Mix 'N Match (No Match for Love) (8 page)

They might’ve, if she hadn’t flirted with the wrong wolf.

A softball wedged in Zoey’s throat. She pulled Brooke in for a tight hug. “Not willingly. But we’re smarter than them. We can make this wedding happen—without the press.”

“Luke wants us to meet at his apartment in an hour to do damage control.”

Which was probably why Mitch had texted her. “Are you sure Luke asked me to come?”

“Yes, he specifically said both of us. Can you be ready in a half hour? He’s sending a driver over in case the paparazzi tries to follow us. I bet they’re already camping outside the building.”

“I’ll be ready.”

They managed to sneak out a side entrance and escape into the town car without the paparazzi’s notice. Brooke clutched her pink Birkin bag in her lap with white knuckles. The words of the articles ran through Zoey’s mind over and over again while a rock lodged itself in her stomach. What could she have done differently? Alan had seemed so nice. Was she supposed to assume anyone interested in her was after a story?

“Shall I take the side entrance, Miss Pierce?” the driver asked, snapping Zoey out of her thoughts.

Zoey peered out the window and sucked in a breath. There had to be close to two dozen reporters waiting outside the front entrance of the building.

“Yes, please,” Brooke squeaked.

Zoey grabbed her friend’s hand. “They aren’t going to ruin your wedding.”

“I’m not so sure anymore.”

The driver circled the block before using the gated service entrance. Zoey got out of the car, her neck craning to see the top of the building, all sleek lines and different shades of gray. Once inside, the doorman immediately called the elevator. An attendant inserted the access key and selected the penthouse.

How mad was Mitch going to be? Would he rake her over the coals? Berate her for her poor choices? Be stoic and silent? Zoey never knew what to expect from him. For a straight-forward guy, he was somewhat of an enigma.

The elevator door slid open, and the cool voice of Talia, the home automation system that had made Luke’s company billions, said, “Welcome. Please come in.”

Zoey’s hands turned clammy. She looked down at the skinny jeans and fitted v-neck tee she’d thrown on last minute and wondered if she should’ve worn something different. What would Mitch think of her casual attire? He already thought she didn’t take life seriously—would he take one look at her wardrobe and assume she didn’t take these articles seriously, either?

She would fix this. Somehow.

Luke walked into the foyer with long, purposeful strides. Brooke fell into his arms, burying her face against his chest. “I don’t know how this happened,” she said, her words tripping over themselves. “Now they’re going to know the wedding is close and they’re going to monitor our every move, and they’re going to find out and ruin everything.”

“Hey.” Luke took Brooke’s face between his hands. His look was so intimate that Zoey had to glance away.

“I’m so scared this is all going to fall apart,” Brooke whispered.

“We’re not going to let it.”

“There’s no way we can go to France now without arousing suspicion. I really wanted to take care of the last wedding details in person.” Her voice was thick with emotion. Zoey wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

“Mitch is doing damage control with the press,” Luke said. “And I’ve worked out a plan that I think will lessen the risk and still give you a dream wedding. Let’s go sit down, and we can talk about everything. Mitch is in the living room.” Luke gave Zoey a fleeting smile. “Thanks for coming.”

“Of course,” Zoey said. The rock in her stomach broke apart, and tiny pebbles danced around with sharp pangs.

In the living room, Mitch sat on a rich leather couch, laptop resting on his knees as he furiously typed away. He wore slacks and a button-down shirt—even on a Saturday he couldn’t relax.

See? He’s all wrong for you.
Who wore a suit on a weekend unless they had to? Suddenly, Zoey felt silly in her jeans and tee, even though Mitch was the one overdressed.

Luke pulled Brooke onto the love seat, the two of them cuddling close, leaving the spot next to Mitch open. Zoey gingerly sat down, making sure to stay as close to the armrest—and as far away from Mitch—as possible.

“Okay, let’s start with a status report,” Luke said, nodding at Mitch.

Mitch looked up from his laptop, his eyes avoiding Zoey. “The photos have gone viral, so there’s nothing we can do to try and cover up the story. The photographer—Alan—has been on Twitter, threatening to sue you for his ruined camera. But he couldn’t sue you, only Zoey, and he’s getting enough publicity from that particular stunt to make the loss worth his time and money. The tabloids aren’t used to playing the victim, and it must be a nice change.”

The pebbles were pinging around in her stomach, angry ricochets that made Zoey want to throw up. She’d been so sure at the time that causing a scene—and ruining the camera—was the way to keep this quiet. But all she’d succeeded in doing was making everything worse.

Maybe Mitch was right, and she was too much of a free spirit.

“So the paparazzi didn’t do anything illegal, the stories will still be printed, and Brooke and I will still be hounded,” Luke said.

“Most likely.” Mitch swallowed, and for the first time, Zoey saw a hint of discomfort. “We can increase security measures around you and Brooke to try and keep the wedding secret. And we can increase security at the actual wedding—that way if paparazzi find it, they at least won’t be able to get in.”

“We’re supposed to leave for Paris tomorrow,” Brooke said. “Speculation is already rampant that France is a possible wedding location. This is going to fuel the fire.”

“Disguises have worked before,” Zoey said.

Brooke shook her head. “Too many people are watching now. Everyone with a cell phone wants a photo they can sell.”

“We can’t go to Paris tomorrow,” Luke agreed. “It’d be a dead giveaway. There’s no way we’re getting from here to the airport without being followed.”

Brooke’s foot tapped against the ground rapidly, and her hands were tight fists in her lap. “So we’re supposed to leave the final preparations and approvals up to a wedding planner we barely know? I’ve worked too hard on this wedding to throw it all away.”

“You can video conference with Juliette,” Mitch said. “At least then you can see things visually and make the decisions yourself.”

“It’s not the same,” Brooke said.

“I know, but it might be the next best thing,” Mitch said.

“Yeah, that’s what I want for my wedding—the next best thing.”

Luke’s hand landed on Brooke’s knee. “The most important thing is that the wedding remains a secret so we have one day free from the paparazzi. That’s what you want most, right, Brooke?”

Brooke wiped her nose with a tissue and nodded.

“I’ve been dropping hints for months about potentially opening an international office of Ryder Communications,” Luke said. “So Mitch will go to France without me under that pretense, and I doubt anyone will follow him.”

Brooke barked out a laugh. “No offense, Mitch, but I don’t trust you with the wedding. I know you’re good with details, but you aren’t a woman.”

Luke nodded. “I knew you’d say that. That’s why I thought Zoey could go with him.”

Zoey’s mouth dropped. “You want me and Mitch to go to France tomorrow?”

“Yes. Mitch has taken a lot of precautions to keep the flight plans secret, and no one will follow you or Mitch to the airport. I doubt anyone will realize you’re even in France. But if they do, you can stop in at Toujour, and Mitch can scout out locations for our international office. It’ll look like you’re both there for work. Brooke and I will fly in a few days before the wedding. Hopefully by then the fervor will have died down enough that the press won’t be camping on our doorsteps. By the time they figure out what’s happened, we’ll be on our honeymoon.”

Brooke nodded slowly, her eyes glowing. “Zoey knows me better than almost anyone. We’ll stay in L.A. and pretend to still have not set a date. It’s perfect.”

“But . . . what about work?” Zoey asked. At least she didn’t have any makeup clients scheduled for the next two weeks. She had known that with running Toujour, she wouldn’t have time.

Brooke waved a hand. “I’ll assign your clients to someone else for a few weeks. It’ll be easier than trying to run the office through you from France. And you don’t need to worry about money—we’ll take care of everything, right, Luke?”

“Of course,” he said. “I can live without Mitch for a few weeks, and he can work from Paris as needed.”

Mitch’s shoulders were tense, his jaw clenched. But he nodded and said, “Of course. Whatever you need, Luke.”

Two weeks in France instead of two weeks running Toujour. Excitement rose up in Zoey like a phoenix, and she squashed it back. No. This was not a vacation—this was a chance to right a very serious wrong. A chance at redemption.

Brooke leaned forward, grabbing Zoey’s hand. “You’ll do it, won’t you? Please, Zo? I know it’s a lot to ask, but I don’t know what else to do.”

Zoey glanced over at Mitch. His mouth was turned down in a scowl, his posture annoyingly proper.

She couldn’t say no to helping fix the problems she’d caused. Even if it meant spending two weeks working one-on-one with Mitch.

“Of course I’ll do it,” Zoey said. “I’m not about to let some slime-ball paparazzi ruin the happiest day of your life.”

Two weeks in Paris. Alone. With Zoey.

Mitch ran a hand over his curls and clutched the steering wheel. Nineteen hours and counting until he’d pick her up so they could head to the airport. Two weeks spent almost constantly in her presence would be a delicious kind of hell.

He still couldn’t believe she’d dumped soda on Alan’s camera. They were lucky her impulsive action hadn’t resulted in a lawsuit. Yet. He’d have to keep a close eye on her in France.

Mitch pulled to a stop in front of Jasmine’s apartment and took a deep cleansing breath. He never had found her last night at Disneyland. Between the two parks and the crushing crowds, it had always been a long shot.

He had to clear the air between them before leaving the country. He wouldn’t be able to focus on the wedding—or the press—if Jasmine was in L.A. throwing away her future out of some stubborn sense of spite. Whether he could sway Jasmine or not, he had to leave today on good terms with his little sister.

Mitch rapped on the door, nerves making his hand muscles twitch. What if Jasmine wasn’t home? What if she was and refused to answer the door?

He heard the chain slide, and the door opened. Jasmine wore shorts, a pink tank top, and a glare. Ear buds hung around her neck, and he realized he’d caught her just before a run.

“Back to lecture me some more?” she asked.

“No, but I do want to talk. Can I come in? Please?”

“You’re the one who pays for this apartment, as you kindly reminded me yesterday. You can do whatever you want.”

It wasn’t a warm invitation, but she hadn’t told him to leave, either. Mitch closed the door and motioned to the living room. “Let’s sit down.”

Jasmine sank onto the couch without a word. Mitch sat on the chair across from her, the silence stretching between them like a weekend with no meditation.

“I’m sorry,” Mitch said finally. “I shouldn’t have freaked out.”

“I’m not ten anymore, Mitch. I can take care of myself.”

“I was wrong for flipping out, but you were wrong to not tell me about your plans.”

“I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d flip!”

Mitch ran a hand over his eyes and down his jaw, letting out another sigh. “I want you to be happy, and that means you need financial stability.”

“No, that’s what
you
need to be happy. I need to follow my passion.”

“You can do that while still in school. Let me set up an appointment with your counselor on Monday.” He wished he could go with her.

“No. This internship is incredibly demanding—if I want to be successful at it, I need to be at their beck and call twenty-four seven.”

“Jasmine—”