“Vivienne Brown.”
“A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” He winks.
Redness overtakes my cheeks at the blatant compliment. No other man has held a fraction of the confidence the one before me exudes. Including my fake fiancé, who merely told me Iclean up nicely.
A cough sounds from behind me, and I turn to see Nate, his eyes narrow.
“Going after my fiancée, Grayson?” His voice holds a hint of danger, but the man—whose connection to Nate I still don’t know—doesn’t fear him.
Not one bit.
If anything, his smile gets wider, and the sparkle in his eyes brightens a little more.
“Don’t mind him.” Grayson addresses me, completely ignoring Nate’s presence. “Between us, he has a little of a jealousy streak. The women he’s interested in usually change their minds once they get to know me.”
A large hand lands on the small of my back, and a shiver runs up my spine at the touch. It’s light yet possessive. It asserts dominance without being overly powerful. Nate is putting his foot down, and for some reason, it’s doing crazy things to my mind.
I look down at my champagne flute, blaming whatever that feeling is on the alcohol.
Nate’s jaw clenches, eyes strained on Grayson. “It happenedonce. In the first grade. It doesn’t even count.”
I choke back at the confession.
Grayson looks down at me in amusement, and for the first time tonight, I can’t help but genuinely smile.
Our earlier conversations were always professional and cordial—this sudden change in formality eases my mind. This man wasn’t going to hold a word I say against me.
“We’re childhood best friends if you haven’t caught on.”Makes sense.“But I have to ask. Out of all the men in New York City, why pick him? More eligible bachelors would die for a woman like you.”
A groan erupts from beside me, causing Grayson’s face to light up.
I’m not sure what angle he’s playing, but I’m enjoying seeing this angry and riled-up side of Nate. It seems like decent payback for his backhanded compliment.
“I think that’s enough. Don’t you think,Grayson?” Nate spits his name like it’s soaked in venom.
That doesn’t bother the best friend when a devilish smirk tugs at his lips. “It probably is, but on second thought, there are more pressing matters at hand.”
“Oh, is there?” Nate taunts, grabbing my waist a little tighter than before.
“Well, of course,” Grayson says confidently.
“And what are these pressing matters concerned with?” Nate asks.
“A toast.”
I look back at the snack table behind me, seeing no such thing—there were only cookies.
“A toast?” The shock in Nate’s voice is palpable.
My brows furrow in confusion.
“Why of course! A toast for the happy couple—it’s the least a best friend can do.”
A toast?
Nate’s eyes narrow, while mine widen in shock when it hits me.
Just as I’m about to raise the champagne flute to my lips to ease the stress, it’s plucked out of my hands. I flinch as a droplet of golden liquid lands on the tip of my nose.
