Page 12 of Heat Island
Confirmed when she hands me a business card emblazoned with her name below the logo forThe Jones Agency—Boutique Event Planning.
I appreciate the hutzpah needed to name a company after yourself. It means she sees herself as her own brand,no clever puns or cutesy slogans needed for recognition, just good work and a solid reputation.
What kind of omega is this?
The coincidence of running into an event planner after the conversation with my mother in which she insisted I attend this exhibition is just too high.
Though even Amara Gamba doesn’t have a crystal ball clear enough to see an accidental assault in my future.
Or a scent match…
While my mind wanders again (thank you, concussion), Trinity has carefully side-stepped around me.
“I really should get back.” She flashes an apologetic smile, reaching past me for a stack of plates on the shelf. Her arm brushes mine, sending an electric current straight to my gut. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Never better,” I lie, fighting every primal instinct screaming at me to pull her against me, to taste those full lips, to discover if her skin carries that same intoxicating scent.
“Good. Maybe I’ll see you out there.” She hesitates for a flashing second at the door, a rueful smile on those beautiful lips, before she slips out.
Leaving the ghost of her luscious scent imprinted on my senses.
I stand frozen until her footsteps fade, until the blood pounding in both my ears and my dick finally recedes.
Before I can overthink it, I pull out my phone and dial one of only three numbers on my favorites list.
“Matheo? Is everything all right?” My mother’s voice carries a familiar note of concern. “I’m on my way to the Hartman now.”
“That event planner you mentioned. Tell me everything you know about her.”
A beat of silence. Then her knowing laugh tells me just how skillfully I’ve been maneuvered.
“Of course I will, darling.”
FOUR
TRINITY
“Ooh, what about this one?”Josie holds up a crystal vase that probably costs more than my monthly rent. “Wouldn’t it look gorgeous with white roses? Or pink ones, maybe. Do you think it’s too much to always want a vase of fresh roses by the front door?”
I smile and shake my head, trying to keep my face neutral while mentally calculating how many hours I’ll have to spend finalizing the Heat Island catering contract tonight because I’m here watching my sister scan overpriced housewares. My to-do list is growing by the minute, and we’re down to just five weeks before the wedding.
“It’s beautiful, Josie.” I tap my stylus against my tablet, where I’ve been sneakily answering work emails, along with reviewing her registry choices like she thinks. “Though maybe choose between that and the other crystal pieces. You don’t want to overwhelm your guests with too many expensive options.”
Josie pouts, placing the vase on the scanner. “But Egret says I should pick whatever makes me happy. He says theywant to spoil me, and most of the wedding guests will be friends of theirs that like to show off.”
Nothing says true love like expensive gifts, I think.
“You’re right. Sorry.” I slip my tablet into my bag. “I’m being too practical. Maybe there’s something around here made of solid gold you can add to the registry.”
Josie rolls her eyes. “Oh, stop. I don’t like the crystal just because it’s expensive.”
My sister has never really been shallow, but I can’t help teasing her a little. “Can you say the same thing about Heat Island?”
“Okay, Heat Island is going to be amazing,” she says with a laugh. “Mostly because it’s ridiculously expensive. Brendin says they have these private cabanas on the beach with a free-flowing champagne bar.”
I try to sound as enthusiastic as she so obviously feels. “It will be incredible.”
My phone buzzes with a text.
