Work is boring. Saturday’s usually are. We’re never busy, but I do get a lot done with the meeting minutes I was behind on because Tathan’s not there so I’m not constantly staring at him. It’s amazing what you can get done when you’re not drooling over man candy.

Casey picks me up at noon, and we head into downtown Phoenix. Zane meets us at the hotel where the expo is being held, already inside and checking out dresses.

Inside the expo center, we lose each other at some point, probably because I camped out at the wedding cakes sampling them. Who better to sample the cakes, but the girl who loves cake?

An hour later, I feel like my gut might explode and Casey finds me. It’s for the better. I probably would have eaten cake pops until my stomach did in fact explode just so I had a reason to leave.

Casey. . . she’s excited because she’s found exactly who she was looking for, Mr. Elliott Warren himself. From the many women passing by, I heard he was in attendance but really had no desire to actually meet the narcissistic asshole.

As you know, Casey has been searching for a photographer since she and Bryan got engaged on Christmas, but hasn’t had any luck. Mostly because she only wanted Elliott Warren. This meant she had a very specific mission today.

Word on the street is this dude is pretty much unattainable unless you know someone who can get in touch with him. It’s like he’s a damn mob boss. I half expect the guy to have bodyguards surrounding him.

“Amalie,” Casey’s voice shrieks, too excited. “You have to come meet him. He’s freaking hot too!”

She thinks everyone is hot, but I know exactly who she’s talking about.

“Doubt that.” I don’t know about you, but I don’t exactly think of photographers as being hot, but I guess I don’t know any either. I’m not even entirely sure how Casey knows he’s hot, considering there are throngs of women around him and I’m only seeing bits and pieces of his body.

How can one guy be that damn special?

“He winked at me, Amalie. At me!” she says, pointing to herself. She looks so happy I don’t want to let her down, so I agree, against my better judgment and act excited.

“I’ll come meet the famous Elliott Warren,” I say, giving up because Casey’s relentless at times.

Grabbing another bite of the chocolate truffle cake and a bottle of water, I’m dragged away to the photographer area of the expo.

“Look, there he is.” Casey points to my left.

As soon as she points, I choke on the drink of water I just took. You wouldn’t believe it, or maybe you saw this coming all along, but standing there changing lenses while women drool over his every move is Tathan.

My Tathan.

With my mouth open gawking at him, he takes that exact moment to look up from his camera to meet my horrified stare. And then gives me a once over and winks. Naturally, this would be his reaction. Jerk.

I’m half tempted to run over there and punch him in the face or kiss him—one of the two is a good option.

Shifting my weight from one foot to another, like I have to pee, I glare my best “you must die” stare. And again, as if he knows he’s been caught, he smiles, practically laughing and motions with his finger for me to come over.

It’s everything I can do right then not to flip him off and mouth, “Fuck you,” at him.

“Have you met him before?” Casey asks, confused by his gesture. She looks closer, squinting at him. “Wait a second, I know that beard.”

“Are you blind?” I growl, angry he didn’t tell me this when I was expressing my hate for his work yesterday. “That’s Tathan Madsen!”

“As in the Tathan who lives next door to you? Tathan that we work with? Like Paul’s son? How did I not know this before?” she asks, awestruck eyes. “Wait. . . so that would mean that Tathan is Elliott Warren?”

“If it wasn’t for your math skills, I would think you were like nine years old,” I tell her, shaking my head in disbelief.

A light finally goes off and her eyes gloss over with excitement. “Oh my God. . . maybe he’ll take my photos!”

She pushes me forward. “You should go over there. It looks like he wants to talk to you.”

She just wants me to ask him to take her photos.

“Of course he does,” I snap, walking away. “I’m busy.”

“With what?”

“Tasting cakes.” I find the cake table again and shove a piece of chocolate mousse cake in my mouth. “We have to find the perfect chocolate cake.” I can’t think straight. My mind is a scrambled mess. How could I have not known who he was?

Casey follows me. “I thought most wedding cakes are white?”

“Does it matter?”

“Are you mad at him?” Casey tries to take the cake away from me so she can sample it.

I hand her a plate. “Yes, I’m mad.” German chocolate crumbs fly out of my mouth and onto Casey’s plate. Her eyes squint at the crumbs when I speak, not sure if she should be disgusted or listening to me. “I chastised his photography skills in front of him, making me look like an asshole, and he didn’t even have the decency to tell me that he was Elliott Warren or Tathan. He’s living a double life. Like Spiderman or Batman.”

“Maybe he was embarrassed after that,” she suggests. “You can be intimidating at times, Amalie.”

“Like when?”

“Like now. . . .” She sets down the plate. “Just go say hello. Maybe he has a reason for not telling you.”

Of course he does.

Maybe he does. . . I was kind of rude, wasn’t I?

I’m still angry though. He should have said something.

Casey looks like she’s about to defend him again, but I hold up my hand, stopping her. “Whatever. He should have said something.”

Wanting to change the subject away from me because I’m about to have a heart attack with how hard my heart is pounding, I eat. I continue keeping busy with the cake samples and the most delicious invention in the world. Cake pops.

I’m not sure who invented them, but they are pure genius. What’s better than cake on a stick that you can take anywhere and not get your hands dirty? And they are just so damn cute. They come in all sorts of flavors and colors with the most adorable decorations on the outside. A little slice of heaven. . . in a ball. . . on a stick. Sheer perfection.

DESPITE MY EARLY tantrum, the cake has a calming effect on me, and I sneak away later, of course, to watch Tathan in the seclusion of the crowd where I can properly stalk him without him knowing.

I never would have expected this, but Tathan is amazing when he photographs.

Four couples dressed in wedding attire surround him, each one in their own pose as he captures various shots of them dancing. His brooding eyes concentrate on his work, his lips somewhat pouty with concentration, examining every shot after he takes them.

As I watch him, all I can think about is him taking pictures of me preferably while I’m in his bed. Lighting low, me dressed erotically, him wearing absolutely nothing. Then him setting down the camera and seductively stripping away all my clothes. Imagine the possibilities and the outcome of that situation.

After Tathan finishes, the women continue to flirt with him, but I see that when he’s taking photographs, he’s in a different mindset, ignoring their advances with a polite smile.

Before Casey can catch me—or worse, Zane—drooling over Tathan, or Elliott. . . or whatever, I sneak away and find Casey paying for a dress she decided on. Pale white and wide eyes, she looks as though she’s about ready to throw up.

“Dude, I can’t believe I spent five grand on a motherfucking dress.” She stares at the dress in her hand carefully holding it up in fear it may touch the ground. “It’s making me sick.”

I hand her a cake pop from the stash in my purse. Believe it or not, they wrapped them up for me in cute little bags with ribbon.

“I can.” I eat the one in my hand in one bite. “And you’ll only wear it once.”

“Screw that.” She eats the cake pop, mindful not to get it on the plastic covering the dress by leaning forward. “I’m going to wear this damn thing once a month. Expect me to show up at work wearing it.”

The entertaining part about that is Casey would totally do something like that.

As Casey and I are walking around looking for Zane, Tathan is walking toward us with his camera in hand looking both worn-out and curious as to what my reaction will be.

I want to run the other way, but there are people everywhere, and there’s nowhere to go but toward him. Especially when Casey refuses to let me run away.

As he approaches, I watch his every move, the bright white lighting of the room making him stand out in his all-black attire.

God, he’s fucking beautiful, so dark and handsome.

And then he speaks.

“Are you trying to avoid me, Amalie?” he whispers in my ear as he leans into my shoulder, his warmth undeniably inviting.

Drawing back, he waits for my answer.

Zane chooses then to find us, confusion all over his face as he has no idea what happened earlier.

“Yes.” I want to wipe that smirk off his fucking face. And then lick it. “You’re making it difficult.”

Tathan puts his hand on his chest, gasping. “I’m hurt.”

Damn it. I’m fighting back a smile. “Yeah, right. I doubt that.”

He leans closer so his lips are touching my ear. Zane looks like he’s going to have a heart attack as Tathan does this. Casey too.

“I don’t see your date with you.” Tathan’s voice is extra raspy. It makes me shiver with excitement. . . or anticipation, maybe, you know, at this point I’m not even sure what the emotions I have are anymore when it comes to him. I know I don’t like it.

“Why didn’t you tell me your real name?” I take a step back. “Or what is your real name?”

He shifts, almost uncomfortably, if you could possibly make someone like him uncomfortable. “You seemed so appalled by Elliott I thought I could continue to be Tathan.” In probably the most adorable gesture a man like him can make, he scrunches his nose. “You seem to like him better.”

I jab my finger in his chest. “Well, the cat’s out of the bag, isn’t it?”

He smirks. Just fucking smirks. Like him forgetting to tell me who he actually is, is funny to him.

“What is your name?”

He holds out his hand. “Tathan Elliott Madsen.”

I don’t shake it. Nope. Not happening. I actually fold my arms over my chest. “Why do you go by Elliott Warren?”

“Because it’s easier, and Warren is my mother’s maiden name. It’s kind of a tribute to her.” He shrugs, and I feel like a complete asshole. His voice is softer when he speaks, as if he’s trying to maintain some privacy in the thick crowd. “No one knows me as Tathan in photography. Outside of it, I live a normal life. It’s like a pen name.”

Damn it, that makes perfect sense. “Okay, fine. But why do you sit next to me at work then if you’re a photographer? Clearly, you don’t need the money.”

He seems nervous for the first time since I met him, probably because Zane and Casey are staring at us and have been watching this entire interaction. “Paul hired me as a contractor. I photograph the homes for the company. Then I do the editing and posting of them at the office.”

“So you only come into the office for editing? Couldn’t you do that at home?”

He glances at Casey, Zane, and then me again, so many emotions cross his face that I can’t even process which one scares me more. They all do. Every single one of them.

But the biggest shocker of all comes with his words, “And because of you. . . .” He cringes, after the words pass his lips, like he’s afraid of my reaction.

You’ve heard of fight or flight. . . right? I only know flight these days.

I turn and run away.