"Do you mind if I..." I rubbed the back of my neck, sensing a cold sweat forming there. I touched Chi's arm, and they jolted at my freezing touch.

"Go, yes," they said, buttoning up my jacket for me and ushering me towards the door. "I'll break things down in a bit, whenever Mr. Levine—" they flinched, "whenever he gives the signal."

Mr. Levine perched near the pastry table, speaking in low tones with Estelle, and hadn't sent a single glance my way since we'd exited the kitchen.

Guests were dancing, getting slightly rowdy, over-drinking, overindulging in food. I remained swept in the middle of it all, unmoving, my vision blurred. Though I was satiated, sore from my adventure with Axel in the kitchen, something hadn't settled in my gut and I was nauseous. It might have been the wine, or a pastry I'd eaten, or the excess of expensive perfume swarming my nostrils.

Or maybe I hadn't digested what Axel and I did, the risks we'd taken, the pleasure we'd experienced and came down from so fast. Too fast.

"Thank you," I said, sliding my purse under my armpit, shoulders slumping as I navigated through the crowd. No one knew or cared who I was, or that I was leaving. Violet and Reece were busy feeding each other macarons, and everyone else had better things to do than interrogate the wedding planner making a run for it.

In the lobby, I inhaled a deep breath, enjoying the fresh air coming from the opened patio doors. The stuffiness dissipated, my dizziness fading enough for me to find the energy to hurry to my room.

I lay on my bed in the dark, shoes off, jacket unbuttoned but not removed. It smelled like him—spicy, sexy, intoxicating. I should have burned the thing, erased the scent from my nostrils; and yet I wanted to breathe it in, wanted to remind myself of him, for the last time.

One last time.

I cringed at my naughtiness, groaned at my behavior. How had I let this happen? Never, never had I been seduced by a client, and never had I even been attracted to one. Not like this. Not to the point of not knowing what to do with myself, and my legs shaking whenever I was in his presence. Being torn between slapping him for his abrupt indifference, or sticking my tongue down his throat for his allure.

One look, one word from this deliriously handsome man, and I'd caved. I craved him when he wasn't near, and couldn't contain my desire when he was.

But he was my employer. He signed my checks, he oversaw every plan I put in motion for his sister's wedding. A relationship between us—serious or sexual—was forbidden.

Yet he didn't stop it; not quite. He encouraged it, even, seemingly taking enjoyment from the taboo aspect of it all. And of course he would—his reputation and career weren't at stake, were they? No, he was a rich CEO who stayed out of the press on purpose, and who wouldn't receive any backlash for sleeping with his sister's wedding planner. If anything the world would find him sexier, more intriguing. But me? I'd lose everything if anyone were to find out.

I'd worked too hard, struggled too much to get here. It had taken five years for L.A. Love Wedding Planners to finally give me a worthwhile ceremony to orchestrate, to trust me to put this together with the skills I'd promised them I had. So many hurdles I'd jumped over, so many critiques and criticisms I'd had to swallow, to accept, before being able to prove myself. If I failed this, if word got out that I'd slept with the man paying me...

Losing this career would be detrimental. I had nothing else—a small pad in south Los Angeles, a few contacts in France, and a beat-up car rotting in a garage, waiting for repairs I couldn't afford. My commission rate was one of the lowest, because my resumé was thin, and my references were few. My co-workers were so competitive, they prevented me from succeeding; now, I had the opportunity, at last.

I couldn't blow it by giving in to the handsome, rich man employing me to not fuck this up.

***

A good night's sleep—minus the tossing and turning and nightmares of being fired—helped me wake in a better mood, ready to face the day. It'd be packed with events that I'd have to oversee, which would keep me busy.

Too busy to overthink my situation with Axel, at least.

"Non situation," I said to myself as I styled my curls into a side braid. "There's nothing between us. Last night was the last time."

I slipped on a flowy sundress and fastened a thick belt around my middle. This morning's activity—a VIP brunch at the upstairs restaurant, with windows overlooking the Gulf—was more laid-back, with fewer people attending. I assumed they'd all be hungover, anyway; too hungover to be demanding and judgmental of my performance.

As I passed through the lobby, I overheard guests and staff-members discussing rumors of a huge storm on the horizon. Not a usual thing for the area in September, but not impossible, either. But I'd checked my weather apps dozens of times already, and hadn't noticed a hint of rain in the vicinity.

"I won't panic," I whispered to myself, heading upstairs to check on the restaurant, the tables, the menu. It was eight o'clock, and the brunch was at nine—but I wanted an early start and a giant cup of coffee.

Tomorrow's ceremony would take place outside, near the beach. If weather was going to be a problem, I had ideas for back-up plans, but I didn't want to use them. Violet would have a cow if something shifted last minute, I had no doubt. She wasn't a fan of changes, and grew irritated when things didn't go her way.

I crossed my fingers that the talk of bad weather was wrong.

Chi joined me moments after I passed the restaurant's threshold, wearing flowy, cotton shorts and an equally flowing cream shirt. "Good morning," they said, squeezing my arm as I waited at the bar for a mug of java. "Can I have one, too? It was...a night."

I arched an eyebrow. "Anything I should be aware of?" I signaled for the bartender to add another coffee to my order.

Chi shrugged, taking up a barstool and setting their purse on the counter. "Nothing too dramatic, but there was a screaming match between a bridesmaid and a groomsman who realized out of nowhere that they'd slept together a few years ago. It blew over, thanks to, uh," they winced, "Mr. Levine. Nothing to worry about, but it sure was entertaining to watch."

At eight-forty-five, as Chi and I were about to ask for a second round of java, the first brunch guest arrived.

Axel, naturally.

He pranced in as if he owned the place—well, he did—not noticing me or my assistant. He rearranged a few tables to line them against the windows, then opened those windows, letting in a breeze that, unfortunately, smelled like rain.

"Shit," I said under my breath, trying not to stare at Axel's ass as he bent over to pick up napkins from the floor. "If it rains today—"

"—it won't." Chi set a hand on mine, its warmth comforting me for a moment.

But only for a moment. A brief time where I forgot my troubles, my concerns, and floated off to a world where I was allowed to sleep with whoever I wanted, without strings, without consequences, and weddings were easy to organize.

Axel ruined the moment as he marched over, throwing a handful of silverware on the counter, near Chi. "Good morning," he said to Chi, then turned his gaze to me. "Sorry about that. Violet texted me about wanting everyone to admire the view while they ate, and I remembered the current set-up wouldn't work."

I sat up straight, clutching my hot mug to my chest. "And why wouldn't she text me about that?"

"She probably figured since this place belongs to me, it'd be easier for me to just...well," he scrubbed his gingery scruff, "rearrange things as I saw fit."

Something pinched in my lungs. "But I'm the planner. You could have told me."

Chi tensed, discreetly elbowing me, as if warning me to tone it down. But I wouldn't have it—this was my gig, that he was paying me for. I hadn't risked it all—by sleeping with him—for him to micromanage my work.

"I did warn you I was hands-on," he said, grasping a mug that promptly arrived on the counter without him even asking for it. "Sorry."

He wandered back to the tables, standing between two of them to peer out the window as he sipped from his brew.

My hands tightened into fists. "He...he's just...ugh!"

Chi peered at the doorway, ensuring no one was coming. It was eight-fifty-five. "Was your kitchen tryst last night not satisfactory or something?"

I growled. "Beyond satisfactory. Mind-blowing. Incredible. That's the problem."

"What is the problem?" Chi ripped open a sugar packet and sprinkled the white substance into their drink. "He's right, he did warn you. It's no big deal, we'll still get paid for it. If anything it gives you more of a chance to relax. Fuck knows you need it."

"But it's like he's doing it on purpose," I said, considering pouring half a measure of brandy into my coffee, if anything to steady my nerves. "He waltzes in all hot and fucking perfect, then goes around fixing shit like it's his job, and then acts like he doesn't know me, like we never—"

"—ahem." Chi batted their lashes, eyes widened, on alert. "Like you never," they lowered their volume, "fucked? Okay, but isn't that the point? You don't want anyone to know, remember?"

"I don't." I set my mug down too abruptly, coffee spilling over the rim. "You're right, I don't. But still...it's like...I mean, shit, did he not enjoy it? Does he simply not care? Is it that easy for him to move on, return to his regular rich-boy activities? Sleeping with him, it...it's screwing me over, and here he is all unaffected, and I—"

"—want to know how he keeps his composure so well?" Chi wiped up the mess I'd made. "He's a professional, Vivi. He's only doing what you asked him to: not telling anyone what you two did. So, chill."

Frustrated with Chi's too true comments, I gulped, threw a breath-mint into my mouth, and got up to start greeting guests.

Violet and Reece came in separately. Violet sat with her siblings—minus Axel, who came and went between behind the bar, hiding in the kitchen, and leaning over the opposite end of the counter, farthest from me. Reece and his rowdy bros hogged the biggest table in the rear of the room, and his parents hounded the bartender with weird questions about the area.

It was the bridesmaid's table that drew most of my focus that morning. I caught them whispering, dabbing powder over the purple bags under their eyes, tossing back mimosas as if they had no alcohol in them whatsoever. They fiddled with their designer purses and showed off their fancy French manicures and kept peering over at Violet's table.

I worried about these women. They claimed to be Violet's BFF's for life, but they didn't attend to her as bridesmaids should have. They kept to themselves, did their own thing; even during last night's party, I'd noticed them being more concerned about their outfits and shoes than the bride.

Not wanting to intrude, but also too curious for my own good, I decided to pretend to be admiring the horizon from the window closest to their table. I sauntered over, coffee in hand—my third cup, on an empty stomach, which I'd regret if I didn't order something to eat soon—and perched near them, leaning sideways to pick up on their conversation.

"...and did you see how he slipped away last night?" Maisie, the maid-of-honor, spoke in a not-so-quiet whisper. I watched her from the corner of my eye as she cast her gaze not towards Violet, but Axel, who was standing beside the bride.

I grimaced, trying not to ogle Axel, myself. It had taken so much effort to not drool when he'd showed up earlier in loose-fitting slacks, flip-flops, and silky lilac shirt draping over his defined torso. So at ease compared to the uptight businessman I'd met and been aroused by. Yet this side of him almost aroused me more.

"When he ran off after the slideshow, you mean?" said one of the bridesmaids—Megan, I believed her name was.

"He hid in the kitchen," said Maisie, pouring more champagne into her mimosa. "All by his lonesome—or so, he'd have us think."

I choked on a gasp, but luckily stopped myself from coughing or drawing awareness to the fact that I was eavesdropping. And potentially discovering whether my cover was blown, if someone had figured out I'd slept with my boss—

"I don't think he was alone," continued Maisie, pausing for sips of her refreshed drink. The others gave her their rapt, undying attention, barely moving in their seats, taking turns to glance at Axel. No discretion, not a care in the world. "Someone was in there with him—" I almost gasped again, "—but I'm not sure who."

I deflated in relief, pressing a hand to the wall to maintain my balance. My knees had begun to buckle, and if Maisie had said my name, if she'd implied what was going on...I would have had to run out of the restaurant and hide until everyone left, after the ceremony.

But I hadn't been discovered. No one paid me any heed—even Chi was too preoccupied flirting with a waitress, and hadn't bothered to block me from going off-task.

Fuck. Why am I doing this?

I was about to return to my countertop seat when Maisie's voice again filtered over to me.

"...totally fucked someone in there real quick, then came back."

The other four women let out exaggerated gasps, but were overshadowed by Reece's groomsmen and their loud cheering at their table.

"Really?" The bridesmaid named Charlotte covered her mouth. "Would he do something like that? He's Axel Levine, for fucks' sake."

"Yes," Maisie turned to her, eyes narrowed, "and sleeping around with anyone and everyone is his kink, I've heard. Employees, friends, random strangers. All genders, all types."

All genders, all types? Is Axel pansexual, like me?

I bit my lower lip to not smile, to ignore the fluttering in my belly. Open sexualities turned me on; so of course, the ever-perfect, ever-rich Axel had to be one hundred percent my type.

"And if he's that easy, well," Maisie let out a muffled giggle, "I'd love him to fuck me, for once."

The others cackled at her; whether because they didn't think it was possible or they wanted to egg her on, I couldn't tell.

"No, seriously." Maisie arched her spine, squaring her shoulders as she lifted her glass in Axel's direction. He was oblivious, ensconced in a conversation with his siblings. "Years of trying and he still hasn't given in to me. But maybe this time, I'll shoot my shot."

A wave of anger uncoiled in my gut. My cheeks flushed, and I stormed back to my seat, refusing to hear any more of Maisie's bullshit.

But was it anger...or jealousy?

I motioned at the bartender and requested a mimosa. "Heavy on the champagne," I said, holding in the urge to turn around and glare at Maisie.

Was I nothing but a quick fuck to Axel? Granted, that was what I'd wanted—no attachments, no future, no chance of developing feelings. And certainly no opportunity to be exposed. Yet there I was, pounding down a mimosa, gritting my teeth at the memory of this hot, laid-back but wealthy dude who happened to show a vulnerable and caring side to me when no one else was looking. When we were fucking.

Against my will, I'd sensed an odd connection between us, a bond of secrecy and sex that no one else could understand. Definitely not Maisie.

I wasn't supposed to care. So why did Maisie's words, Maisie's goals, affect me so?

☼☼☼