“Well, Seb did warn me that he had a sparkling personality.” Lake’s grin turns lopsided. “I’m getting good at handling sparkling personalities.”
“I hope the only one you’re ‘handling’ is mine,” I growl automatically. There’ll be nohandling.
Lake winks at me, curling up against my side. “In the ‘I’ve touched your dick’ way, yeah.”
“What’s the other way?”
Lake tilts his head thoughtfully, giving it more consideration than it rightfully deserves. He doesn’t get a chance to answer, because a man comes through from the back hallway. The dark-red hair and face full of freckles pegs him as Sebastian’s younger brother. Not because he looksanythinglike Sebastian—the eyes and nose are a similar shape, maybe—but because I rememberQuinn saying something about it once. That many freckles are hard to miss.
“Professional” definitely isn’t the first word I’d use to describe him. Far from it. Ratty jeans and a long-sleeved, grey sweater rolled to the elbows. A sleek silver watch hangs on his right wrist, along with a black leather bracelet just behind it. His left ear has a sleeper earring, and a stud, and three more rings at the top curve.
Eli smirks at us, like he knows a secret we don’t. It doesn’t surprise me that he’s just as much a smartass as his brother, even without him saying a word. I regret everything already.
“Lake and Grady?” he asks.
“That’s us!” Lake happily replies. “Eli, right?” He bounces forward and is shaking Eli’s hand before anyone can blink. Eli glances at their joined hands and gives a bare minimum squeeze before extracting himself and shoving a hand in his pocket as if that could stop the encounter from happening again. He’s clearly never met a tornado like Lake. A pocket won’t save him.
“Come on through. Jay’s ready to talk you through the first consult and get shit rolling.”
“You aren’t doing it?” Lake asks as we follow the brother further into the building.
“Not this part. I’m more in charge of banging heads together later to make sure you get everything you need when you need it.”
“Your part sounds more fun,” Lake says cheekily.
Eli flings a grin over his shoulder. “It is.”
Great, just the kind of influence that Lake needs.
Eli leads us to a small room with two couches and a long coffee table between them, with a bunch of folders in the middle, and a large bouquet of fresh flowers. It smells nice, like vanilla and cinnamon. There’s also another not-dead plant by the door. More magic. Maybe we’ve entered a leyline.
The man waiting for us, seated and wearing a suit that’s far more professional than Eli’s outfit—though the tie is badly skewed to the left—must be Jay, the other owner of the business.
Standing as we enter, he holds out a hand as he says, “Lovely to meet you both; I’m Jayden. Sebastian says you’re in need of some assistance for your wedding?”
He gets the same enthusiastic handshake from Lake that Eli did, though he takes it with far more grace and a kind smile. The vague detail from Quinn—that Jay is Sebastian’s best friend—has to be false. Riley, I can believe. This guy? There’s no way.
“Yell if you need anything,” Eli says from the doorway, with a grin that doesn’t put me at ease at all. “I have some phone calls to make and a site to visit with Dawson.”
“Try not to make anyone cry.” Jayden’s tone suggests he says it multiple times a day. What kind of business are they running?
“No promises.”
Jayden gives us a wry smile once we’re alone. “Have a seat, please. I promise that he’s very good at his job—and can even behave himself at times—even if his people skills could use some work.”
Isn’t the whole point of “event management” people skills? Not like I can talk, really. I’m not much into comfort; that’s why I have a partner who’s better at being gentle. Sounds like they have a similar arrangement. A kind of good cop/bad cop scenario.
“And what is his job?” Call it professional curiosity. And to see if I can pick up any dirt to use on Sebastian.
“He keeps everything coordinated and makes sure A gets to B and that everything is on task. He looks small, but he keeps people in line.”
I bet.
Jayden gives me a knowing smile and then pulls the top folder from the pile, flipping it open and pulling a pen from the insideof his jacket. “In terms of plans, what do you already have organised?” At my blank look—he should be looking at Lake, not me—he says, “It’s okay if the answer is nothing; that’s what we’re here for. I just need to get an idea of where to start.”
“We’ve got the flowers sorted—from the florist ‘Talk Dirt with Me,’” Lake answers.
I still don’t believe that’s really the name of the place even if he showed me a business card with the name. He could have printed that himself. Elaborate, but Lake is nothing if not enthusiastic.
