Lacey grinned. “Well, I had a little attack of traditionalism, and I thought: you know what I want? A trousseau! You know, the collection of linens, and clothes, and lingerie that a bride traditionally—”
“Lacey, I know what a trousseau is,” I said. “Do you need any tips on what companies make good stuff?” I could feel my stomach doing a completely unfair little roll and sink. Lacey’s wedding is a big deal, I reminded myself. She’s bought your designs plenty of times, there’s no reason she’d be obligated to buy from you this time. She needs it to be perfect, and professional, and and—
“Of course you do, sorry,” Lacey said apologetically. “Anyway, and then I had a great big attack of common sense, and I thought: you know who I want to make mine? Katie!”
I felt an answering grin bigger than the Grand Canyon split my face. “Oh my god, Lacey!” I grabbed her hands and jumped up and down. “OMG, OMG, OMG, I have so many ideas already! This will be the best trousseau ever, I swear, all the other trousseaus will just go home and cry their little trousseau hearts out! Oh, wow, I can’t even stop thinking of ideas! Shit, I need to write them down.” I dropped Lacey’s hand abruptly and began to paw through my purse for my notebook. “Okay, so we’re going to go with, like, just all the teddies for you, and a few babydolls. And a peignoir, I’m trying to bring those back. Red is a good color on you, and purple, and gold is pretty great. Can’t go wrong with black. Damn, I wish I had my fabric notes! Okay, I remember you liked the design with—”
Lacey let me ramble on for what was probably ages, until my imagination ran dry, and shortly after that, my pen. Before I could tell Lacey that I was fine, she motioned to her assistant, who came running with a new one.
“Damn, girl,” I said, “free pens whenever I need one? I knew hooking you up with a billionaire was going to have its perks, but I can say with complete honesty that I was not expecting this one.”
“Oh, you weren’t?” Lacey said with a completely straight face. “But everyone knows that billionaires have unlimited pens, staples, paper clips, and all other office supplies. Except toner.”
“Oh really?” I asked, trying to match her deadpan. “Why is that?”
“The Great Toner Wars,” Lacey said, affecting a voice of deep sorrow. Then she ruined it by nearly snorting champagne out of her nose as she broke into laughter.
I joined her. “You are the silliest damn person I know,” I told her. “And I know me, so that is saying something.”
“Oh, there’s Grant,” Lacey said. “Good. He can rescue us from our silliness. He can be our knight in extremely serious armor.”
It was just possible that we’d had too much champagne.
Maybe. Just putting it out there as a hypothesis. Were there any scientists at the party? We could ask them to test it.
Grant came strolling up to us with the self-satisfied saunter of a man who has successfully parted several people from their not-terribly-hard-earned money for a good cause. He was accompanied by two other guys, one tall and sandy-haired in a rumpled suit, his square jaw and slight belly making him look like a jock gone to seed. The other one—
—was Asher.
If I’d thought he’d looked good in that T-shirt while at my apartment—well, shut my mouth. And open it again, because those dimples were in danger of making my jaw hit the floor.
He wore a midnight black suit, the jacket unbuttoned and the tight red silk of his shirt making his skin almost glow. He’d tugged off his tie in the heat, and was now absentmindedly wrapping it around and around his strong, graceful hands. His green eyes seemed to sparkle in the faint light of the torches and fireworks, and his hair fell in defiant curls around his face. A hint of stubble graced his cheeks, just enough to rasp against someone’s skin if he leaned down to claim their mouth with those full, pouty lips…
Oops, Grant was saying words. I should probably pay attention to Grant’s words and not Asher’s lips.
Though the lips were definitely more interesting.
He’s got a girlfriend, I reminded myself. He’s off limits, and also, he’s a jerk! You have instituted a strict no jerk policy! All jerks must be put in checked luggage; if you attempt to board this relationship with a jerk, Security will ask you to step from the line.
“—all in university together,” Grant was explaining to Lacey. “Brody and I played on the polo team together, and Asher was his roommate. Lacey, Kate—Brody and Asher. If I’d taken either of their advice back at college, I’d have made my fortune a lot sooner. Asher and Brody, Lacey and Kate. They keep me on the straight and narrow.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” Brody said to us.
Asher took Lacey’s hand and kissed it. “Delighted.”
Lacey’s eyebrows climbed so high they could have formed their own airline.
Asher took my mine. “Del—”
“We’ve met,” I said shortly, pulling my hand away.
“Asher, did you forget your manners again?” Grant asked. “He likes to put on the whole Prince Charming act now, but when I first met him, he couldn’t speak two words to girls that weren’t ‘move, you’re blocking the Lord of the Rings trilogy.’”
“Grant, please,” Asher said, starting to look embarrassed.
“This one time,” Grant started, a wicked grin blooming on his face, “he didn’t know his crush from the debate team was in the lobby, and he was racing down the stairs, skinny arms flailing in the wind—you should have seen him before he got into body-building, a toothpick could have taken him in a boxing match—”
“Don’t go digging up my tragic past, man,” Asher said with a laugh, giving Grant a friendly punch in the shoulder. His face took on a mischievous cast, and his slightly awkward smile widened. “Unless you want me to bring up that incident with you, the sorority, the whipped cream, and the fire department.”