Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
“Oh?” I inquire airily. Meanwhile, something inside my head screams Aaaaa-rgh! They can’t be calling this off. They just can’t!
“There’s been a slight change of plan,” Oliver intones, all brusque business and no-fucks attitude as his fiancée’s expression softens with something that looks worryingly like an apology.
“Wait till Fin gets here, honey. We can explain then.”
Fin? The name pokes at me like a sharp pin. I glance Sarai’s way to find Mr. DeWitt’s long, confident strides carrying him toward us. He has a fluid kind of grace, and poor Sarai can’t take her eyes off him.
Stepping into the shade, he slides off his sunglasses and pushes his hand through a tawny mane. By my sides, my fingers rub together as though experiencing some kind of tactile memory. Everything inside me seems to tighten in anticipation as my brain seeks to make sense of what I’m seeing.
Or maybe that should be who.
“Oh, fuck!” My heart slams so hard against my rib cage, I’m surprised I don’t topple over with the violence of it, my hand flying to my mouth a split second too late.
Fin. Gorgeous, kind, hot-as-hell Fin. The man who found me in the coat closet and wiped away my tears. The man who made me feel things I hadn’t felt in forever. He shouldn’t be here and shouldn’t be smiling at me like that!
Like the cat who licked the cream and is thinking, Hello, second helpings.
Also, double fuck, because I cursed in front of clients. That’s like breaking one of the wedding planners’ ten commandments!
Best wedding friends are supposed to be the calm voice of reason, not the ones losing their shit. They’re categorically not allowed to get caught up in their own dramas, even if their dramas follow them to the other side of the world!
“I am so sorry,” I begin, as professional Mila is sucked back into my body. I’m a problem solver, not a problem causer. I am calm, collected—a master of restraint!
“It’s a reaction Fin often elicits,” Oliver murmurs, unbothered.
“It wasn’t at all appropriate, not to mention uncharacteristic, because I never, ever swear.” On the job, I mentally amend.
“Never?”
That voice. So smooth and deep. And usually reserved for my special alone times. My stomach flips as, against my better judgment, I glance Fin’s way.
His expression flickers, like a lion twitches its tail just before pouncing. “Because I seem to remember otherwise.”
Chapter 2
Mila
Am I having a stroke?
But if I were having a stroke, we wouldn’t all be in a catatonic state. It feels like the universe has hit the Pause button, because no one seems to be moving as the suggestion in Fin’s drawling tone echoes through the air.
Fin from all those months ago. Four, to be exact.
You’re such a good girl for me.
I push away the sudden echo of his velvety words. If they were made of actual velvet, the pile would be threadbare through overuse. Again, during my special alone times.
That night, my own words were much less smooth than his, though he seemed to enjoy the litany of expletives that accompanied my climax. Like I said, there’s a time and a place. And not only did he call me a good girl, but I liked it. Inexplicably. But what I don’t appreciate is the possibility of being outed.
I am a professional. I do not get caught in closets with members of the bridal party.
Except I did. And now I’m looking at the man who has been the basis of my fantasies since. Well, not all my fantasies. He doesn’t appear in the ones where Adam loses all his hair and gets adult acne. But he does star in the one where we run into that cheating piece of shit in Chinatown. In my mind, it’s usually a crisp autumn evening, and Fin is all adoring looks and stolen kisses, when we just happen to bump into my ex. After a few exchanged words (where a fierce Fin scowls and doesn’t let go of my hand), Adam watches us leave, all sad looks and pining as he collects his sesame chicken for one. Meanwhile, Fin and I walk off into a sunset of bursting love hearts.
So I might have thought about him in several contexts. Hot and demanding. Loving and protective. But more than that, imaginary Fin has worshipped at the altar of Mila way more times than I’d like to admit. And now he’s here, looking all sexy in the daylight.
What on earth . . . Is the universe bored? Did she decide I haven’t suffered enough this year? She has no business sending him—
Oh, God, I think with a lurch. Maybe I’ve manifested him.
Ronny is always yammering about manifestation. She says the key is to visualize your goals, and visualization sounds like another word for fantasizing to me. Maybe my daily (nightly) imaginings—while using the memory of his touch and his voice, and his . . . other things to get myself off—have brought him here.