Page 17 of Arranged To Be Mine

I grinned. “Was that so hard?”

“Excruciating.”

“See? We’re making progress already.”

6

DARCY

The Blackwell Couture store in Beverly Hills was exactly what I expected and nothing like it at the same time. I’d heard of the place, obviously. I didn’t live under a rock. I just never had a reason to shop there. I didn’t wear the kinds of things the label sold.

The storefront screamed money in that understated way only truly expensive places could manage. A doorman in a crisp black suit nodded as I approached, holding the glass door open like I was royalty.

I wasn’t royalty. I was a CEO-in-waiting who was being forced to play dress-up by a man I barely tolerated. It was insulting.

The interior was even more impressive. Everything looked curated, expensive and oddly welcoming. There was an actual café with a full bar because apparently rich people couldn’t shop without access to coffee and cocktails.

Salespeople meandered around talking with customers. It was huge. Massive with an entire second floor. I walked toward the cafe where I was supposed to be meeting Beau.

He sat at a small table near the bar, looking annoyingly comfortable in the same jeans and that stupid shirt that was too tight. His dark hair was just a little long on top with what looked like some natural curl. In court, he had it all perfectly combed. Now, it was messy and tousled and too sexy. The fitted black t-shirt stretched across broad shoulders and showed off arms that suggested he spent time in the gym. His jaw was sharp and clean shaven but I could already see the hint of a five o’clock shadow. His blue eyes were a warmer blue than mine, like summer instead of winter. They crinkled at the corners when he spotted me.

I really hated how attractive he was. That effortless handsome thing some people were born with. The rest of us had to spend a small fortune on skin care, salon visits, and makeup.

Another reason to be annoyed with him.

Across from him was a woman about his age with similar dark hair and the same striking blue eyes. She was dressed impeccably in a silk blouse, capris, and pretty sandals. She looked elegant and yet casual.

I approached the table, my heels clicking against the floor in the rapid staccato that accompanied me wherever I went.

“You made it,” Beau said, standing. “Darcy Corwin, this is my sister, Cleo.”

Cleo rose and extended her hand. “It’s so nice to meet you. Beau’s told me all about you.”

“Has he?” I shot him a look. “I can only imagine.”

“All good things,” Cleo assured me, though her smile suggested she knew exactly what kind of first impression I’d made on her brother. “Please, sit. Can I get you something to drink? Bloody Mary? Mimosa? Martini?”

I hesitated. It was barely two o’clock. But the week I’d had called for it.

“Sure. Whatever you’re having.”

Cleo went up to the bar while I ignored the stupidly handsome man still watching me with amusement in his eyes. Within minutes, a cocktail appeared in front of me. Something pink and frothy that I normally would have dismissed as too frivolous. It was none of the options she offered. I took a sip anyway. It was really good.

“Is this your store?” I asked, glancing around.

“Our cousins own it,” Cleo explained. “The New York Blackwells. But my company, Blackwell Occasions, has a corner of the store for our wedding stuff. I design wedding gowns.”

“You design gowns?”

“I do.” She smiled with obvious pride. “It’s my passion. Helping brides find the dress that makes them feel like the most beautiful version of themselves. My parents wanted me to go into the family business, but I chose my own path.”

I took another sip of my cocktail. “The family business?”

“Our parents work in the movie industry,” Beau said, leaning back in his chair. “Dad has his own movie studio. Mom is an actress. But none of us really went that direction. Cleo has her design business with our brother Callum and their friend Mandy. Hollis has a wellness brand. Drew works on the family investment portfolio. Our brother Micah just had his first big directorial debut. Jeremy, the youngest, models for Blackwell Couture.”

“And you became a lawyer,” I said.

He sipped his martini. “I started in entertainment law. Contracts, intellectual property, the boring stuff that keeps Hollywood running.” He shrugged. “But my clients kept asking me to handle other things. Disputes with neighbors. Image problems. Crisis management. I sort of became an all-purpose lawyer for the stars.”