Page 36 of Forty, Flirty & F*cked

"Doves?" Luke perks up, pushing his glasses higher. "Is that why Harrison's toupee was trending on Twitter?"

"No comment." She blinks innocently. "Though I will say the birds showed excellent taste in nesting materials."

A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. Her eyes meet mine, warm and amused, and something in my chest does a slow roll.

"Well," Grayson stands, grinning between us, "I think that's our cue. Wouldn't want to interrupt any... PR strategizing."

The others follow, filing out with varying degrees of subtlety. Callum pauses at the door.

"Do try to keep the avian incidents to a minimum at the bachelor weekend. My villa's artwork is rather valuable."

Then it's just us.

Ariana shifts, fidgeting with a folder. "So... that was subtle."

"About as subtle as a dove in a toupee." I lean against the conference table. "Speaking of which, how exactly did you handle our feathered friends?"

"Let's just say my dad’s favorite local Italian restaurant now has some very well-dressed additions to the owner’s courtyard fountain." She steps closer, and I catch a whiff of vanilla. "Though we might need to discuss your father's dry cleaning bill."

"Add it to the company card." I watch her tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "Along with whatever you need for the wedding.”

She stills. "About that..."

"Problem?"

"Several, actually." She starts pacing, heels clicking against hardwood. "First, Will's latest post has over twenty thousand likes. Second, I haven't been to a formal event since... well, since I was supposed to have one. And third..." She stops, biting her lip. "I can't dance."

I blink. "That's what you're worried about?"

"Among other things! What if I step on someone's feet? What if Will posts more photos? What if?—"

"Ariana." I catch her arms, stilling her. "Breathe."

She inhales shakily. "I am breathing. I'm also panicking. But very professionally."

"I know an excellent dance instructor." The words come out before I can stop them. "She taught my Grandmother. Very discreet.”

"Really?"

"Really." I should let go of her arms. I don't. "Though... maybe a quick demonstration? Just so you know what you're getting into?"

"Now?"

"Why not?" I pull out my phone, setting it on the table. Soft jazz fills the room. "One time only. Strictly professional."

"There's that word again." But she lets me position her hand on my shoulder. "Professional. And to be fair…I haven't danced properly since my thirties," she admits as I guide her into position. "Unless you count stress-cleaning to Kenny G.”

"Bold of you to assume I don't." I adjust her grip. “To be clear with you…” My gaze trails lower than I planned, “forty sure looks good on you, Ms. Bristol."

"Forty-two.” But her cheeks flush. "Though I suppose it beats the alternative."

"Getting trapped in a Vegas chapel with an Elvis impersonator old enough to be my father?"

"He did seem very invested in our... what did he call it?"

“‘Mature romance for the modern era,'" I quote, spinning her slowly. "Though I prefer to think of it as experienced decision-making."

"Is that what we're calling drunk marriages now?"

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