Cassandra drifted out of the chapel in the swell of wedding guests, like guppies heading downstream. She smiled lazily, the chords of the recessional still making pleasant trails through her body. Weddings were the best—the summation of her life’s work.

The guests streamed toward the outdoor reception area, which jutted up against a rocky shoreline overlooking the Pacific Ocean. The water was calm, and the sun set in the west, brilliant and golden, casting a romantic hue over the affair. Not like the affair needed any help—the entire stone-laid patio boasted bouquets of lilies, and strings of twinkle lights hung between the rustic posts supporting the trellised overhang. From any angle, it was the stuff of wedding dreamlands.

And the guest list was especially well-groomed, with a few celebrities in the mix. Jay Leno, for some unfathomable reason, was linked to the bride. Bona fide hotties dotted the scene, the type of Hollywood-gorgeous that made casting directors drool. One in particular made Cassandra’s gaze stick like glue whenever their paths crossed. A sexy dark-skinned man, clean-shaven—something about him screamed professional. She shivered whenever she saw him.

A stage faced a large open area on the patio, and beautifully laid tables fanned out around it, making a semi-circle. Guests headed toward tables, seeking their spot, and Cassandra let her gaze trip over everything.

Wedding days were special to the bride and groom, but Cassandra took a special pride at each affair: she’d single-handedly brought this couple together.

Almost every couple she matched invited her to the wedding. This was couple number thirty, by her count—but that could have been an underestimation. She’d become quite adept at navigating these weddings as the outsider, friend to almost no one, simply looking into the life of her clients.

But she liked it that way. Made it seem more like a fairy tale, as if she were lazily thumbing through pages at home, witnessing the fascinating arcs and gleams of someone else’s life. A couple known in passing.

Cassandra drifted through the crowd, looking for the curlicued number nine that denoted her table. Across the patio, the dark-skinned hunk caught her eye. She swallowed hard. This was what, the fifth time they’d locked eyes, like a couple of fated lovers? It couldn’t be an accident anymore. Maybe he liked what he saw as much as she did.

She spotted table nine and smiled, picking up the dainty white placard with her name printed on it. No one else had arrived yet. Her tablemates were still mysteries, but if past weddings were any indication, she was usually flanked by all the other singles.

A man in a suit and a fedora stepped up to the microphone on the stage. “Excuse me, everyone. If you could please make your way to your tables, we’ll be serving dinner shortly.”

Cassandra plunked herself down in her seat. Being prompt and following the rules—something of her specialty. She eyed the other guests heading for tables, trying to pick out the other single people. Sometimes it was so obvious they might as well have arrows over their heads. Darting eyes, hands buried in pockets, keeping to the periphery—she could spot all the signs a mile away.

Across the patio, the dark hunk caught her eye again. And then he headed her way. She straightened in her seat, paralyzed by the attention, by the blatant eye contact that meant “Yes, I see you. This is intentional.”

He’s coming over now—dear God, he’s only feet away.

The man smiled, gesturing to the chair next to her. “May I?”

Her mouth hung open, and she forced herself to look away from his captivating umber gaze. Was this real life or some amazing GQ ad? “Um…it looks like somebody named Patrick is assigned here.” She swallowed hard, gesturing toward the placard. Patrick Herin. “Unless that’s you?”

His smile widened, and he strolled the perimeter of the table, studying each placard. “Hm.” He snatched up a name card from across the table and switched it out with Patrick’s. He gestured to the chair again. “Now it has my name.”

Her gaze fell to the placard—Nasir Azhar. The chair legs scraping against the stone paver reverberated through her body, making her breath catch in her throat. He was one of the singles.

“I hope Patrick doesn’t mind,” he said, his voice silky smooth. Cologne wafted toward her, and her thighs clenched. At her side, power and confidence rolled off him in waves. She could sense he was important—somewhere. Doing something. Maybe she’d be lucky enough to find out the details. If she could find her damn voice again.

Cassandra tried to laugh. It sounded like a strangled yelp. Nothing came out right while so near to this man. This God. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

He relaxed into his seat, making a display of peering at her placard. “So you’re Cassandra?”

She glanced down at the card, as though seeing it for the first time. Holy hell, her name sounded good on his lips. A twinge of an accent made itself known—she was desperate to hear it again. “No, actually, I’m just…stealing her seat.” She grinned, then cursed herself for the lame joke. Maybe she could recover. “Seeing how long I can pose as Cassandra before she comes over here and demands that I return her identity.”

Nasir nodded, jaw flexing. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I won’t reveal my secrets.”

Nasir’s dark gaze swept over her, the hint of a smile emerging. So she’d amused Mr. Dry Guy. His teeth shone perfectly straight and white. Everything about him screamed wealth and the cool air of luxury; she was sure his home was full of bespoke tailoring, glittering silverware, probably oysters for snacks. She wanted to melt all over him, completely encase him.

“Don’t act shocked,” she went on, determined to make him laugh. “I saw you almost steal Patrick’s identity just a few moments ago.”

Nasir chuckled. Success. “Fine. Allow me to properly introduce myself.” He offered his hand, nails so perfect he’d probably gone for a manicure. “I’m Nasir. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Cassandra faced him, slipping her hand into his. The heat of him seared through her, the touch of his skin begging her to extend the handshake. “Likewise, Nasir. I’m Cassandra.”

“Which side brings you to this fine affair? Bride or groom?”

She grinned, but her belly flopped. Admitting what she did—the relationship that brought her here—seemed like a bad move. Most of the time, it pushed conversations into slightly awkward territory. “I know both of them from a past work project. What about you?”

“I’m a good friend of the groom.” His gaze moved to the other side of the table as a few others sat down. He nodded a greeting to them but turned his attention back to Cassandra. “We met in graduate school.”

She sized him up, wondering if she could surmise his collegiate affiliation in advance. It might not even be domestic. There was no way to guess. “Which school? Maybe I know it.”

“Maybe you do. Harvard Business?”

She bit back a grin, nodding. “Yep, I’ve heard of that once or twice before.”

A pleasant silence settled between them as the rest of their assigned table mates filed in. Half women and half men at the table—so apparently, the bride and groom hoped there’d be a little matchmaking at the singles table. Cassandra smiled at the thought. Though matchmaking was her profession, she didn’t intend to find her match anytime soon. Life was too busy for a partner, so why bother even trying?

Eye candy was better. Eye candy like Nasir.

Cassandra smiled at the other people at the table, introducing herself to the man at her left. She wanted to play it cool around Nasir—make him think she wouldn’t climb into his lap immediately if only he suggested it. Even though she was dying to look into those dreamy dark eyes and learn all about him. Something about his dry, serious demeanor was like a tractor beam. She was desperate to see that smile on his face again.

“All right, everyone.” The man at the microphone returned, smiling brightly at the filled tables. A band stood behind him with instruments. “It’s time to welcome the wedding party!”

Cheers erupted, and the announcer introduced the bridal party one by one. Beautiful women and handsome men strutted across the dance floor, waving bouquets, preening for the cameras, each one the epitome of LA beauty.

Cassandra sighed as she watched them, both enchanted and confused by the wedding tradition. It was so fun and so elegant—but so much money for just one day. Her mind always circled back to the perennial question—what would YOU do for your wedding?—until she reminded herself she’d never be getting married. Not after her own parents had proven that even the most picture-perfect appearance didn’t mean shit about the happily-ever-after.

“Their bridal party looks like they stepped off a movie set,” Nasir said, his voice soft near her ear. She turned, heart racing, a grin creeping across her face.

“I was just thinking the same thing.” Cassandra paused, measuring her words. “Do you think this is all just for show? Like we’re on a set?”

Nasir laughed softly, like he couldn’t help it even though he tried. “You can’t be serious.”

The wedding announcer interrupted them. “And now…it is my honor to present to you all…Mr. and Mrs. Cavanaugh!”

Applause swelled, and all the guests leapt to their feet. Cassandra followed suit, clapping wildly, glancing over her shoulder at Nasir. His gaze waited for hers, sending a shiver up and down her spine. This reception would end far better than she’d hoped. Usually she stuck around until they started charging for drinks, or at least until cake. But tonight? If Nasir was around, she’d stay until they forced her out.

The bride and groom waved to the guests like celebrities walking down the red carpet. The bride glittered in an off-shoulder white gown that clung to her tiny, toned frame. The groom loomed tall and powerful above her, beaming ear-to-ear. Behind them, the band played a rocking rendition of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” Once the couple stopped waving and headed for their own table with the bridal party, the band switched to something almost somber sounding. Cassandra lifted a brow, seeking Nasir’s gaze to see if he noticed the odd twist.

His smiling eyes waited for hers. “The music.”

She nodded. “It sounds…” She squinted at the band as she listened. “Like a funeral dirge.”

He broke into laughter, which made her belly flutter. She liked making him laugh. Seemed like maybe he needed it in his life.

Excitement thrilled through her, but she squashed it. She couldn’t get too giddy about this guy. He’d be a pleasant companion for the night and nothing more.

“You’d think they’d have a string quartet,” Cassandra said, gesturing around them. “I mean, look at this place. It’s elegant, completely dreamy. Instead, they hired a rock band from the eighties.”

“Playing music that makes you want to get a divorce immediately,” Nasir added.

She giggled into her hand. Baby’s first joke. Nasir fished around in his pocket for something, revealing a sleek black phone. He furrowed his brow as he looked at the illuminated screen. “Excuse me a moment,” he said apologetically, then pressed the phone to his ear. She tried not to listen to his call, but it was impossible not to overhear the tight syllables of a foreign language. She clenched her thighs—every five minutes, this guy doubled his hotness.

He hung up the phone and pocketed it, turning to her. His face betrayed bad news.

“Cassandra…I’m afraid I have to leave.”

Her mouth parted, but she stilled her tongue before she could protest. They’d met twenty minutes ago—what right did she have to protest? But there’s a connection here…

“Oh. So suddenly?”

“There’s been a work emergency. I must go take care of some things.” He rummaged inside his suit coat, producing a business card. She took it hesitantly, catching another whiff of his cologne.

“Here’s my card. I’d like for you to call me. Or text. Whatever you prefer. I’ve enjoyed talking to you.” He paused, tapping a finger on the tabletop, his expression earnest. “I’d like to get to know you better.”

“I…I would too.” She couldn’t mean the words more. She’d throw her arms around his neck if it were socially acceptable.

“Great.” He waited a moment before pushing out of his chair, like maybe he’d wanted to touch her, hug her…give her a kiss? That was wishful thinking. “I hope to hear from you.”

She waved at him as he pushed his chair in and hurried away, heading for the bride and groom’s table. She couldn’t avoid checking out his ass—round and firm-looking under that sleek black suit—nor could she look away as he said his goodbyes to the new couple. She absorbed the sad look on the groom’s face, the friendly hug he gave them both…and certainly didn’t miss the final smile Nasir tossed her way before he left the patio area and disappeared from the reception.

Cassandra slumped into her chair, feeling spent, like a deflated balloon. Twenty minutes with the guy and she was halfway in love. What sort of madness was that?

She ran a fingertip over the face of the business card, drawing circles around his name.

Now she just had to decide when she’d send the first text.