"The truth," he interrupts. "Just between us."

I hesitate. Telling him would violate my contract with Catherine, my professional ethics, everything I've built my business on. But there's something about the way he's looking at me, like he genuinely wants to understand rather than judge.

"I can't," I say finally. "Client confidentiality."

His eyebrows lift. "So you are working for her."

Damn it.

I've already said too much.

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to." His hand tightens on my waist, drawing me impossibly closer. Our bodies are flush now, his thigh between mine as we sway to the music. "You're not who you say you are, are you?"

The question hangs between us, weighted with possibility. If I admit the truth, I risk everything. If I lie again, I risk… what? His good opinion of me? His opinion shouldn’t matter. But it does. God help me, it does.

Before I can respond, the music ends. Around us, couples break apart, applauding the band. The moment shatters, the spell broken.

Matt steps back, his eyes never leaving mine. "Think about your answer carefully, Jackie. Because I'm going to ask you again, and next time, I expect the truth."