Page 142 of The Bodyguard Situation

“Control him? Pfft. Impossible,” Billie replies.

“She’s right,” Carlee agrees. “Weston has a mind of his own.”

There’s another round of toasts, and before I know it, someone’s passed us new drinks. The mood in the room has shifted now—our announcement rippling outward through the party in low whispers and congratulations. Tonight was how we planned to announce that we were official, and it worked exactly as we’d predicted.

I glance at Harper, admiring her, and I take her hand in mine, kissing her fingers. Our eyes meet, and I shoot her a wink, ready to leave this fucking place. A small smile plays across her lips, like she knows exactly what I’m thinking, and I think she does.

The music shifts to something slower, sultrier, with a low drumbeat woven through it. As my eyes scan the room, I spot Nick near the back wall, half in shadow, nursing a drink and smirking at his phone, which makes his face glow bright.

He’s leaning against a column, cocky as fuck, like he has nowhere to be and everything to hide, which is how I know he’s up to something. Dressed in black on black, the collar of his shirt unbuttoned just enough to hint at trouble. He looks like the guy every girl here is watching out of the corner of her eye. The type of guy every father warns his daughter about.

Harper notices him, too, and drags me across the room with her toward him. “Didn’t think you’d show,” Harper says. “Know how much you love your brother’s business parties.”

He lifts his chin. “And miss the Calloway-Banks merger announcement? Please. This party’s basically a shareholder meeting now.”

Harper snorts beside me. “Don’t be dramatic, stepbro.”

“Ew, yeah, don’t call me that. Asher was right. It’s weird,” Nick replies without hesitation. Then, his eyes gleaming, he adds, “Tonight I’m being well behaved. For once.”

That earns him a suspicious look from Billie, who’s walking up beside Harper.

“You’re grinning like someone who isn’t,” Billie says, tilting her head. “Which means you’re either hiding something or freshly laid.”

She’s great at serving a hefty dose of reality. It’s one of her best qualities.

Nick raises his brows in mock innocence. “Can’t it be both?”

“God help us,” Asher mutters.

Carlee steps in, watching Nick like a bored socialite, but I know who she is and why LadyLux matters. “He’s been in a suspiciously good mood lately. I think he’s seeing someone and won’t admit it,” Carlee says.

Nick just smirks. He doesn’t confirm or deny. It’s the best policy when keeping secrets.

Harper watches him for a second longer, head tilted slightly. She’s known him longer than any of us, other than Asher. “You’re different.”

Nick’s smile falters, just for a beat, but he catches it quickly. “New haircut.”

I don’t push him. Not yet. But something’s changed.

And I have a feeling we’re all going to find out exactly what that is very soon.

37

HARPER

ONE WEEK LATER

Billie’s office smells like flowers, cookies, and magazines.

Sunlight filters in through the massive windows behind her desk, catching on the glass-topped table we’ve turned into ground zero for wedding planning chaos. Swatches of fabric are laid out like battle plans. Mood boards lean against the wall. There’s an open bottle of champagne chilling in a brass ice bucket beside a tray of pastries we’ve barely touched but insisted on having delivered anyway.

Billie is lounging on the curved ivory couch in the corner. She’s barefoot, legs tucked under her, her oversize sweater half falling off one shoulder, like she styled it that way on purpose. Her tablet’s in one hand, champagne in the other, and she’s flipping through a digital lookbook like she’s vetting designers for Paris Fashion Week. A curated spread of bridal magazines is fanned out on the floor in front of her.

Across from her, Mia is perched in a leather chair, dressed in head to toe cream and sipping champagne like it’s a business expense, which, knowing her, it probably is. I’m so happy to see her smiling and well. Each time I look at her, I think about what Brody told me and how they found her. I still carry guilt, but I’m trying to heal from that. Therapy has helped a lot.

“As Bellamore’s chief marketing officer,” she says, holding up her tablet like a gavel, “I feel obligated to point out that a dual-wedding campaign could fuel an entire year’s worth of brand expansion with coordinated content drops. We can interweave narrative arcs and launch a limited-edition capsule line in celebration. I’ve already mocked up a hashtag: #callowaywedding.”

Billie sighs, setting down her glass. “You know Harper’s going to want barefoot vows under a tree somewhere.”

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