Page 90 of Bridesmaid Undercover
I read Maple’s text and then look up at all of the decorations I’ve laid out on the table. It’s not a problem—I can easily take care of everything.
Everly:Don’t even worry about it. That’s why I’m here, to help.
Maple:I feel terrible.
Everly:Don’t. I promise, everything will be okay. I believe Hardy might even show up. Haven’t heard from him since when I texted. Either way, I can get it done. No worries. I’ll see you on Saturday.
Maple:Okay. Thank you so much, Everly.
Everly:Of course.
I set my phone down and kick off my heels only to slip on my slippers that I keep here in the office when I don’t want to beclick-clacking around. Maggie is gone for the day, prepping for a wedding this weekend and a rehearsal dinner tomorrow after a half day full of interviews and not finding anyone that she’s interested in hiring.
I appreciate her being very particular on who she plans to bring on board. She wants someone who has experience, someone who can add to our team where we might not be as strong, and someone who we can get along well with. So far, she’s coming up short.
But like she said, she’d rather work harder right now in order to get it right.
Focusing on the pom-poms that need to be finished, I take a seat in one of the chairs along our large conference table, just as the front door to the store opens. I glance over my shoulder to see Hardy walk in.
His hair is disheveled in that way he seems to perfectly wear all the time, but instead of his classic jeans and T-shirt, he’s wearing a navy-blue suit and a white button-up shirt. The expensive-looking fabric clings to every contour of his frame, leading me to believe that it was specifically tailored to his body.
Dear God.
He’s so handsome.
“Hey,” he says as he walks up to me. “Sorry I’m late.” And then, just like every other time he’s greeted me, he leans down and presses a kiss to my cheek.
And like every other time, my skin tingles as his beard rubs against it and his cologne lingers in the air between us.
“Not late,” I say as I try to act as cool as I can, despite the way he just spiked my internal temperature. “I was just getting started.”
He unbuttons his suit jacket and removes it, showing off his impeccable chest, thanks to the way his button-up shirt pulls against it. Pecs flat and thick, lats like boulders, and a taperedwaist that leads to a cinched belt. “Where’s Maple?” he asks, rolling up his shirt sleeves.
“She texted and said she can’t make it. Flamingo emergency. I told her I’d take care of everything.” I meet his eyes. “If you want to take off too, I can handle everything. I know you were probably here to get close with Maple.”
His brow creases. “I’m not about to leave you to do this by yourself. I’m here to help too, so put me to work.”
“Are you sure?” I ask, studying him. There’s something disconcerting about him right now. A pinch of annoyance in his brow, an air of irritation. The normal jovial man is absent and, in his place, is someone working through something in their head. “Hopefully this is not too bold, but you seem to be in a different frame of mind. Maybe not in the mood to make pom-pom arrangements.”
He takes a seat and leans back in the chair before pushing his hand through his hair. “I need to do something to take my mind off the bullshit I went through today.” His eyes meet mine. “So let’s do this.”
I knew something was off. I could tell the minute he walked into the building. Given the way he’s dressed and the edgy tone in his voice, a part of me wonders if it has anything to do with his dad.
But I’m not going to ask, because first, I don’t think it’s my place, and second, I don’t want to put him in a worse mood than he already is.
So instead, I’m going to try to alter his night, bring him joy and get his mind off things.
“Okay, I can teach you the complexities of building the perfect pom-pom bouquet, but I must warn you: If we’re going to do this, then we’re going to do it right.” I pick up my phone and I pull up Door Dash. “How do you feel about Philly cheesesteaks?”
His brows raise in interest. “I feel fondly about them.”
“Perfect. I’m starving for some dinner so I’m going to order us some.”
“I can grab it if you want,” he says.
I hold up my hand. “Consider it a peace offering after I gave you the bowling ball that you sent to the moon.”
That brings a smile to his face. “So you’re accepting partial blame?”
