Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 97466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
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.”