Page 60 of Love, Take Two

"Did you just give yourself a pep talk?" Emory asks with obvious amusement.

"Maybe," I admit. "You're very distracting when you're in creative mode."

"Good to know," he says, and something in his tone makes me look up to find him watching me with an expression that definitely isn't professional.

"We have a client call in an hour," I remind him, though my voice comes out slightly breathless.

"Fifty-eight minutes," he corrects, standing up from his desk.

"Emory," I start, but he's already moving toward me with obvious intention.

"Fifty-seven minutes," he says, reaching my chair and spinning it to face him.

What follows is exactly the kind of office romance situation that we definitely should have established ground rules about. But since we're in our own home office and technically our own bosses, I'm calling it a productivity break.

Forty-five minutes later, we're both presentable and professional for our video call with Sarah and Mike, though I catch Emory smirking at me during my presentation about floral arrangements.

"The venue you've selected is absolutely perfect," Sarah says, looking at the photos Emory took during his scouting trip. "It's exactly what we envisioned."

"And the way you've coordinated everything," Mike adds, "it feels like you really understand what we want. Natural, fun, authentic."

"That's always our goal," I say, falling easily into professional mode despite the fact that twenty minutes ago I was decidedly unprofessional with my business partner. "We want your guests to feel like they're part of something special, not just watching a performance."

"Speaking of which," Emory says, "we'd love to create some behind-the-scenes content during your wedding week. Nothing intrusive, just documentation of the real moments—getting ready, family interactions, the spontaneous stuff that makes each celebration unique."

"That sounds amazing," Sarah says with obvious excitement. "Our friends are going to love seeing the authentic version, not just the posed photos."

The call ends with final timeline confirmations and enthusiastic thanks from our clients. As soon as the screen goes black, Emory and I just grin at each other.

"We're actually good at this," I say, still slightly amazed by how naturally we work together.

"We're very good at this," he agrees. "Though I think we need to establish some actual office hours if we're going to maintain any semblance of professionalism."

"Probably," I agree, but I'm already moving toward him again. "Maybe starting tomorrow?"

"Definitely starting tomorrow," he says, pulling me into his lap.

Friday brings our first major test as business partners—a potential client who wants to hire us for a wedding in Napa Valley, but only if we can present a full proposal by Monday. It's the kind of tight timeline that would normally send me into an anxiety spiral, but somehow working with Emory makes it feel manageable instead of overwhelming.

"Okay," I say, spreading out all our research materials on the dining table. "Venue options, vendor contacts, budget breakdown, timeline proposal. If we divide this up, we can have everything ready by Sunday."

"I love it when you get all organized and focused," Emory says, which is exactly the kind of comment that led to our productivity break yesterday.

"Focus, Wise," I say, pointing my pen at him. "Work time, remember?"

"Right," he agrees, but he's looking at me in a way that suggests professional boundaries are going to be challenging to maintain. "Strictly business until we finish this proposal."

"Strictly business," I confirm, though the way he's watching me make lists is doing things to my concentration that definitely aren't business-related.

The weekend passes in a blur of research, planning, and the kind of collaborative work that makes me understand why some couples go into business together. We complement each other perfectly—when I get too focused on details, Emory pulls back to the big picture. When he gets carried away with creative possibilities, I bring him back to practical realities.

"This is really good," I say Sunday evening, looking at the proposal we've put together. "Like, professionally impressive good."

"It should be," Emory says, settling beside me on the couch. "We make a hell of a team."

"We do," I agree, leaning into his warmth. "I never thought I'd enjoy working with someone this much."

"Because you're a control freak who likes to manage every detail yourself?" he asks with obvious affection.

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