Page 3 of Fixer for the Billionaire

Jenny sighs, turning to her fiancé. "We thought it'd be good to have you two clear the air before the wedding."

I raise an eyebrow. "'You two'?"

Ryder, taking a seat, gestures for Quentin to do the same. "There's some tension we thought should be addressed."

Quentin stays standing, the restaurant's buzz growing louder around us.

Ryder leans back. "So, let's talk."

I straighten up.

This lunch was turning out far different than expected. Yet, nothing with Quentin ever went as planned.

With a smirk, I begin, "First off, your timing sucks." I arch an eyebrow. "Quentin, last time we 'cleared the air,' you commandeered the office coffee machine for a week because I mistakenly called your date—what was her name? Ah, yes, Delilah—the copier repair girl. My bad for not recognizing the love of your Wednesday afternoon."

Quentin's mouth twitches. "Classic 'Sanchez' move, forgetting Delilah's name. For your information, we had a deep, meaningful connection during her copier fix visits."

"Deep and meaningful, right. Guess I missed the memo on office romance."

Quentin finally sits. "Seems like you were jealous. Still are. Delilah did bring me coffee every morning."

I snort. "Jealous? Please, Quentin. The only thing I envied was Delilah's ability not to hurl around you. Kudos to her."

Ryder chuckles. "Looks like we're off to a great start." He scans us both. "Ready to dive into the main issue? Or should I get you two boxing gloves?"

I flash a grin, catching the flash of annoyance on Quentin's face. "Nope, I'm all set. Let's talk business." I glance at Jen. "So, what's with the cloak-and-dagger lunch invite? Please don't say we're debating the fate of the broken copier again, or worse, planning another office party with DJ Quentin. If that's the case, I need to book my ear-nose-and-throat doctor, like, yesterday."

"Actually," Quentin says, his tone as dry as sandpaper, "surprise ruined, but the gist is, we've got to play nice till the wedding in two months."

I raise an eyebrow. "Play nice? Us sitting here without going for each other's throats seemed like a miracle already."

Quentin's laugh, deep and booming, cuts through the lunchtime noise. "Not quite. The bride and groom want us on better terms." He gestures to me. "Given you're the Maid of Honor," then points to himself, "...and I'm the Best Man." His eyes flick to Jen. "I think you get the picture."

My jaw hits the floor.

Of all the Anderson men at Hare & Holeton, I'm stuck with my least favorite as the best man at my best friend's wedding.

I blink. "This is a joke, right?"

"It's not," Jen says, her smile sympathetic. "Ryder and I picked who we trust most for our big day. And that includes both of you."

Ryder rubs his neck, laughing awkwardly. "Look, if you're planning to turn the aisle into 'The Hunger Games,' we might need to rethink this—no offense. We didn't even want a big wedding, but then Jen's mom stepped in..." He clears his throat. "We're hoping for a 'coming together' vibe, not a 'last one standing.' Let's skip any duels during the bouquet toss, okay?" His grin carries a trace of genuine worry. "I hope you two can bury the hatchet—and not in each other."

Jen looks from Quentin to me, expectant. "Think you can handle that?"

Oh boy.

As much as I want to roll my eyes and crack a sarcastic remark, I know Jen's right.

What kind of pre-wedding chaos would ensue if Quentin and I can't stand each other for two months? And what kind of Maid of Honor would I be if I couldn't get over my issues with the groom's brother for my best friend's sake?

After a moment, I sigh, conceding. "Fine. I'll keep my snarky comments about his music taste to myself."

"I'll try not to take offense at her lack of appreciation for real talent," Quentin shoots back with a smirk.

Jen claps her hands, her eyes sparkling. "That's a start. Now, about that bottle of champagne on the table. Ryder and I have cleared both your schedules for the day."

I gasp. "Jen, seriously? You can't just?—"

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