Chapter One
Rosie
Wednesday
I stare at the arrivals board, a sinking feeling of despair growing in my belly. Melanie’s flight out of New York has been canceled—and it looks like a lot of others have, too.
Digging out my phone, I turn it off airplane mode and send the bride-to-be a quick message.
I just landed. . . your flight was canceled? I’m so sorry.
I’m sorry for myself, too, but I don’t let that bleed into my text message. This weekend is all about her.
She replies immediately.
It’s a mess! Major storm, so many flights need to be rebooked. I’m hoping we can get out tomorrow, but my dad is already on top of it.
I flush at the reminder that Melanie’s dad will be here. Is already here in Vegas, apparently.
Okay, my dad is on his way to pick you up.
What? No. Oh no. Hot embarrassment fills my chest. The last time I saw him. . .
I need you to help him, Rosie.
The texts keep pinging on my screen, a laundry list of wedding tasks. A meeting with the catering staff, a check-in with the florist, and picking up our dresses from the dress shop.
He doesn’t care about the details the way I do. Promise me you’ll stick by his side, okay?
She has no idea what she’s asking—or how awkward it will be. Not that Mel would care. Nothing phases her.
We’re a strange pair of best friends. She’s two years older than me and runs in a very different social circle now that we’re adults.
But once upon a time, she was my next-door neighbor, back when her dad was a struggling construction worker.
Before he worked his way up the business, then built his own firm and became a big-shot zero energy home developer.
Now he’s one of the richest men in Conception Ridge. And the most eligible bachelor because he never re-married after Melanie’s mom left him.
Growing up, Melanie would come to dinner at our townhouse when her dad was working late. By the time they moved when she was a teenager, we had a friendship bond that was more like sisters.
We love like sisters. Sometimes fight like sisters. But at the end of the day, we’re always there for each other.
Even if she wants me to spend twenty-four hours doing non-stop, wedding-related activities with her dad, all because of a storm.
Why didn’t she get married in New York???
I guess for the same reason she didn’t get married in Conception Ridge. Vegas is easy and different and exciting.
It’s only easy and exciting because someone else—me—will be running around like crazy with her—
“Rosie?”
I jerk my head up and gasp at the shot of aroused need that runs through me. Mr. Burke is as hot as ever.
Usually, I see him in T-shirts and jeans, not a suit. And today, he’s wearing a perfectly tailored black suit, looking like money and power and sex all rolled into one.
How have I never seen him in a suit?
And why is he dressed up like this? I’m wearing yoga pants and an anime T-shirt, dressed for flying on the most budget-friendly ticket possible, squished in the middle of a row.
Mr. Burke looks like a high roller, his usual laidback dad vibe replaced with shiver-inducing intense energy that makes me do a double-take.
“Hi,” I stammer. “You didn’t need to pick me up.”
He raises his eyebrows and holds up his phone. “Express orders from the bride. Yes, I did.”
Oh. Right.
“She wants us to do some of the last-minute appointments?” For some reason, it comes out sounding like a question.
“I saw that, too.” He flicks a gaze down to my suitcase, then drags his attention over my outfit. “Do you want to go straight to the hotel? Are you tired from the flight?”
“I. . . uh, no?” Fuck, I sound like a brainless idiot. I sigh. “No,” I say more definitively. “I’m fine. If you want to drop me off, if you have somewhere to be, I can take care of the wedding stuff myself.”
He frowns. “That was not my instruction. And I don’t have anywhere to be.”
“You’re all dressed up.”
He looks at me like I’m an idiot. “I’m in Vegas.”
It’s not the first time he’s given me that look, like I’m a little girl who doesn’t understand grown-up things. It fills me with righteous indignation. I spread my arms wide. “I’m in Vegas, too, and I don’t have anything that looks like that.”
He laughs and leans in. “Are you wearing a cute T-shirt like that to the wedding, then? Was that approved by the bride?”
Heat swarms my face. “No. I’m picking up my dress here because the store closest to Conception Ridge didn’t have my size.”
“Is that on our to-do list for today?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Ah.” His grin slowly fades to a serious expression. “We have our work cut out for us, don’t we?”
Our. We.
I cannot spend the next thirty-six hours with this man. I swallow hard. “I guess so.”
“So much for my plan to hit the casino.” He winks. “But we can do that after we finish our assigned tasks.”
I shake my head. “I can’t.”
“Why not?” He gives me a playful look, one I vaguely remember from my childhood.
“I’m not old enough,” I whisper.
His face tenses, and he steps back. Suddenly, the people are all around us, and airport noises come rushing back. For a moment there, we’d slipped into a private back and forth, and I’d forgotten my place. “Right,” he says tightly. “My bad. . . I—”
“It’s fine. I don’t want to gamble anyway.” It’s a lie. I wish I was old enough to go to the casino. It feels exciting and magical, and when am I ever going to be back here?
Never, that’s when.
“I thought you just had your birthday.” His gaze is so hard to read. Is he mad at me for not being twenty-one yet? “After. . .”
After he caught me at The Roadhouse back in Conception Ridge, trying not to get carded. It was one of the few times I’d gone out with friends from college, but what is the point in a town that small?
If you try to order a cocktail with rum and pineapple juice, there is a better than one hundred percent chance your best friend’s dad will be there to furiously drag you away from the table and remind you that you’re not quite legal.
And not old enough to have grown-up fun yet.
Even though I’m twenty years old—technically an adult for two years already—Mr. Burke will always see me as a little girl.
But apparently, he forgot it that night. One of the most embarrassing nights of my life—and the hottest too, although that’s a secret I’ll take to my grave—and he’s acting like it meant nothing to him.
Because I’m nobody to him. Whew, well, I guess I needed that reminder.
“Time flies,” I say lightly. “But not that fast. My birthday is on Sunday, actually.”
The day after the wedding.
It was another reason I was thrilled when Melanie asked me to be her maid of honor. I’m going to turn twenty-one in Vegas, and I have big plans to celebrate properly.
But first, I need to work with Mr. Burke to make Melanie’s wedding perfect. Which means letting go of past embarrassment and showing him I’m mature.
He nods slowly. “Well, happy early birthday. We’ll make sure to carve some time out for you—”
“Shall we go to the florist?” I know I’m interrupting him, which is rude, but I’d rather focus on the wedding tasks. “And then, if you want, you can drop me at my hotel, or I can make my own way from the flower shop. You really didn’t need to pick me up.”
“You aren’t staying at the Babylon?”
“Nope.” I point outside. “Are you parked that way?”
He frowns but accepts my change of subject.
He picks it up again as soon as my suitcase is stowed in the trunk of his high-end rental car, and I’m in the passenger seat—his captive to lecture, apparently. “And why aren’t you staying at the same hotel as us? All the wedding events are there.”
My face goes hot. “I, uh. . . can’t afford it.”
He slows the car to a stop at a red light. Ahead of us are the lights of the main strip.
I sneak a glance at his profile. His jaw is tight with tension, the muscles of his cheek in starker relief than before.
“You shouldn’t have to—” He clears his throat. “I’ll get you a room.”
“No, please don’t—I think I can catch a bus or a shuttle—”
His eyebrows jolt up, and he turns his head, pinning me with a furious gaze.
I press back into the lush leather seat. “It’s fine.”
His eyes go wide, and he stares ahead again. “Fuck, Rosie. Sure, it’s fine, but it’s not good enough. Do you think I’m mad at you?”
I nod, my head wobbly with uncertain nerves. “A little. I didn’t think I needed to check my hotel booking with Melanie. I don’t think she cares where I stay.”
“But I care. And I’m not angry at you. The idea of you taking a shuttle back and forth. . . It won’t do. Understand? I want you close.” He swallows hard enough that it’s visible, and the muscle in his cheek twitches again. “For the planning.”