“Lucy, you’s got some ’splainin’ to do.” Quentin folded his arms and peered over at Hailey from the office doorway.

Max, less subtle, was grinning ear to ear. “Girl, you’ve been holding out on me and I need details. Like, surround-sound details.”

Hailey grunted but didn’t glance up from the list she’d begun compiling for suppliers for the wedding. Her meeting with Serena had ended abruptly yesterday, after Hailey had pretended to get a tulle emergency call on her cell and bolted away from Serena’s probing questions. She knew it was only a matter of time before the society woman phoned, but until then, Hailey would make sure she was ready with suggestions and enthusiasm. The original cheerleader.

Ra-ra.

“Hmm?” she muttered. She made a notation on the list from an image on Google. “Explaining?”

“Don’t play coy.” Max dropped onto the corner of Hailey’s desk, the hem of her short skirt reaching dangerous territory. She rapped the desk. “We saw the report.”

Hailey frowned at Max, dropping the pen so it clattered and rolled against her stack of notebooks, one for each aspect of a wedding. It was a big pile. “What’re you on about? Look,” she said, waving at her stack, “I need to get this done. Serena’s bound to call soon with orders and questions, and we’ve got the Gellar-Hoffman wedding and the Chase-Cartman thing this weekend. I won’t have time—”

“To see your new boyfriend?” Quentin interjected with a knowing tone. When Hailey’s gaze jerked to him, his lips kicked up in a smile. He adjusted his collar and fanned himself with a sly wink. “I’d make time for him, too.”

Max rapped the desk again. “C’mon, spill.”

Hailey’s heart thumped the bass line for a rock song. Damn it. She’d hoped, vainly maybe, that the kiss wouldn’t weave its way through the wedding grapevine, but apparently Max or Quentin’s contacts worked faster than a society mama at an affluent wedding.

“I suppose someone told you about the kiss,” she said, picking up the pen so she’d have something to do with her hands. She clicked the end a few times. “It’s no big deal.”

“Nobody had to tell us.” Quentin strutted in, smoothing his lilac tie that matched the shirt he wore under a charcoal gray waistcoat. “Haven’t you seen Genie Gossip?”

Hailey sent him a look. “I don’t watch that channel. Or its show.”

“No big deal?” Max waved her hands, expression disbelieving. “You’re kissing a Genie and it’s no big deal?” She wrinkled her nose as her shoulders dropped in disappointment. “Wait—dudsville? Limp lettuce? All talk and no throwdown?”

A vivid memory caressed Hailey’s mind, Ryder’s lips brushing hers, his scent teasing her nose. Strong hands . . .

“Not by the look on her face,” Quentin pointed out with a grin. He plopped in his chair, elbows on desk, and leaned his head on his hands. His look was expectant, like a child about to be told the best story of his life. “Tell.”

“There’s nothing to tell.” Hailey’s cheeks blistered. Click, click went the end of the pen. “Ryder was being friendly, is all.”

“Uh-huh.” Skeptical, Max’s eyebrows lifted. “I don’t usually stick my tongue down my friends’ throats.”

“Ha ha.” Hailey clenched the pen, blocking any and all memories before the blood could fan the color in her cheeks any hotter. “No. He overheard Serena tell me I needed to move on, get over Ethan.”

“Serena actually said that?” Quentin’s brow creased. “What a bitch.”

Max slammed her hands on the table. “Whoa, Quentin swore.”

“If occasion calls for it.” He sent her a dry smirk. “You usually more than hold my end up for me.”

The sound of someone’s feet pounding down the hall drew all of their collective attention to the door. Megan appeared, flushed, eyes bright. Her shirt was half tucked in as if she’d dressed hastily. “Is it true?” she demanded, breathless.

Hailey sighed. So much for that hundred dollars. “No. Ryder is not my boyfriend.”

“But . . . Genie Gossip said—”

“And they always get it right?” Hailey lifted one eyebrow and swung on her chair. All together now, class. “He was being a friend.”

Max was studying her from her perch above, nails tapping on her thigh. “All right,” she said, resting her arms on her knees. “Say we believe that—though if you’re telling me you don’t feel something hot in your lady parts for that man, I’m calling it, ’cause you’d have to be dead not to notice how fine that man’s butt is.”

Megan and Quentin both nodded.

Hailey clicked the pen furiously. Not thinking, not thinking, not thinking.

“If he’s such a good friend,” Max continued, tone deceptively bland, “how come this is the first time we’re hearing about it?”

Busted.

Click, click, click. Hailey swallowed. Her mind raced, but it was like a hamster on a wheel—not getting anywhere.

It was bite-your-tongue awkward. She was bound by contract not to tell the truth about the deal Ryder had worked out with WFY for her. Ordinarily, she’d spill her guts to Max and Quentin, but with her mouth legally gagged, all she could say was a version of the truth.

She supposed she could always go with half of it: that she’d wanted to middle finger what Ethan had said about her, so she’d sold the jewelry and treated herself to a wish.

The trouble with that, though, was that she was such a lousy liar to the people that knew her well. And if Max scented any holes in her story, she’d grab a shovel and dig and dig until Hailey was buried by her own lies.

Sweat misted her nape as she stared, wide-eyed, at all three.

Max crowed. “I knew it!”

Then, blessed be all the saints, her phone rang.

She swiped it up faster than a pair of Louboutins on a fifty percent off rack. “Hailey Lawson, Erica Pearce,” she said with a whaddya-gonna-do look to her friends. Stalling wasn’t a forever plan, but hey, it worked for now. At least until she’d got her story one hundred percent straight.

“Hailey, this is Serena Norwood,” said the most unwelcome rescuer on the planet.

Frying pan, fire.

“Hi, Serena,” Hailey responded, with an eye roll at Max—who curled her lip and slid off the desk. She headed off as Serena inquired if Hailey had sorted her emergency.

“Yes, everything was rescued,” Hailey said with an inner cringe. She pulled forward her notepad. “How are you?”

As they went through the basic small talk, she doodled on the pad aimlessly. Or at least that’s what she thought until she glanced at what she’d drawn and realized a very bad version of Ryder looked back at her.

With the phone tucked between shoulder and ear, Hailey ripped the drawing out and wadded it into a ball. It was quickly thrown in the trash. Out of sight, out of mind.

Yeah, right. And size doesn’t matter.

Her attention clicked back on when Serena broached the topic of themes.

“You’ve already given it some thought?” Hailey asked.

“As I said in our original meeting, I want it to be pure class,” Serena said, launching in with a no-nonsense manner, “but with a little originality. A fairy tale. Nothing too cheesy.”

“Okay.” Never mind the fact that fairy-tale weddings were pretty much the opposite of original. She made a notation in the notepad earmarked for Ethan and Serena’s wedding. “Are you sticking to that theme the entire way through? Dress, flowers, music?”

“As much as I can. I want this wedding to be admired, spoken of. Cost is no concern.”

Must be nice to have such a rich daddy.

The rate she was going, Hailey’s nickname would start being Bitch-Face, too. “Have you sited a location?”

“We want it to be at the Lighthouse. My mom and dad married there.”

“Sweet,” Hailey managed. The Lighthouse was one of her favorite locations for city weddings. A shame it’d be forever clouded by the memory of this one. “Well, we’ve done weddings there before, so I know who to contact about setting that up. A word of warning though—because you haven’t left a lot of time before the wedding, their spots might be taken up.”

“Oh, no.” Serena’s voice was breezy. “I already spoke to Nat, my friend who organizes events there. She promised I could have the date I wanted.”

That squeaking noise you hear is the wheels being greased.

“Great.” Careful to control her voice, Hailey let loose the sarcastic smile and stubbed her shoe on the carpet. “That’s one worry off the list. They also offer catering which, from personal experience, I can tell you is sublime. Would you have any qualms about going with their recommended caterer?”

“Not at all. Abigail is a gorgeous cook.”

Hailey stabbed her pen into the paper and twisted. “You know her, too?”

“Oh, you get to know everyone in this town when you go to as many society functions as I have.” Serena made an amused sound. “Like Ryder.”

* * *

She had the same feeling later as Erica summoned Hailey to her office. Like she was being led to the Spanish Inquisition.

Dragging her heels, Hailey mentally pinched Ryder. She didn’t know what the hell he’d been thinking, but this was serious trouble she was in.

Quentin had related the contents of the Genie report to her, and the fact that they’d mentioned her name and where she worked at all was bad enough, but apparently the photos not only showed her and Ryder lip-locked, they showed her and Ryder lip-locked and ignoring Serena. Dante might have reserved the lowest level of hell for those who betray, but to Erica Pearce, it was reserved for those who shunned a client.

That Hailey had been seen allegedly kissing her boyfriend on company time in the presence of an important client was enough to send her packing without a reference.

Maybe the meeting isn’t about it. Maybe she hasn’t seen it. Maybe it’s about patting me on the back for the good work so far.

And maybe she’s going to hand over the keys to the business while she goes backpacking in the Amazon.

Idiot.

June looked down her nose at Hailey as she approached, a remarkable feat considering she was sitting down. A jar of pale pink nail polish claimed the spot next to the bulging in-tray and the fresh scent of polish hung in the air. “She isn’t pleased with you.”

Hailey didn’t bother to reply. Arms folded, she waited until, with a sniff, June buzzed through. “Hailey’s here, Ms. Pearce.”

“Send her in.”

Hailey’s gaze winged to the window when she walked in to the office, one hundred percent certain Erica and her cigarette would be sharing a private moment. Her step hesitated when she met with a closed window and a gloomy skyline.

“Hailey.” Erica spoke from her desk. Her voice was pure Switzerland.

Not good.

Hailey tried a smile on. It didn’t fit well. “Erica. You wanted to see me?”

“I did. Take a seat.”

Hailey thanked God for the noise of the background traffic as she claimed one of the seats and crossed her legs. Back poker straight, she folded her hands in her lap. At least she hadn’t been crying this time.

Erica stared at her from across the expanse of desk. “I think you know why I asked you here.”

Huh. You really can sweat in every part of your body.

Hailey licked her lips and nodded.

“Do you think you can get him to introduce you?”

The words went past Hailey, lost on her. She blinked, frowned. Rewound the tape and still had to ask. “I’m sorry?”

“I know it’s not the most politic of ideas,” Erica said, leaning back in her chair, brown eyes shrewd, “but if you want to succeed as a wedding planner, Hailey, you have to learn that everybody is useful to you in some way.”

She felt like she was having that dream, that freaky, sweat-inducing, cringy dream where she was center stage without any clue what her line was. And naked.

“I’m sorry?” she said again, helpless to say anything else.

“Look, I’m not saying I’m pleased you met your boyfriend on a meeting with a client.” Erica’s thin eyebrows lowered to form as much a frown as her doctor would allow. “However, since he can be useful to us, I’ll overlook it this once.”

Hailey put her fingers to her mouth, inhaled. “I’m sorry. I’m lost.”

“You are dating Ryder Wood?”

Eep. “Dating is such a . . . finite term.”

“How would you term it?”

I won a wish but to pay for it, I’m planning his twin’s party, and meanwhile there’s enough sexual chemistry between us to power New York for ten years.

Or . . .

The smile she offered was tepid. “Seeing each other?”

“But you do know him well.”

She didn’t even know how he took his coffee. “Well enough.”

“Well enough you could ask him to refer Jax Michaels here?”

She really needed to get better at spotting these trapdoors.

Hailey shifted in the chair, the slide of fabric almost obscenely loud in the quiet space. “I don’t know how comfortable I’d feel . . . asking Ryder such a favor when we’re still . . . early on.” All the pauses made it sound like a political speech. Except it was Erica campaigning.

Erica steepled her hands. Her diamond watch winked in the light from the overhanging fixture. “Hailey, I’m not asking you to prostitute yourself to him.”

She about swallowed her tongue as a stark image of Ryder naked beneath white silk sheets sprang to mind.

Why white silk?

You think that’s what you need to be thinking about right now?

“All I am asking is if he could request a meeting with his friend.” Erica cocked her head, gaze direct. “How is that a big ask?”

With Erica’s gaze centered on her like a spotlight, Hailey fought the urge to squirm. She had a vision of herself dressed in circus gear, all these plates—Ethan’s wedding, the wish, Ryder’s party, now the favor—spinning on thin sticks.

She surrendered to the inevitable. “I suppose I could ask.”

* * *

Hailey had just washed the last plate and set it to drain when her cell rang. She grabbed a towel to dry off and hurried to her bag.

“Hailey Lawson,” she answered, crisp, professional.

“Ryder Wood.”

As the strains of Ryder’s deep voice purred into her ear, everything in Hailey’s body shot to life.

Nope. She shoved the boil down to simmer. Not this time. She might have put up a good front with her friends, but honestly, she had no idea why Ryder had done what he’d done—and in front of a room crowded with the who’s who of New York society. He might have gotten her fired.

She perched on the couch arm, rejecting the electricity zipping in her veins. “I’m going to murder you.”

“Huh.” He took a beat on the other end of the line. “Not the usual response.”

She refused to be charmed. “Ever since yesterday, I’ve had nothing but questions and comments from everyone I work with, thanks to you.”

“Why? What happened yesterday?”

“Don’t be cute.”

“Sorry, it comes with the DNA.” She heard the grin in his voice. “So . . . what happened yesterday?”

“I got jumped by a horny Genie.” She whipped the dish towel against the couch, unsatisfied at the tepid whiplash. “In front of everyone.”

“Let me ask, was it the getting jumped or everyone watching that bothered you?”

“Seriously, Ryder, what were you thinking?” She repositioned the phone and stood to pace. Her bare feet padded against the wooden flooring. “My boss found out.”

“You didn’t get in trouble, did you?” His tone sharpened. “Want me to talk to her?”

“No.” Erica would proposition him before Hailey had the chance to . . . think about how to proposition him. About Jax. Obviously. “I straightened it out.” Lied her ass off. “But what on Earth possessed you to . . .” Kiss me and make sure I can’t get erotic images of you and cream and chocolate sauce out of my head? “ . . . do that?” she finished on a safer note.

“Boredom?”

She gripped the phone in frustration until the plastic creaked. “Would you be serious? Do I come to WFY and lounge all over your desk?”

Silence.

“Ryder?”

“Sorry. Fantastic visual, couldn’t speak for a minute.”

One . . . two . . . three . . .

“You’re counting again, aren’t you?” Ryder cleared his throat. “Sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to mess up your meeting. I saw you on my way out and I heard all that crap she was spewing about you needing to move on and—”

“So you did hear that.” Color her pink, red, crimson, rose, scarlet, magenta in embarrassment. Yes, she’d told the others that, but part of her had been holding out hope he’d kissed her for some other reason. Crazy, naked desire would’ve been better than pity.

Apparently not. Now Ryder knew she was a loser, too.

She wiped a hand down her face. “Fan-tastic.”

“Hey, we’ve all got exes we can’t get over.”

“Oh, yeah?” A little laugh spilled out as she adjusted course to the window. “Name one of yours.”

“Patricia Nowell,” he said promptly. “Broke my heart. Left me for another guy one week after we started going out.”

“Oh.”

“Yep. Took me to fourth grade until I could ask someone out again.”

Aaaand there went those soft feelings. The smile wouldn’t wipe away though.

She sighed, pressing her forehead against the cold window. “What am I going to do with you?”

“I have a few suggestions.”

“I’ll bet.” She walked away from the window and flopped onto the couch. She stared up at the ceiling. And why would that be such a bad thing again?

“She’s the reason you’re always sad, isn’t she?”

Hailey puffed an unsurprised laugh. Mr. Honesty. “Kind of.”

“Who is she?”

“She’s a client.” Hailey worked her jaw. “And if I don’t plan her wedding, I won’t get the chance to plan anyone’s on my own.” She briefly explained about Erica’s offer. “You see? I have to play nice.”

“Play nice, just don’t roll over.”

“You sound like Max.”

His voice changed. “Who’s he?”

“She’s a friend I work with. She’s told me many times that I need to get some balls.”

“Resisting the joke.”

“Points for effort.” Hailey smiled. He always made her smile. “Why did you call?”

A hesitation before he spoke. “I need to talk to you about something. And I have a proposal for you.”

“What kind of proposal?”

His tone dropped from light to dark. “The kind that has . . . benefits.”

Oh . . . boy.

She hooked a finger in her collar and fanned herself. “I, ah . . . hmm.”

“Speechless again?”

“Bite me.”

“Promise,” he purred. “I think it’s about time you had some fun, Hailey Lawson.”

Her eyes traced the pattern on the ceiling where the paint swirled. “I told you, I have plenty of fun.”

“Then our definitions are very different.” He sounded upbeat, pleased with himself. “It’s better if we talk face-to-face for this.”

“Why?” she asked, alarmed. She knifed up to sitting. “I like the voice-to-voice thing.”

“See you in a few.”

“Hey, wait,” Hailey said in alarm at the click on the other end. “Ryder? No. Phone is better. Ryder?”

When the only response was the dial tone, she shot up and threw the phone on the couch. Pulling her fingers through her hair, she scanned the apartment for any stray underwear he could find.

Like the ones she was wearing.

I have a proposal.

The kind with . . . benefits.

Lord.

The knock on the door made her pulse scramble.

Play it cool, Hailey May.

She cleared her throat, brushed back her hair. Smoothed a shaking hand down her thighs.

When she opened the door it was with lifted eyebrows. “Not bothering with the buzzer anymore?”

He was like a shot of adrenaline. A long, muscular, rippling shot of adrenaline.

When he smiled, her legs wobbled. “Next time,” he promised. “Can I come in?”

She got the feeling his question included more than her apartment.

Alice-down-the-rabbit-hole time.

Wordlessly, she held open the door.