Page 9 of The Best Man Problem
Though the women had only met in college, she, Mo, and Pru had shared everything about their childhoods over many late-night study sessions and mountains of cheesecake. Her friends knew Lilly grew up watching her mother move from one bad mistake to another. Always flitting from man to man in hopes that this one would be the real deal. But they never were. And eventually her mother would dump the guy’s ass or be left heartbroken—and occasionally broke, the few times a con man had grifted them.
“Look.” Mo tilted her head. “All I’m saying is, if you like this guy, if you had a connection that might turn into something more, why not go for it?”
Because last time she “went for it,” she made a huge judgment error, and they got sued and almost lost everything. Lincoln was supposed to be a one-time thing. One wild night she could look back on in her old age and say to herself, See, Lilly, you stepped out of the box a time or two. You were adventurous and passionate once. She could be that woman; she simply chose not to because she knew what passion did.
It died.
A horrible, ugly death that usually resulted in screaming, crying, divorce, being packed up to move to yet another crappy apartment, and starting at a new school in the middle of the year again.
“He’s a client, Mo. He’s off-limits.”
“He’s a friend of the client.”
Lilly ignored Mo, reaching across the desk for her sandwich. She wasn’t particularly hungry—not with her stomach still flip-flopping like a fish out of water—but she needed something besides her starry-eyed, sentimental roommate to focus on.
“And isn’t off-limits code for forbidden fruit?”
“It’s forbidden for a reason, Mo.”
“Yeah, because it’s hot.”
Taking her seat, she glanced up. “How can fruit be hot?”
Mo let out a long-suffering sigh, the kind Lilly usually made when regarding the other woman. She had to say: it did not feel good to be on the receiving end.
“We’re not talking about fruit, and you know it, Lilly Walsh.” Mo leaned back against the desk. “So, tell me. Is Lincoln hot?”
“Hot” would be an understatement for the pure magnetic power of that man.
“We have work to do, Moira.”
“Ha! He is hot. Smoking hot, I bet.”
And then some. Taking her silence as confirmation, Mo grabbed her own sandwich out of the plastic bag and headed to her small desk at the far end of the office. Lilly scarfed down her ham and cheese in less than ten minutes. She tended to stress eat, which was why she also finished off her entire bag of chips and four squares of chocolate from her emergency stash hidden in the bottom drawer of her desk.
Damn Lincoln and his stupid, sexy face. Everything had been fine an hour ago, when all she had of him were fond memories and a tiny bit of regretful longing. Now she had to deal with keeping their liaison a secret lest it upset her clients and find some way to tell her stupid, horny body to calm down. Because whenever the man got within two feet of her, all her good parts screamed out for a second time.
Nope. Not happening.
Thankfully, Mo let the subject drop. For now. Lilly would put money on her nosy roomie asking about Lincoln before the week was through. But for now, they finished the workday in relative peace.
After they shared dinner in their apartment just one floor above their office—best commute in the city—Mo went to her weekly pub quiz at City Tavern, and Lilly spent the night bingeing her favorite cooking show, in which the contestants tried to recreate top-chef desserts and failed—hard. It always put her in a good mood, because the host was hilarious and Lilly baked about as well as the poor people on the show.
Lucky for her and her habit of stress eating, her business gave her access to all the best bakeries in Denver. Mile High Happiness was always receiving sample cakes and desserts from local bakeries that wanted to get in the wedding business. If a business owner dropped off a red velvet cake, chocolate-dipped strawberries, and berry whipped parfaits, she had to sample the goods. It was her job. She couldn’t very well recommend a bakery to a client if she didn’t fully support their products.
That was just bad business.
Ten o’clock rolled around. Did it make her old if she went to bed now? Used to be, the evening wouldn’t even get started until ten thirty. But for a woman soon to celebrate the one-year anniversary of her twenty-ninth birthday, staying up until two in the morning held little appeal anymore. Let Mo the night owl do that. Lilly preferred her beauty sleep.
After stuffing the last of the fluffy and heavenly sweet red velvet cake in her mouth, Lilly placed her dirty plate and empty glass of milk in the dishwasher and headed to her room to get ready for bed. But even her calming nightly routine of a soothing facemask, fifteen minutes of meditation, and her ultra-cozy fleece jammies couldn’t settle her whirling brain. With no TV as a distraction, the stupid thing kept circling back to today and Lincoln.
How the hell was she going to get through the next month until Marie and Kenneth’s wedding if she had to be around her far-too-tempting one-night stand? Maybe she’d get lucky and wouldn’t have to see much of him. After all, there were only a few more meetings and things she had to work on with the couple. Perhaps Lincoln wouldn’t be at every one. And the ones he did attend, she simply had to remain professional. She could do that.
Is it professional to want to strip him and eat wedding cake off his naked body?
Crap!
She was in so much trouble. There had to be something she could do to squash this ridiculous attraction she felt for the man. But what? Tossing and turning in her bed, she knew sleep would elude her until she came up with a solution. She threw back her fluffy Sherpa blanket and she sat up in bed, reaching for the notebook and pen on her nightstand. Since solutions to problems often hit her in the middle of the night, she kept the pair by her bedside at all times. Saved her ass more than once.
