Page 1 of The Man She Loves to Hate

One

For the last three years, Rylee Meadows had been planning weddings for high profile, wealthy clients. Those clients had ranged from celebrities to regular old rich folks. Special requests were not outside of the norm, nor were last-minute changes. But this was the first time she’d ever had to contend with a weddingcrasher.

The wedding of Xavier Noble and Ariana Ramos was coming up in a few days. Reaching this point had required Herculean effort. Not only on Rylee’s part, but on the parts of the vendors who had been tasked with pulling off nothing short of perfection while navigating a sea of difficulties—including the blackout that had affected half of the town of Royal, Texas.

As a professional used to high-pressure situations, Rylee could have rolled with the blackout alone and not broken a sweat, save for thatotheranomaly keeping everyone involved in this wedding on their toes.

His name? Patrick “Trick” MacArthur.

Trick—oh, how appropriate—was a social media star who’d grown famous for crashing events which he had not been invited to. Right now, his sights were set on the Noble-Ramos wedding.

After all Rylee and the hardworking, talented vendors had been through with planning this wedding, a troublemaker in town was the last thing any of them needed.

Xavier and Ariana had entrusted her with facilitating the perfect day for them, and Rylee wouldn’t let them down. However, it had become apparent that Trick, who had taken up residence close by, wasn’t going anywhere. The man had made a living showing up where he wasn’t invited, which had pushed more than one of her buttons.

In the past, Rylee had been accused of being a bit of a perfectionist. She understood why. She was used to having complete control of her environment. Trick’s presence at the wedding, and reception, could ruin the day for everyone. She could not, and would not allow it.

She’d done her research, and while she could objectively understand Patrick’s appeal, she couldn’t support his antics. One look at any of his online videos revealed an engaging, smiling man one might describe as the life of the party. He was great-looking, with thick black hair that beckoned a woman’s fingers, hazel eyes that held enough mischief to be intriguing, and a seemingly permanent smirk surrounded by sexy stubble.

Rylee grunted as she parked her car on the curb. She’d never been drawn in by a bad boy type, and had no plans on starting now. She’d tracked down Trick to this very tailor in order to corner him and make him a proposition. If he wouldn’t willingly leave Royal, then he would have to agree to stay within the boundary lines she drew. Once she’d convinced him to behave himself, she would approach the bride and groom and explain how this was the way—the only way—to move forward.

She stepped onto the curb, wincing as she walked toward the crosswalk.These damn shoes.Gingerly, she slipped the strap from her foot to find a blister forming. She sat on a nearby park bench and pulled the emergency bridal kit from her bag.

She’d learned a long time ago not to show up at a wedding, or anywhere, really,withoutbandages or bobby pins. As she planned weddings and similar “emergencies” arose, she’d added to the kit. Now she carried acid reducers, aspirin and a miniature sewing kit, among other items a panicky bride might need. Or in this case, the bride’s harried wedding planner.

Band-Aid in place, she rolled her shoulders, and tucked a strand of hair back into her coiffed chignon. The day had been a long one, and she’d skipped dinner to iron out an issue with the outdoor seating plan. Thankfully this was her last stop for the day, and bonus, Trick wasn’t expecting her. She’d crashhisappointment and see how he liked it.

With a satisfied smile on her face—she loved it when a plan came together—she entered the shop packed with designer suits, ties, shirts and shoes. Glass cases containing cufflinks, watches and jewelry lined the back wall, a familiar sight. She’d been in this shop countless times to help the groom choose the proper wardrobe for his big day.

At the counter, she waved hello to Harold, who was shining the glass with a cloth.

“Rylee.” He smiled and offered his hand, which she took and shook cordially. “You’re working late.”

“I’m here to see one of your customers, actually. I assume Shayla is with him?” Shayla was a tailor and a damn good one. She had an eye for detail. It wasn’t a typical career choice for a gorgeous thirty-two-year-old woman, but Royal was a unique place with unique residents.

“In the back,” Harold answered. “Help yourself.”

“Thanks, I will.” Rylee adjusted her purse on her shoulder and strode into the back room where she encountered Shayla and Patrick. Shayla, dressed in her usual button-down pale blue shirt and trousers, a pin cushion strapped to her wrist, was focused on his suit jacket. Patrick, who caught sight of Rylee in the mirror he faced, was wearing a lot less.

A slow grin spread his lips. The eye contact was intense, sending a drove of gooseflesh to crop up on Rylee’s bare arms. The flush on her neck and cheeks had come thanks to what was so obviously missing.

His pants.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Rylee Meadows,” Patrick said, his gaze unerringly on her reflection.

Shayla lifted her head to offer a casual, “Oh, hey, Rye. We’re almost done here and then I can help you with whatever you need.”

Rylee snapped her attention from Patrick’s bare legs and slouched black socks, accidentally admiring his calf muscles and the scant dark, wiry hair on his strong thighs that disappeared beneath his currently-being-pinned suit jacket. Some part of her she’d rather not acknowledge was disappointed at not having a view of his butt. She shut her eyes to reset her very tired brain.

“I’m, uh, I’m here to talk to Trick. Patrick. Mr. MacArthur.”

He looked over his shoulder at her, one dark eyebrow winging upward. “Please don’t call me Mr. MacArthur. It makes me feel geriatric.”

Shayla laughed as she gave him a once-over. “You’re looking good to me. Ready to lose the jacket?” Shayla sent a rogue look over at Rylee. “And put on some pants so you don’t fluster Ms. Meadows any more than you already have?”

“I’m fairly certain Ms. Meadows is un-fluster-able.”

“I’m fairly certain you are right.” Shayla collected the suit pants set aside on a chair and then waited for him to slip off the suit jacket. She palmed Rylee’s shoulder on her way out of the room. “Take your time.”

---