The wedding timeline had compressed overnight due to a "critical team scheduling conflict." Tess had oh-so-casually announced before sunrise, like she was reading the weather.
Even worse, Drake's availability for pre-wedding publicity was now practically non-existent.
"Forty-two days out," she muttered, pressing cold palms to overheated cheeks before giving herself a good shake. "And I've got a horse as a ring bearer, a full-blown media campaign, and Tess thinking that rustic means Swarovski hay bales."
One of the other junior planners walked past her office, shot a quick look inside, then executed a flawless eye-avert per corporate etiquette.
Piper's phone blared, slicing through the low hum of her cursed career.
Oh good. The cake lady.
"Ms. Daws? I'm so sorry, but we've hit a slight, um, complication with the wedding cake design." The woman's voice wobbled dangerously. "The edible glitter—there's been some cross contamination with almond oil. I'm trying to work it out with the supplier, but the?—
"Timeline," Piper finished for her, forehead thunking onto the cool laminate of her desk, which did absolutely nothing to soothe the white-hot stress pouring out of her ears. "There has to be a way to get more glitter in time."
"I've called every supplier I know. Nothing matches the Stallions' exact royal blue. There's blue...but it's lighter than you'd want. Or darker."
"Any chance we switch it up entirely? Something else with the same vibe?"
"I'm trying," the baker groaned. "It's not working."
Deep breath. Then another.
"Don't worry. We've got this," Piper said, trying to stay calm. "I'll look into it and get back to you."
Reaching for her binder yet again, her hand bumped a stack of glossy Directors of Interment and Cremation Knowledge brochures, sending them tumbling off the shelf.
Before she could wrangle them back into a stack, a knock pulled her gaze upward to Zach standing there. His navy Henley made his eyes impossibly bluer and he held what looked to be a smoothie, if she had to guess.
Her pulse did weird, unprofessional things.
Down girl.
She'd been dealing with glitter-mageddon and she hadn't exactly been in contact with the bride's hot-as-hell brother.
Maybe it was witchcraft. Maybe it was hormones. Either way, her shoulders felt noticeably lighter and the clutter manageable.
"You look like you're planning a military coup instead of a wedding," he said, eyeing her disaster-zone desk.
"At this point," Piper replied, gesturing at her phone as it buzzed again, the vibration sending a pen rolling across her desk, "a coup would be easier. At least then I'd get a cool uniform."
Zach invited himself in, dropping to the chair across from her.
Piper's eyes darted to the smoothie in his hand, lingering there like it was a long-lost love. The straw squeaked obnoxiously against the lid as he took a sip.
"What?" he asked, wiping his mouth like he hadn't committed a beverage crime in her presence.
"Nothing," she said, shaking it off.
"You were making a face," he said, cocking an eyebrow.
"I wasn't making a face," Piper lied, definitely making a face.
"You have the 'I'm so hungry I could eat my stapler' face. My sister perfected it."
Brushing his comment off, Piper folded her hands on the desk. "What can I do for you, anyway?"
"Thought you might be ready for reinforcements," he said.
