Page 1 of One Wild Wedding Weekend

One

“Promise you won’t ruin my wedding weekend fighting with Tristan.”

Daley Martin glanced at her baby sister and raised an eyebrow, though her stomach curled at the mention of his name. “Don’t be silly. I’m a mature adult. I’ll be on my best behavior.”

Tabby scowled. “I’ve seen you and Tristan together. It’s like putting two pit bulls in a room with raw steak.”

“Ew, gross.” Daley touched her pinkie finger, testing to see if the polish was dry. She and the prospective bride had just finished getting expensive manicures and were now sipping complimentary mimosas before moving to the next item on the itinerary.

Tabby didn’t look convinced. She sighed. “Quit touching it,” she said. “I don’t know why you can’t get gel like everybody else.”

“It’s simple. Taking gel off in three weeks is impossible to do at home. I’d rather create my own destiny.”

“It’s nail polish, not a manifesto,” Tabby said dryly. “But let’s get back to the point at hand. Tristan is going to be family. I need you to behave.”

“Not my family,” Daley muttered. Just because her sister was marrying Tristan’s younger brother didn’t mean there was going to be any fraternization on Daley’s part. Not at all.

“He’s not your enemy,” Tabby insisted.

“How would you know?” Daley snapped. “The man is determined to poach all my clients.”

Tabby opened her mouth, closed it and wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think you’re being entirely rational about this subject. I love you dearly, Daley. Your little ad agency is cute and scrappy and outside-the-box, but some clients want safe and traditional. If a few prospects defected to Lieberman and Dunn, it’s not Tristan’s fault.”

Though Daley’s six-years-younger sister was trying to be diplomatic, her assessment stung. Surely she hadn’t meant to be patronizing when she said little ad agency. But it was true. Daley employed two copywriters, a web guru, one receptionist and a part-time accountant. She had come a long way in three years. Business was good.

But she wasn’t in Tristan’s league, and she knew it. Deep down, that was what put the knot in her stomach. Tristan was the CEO of a decades-old Atlanta ad agency. Mr. Lieberman—of Lieberman and Dunn—had died a few years back. Rumor had it that Harold Dunn would be selling the firm to his protégé, Tristan, any day now.

Tristan Hamilton: Wealthy. Handsome. Ridiculously sexy. With his tousled raven-black hair and his sparkling blue eyes, the world was his to command.

Daley despised him. If she was lying to herself, it was only because she didn’t understand why the mere sight of his tall überfit body made her quiver. He was a man with all the usual parts—arms, legs, a chiseled jaw. But the way the Almighty had seen fit to assemble those various appendages and features had created a living, breathing example of stunning male perfection.

Until the stupid man opened his mouth. When Daley stormed into his office six weeks ago to air her grievances, Tristan had given her the same speech Tabby had. All about how some clients didn’t want Instagram and TikTok but were instead looking for a more conventional approach to building name recognition.

Daley wasn’t convinced. She’d had a couple of very promising meetings with a brand-new boutique hotel and an up-and-coming jewelry designer, but both clients had ended up with Lieberman and Dunn. That had to be Tristan’s interference.

Tabby interrupted Daley’s indignant stewing. “Time to go,” she said. “The hair appointments are the last thing on the list. After that, we’ll have an hour to rest, and then we’ll head to the hotel.”

When Daley arrived at the Westmont Country Inn, she paused to admire her sister’s organizational skills. The nuptial events had been choreographed down to the tiniest detail. Nothing left to chance. Tabby and John had rented out this charming small hotel in an exclusive Atlanta suburb and had made the decision to have the bridesmaids and groomsmen and immediate family stay here for the duration.

Hence, no transportation woes. No scheduling glitches. Plenty of time for fun and relaxation.

Daley didn’t object to the plan in theory. It was nice to know she wouldn’t have to fight traffic during a semi-stressful weekend. She wanted everything to go perfectly for Tabby’s wedding. This plan removed a lot of the unknowns.

But it also meant Daley couldn’t escape.

She was stuck here until Sunday morning...like it or not.

Clearly, several people had arrived at once. No bellmen in sight. Daley hefted her suitcase and cosmetic bag out of the trunk and draped the cream silk garment bag over her arm. She shouldered her purse, scanned the area for any sight of her nemesis and walked up the front steps.

Inside the lovely inn, a uniformed employee quickly took her bags and checked her in. The main portion of the building was three stories high. A single-story wing off the back housed premium rooms. Tabby had insisted on giving Daley one of the fancy accommodations as a thank-you for all Daley had done to help with the wedding.

It wasn’t that much. Daley had wanted Tabby to have the day of her dreams. So she had accompanied her sister on endless site visits. There had been dress shops and caterer tastings. John was a thoroughly involved groom-to-be, but his high-powered finance job involved long hours and little flexibility.

Now all the hard work of the past six months was going to be worth it.

Daley accepted her room key with a smile and turned around only to walk smack-dab into a wall of a man. A very familiar man.

Her skin heated with uncomfortable prickles. “Oh, it’s you,” she said, stepping back quickly. “Hello, Tristan.”

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