HEA: Happily Ever After Sneak Peek
OSCAR
Only I could go to a wedding and manage to literally lose my date.
“For god’s sake, Frank,” I hissed, lifting the bottom edge of the white damask cloth and peering into the darkness below the gift table. He was hiding under there somewhere, I knew he was.
Around us, champagne glasses tinkled, and guests engaged in light, meaningless chatter while a string quartet played some soothing, romantic bullshit, but I was engaged in a battle of wills with a formidable opponent. A battle I could not lose.
“We talked about this,” I whispered, outraged. Despite the summer air-conditioning in the ballroom, a trickle of nervous sweat meandered down the center of my back. “You promised. I have to deliver that fucking speech in a little while, and I need your support—”
“Oscar Overton?” a confused voice called from somewhere over my head. “Are you… that is… are you quite well?”
I startled, nearly cracking my head on the edge of the table, but managed to school my features to perfect blankness as I stood and let the tablecloth fall back into place. I swept a hand over my hair, tugged my tuxedo jacket and waistcoat down, and managed an urbane smile.
“Vic. Hi. Good to see you.” I nodded at the slight blond man who clutched a glass of white wine in one hand and the arm of his date in the other. “Perfectly fine, yes. Just…” I waved a hand. “Inspecting the workmanship. You know.”
Vic blinked rapidly, and I could practically see the thoughts fluttering across his brain as he glanced from me to the table and back again—Talking to tables is odd behavior, even for Oscar. Should I ask further questions? Should I be concerned? I also caught the moment he came up with the answer that seemed to settle his doubts—Ah, yes. Oscar is excessively rich and therefore eccentric. No one knows what goes on inside his head. Business as usual.
I bit my lip against a smile. It was a handy thing, sometimes, to be exceptionally wealthy. All your personality quirks could be explained away as a side effect of money, and though you lived your life in the spotlight, no one ever looked too closely, even the people you’d dated once upon a time. Rather like hiding in plain sight.
“Ravishing as ever, Vic. Love the summer suit,” I offered, leaning against the table faux-casually. I glanced up at the man on his arm—tall and willowy, a little awkward—and smiled brightly. “And who might this be?”
“Oh. Um. Oscar, this is Stefan.” Vic clutched his date’s arm a little tighter. “My fiancé. Stef, this is Oscar, my…” He hesitated.
“Ex,” I supplied, giving Stefan a friendly grin and extending my hand to shake. I winked at Vic. “Don’t be shy about it. It’s been ages since we broke up. In fact, I have several exes here tonight,” I added as an aside to Stefan, “including one of the grooms.”
Stefan blinked. “Really?”
“Oh, yes. Wells and I were a hot item for half a minute, eons ago.” I tried to sound bored and unconcerned and was pretty sure I’d managed it. “I’m his best man now.”
“That’s cool,” Stefan said, beginning to smile. “I—”
“Yes, that’s kind of Oscar’s thing, Stef,” Vic interrupted. His fingers clutched at Stefan’s sleeve so tightly they made divots in the fabric. “He’s tried it on with plenty of men. Probably dated half the gay men in this room. Isn’t that right, Oscar?” Though his polite smile didn’t fade, in my expert opinion, he sounded just the tiniest bit resentful for a happily engaged man.
“Nonsense. Not half.” I quickly scanned the assembled guests. It was more like twenty percent. Thirty at most.
“Oscar commits, but never fully,” Vic went on, his smile looking rather forced now. “Yet he’s so damn likable you somehow find yourself remaining friendly with him even after the breakup.”
I frowned. That might be the way Vic remembered things, but he was wrong. I’d been fully committed to each of my relationships… until I wasn’t. And I’d been as disappointed as anyone—maybe more than anyone—when they didn’t work out.
“I am very likable,” I confessed to Stefan apologetically. “It’s a curse.”
He nodded, wide-eyed.
“There’s even,” Vic went on, voice harder, “a sort of legend where Oscar is concerned—”
“Oh, that,” I scoffed, trying to hide my very real annoyance under the guise of fake annoyance. I had no idea how this foolish idea had gotten started, but I didn’t find it funny anymore. “Hardly a legend—”
“—that Oscar is a good-luck charm. Date him, and after your relationship inevitably ends, the next person you date will be the person you marry.”
“What can I say?” I shook my head sadly and pressed a hand over my heart. “My loss is your gain, Stefan. Always a groomsman,” I said with a mock sigh. “Never a groom.”
Stefan laughed a bit at my theatrics, just as I’d intended.
Vic narrowed his eyes in possessive warning and clutched Stefan so tightly he was practically climbing him like a tree… which was insulting, really. In my entire life, I’d never cheated or made a play for a man who was already taken, and Vic should know that.
“You should probably have some hors d’oeuvres and find your table,” I told Vic gently. “Pretty sure Connor and Wells are going to do their big entrance soon.”
And I had Frank to get back to, damn it.
Vic set his jaw. “Yes. Well. Good luck with your best man speech, Oscar. I imagine many of us will be eager to see whether you can manage to talk about true love for three full minutes without turning it into a joke.” He smirked. “Come on, Stef.”
Stung but determined not to show it, I watched them walk away. Clearly, not everyone had friendly feelings for me after our breakup.
And how had Vic known I’d opted for a humorous best-man speech anyway? I’d spent the better part of three nights (and three bottles of Chateau Mouton) alternately obsessing over that speech and reminding myself that Oscar Overton, CEO of Overton Investments and well-known playboy billionaire, did not obsess over best man speeches. Finally, I’d achieved what I’d thought was the perfect teasing-but-loving tone… but now, Vic was making me second-guess myself. Had I included a few too many instances of “Better you than me, boys”?
“Ooof,” said a deep, amused voice at my shoulder. “That was cold.”
I turned my head and found a man with golden-brown curls grinning at me, his gorgeous brown eyes alight with a humor that suggested he’d overheard a large part of my interaction with Vic. An expensive-looking camera was slung around his neck, and a large equipment bag weighed down one of his shoulders.
“Pardon?” My voice came out frost-coated, and I raised one eyebrow in a look I happened to know—because I’d practiced it often enough—was scathing enough to make people cower. “Were you speaking to me? I didn’t notice you skulking there.”
I waited for the man to stammer out an apology and beat a hasty retreat to the other side of the room, leaving me to my own devices and—I darted a quick glance at the floor by the gift table—my critical rescue mission. But though his grin widened and his eyes positively danced, showing he’d understood my intention perfectly, the man didn’t cower. Not even the tiniest tremble.
Against my will, I found myself intrigued…and annoyed that I was intrigued.
“Sorry. I’m afraid being inconspicuous goes with the territory,” he said, gesturing to his camera. “Easier to take candids when you stay in the background.”
“Please,” I scoffed without thinking. “A man who looks like you doesn’t go unnoticed for long.”
I glanced away quickly, frowning at myself. I hadn’t intended to say that.
I’d noticed the photographer earlier, obviously—hard not to notice such a good-looking man, especially when he was forcing you and your friends to pose in a hundred awkward positions indoors, outdoors, and in various stages of undress, all the while murmuring, “Don’t forget to smile, please, Mr. Overton.” But no matter what Vic had implied, flirtation was not on my radar today.
When Wells had called a couple of weeks ago and asked me to be his best man at today’s “surprise wedding”—an event Connor’s mother had planned in its entirety when it became clear her boys were too busy being in love and enjoying their lives together to care about how and when they made it official—I’d laughed, but deep down, I’d been incredibly touched. It had felt like a true testament to the friendship Wells and I salvaged after our relationship had imploded, and joking speech aside, I was taking my best man responsibility seriously.
This meant no wedding hookups. Even with undeniably hot, intriguing photographers.
“Ooof again.” The man winced and gave me a pitying look. “That guy was teasing when he said you’d dated half the men in the room, wasn’t he? Because I know you have a reputation, but with pickup lines like that…” He shook his head. “I’d give you maybe a seven out of ten on the charm scale, but you’d lose major points for sincerity— and that’s with me throwing you a pity curve—so no more than a five overall.”
“Are you… Are you rating my flirtation technique?” I stared at him, too aghast to maintain my frosty, superior tone, and repeated, “Pity curve?”
The man blushed. “I… well…”
I lifted my chin haughtily. “And I suppose you are an expert in flirtation, then? A real-life Mr. Romance, right in our midst?”
“It’s… it’s Mr. Linzee, actually.” He smiled, flashing a pair of slightly crooked canine teeth that gave him an innocent, boyish look. “Hugh Linzee. And I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings—”
“Feelings? Please.” I narrowed my eyes and found myself adding, “I’ll have you know, I wasn’t even trying to flirt, and that was still a solid eight out of ten.”
The man pressed his lips together like he was fighting a smile and nodded, humoring me.
“I assure you, I do not attempt to flirt with every man I encounter.” I was aware I sounded defensive, that I needed to shut up, but I couldn’t stop. “Not even most men. Not that it’s any of your business, but my dating days are over.”
“I see.” His brown eyes danced. “Because you’ve found The One? Or because you’ve given up on relationships altogether?”
I snorted. No one asked me questions like this, and if they dared, I certainly never answered. So it was mystifying that somehow my mouth kept running.
“If you must know, The One is a foolish construct created by greeting card manufacturers and… and… peddlers of romantic fiction. It’s not real or attainable—” My brain conjured up images of Wells and Conor, along with the other men I’d dated who’d gone on to find love and permanence. “—at least not for most people. Spending my life searching for it would be a case study in diminishing returns, and I don’t back losing investments.” Overton Investments’ track record spoke for itself, if anyone cared to google it.
“You’ve given up on love, then.” Hugh smiled crookedly. “That’s too bad.” He looked away for a moment, and I wondered if he was getting ready to politely excuse himself.
“More like love has given up on me,” I corrected quickly, not out of any attempt to prolong my interaction with the gorgeous photographer, of course—obviously not, since I was busy being Wells’s best man this evening—but simply for the sake of accuracy. “And frankly, I prefer it this way. I’m not living like a monk. Far from it. I simply see no reason to hold on to some ideal of a romantic relationship when I have plenty of meaningful relationships in my life already. Especially when I could choose a different sexy man to… hold on to each night.” I gave him a fake smoldering look. “See? That’s what flirtation sounds like.”
Hugh’s eyes widened in dismay, then he clapped a hand to his stomach and hunched over like he’d been gut-shot. “Ugh. No. It’s definitely not. You did better when you weren’t trying. Three out of ten. And maybe it’s time to consider monkhood.”
A startled laugh escaped me before I could bite it back. “This is officially the strangest wedding conversation I’ve ever had.”
Maybe the strangest conversation I’d ever had, period. I was a Forbes list billionaire. CEO of an investment company, the details of which I tried my hardest to keep private. A man with influence and invitations to all the best social events. Strangers tended to agree with me first and ask questions later… if they bothered asking questions at all.
So maybe it was no surprise that talking with Hugh felt like a breath of fresh air.
He laughed, too, and ran a hand over his curls. “I don’t know about that. I’ve had a lotof strange wedding conversations.” I arched an eyebrow, and he shrugged sheepishly. “I get hit on a lot. Groomsmen, ex-boyfriends, elderly grandmas. It’s not that anyone’s interested in me, really, just that weddings are all about hope and harmony and good vibes, and people get high on the emotion. They fall in love with love, you know?”
“Mmm.” I imagined the reason people flirted with Hugh had less to do with a romance contact high and more to do with him being gorgeous, sexy, and effortlessly charming, but I wasn’t going to say so. That really would be flirtatious, and I wasn’t—was not—going to hook up at Wells’s wedding. Also, given the way the conversation was going, Hugh would probably offer more blistering commentary on my technique.
This idea made my lips twitch against the urge to smile.
“Well, I assure you, weddings don’t affect me that way,” I informed him. “As Vic so kindly pointed out, back when I was dating, I dated several of the men here—”
“Half,” Hugh agreed solemnly.
“Not half.” I scowled. “Definitely not half. But the point is, I’ve never been close to falling in love with any of them. And I’m far too busy to—”
The tablecloth on the gift table wiggled slightly, though there was no one else standing nearby, and my heart jumped. Frank. I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten him for a moment.
“Speaking of busy!” I grabbed Hugh’s elbow to turn him toward the dance floor. “Here I’ve been monopolizing your evening when you have a job to do. Horribly rude of me. Not as rude as, say, critiquing a man’s flirtation skills without invitation, but still. You should go—”
Hugh shrugged me off with another of those knowing, intriguing grins. “It’s fine. The videographer and his assistant will be capturing Conor and Wells’s arrival. Conor was very clear that he wanted me to circulate as a guest and take candids. ‘I want to get pictures of our loved ones enjoying themselves,’ he said.”
“That sounds like the sort of sappy drivel Conor would come up with.” I rolled my eyes, but some of my fondness for the man must have shown because Hugh lifted his camera and quickly snapped a picture of whatever dopey expression I was wearing.
“Hey!” I scowled. “Rude again. Don’t take pictures of people without warning. You might capture their bad side.”
The tablecloth swayed again, more noticeably this time, and a small, pink something emerged from beneath the bottom edge. I had a mental image of matronly Arabella Pfeiffer-Carmichael catching a glimpse, screaming, “Rat!” and stoking the entire assembly into a needless panic.
If this wedding got disrupted, Wells would murder me, and as his best man, I’d probably be forced to assist. No matter how intriguing Hugh was, I needed to get back to the task at hand.
I moved smoothly sideways to block Hugh’s view of the table.
“Mr. Linzee. Hugh.” I smiled winningly. “Lovely as it’s been to meet you, I really must see where my date’s wandered off to. And I do believe I see Roman Burke over by the hot hors d’oeuvres. Famous actor, you know. Quite photogenic. You should probably…” I waved a hand in that direction.
Hugh’s head tilted back, and he studied me for a long moment with those brown eyes that seemed to see far too much. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, then closed it again. “I’ll be back,” he said before scooting off toward the buffet table.
“Mmhmm,” I called after him. “Take your time.”
I let my eyes linger on him a moment longer, appreciating the view of his backside—best behavior didn’t mean a man couldn’t look—until he was swallowed by the crowd of guests. Then, I dropped to my knees and crawled under the gift table.
“Frank, you ungrateful creature!” I whispered. “You were supposed to be my date. My emotional support. How dare you abandon me this way?”
My pet hedgehog—who had once answered to the name “Oscar” also until I’d realized my family and friends might think I was talking to myself when they overheard me whispering into my pocket (rather too eccentric) instead of merely talking to the tiny animal burrowed there (utterly unobjectionable)—twitched his tiny pink nose. He didn’t seem to feel an ounce of guilt over his churlish behavior. His blond spikes stood up slightly, not quite in a full defensive position, but definitely not relaxed… and therefore not at all comfortable to grab onto.
I sighed and scooted a tiny bit closer, crossing my legs tailor-style. “All right,” I said in a low, soothing voice, holding out a hand. “I’m sorry.”
Frank twitched some more, as though questioning my sincerity. As though, perhaps, rating it no more than a four out of ten.
“Everyone’s a critic,” I grumbled. I moved incrementally closer. “It’s okay. You’re safe. I know too much noise and excitement can be overwhelming for you. But that’s why you need to stay in my pocket. You can’t just throw yourself overboard and disappear. I’ve told you before, it’s against the law to have a pet hedgehog in New York. You’re contraband, Frank.”
“Harsh,” a now-familiar deep voice said. The back edge of the tablecloth lifted, and a curly head peeked into my hiding spot a second before a whole body inserted itself into the tiny space right next to me. “Your hedgehog-luring game’s even weaker than your flirtation game, Mr. Overton. Two out of ten. Right, Frank?”
“Two? That was at least a…” I shook my head. “Wait. How did you know that I…?”
The tablecloth fell back into place, enveloping the three of us in semi-darkness. I stared at the man, sensing his smile, though I could barely see him. The clean, delicious scent of him was impossible to miss in close quarters though. He smelled like grass and leather and mountain laurel—the only good smells I associated with growing up in Texas—and for a second, I felt a wave of something almost like homesickness.
Ridiculous.
Best behavior, Oscar.
Hugh turned his phone’s flashlight on low and set it on the floor, giving the space a murky light. He’d lost his equipment bag somewhere, but he still had his camera hanging around his neck. “I noticed your friend peeking out of your pocket earlier when we were taking pictures upstairs, and then I saw his little nose poking out from under the tablecloth just now, so figured he’d gotten away from you. I grabbed some fruit from the buffet table in case you need it to lure him out. But I thought hedgehogs were supposed to be nocturnal. Doesn’t he want to be out playing at this hour? Running a hamster wheel marathon or something?”
“I… You went and got… I mean.” I shook my head to clear my confusion. “Yes, they are nocturnal. But my regular sitter is out of town, and I couldn’t leave Frank upstairs where he might freak out the hotel staff. He’s very suspicious of new people, and he hates crowds. That’s why he usually stays in my pocket at any time of day or night without trouble.”
As I spoke, Hugh extended his hand, holding out something small that I couldn’t quite see. Frank recognized what it was immediately, though, and uncurled from his defensive ball. He crept cautiously toward Hugh, reached out with his tongue, and then chomped. The scent of masticated strawberry filled the air.
“I see what you mean,” Hugh agreed. “Never have I seen a more suspicious creature.”
“Frank, you whore,” I breathed. “After I’ve hand-fed you mealworms for years, this is the repayment I get?”
Hugh laughed out loud. “Frank’s got good taste, both in snacks and in men. Better than most people,” he said. He stretched out one long finger and cautiously ran it down Frank’s spines as he ate, and I shivered slightly, imagining that finger stroking me that way.
Christ. Was there anything more pathetic than a billionaire CEO who was jealous of his hedgehog?
I sat up as straight as I could in the small space. “I certainly hope I am not the most people you’re referring to,” I said disdainfully, “because I’ll have you know that I have excellent taste—”
Hugh gave me that crooked smile again. “You and Frank are a lot alike, you know.”
“Pardon?”
“When you feel threatened, I can practically see all of your spikes lifting.” He tilted his head to the side a moment, considering me, before saying, “You’re different than I expected, Oscar Overton.”
The comment was a chilly reminder that no matter how cozy our little conversation might be, I’d known Hugh for all of fifteen minutes. He was a perfect stranger.
“Been reading the gossip columns, have you?” I tried to sound bored and nonchalant.
“Some,” he agreed with a shrug. “Plus… you attend a lot of weddings, and I’m a wedding photographer. One hears things.”
I made a noncommittal noise. I was dying to ask which reputation he’d heard about—that I was a successful, self-made billionaire? That I was a heartbreaker and a good-luck charm, all rolled into one, as Vic had claimed? That I was exceptionally flexible and amazing in bed?—but then I decided I didn’t want to know.
Hugh and I weren’t friends. We weren’t going to fuck. So it didn’t matter what he’d heard or what he thought of me. It didn’t matter how intriguing he was or that his smile—which was ten times as powerful up close—made my pulse race.
Best man, Oscar. Best behavior. Get the hedgehog and go before you make a trouser-bulging spectacle of yourself and Wells fires you.
“Gotcha.” Hugh gently grasped Frank, who was too blissed-out on berries to protest, and cuddled him against his tuxedo shirt for a moment. Then, he held him out to me, along with another strawberry. “One wedding date restored to you, Oscar Overton. Repayment for my rudeness earlier. I really am sorry.”
I opened my mouth and shut it again. “Yes. Well…”
“I know you’ll be kinda busy tonight with the whole best man gig. I’ll be busy too.” He lifted the camera a bit in demonstration. “But let me know if you need help holding on to Frank at any point. I figure you’ve already got your hands full holding my attention.” Hugh waggled his eyebrows and shot a finger gun at me. “Now, that was a ten-out-of-ten pickup line. Feel free to use it, no need to credit me.”
“Dear god.” I ran a hand over Frank’s tiny head. “Cover your ears, Frank. You shouldn’t be subjected to this.”
Hugh let out a huff of laughter that felt as warm as sunshine and transformed his face into something so gorgeous I had to close my eyes.
“That was absurd. Atrocious.” Effective, I added silently, feeling my cheeks go hot. Hugh Linzee was temptation incarnate, and I wanted to taste his laughter on my tongue. I was way too invested in this total stranger’s happiness…
