The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted them. I never discussed Austin with clients or anyone outside my immediate circle. It was unprofessional and irrelevant and exactly the kind of personal detail Callan Burkhardt would file away to use against me later. Mari’s eyes were wide across the room, and she exchanged a glance with Devonna, who’d frozen as she’d been applying her fifth layer of lip gloss.
Surprise registered on Callan’s face, followed by something that looked disturbingly like genuine interest. “I didn’t know?—”
“It doesn’t matter,” I cut him off, standing abruptly. “And it’s not pertinent to our current situation.”
“On the contrary,” he said, his voice softer than I’d heard it before. “It seems highly pertinent.”
“Well, it’s not,” I insisted, shuffling papers to avoid meeting his gaze. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to create a project plan for this... arrangement.”
To my surprise, he stood without argument. “Of course. I’ve taken up enough of your morning.”
I nodded, still annoyed at myself for revealing that personal detail.
“For what it’s worth,” he added, pausing at the door, “he was clearly an idiot.”
Before I could respond, he was gone.
Mari materialized at my side almost immediately. “Well, that was interesting.”
“That’s one word for it,” I muttered.
“He’s into you,” she declared with absolute certainty.
“He’s into himself. And winning his bet,” I corrected. “I’m just a means to an end.”
“Mmm-hmm. And I’m just casually interested in that bartender at Whiskey Blue.” She perched on the edge of my desk. “So, what’s the plan?”
“First, you and Devonna need to take cold showers and remember you’re professionals,” I said, shooting her a look. “I’ve seen less obvious displays of lust at actual orgies.”
“You’ve never been to an orgy,” Mari scoffed.
“No, but I’ve planned three wedding after-parties that turned into them, and trust me, you two were worse. Devonna asked if his pen was ‘performing satisfactorily.’ His pen, Mari.”
“Can you blame her? I’m surprised she didn’t offer to be his personal pen. I would have.”
“What the hell does that even mean?”
“No idea.” Mari shrugged.
I took a deep breath, shifting into planning mode. “First, I need to create a comprehensive timeline. Then we’ll schedule the venue visit, start researching vendors who can accommodate the expedited schedule, and draft a bride acquisition strategy.”
“A what now?”
“If he wants help finding a suitable spouse, we’ll approach it like any other wedding element. Systematically, efficiently, and with impeccable taste.” I was already opening a new spreadsheet. “We need categories, criteria, vetting processes.”
Mari stared at me. “You’re creating a wife recruitment strategy presentation.”
“It’s a streamlined matrimonial candidate identification protocol,’” I replied, already color-coding cells. “With accompanying flowcharts.”
“You’re enjoying this,” she accused.
“I’m approaching it professionally,” I corrected, though there was a small, twisted part of me that found satisfaction in reducing romantic partnership to the same process Callan seemed to view it as. If he wanted a business transaction, I’dgive him one, complete with performance metrics and quality control.
“What metrics are you using to evaluate potential wives?” Mari asked, peering at my screen. “Ooh, is that a compatibility matrix? With weighted scores? Anica Marcel, you beautiful, psychotic genius.”
“It’s not psychotic to be thorough,” I sniffed, though I had to admit the multi-stage evaluation process might be a tad excessive. But then, so was trying to find a bride in three months for a billionaire with the emotional depth of a kiddie pool.
“Does physical attraction get a score? Because if so, you should just put yourself at the top of the list and call it a day.”
