The burst of ocean-tinted air hit my face as I exited the busy, bustling Toulon-Hyères airport. Tugging my oversized suitcase through the doors, I turned to the welcome - bienvenue sign on the see-through surface, and smiled. I'd seen that same sign about fifteen times in the past few months, but it never got old.

I took another whiff of the salted scent, letting the mild humidity coat my skin with a comfortable sheen. I moved off to the side to adjust my bright crimson power-suit—my favorite to travel in—and waited for my assistant to join me outside, after the exhausting series of flights from Los Angeles.

I tossed my hair out of my face, the burnt sienna and auburn shine catching light in my reflection in the polished windows. My legs were stiff, achy from being squashed in the compact airplane seats. I thanked the heavens that I was on the shorter side, unlike my assistant, who was six foot one and struggled to get comfortable on every flight.

"Viv, there you are." Said assistant came through the nearest door, dragging their miffed up, worn-out brown suitcase beside them. "This place is fucking sweltering. Is it always this hot in September around here?" They shaded their eyes with one hand, and used their other to throw their caramel curls over their shoulder. Chi looked sharp in their beige pantsuit and cozy white loafers; no matter their discomfort, they regularly traveled in style.

I fetched my monogrammed sunglasses case—Vivienne Clarke, L.A. Love Wedding Planners—from my purse, and extracted the oversized frames to set them over the bridge of my nose. The engraved wording on the temples always pressed hard into my skin, but with the exorbitant amount I'd paid for these, I made sure to wear them as much as possible. Someone with my means—barely affording to pay for my own apartment—didn't pass up an opportunity to put on something of value.

I blinked, adjusting to clear my eyesight, now that the sun wasn't blasting into my eyes. "No, not that I recall." I glanced at the rows of cars rolling up to pick up passengers, waiting for the one the hotel had sent for Chi and I. "But I'm more used to Paris. This is pretty out of my comfort zone."

"I can't imagine how fucking hot it was when you came here last month," said Chi, pulling up their sleeves and fanning their face. Their light brown skin wasn't even shiny, their dark, curled lashes were still perfectly in place, and their clothes weren't stained with the traces of sweat. "The shit we do for the big money, huh?"

"Blood, sweat, and tears," I replied, grimacing—my suit was glued to my body, and it felt like everyone could see it. Perspiration dripped down my back, and I feared my mascara had drizzled down my cheeks. I rarely had such lengthy trips. But it was all worth it, because it meant spending time in the breezy but beautiful south-east of France.

A sleek, maroon-colored Audi pulled up, its windows tinted. I recognized the Villa des Tropiques logo on the passenger door.

"Here's our ride," I said, motioning for Chi to follow me as the driver exited and opened the trunk for our luggage.

We crammed together in the backseat of the small but luxurious car, and held on tight while the driver navigated the crowded airport roads. Once out of the Toulon city outlines, the ride was smoother. We cruised along the French Riviera as it showcased its spectacular views. Chi, who'd never been to the southern coast before, let alone France, marveled at every twist and turn, every cliff overlooking the sea, every block of touristy hotels lining the packed beaches.

One hour later, the shuttle reached a large, circular pebbled courtyard. In its middle was a three-story, L-shaped castle of weathered white stone and whitewashed balconies. The Villa des Tropiques—anything but a traditional villa.

Chi whistled as they got out of the car, their gaze steadily scanning the horizon to the left—a beautiful Gulf of St. Tropez beach that bordered the property.

"It's like I fell asleep on the plane and landed in paradise," they said, removing their sunglasses as they slung their carry-on bag over their shoulder. "Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore."

"Welcome to the Cote d'Azur, my friend," I said, removing my sunglasses.

I'd been to the estate dozens of times, and still, the vista was as breathtaking as Chi described it. Every time I'd gotten out of the shuttle, my shoes crunched over the stones. My gaze perused the impeccable facade of lofty windows. And my nose picked up on the mix of salt and pine. Every time, I'd smiled, realizing how lucky I was.

Lucky to have landed the gig of planning socialite Violet Levine's wedding to her beach-boy fiancé Reece White. The wedding of the year, according to the tabloids and reporters who followed Violet's life with a microscope. The twenty-two-year-old was born into wealth, and would have nothing short of a perfect, getaway marriage celebration with her surfer-dude fiancé who'd never set foot outside of the United States. Violet had chosen this place for her nuptials; a French hotel that happened to belong to her family's line of luxury accommodations, Levine Luxury Group, one of the most renowned, extravagant chains out there. The CEO, Axel Levine—Violet's big brother—was paying for the whole thing.

A butler wearing the pale blue uniform of the hotel staff slithered outside to help with bags, while the driver took the car around the property, to the underground garage.

"The weather is incroyable," said the butler, guiding Chi and I into the lavish lobby, the light gust from outside bristling through the dangling chandelier's crystals overhead. "Unseasonably gorgeous, lately."

I agreed—by the end of September, the St. Tropez region usually started to feel the oncoming rainy October season with lowered temperatures and harsher winds. But the air was warm, almost hot, and I imagined it would be a sweaty outdoor wedding for Violet.

Hopefully she doesn't throw a fit about that.

Of course, planning a spoiled rich young woman's wedding came with consequences. Everything from drugged-up bridesmaids to tabloid mishaps to screaming Bridezilla fits—I'd dealt with it all, leading up to this day. Including this day, in fact; Violet had thrown a tantrum as Chi and I were boarding our flight from L.A.

Chi and I approached the wide, white marble check-in desk, and Chi whistled again upon sighting the floor-to-ceiling windows lining the back wall, showcasing the pristine patio and the sparkling outdoor pool. "Sheesh," they said, dropping their bag onto the counter, blueberry eyes fixating the polished pillars encircling the basin. "This place is fucking huge."

To my pleasant surprise, the check-in clerk didn't even flinch at Chi's lack of restraint. Instead, the young man whirled around and gestured at the pool, smiling wide.

"Wait until you see it at night," he said, his thick French accent sending me over the edge. I loved accents, and specifically this one, of someone from the south of France. There was a wild elegance to it, a vivacity to the words as they spewed out of the mouth. "It is the most splendide view you have ever seen."

I nudged Chi. "Go take a closer look, if you want. While I get us checked in."

Chi didn't wait to be told twice, and abandoned their bag as they scampered over to the French doors leading out onto the patio.

"Last name is Clarke," I said, drawing the clerk's attention.

He handed me two room keys. "Évidemment, mademoiselle. I recognized you from the last fifteen times you've been here."

I nearly snorted, but switched to my exhausted but grammatically correct French. "I'm so sorry, I've been traveling so much lately that every person looks the same to me."

The clerk's smile widened. "Nothing to apologize for, mademoiselle. You are in the same room as last time. Your companion's room is across the way from yours."

I thanked the clerk, and as I twirled to start the journey up the slight slope to my ground-floor room, I stopped dead in my tracks.

"Vivienne!" Hurtling towards me was the bride, Violet Levine, with enormous black sunglasses over her eyes. Her flowy, flowery sundress swirled around her, tight at her tiny waist, and her designer purse was clutched under her arm. Her heeled sandals clacked over the floors as she stopped before me.

"Miss Levine," I said, forcing a smile. Violet was a moody one—some days an absolute sweetheart who gave hugs and kisses and kindness; other days she shot bullets with her words and wounded with a snap of her fingers. After such a lengthy trip, while dealing with the habitual bridal stress, she'd likely be more on the latter side.

Violet removed her sunglasses. Her hazel eyes were tired, red, but not bloodshot; and when she smiled, I knew the mood would be more positive than I'd expected. "Violet, please," she said, air-kissing me. "So happy to see you. I trust everything is in order?"

Violet Levine's vision was opulence, beachy, tastefully excessive. And her visual of the event was a mess, her notes disorganized and impossible to read. She was notorious for being hard to get a hold of. The hours I'd spent on the phone or chasing the woman down in L.A.—thankfully, that was where Violet lived most of the year—had gotten so extensive that I had no idea how to bill them.

"I'll be checking on additional details once I'm settled in my room, and there's more to work on tomorrow after the rest of the guests arrive. But," I perked up as Violet's lips trembled, her happy facade on the verge of melting at my hesitation, "yes, everything is in order."

Everything about her was normally shiny, over-the-top. "Good. It needs to be perfect." She tossed her beautiful strawberry blonde curls. "So far, I'm impressed by the attention to detail. There were treats and products in my room—good stuff," she whispered, "and I was going to take a nap but I wanted to see you first. You're sure everything is good? Vendors confirmed, guests on their way?"

I nodded, praying to the wedding gods that I hadn't forgotten anything or missed any steps. "Please, relax. Nothing's going on until tomorrow, and I bet you'd like to unwind. Is Mr. White here?"

Violet shrugged. "Reese will be arriving tomorrow with his parents. I get to have the whole hotel to myself today. Well," she sneered, "my brother's hotel to myself, but he won't bug me."

She took off after air-kissing me again, and Chi joined me after having explored the patio. "The beach," they said, breathless with enthusiasm, "it's so fucking cool. I hope we'll have time—"

"—we probably won't," I interrupted, heading for our rooms. "We have some time to chill a little today, but there are so many details to go over, and I won't be able to relax until I'm positive it'll all go off without a hitch. No distractions, Chi. This has to go well."

As we marched through the lobby, I was stopped in my tracks by a man straightening up in his chair, his gaze connecting with mine. He sat on a cozy-looking leather chair, one leg draped over the other, his smooth, navy suit tight enough to show the muscles of his thighs. He held a drink in one hand—whiskey or brandy, from the coppery color—and raised it in my direction, as if cheering to me. Or summoning me closer?

I hadn't noticed him upon entering earlier, but I wondered how—the man was drop dead gorgeous, from head to toe. Even seated, I could tell he was well-built, muscular in all the right places. Every thread over his body was expensive and perfectly tailored to him.

I fixated on his maple eyes, and his lips lifted into a barely-there grin, enticing me.

"Oui?" I clutched my purse and pulled at my luggage, never once removing my eyes from his. I worried if I disconnected our gazes, I'd focus on his chest, imagining what he looked like under his clothes. Or on his crotch, envisioning how big of a bulge he hid under those sexy slacks.

"Bienvenue," he said, his honeyed voice starting goosebumps along my skin. He ruffled a hand through his dark ginger hair and enlarged his smile. "Is this your first time here?" he asked, in French, but with an accent so painfully American, I almost guffawed.

"I speak English," I said, in reflex, covering my mouth to not mock his attempt at speaking French. It was adorable, I had to admit, and I appreciated the effort; but I wouldn't make him go through such lengths to talk to me.

Wait. Talk to me? Why would a man of this caliber—dripping in dollars and exuding so much wealth I was about to wheeze—want to attract my attention? I was no one; a somewhat well-dressed wedding planner staying at the hotel on someone else's dime, to organize a party I wouldn't get to enjoy.

I wasn't bad-looking, but of all the women to walk into a place like this, why would he choose me?

"You're confused," he said, startling me. If I wasn't careful, I'd start drooling. This man embodied every wet dream I'd ever had about a sexy encounter in a foreign hotel; and I'd had a lot of those in my years of dating. But I'd certainly never slept with someone like this. Someone rich, inevitably hot, incredibly confident, and who was now walking up to me, lessening the gap between us—

I squared my shoulders as the man stopped a few inches away from me. He was a good six foot two, maybe three, all legs and torso and a spritz of spicy perfume.

"I'll be blunt," he said, that sexy voice like a soft scratch down my arm, bringing my hairs to stand on edge. Deep, seductive, a touch bitter like the darkest of chocolates. "I noticed you the second you walked in, and I haven't been able to take my eyes off you." He took a sip of his beverage—yes, definitely whiskey—and locked his gaze with mine once more. "Would you join me for a drink? I know you're not even settled in yet, but I couldn't miss this opportunity."

I gulped, my heart thundering in my chest. I'd been approached by many men, women, non-binary individuals, trans folk, seeking to lure me into having a drink, which I was normally open to. But this man was a type of his own.

He was a billionaire businessman. The filthy rich, thirty-something playboy I'd prayed to one day have a one-night-stand with, to get a taste of the luxurious lifestyle, the decadence, the opulence.

He was standing right in front of me, offering himself up...and I had to decline.

"I'm sorry," I said, resuming my trek towards my room, regaining a sense of myself. "I have to say no. I," I side-glanced towards the corridor I needed to take to reach my room, "have so much work to do."

He sucked in his lips and studied me, one eyebrow arched. "But you just got here. No time for fun?" The umber and ginger scruff on his face was screaming my name, begging to be touched, ruffled. His slightly opened shirt begged to be ripped apart to expose his chiseled chest.

It burned inside my rib-cage to have to refuse this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. "Unfortunately, no." I winced, taking another step backward. I sensed someone by me; Chi. I completely forgot they'd been walking beside me. Their mouth was open in interest at the ongoing situation.

The mystery man stepped back, one hand in the air in apology as he, too, noticed Chi. "Didn't mean to cross boundaries."

Chi chortled. "Oh, I'm not with her," they said, and elbowing me, they whispered, "I'd much rather be with you, sir."

I swallowed a laugh, and inclined my head in polite salute to the delicious man. As I swerved past him, I could have sworn I heard him say, "I'll catch you at the bar later, then."

My knees wobbled as I drank in his words, capturing his voice to memory.

In my room—and after Chi glared at me for refusing the hot man's advances—I put all my things away, freshened up, and organized my paperwork. Despite the lengthy trip to get there, I had no time to waste taking naps. There'd be time to unwind once I ensured this huge wedding went off without a hitch.

I settled at the cherry-wood desk and ruffled through all the contracts, the business cards, then opened up my planner. All the vendors had confirmed, and a few would be swinging by tomorrow for final details. In reality, I didn't need to be so high-strung; I had planned every single moment of Violet's wedding down to the most minute parts.

So when I'd wasted hours pouring over the paperwork, over and over, and giving myself a migraine, Chi's interruption was welcomed.

They stole into the room and set their hands on my shoulders, massaging. "I know you said no unwinding, but—

I swiveled in my seat to glower at them. "But what? What did you do?" They were notorious for dragging me to parties without warning, and I feared the worst.

They raised their hands in surrender and guffawed. "No, just a drink at the hotel bar. Decompress a little, will you?"

I wrinkled my nose, returning to my paperwork. "I can't. There's too much riding on this. The firm is out to get me, you know this. I have to prove to them that I can handle these high-profile gigs, or else they'll keep giving me the bread crumbs. And bread crumbs won't pay the rent—"

"—but one drink won't make you fail, Viv." Chi gripped my upper arms and forced me up. "You've worked your ass off, and you deserve to take a break. It all starts tomorrow, anyway. What's the harm?"

I sighed, deflating, breaking from Chi's grip. A drink did sound nice. A few bubbles, a smooth liquor on my tongue, and potentially a nice conversation with that hot, hot man—

"No, quit it," I said to myself, standing before the gold-rimmed floor-length mirror near the window. I adjusted my suit, pressing down on the wrinkles. I hated wrinkles, hated looking anything other than perfectly presentable.

I struggled to put off my thoughts of the man from the lobby. His sleek suit and equally sleek demeanor, his strikingly ginger hair—I wasn't usually attracted to redheads—and that voice, that voice that had rumbled through me and knocked all my organs out of place. The past few months, my libido was out of service and I'd done nothing to fix it. A recent break-up left me wounded and vulnerable, and unwilling to open my heart—or my legs—for anyone.

Until sighting the delicious stranger. There'd been a jolt in my stomach that was almost foreign; a swell in my lower half that I'd almost forgotten the feel of. And as much as I didn't want to, I'd liked it.

"Fine." I freshened up, grabbed my phone, room key, purse, and followed a way too excited Chi out into the hallway.

☼☼☼