Page 5 of Afterglow

“You’re sure? It seemed pretty strained between you guys…”

She’s not wrong. It is strained between us, but only I fully understand why.

Considering I didn’t want this “job” in the first place, I allowed my bottled-up feelings to manifest with Bryce in a way I couldn’t with anyone else. It’s not something I’m particularly proud of. My first email may’ve been a bit demanding—a little short, you could say—and it set off a chain reaction. I’d love to lay the responsibility for our less-than-stellar working relationship at his feet, but I’m adult enough to recognize I’m the one who set the tone for it and we never recovered.

“Nope. All fine,” I lie, then change the subject. “Don’t you have a fiancé around here to canoodle or something?” Her cheeks flush and I notice her lips look a little kiss-swollen already.

A twinge of longing hits and I glance away, saying, “I actually should go find Bryce. Lots to do before tonight.” I force the smile wider on my face and keep my voice sweet around his name, even if my internal reaction to this idea is akin to a flight of butterflies being decimated by a flock of birds.

“Okay, I’ll track down Eric and the others so we can help. I think he and his brothers were going to smoke cigars.” She rolls her eyes and walks out of the room with a small wave.

As soon as she’s gone, I fall back on the bed again. I’m going to have to do better at hiding my sentiments about Bryce from her… from everyone. Even the look Mom gave me earlier when I bit back at him for calling me blondie told me she was picking up on the tension and my mood.

But I mean, really… Does he need to call me that?

I shake my head. It doesn’t matter. Just like with everything else, none of it matters. Today and tomorrow are about Jenna and Eric, nothing else. No one else. I can get through two days around the guy, no matter how I feel about him and his stupid nicknames… and his dick. Which unfortunately does present a bit of a problem for me.

Because, as much as I hate to admit it, I’m much too attracted to him. But I will be civilized like I asked him to be—even if a small part of me is itching to verbally spar with him again. It’s cathartic somehow, to finally unleash my inner turmoil on someone. Anyone.

But no. I’ll get through this weekend with a glowing smile and a good attitude. I’ll find a way to soothe the tension between us—if not for my sake, then for everyone else’s. I will be the bigger person. I can show him I’m a dedicated sister of the bride, a joy to work with.

That’s the Leanne everyone else is expecting and I will not let them down.

Then…

Well, then I can finally allow myself to grieve everything I lost six months ago.

CHAPTER THREE

Bryce

“That doesn’t go there.” Leanne’s voice carries across the open space of the event barn, and it instantly puts me on alert.

I’m bent over, smoothing a large swath of burlap across the circular gift table. With a quick glance, I see everyone else has cleared out, and my spine stiffens. I take a deep breath, dropping my shoulders away from my ears—a place they’ve spent too much time over the past several hours—and turn around to face her. The line between civility and hostility with Leanne is razor-thin, and it only teeters toward the side of civility when others are around.

Which they currently are not.

So, hostility it is. Lucky me.

“I’m working off your plan here, blondie…” I say, exasperated. The very plan she sent me yesterday.

A low growl rumbles out of her, the same way it has every time I’ve called her this—which only makes me want to do it more. “Stop calling me that, and you clearly aren’t looking at the same plan I am.”

“This is the most recent one we have, so…” I trail off and raise my eyebrows. I cross my arms over my chest and clock the way her gaze moves to my biceps where they flex underneath my white T-shirt. Why does that make me want to flex even harder?

“The gift table should be on the other side.” She scoffs and rolls her eyes like a petulant child. Part of me wants to take her over my knee and teach her a lesson if she’s going to act like one. The other part wants to kick my own ass for thinking such a thing.

What is this woman doing to me?

I’m a walking contradiction. My brain says proceed with caution, be nice, be professional, but then my lizard brain takes over and I say shit I’ve never imagined saying to a woman—let alone a client.

I aim to channel some of that professionalism when I say, “No. The dessert table will be on that side. The gifts go here.” I jab a thumb toward the table behind me.

At the end of the day, I’ll do whatever she wants with the tables, but she needs to own up to the fact that they are where they should be.

“Do you not know your right from left?” she asks, and I close my eyes in frustration, squeezing the bridge of my nose.

I honestly can’t figure this woman out. She seems perfectly normal with everyone else—if not a bit high-strung—but as soon as she has to deal with me, the gloves come off.