Page 40 of Champagne Fizz

“And let you scuff up that gorgeous pink jacket? Never!”

She laughs. “You couldn’t go one day without making a fashion comment, could you?”

I shrug. “Easy target.”

“I like my clothes,” she defends.

“Is this where I make a cheeky comment about how they’d look better on my floor?” I venture.

“Only if you want me to think you’re a donut hole.”

I smile. She’s way too adorable. “You really can’t say A-S-S-H-O—”

“Hey!” she interrupts my spelling. “I almost passed out. My brain isn’t in tip-top shape. Give a girl a break.”

“I think you might’ve called me a donut hole even if you were at a hundred percent,” I counter. “And I’ll admit, donut hole is definitely more delicious than the alternative.”

She shakes her head at me.

“Do you always react this way to pictures of Veronica West?” I ask, but her face falls. I meant that to be cute, but clearly it isn’t.

“If you want Ned and Olivia to hire Veronica West,” Kendall says, some of that spitfire coming back into her voice, “then have the decency to get them to fire me, rather than rub what you really want in my face. I’m a human being. I have feelings.”

“Woah!” I raise my hands up. This just went from zero to eleven. “I don’t want Ned and Olivia to fire you.”

“Pretend that you’re just the messenger all you want,” Kendall snips, pressing the ice pack against her collar bone. “But Arie’s your business partner, so I know you’re in this together.”

“First, I’m not Arie,” I reply, a little insulted. “Though I take your point. And to be clear, Arie isn’t trying to fire you either.”

Kendall’s face scrunches up. “Then why would—?”

My eyes trace over her flushed face, her wet skin, those pouty lips that—dammit—get me thinking about all the wrong things at all the wrong times.

“Maybe it’s just me,” I begin. “But I’m kind of competitive. And seeing an old boss on the cover of a magazine is something I would not be calm about. In fact, it would piss me the fu—” I catch myself about to swear and soften my charge. “It would piss me off. Look, I kept thinking, what if there’s a way to out-do Veronica West? What if it was your clients—Olivia and Ned—who were in a prestigious magazine. A better magazine.”

“What are you talking about?” she asks, not following.

“You ran out of the boutique too quickly,” I explain, gesturing to where we came from. “But Arie’s got a connection atHollywood Bride.”

Kendall’s face quirks like she’s heard of the magazineandit’s an important one in her circles.

“Additionally,” I continue, “Arie’s sister is dating the TV star, Desmond Pike. If we invited them to the wedding, and if you could find it in your stubborn, hot-pink heart to let Arie have a tiny bit of input on how things look …” Kendall’s eyes narrow at that comment. “Then we could probably get Ned and Olivia’s wedding in the magazine. Which means you could flash your accomplishments in Veronica West’s face and show her that you’re doing just fine—in fact, more than fine—you’re thriving without her.”

Kendall chews on her bottom lip. The crook between her eyebrows is way too adorable for the fact that she nearly passed out a few minutes ago. “Why would—?” She stutters. “What’s your angle?”

“You don’t want to best Veronica West?”

“No, I do,” Kendall says with that sexy spitfire. “I just—what’s Arie’s angle?”

I smile and take the ice pack from her hands, cupping her cheek as I press the ice into the other side of her neck softly. She stiffens, looking at me intently—the kind of intently that’s gototherintentions.

“This is win-win,” I say to Kendall, brushing a stray curl away from her temple. “It’s good publicity for Flambé to be in a magazine of this caliber, and it’s good publicity for Weddings with Hart, too. And if you actually look at Arie’s suggestions in those magazines, you might notice that she just wants things to look classy and elegant. No chichi rustic-farm-animals-and-lace mishmash of Pinterest insanity. She just wants cohesive. Sexy.”

Kendall’s eyes flick up to me, and I realize the intimate position I’m in—touching her face, the ice pack dripping down her neck, those big brown eyes looking at me like she wants to trust me, but she isn’t sure if she should yet.

I pull my hands off her and hand her the ice packet. “Look, take the magazines home and think about it. Can you at least do that?”

Kendall moves the melting ice bag back and forth between her fingers, and God, all I want is to lean in and kiss that perfect round mouth of hers.

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