“That sounds suspiciously romantic for someone who approached my bride search with compatibility matrices.”
“I’m a professional. I can separate my personal views from my work. I can believe in unicorns while still recognizing they don’t belong in your wedding ceremony.”
“So you’re secretly a romantic,” he concluded, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Interesting.”
“I’m secretly someone who’s witnessed 347 weddings and can tell which ones will last before the cake is cut,” I corrected. “It has nothing to do with romance and everything to do with who’s still looking at each other instead of their phones during the reception speeches.”
“Still sounds romantic to me.” His smirk was infuriating. “It’s written all over your face.”
“The only thing written on my face is ‘regretting this conversation,’” I replied.
Before I could say anything else, his phone rang. He glanced at the screen and his expression softened.
“Sorry, I have to take this. It’s my grandmother.” He stepped away from the table, answering with a warm, “Hi, Gram.”
I couldn’t help but watch as his entire demeanor transformed. His shoulders relaxed, the perpetual hint of sarcasm left his voice, and his smile became genuine in a way I rarely saw. The Callan Burkhardt who spoke to his grandmother was a completely different man from the one who flirted with every woman and strode into my office like he owned it already.
“Yes, I’m still coming on Sunday,” he assured her. “No, I haven’t forgotten... I’m actually at a cake tasting right now.” He glanced at me, then quickly looked away. “With the weddingplanner... No, Gram, it’s not... That’s not...” His face reddened. “No, it’s not like that at all.”
I pretended to be fascinated by my cake notes, but I was straining to hear what could be making Callan Burkhardt, Manhattan’s most confident man, stammer like a teenager caught sneaking in after curfew.
“She’s very professional... Yes, she’s helping me with the whole thing...” His blush deepened. “Gram, please don’t... No, I’m not bringing her to... That’s not appropriate... She’s very busy...”
Whatever his grandmother was saying, it was clearly mortifying him. I bit my lip to keep from smiling, making a mental note to send his grandmother flowers. Or a fruit basket. Or possibly my firstborn child, depending on what exactly she was saying to make him so uncomfortable.
“Fine, I’ll ask her, but don’t get your hopes up.” He sighed deeply. “Love you too. See you Sunday.”
“Everything okay?” I asked innocently. “You look like someone just asked you to explain blockchain to a kindergarten class.”
“So...” He ran a hand through his hair, actually looking nervous. “My grandmother is insisting you come to Sunday dinner.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Sunday dinner. At her home. With me.” He winced. “She’s very persistent.”
“That’s absolutely not happening,” I said firmly. “Our relationship is strictly professional.”
“That’s what I told her,” he agreed. “But she’s 82 and has heart problems.”
I narrowed my eyes. “That’s emotional manipulation.”
“Is it working?” he asked hopefully.
“It’s about as subtle as a rhinestone codpiece at a funeral.”
It shouldn’t have been working. I had principles. Boundaries. A very strict no-personal-involvement policy with clients that had served me well since the Austin disaster. A policy that specifically prohibited meeting family members in non-wedding contexts.
And yet...
“What time should I arrive?” I heard myself say. God, I was a pushover.
His relief was palpable. “Five o’clock? I can pick you up.”
“I’ll drive myself,” I insisted, already regretting my decision. “And this is a professional courtesy only. Because it might help with the wedding plans to meet your family. And because I’m not a monster who gives octogenarians heart attacks.”
“Of course,” he agreed, though his smile suggested he didn’t believe me. “Just so you know, what Gram wants, Gram gets. Always.”
“I’m not intimidated by grandmothers,” I informed him. “I’ve faced down mother-in-laws who requested live tigers at rehearsal dinners. One bride’s grandmother insisted we release doves that she’d personally trained to form her granddaughter’s initials in flight.”
