I laughed softly, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “I think that’s my line. You’re the one who did all the work.”
He pulled back just enough to meet my gaze, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Trust me, darling, that was anything but work.”
With a sigh, I unwound my legs from his waist, my feet touching the ground for the first time in what felt like hours. Callan stepped back, tucking himself away and straightening his clothes.
“We need to get back,” I said, checking my reflection in the compact mirror from my purse. “Mari’s going to know exactly what we were doing.”
“She already knew before we left,” Callan pointed out, fixing his tie. “Besides, it’s not like we haven’t done this before.”
“True. I suppose we’ve turned it into an expo tradition.”
“I quite enjoy this tradition.” Callan grinned at me, smoothing a strand of hair back into place. “We should make it an every event tradition.”
“We go to at least a hundred events each year.”
“Exactly.” He winked at me.
“You’re ridiculous,” I said as I smacked him on the chest, but I couldn’t stop the smile spreading across my face.
“That’s not what you were saying five minutes ago,” he teased, capturing my hand and bringing it to his lips. “In fact, I distinctly remember you calling me a ‘god’ at one point.”
“Temporary insanity,” I replied, checking my watch. “We’ve been gone twenty-four minutes. Mari’s going to be?—”
A piercing alarm cut through the air, making us both jump.
“What the hell is that?” Callan asked, wincing at the sound.
“Fire alarm.” I grabbed my purse and yanked open the door. “We need to go. Now.”
We hurried through the corridors, joining the stream of confused vendors and attendees heading toward the exits. The smell of smoke grew stronger as we approached the main exhibition hall.
“It’s coming from our section,” I realized with growing horror, quickening my pace.
“I’m sure it’s nothing—” Callan began, but stopped short as we rounded the corner into the hall.
Both our booth and Mr. Gable’s were partially engulfed in flames. Fire extinguisher foam covered what wasn’t burning, creating white mountains across the displays. In the center of this apocalyptic tableau stood Mari and Mr. Gable, both covered in foam and what appeared to be gold glitter, locked in what could only be described as a wrestling match. Mr. Gable had Mari in a headlock while she seemed to be attempting to bite his forearm, both of them shouting incoherently as security guards tried to separate them.
I gaped at them. “What the actual?—”
“Fuck.” Callan finished for me. He recovered faster. “Well,” he said with inappropriate cheerfulness, “at least we know it wasn’t our fault.”
I shot him a glare before rushing forward, my wedding planner crisis mode activating instantly. “Mari! What happened?”
At the sound of my voice, Mari stopped trying to bite Hudson and looked up, her expression morphing from rage to casual greeting so quickly it was almost comical.
“Oh, hey! You’re back.” She shook her foam-covered hair out of her eyes. “How was your ‘inventory check’?”
“What. Happened.” I repeated through clenched teeth.
“This psychopath set our booth on fire!” Mari twisted in Mr. Gable’s grip, still trying to bite him. “He sabotaged us!”
“I did nothing of the sort,” Mr. Gable snapped, though his cool demeanor from earlier had clearly cracked. His perfect hair stood on end, covered in white foam and what looked like ash and gold glitter. His immaculate suit was torn at the shoulder, and a scratch ran down one cheek. “This woman is deranged. She attacked me with a cake serving knife!”
“It was a spatula, you dramatic asshole!” Mari shot back. “And you started the fire when you planted those trick candles in our display that wouldn’t blow out!”
“I did no such thing,” Mr. Gable replied, his voice cold but his eyes blazing. “Though I can’t say I’m surprised your tacky decorations went up in flames. That much polyester in one place was practically begging for combustion.”
“Oh, so now you’re a fashion critic and an arsonist?”
