My throat aches, and I hate this question. “I should never have moved in with him. Now all my stuff is at his place.”
“I know two guys who will be happy to help you move.”
Even in heels, her head only reaches my nose. If I leaned forward, I could rest my chin on the top of her head.
“This is not something to worry about on your wedding day. Let’s get back to the party. All that champagne won’t drink itself.”
“Would you do one thing for me? As a wedding gift?”
“I gave you that expensive fondue set you wanted for a wedding gift.”
“And it’s very nice.” She squeezes my hands.
I force a teasing smile. “You want more, Britney Spears?”
“I want you to come back to the reception and just look at all the handsome, eligible bachelors waiting to sweep you off your feet.”
“Who says I need a man to be happy?” Lifting my chin, my stubborn streak is fierce. Ma says it’s because of my red hair.
Daisy shrugs and heads for the door. “Not me.”
I’m behind her, doing my best to shrug off my dark mood. “Maybe I’ll turn over a new leaf. Start dating nice men.”
“You hate nice men. Now I’ve got to get back to my guests. Drink all the champagne and have fun.”
She’s out the door, and I look at the text again. Work comes first, CM.
CM. Country Mouse.
I’m the country mouse and he’s the city mouse because I’m from Fireside, one of the smallest towns in South Carolina, and he’s from Columbia, which trust me, is no booming metropolis.
“Fuck you, Elliot.” I shove the phone in my pocket again and head out to the party.
* * *
Lifting my fourth glass of champagne off a passing server’s tray, I trace my finger along one of the shiny green leaves that make up the skirt on the oversized floral Tinkerbell statue.
Ma took me to Walt Disney World and Epcot Center one year for spring break—just in time for the massive Epcot Flower and Garden Festival—and I was blown away.
Walking around the giant, floral topiaries of Disney princesses, Mickey Mouse, lions, and everything imaginable from the Disney movies, I got it in my head I wanted to be a part of this. I wanted to build the statues and thread the flowers and have them all over our town.
It’s pretty much all I did in high school. For every homecoming game, wedding, and civic event, one of my oversized floral statues was the centerpiece. Eventually, I gave it up to study massage therapy and sports medicine, but Daisy asked me to make something for her.
Tinkerbell, the brave knight, and a quarterback princess was my mash-up tribute to my cousin and her new family.
Leaning forward, I take a long inhale of the green roses I used for the bodice, but I’m not paying attention. My hair slides across my shoulder and loops around an outstretched hand. When I pull back, the entire statue comes with me, and my arm flails, slinging wine into the air.
“No… Nooo!” My voice modulates like a cartoon character’s, but a firm grip closes around my upper arm, sweeping me up against a hard chest.
“Hang on. I’ve got you.”
“Sorry, I’m…” I’m surrounded by a delicious scent of leather and sandalwood and a touch of patchouli. It smells like money.
“No need to apologize. I figured you didn’t want to end up on your bottom in the middle of the garden.”
As I regain my balance, my eyes slide up a square jaw covered in dark scruff past a perfectly straight nose to a bewitching, smoky blend of green-brown hazel eyes leveled on mine in a way that heats my lower stomach.
“Oh no.” Clearing my throat, I relax my grip on his expensive-feeling, charcoal suit jacket. “I hope I didn’t spill on you.”
“You didn’t.” His dark brow lowers, and I can’t tell if he’s smiling or mentally undressing me. Or both.
I release his forearm and take a step back as his grip on my bicep slowly lessens.
“I made that garden as you call it.” Nodding toward the statue, I polish off the last bit of champagne in my now-empty glass.
“Is that why you watered it?”
“I got caught.” I push a heavy lock of auburn hair behind my shoulder, and his eyes track my every move. “I leaned in too far.”
“It’s beautiful.”
The way he says it and the location of his gaze makes me wonder if he means the statue or my hair. Either way, I feel pink rising in my cheeks.
“Thank you.”
“Are you embarrassed? I would think you’d be accustomed to such praise. It’s a stunning creation. I’m not sure I recognize some of these flowers.”
“Oh.” I exhale a laugh, unsure how to respond. I suck at compliments. “They’re mostly tropicals. Nothing special.”
“I disagree. They’re very special.” He looks at me, and the arrogant clip in his voice sparks my memory.
“I know you. You were in Daisy’s store that day in Oceanside. You’re the antiques guy. Stuart… No…”
“Spencer.” Another tray glides past us, and I lift a flute off it to replace the one I tossed. He watches me. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”
“No.” I take a sip to spite him. “And I don’t like men telling me what to do.”
His eyes darken, and I feel it in all the right places. “I didn’t mean to overstep, Joselyn.”
“You have a good memory.”
“I never forget a face. Definitely not a redhead.”
“Redheads are trouble, don’t you know?”
“I’m not afraid of trouble.” He grins, and his eyes trace the side of my face, down my neck, like a caress. “Daisy calls you something different. A nickname…”
“Sly.”
“I’m sure there’s a story there.” His deep voice does tingly things to my insides. “I prefer Joselyn.”
I know about this guy. He’s the super-arrogant billionaire who was Daisy’s mentor when she worked at Antiques Today. It’s this big media company that has a magazine and a TV show where they do appraisals, kind of like Antiques Roadshow.
He has a reputation for being cold and distant, and he’s clearly used to bossing people around. He wants to boss me around, and I feel a hostile horniness at the prospect.
I want to rip his clothes off or pick a fight with him or pick a fight with him and then rip his clothes off and have rough, sweaty, angry sex…
I have definitely had enough to drink.
Setting my flute on a nearby table, I spot a familiar face holding a tray of finger foods. “Excuse me just a second.”
I leave Mr. Bossy Sex-god to grab some alcohol-absorbing munchies.
“Hey, Sly.” The friendly guy holding the tray slides a lock of floppy blond hair behind his ear.
“Hey, Max. I didn’t know you were working tonight.” I shove a ham and cheese rollup in my mouth and take another off his tray.
Max is unfazed by me stuffing my face. “Yeah, need the cash mon-ay. I’m heading to Melbourne Beach next week.”
“Surf competition?” I stuff the second appetizer in my mouth and wrap one in a napkin. I wonder if I could put it in my hidden pocket or if it would leave a stain.