The Billionaire Takes a Bride

“You never change, Chels. As pretty as ever. How are you? How’s the soap making?”

“Oh . . . you know. Slow.” She wiggled her eyebrows at him. “How’s the coffee shop?”

“It’s great. Business is booming. If you ever need a job, I’m sure I can squeeze you in.” He beamed at her and his gaze strayed to Bianca, too.

“Aw, thanks, babe. I might take you up on that,” she lied. It was too many people. Too many strangers. Too many opportunities for someone to take advantage. She was more protected in derby, when women pushed and shoved each other good-naturedly (and sometimes not-so-good-naturedly) and paired up for everything. But when Gretchen urged Chelsea on, she was glad to get away from Cooper. Everyone in her past would want to know why she was hiding out, and she wasn’t prepared to deal with that sort of thing.

Next she met Reese, Audrey’s new husband, and a total scoundrel with a goatee and a wicked smile. He was the type who would have made her exceedingly nervous to meet in any sort of situation post-trauma. It was the confidence, the devil-may-care, the ladies’ man mentality. Only the fact that he was doting on his pregnant wife made her okay around him, but she did her best to keep her greeting short.

Gretchen dragged her along through the room of mingling people, frowning. “I don’t see Sebastian anywhere. He’s Hunter’s friend.” She grimaced. “Well, as much as my boo has friends. More like he has work acquaintances that he doesn’t hate, and we didn’t want to stack the wedding with his, uh, college buddies, because they just did that in another wedding. So we searched around for groomsmen, and Sebastian’s some guy with family money. His family’s crazy, though.” She looked at Chelsea apologetically. “I paired you up with him for the wedding stuff. I hope that’s okay. It was either him or Magnus and I thought your coloring would look good with Sebastian because he’s swarthy and you’re so cute and blonde. Bitch.” She grabbed a pair of champagne flutes from the passing butler and offered one to Chelsea. “Drink up. I know how much you like your bubbly.”

Chelsea’s smile grew tight and she held the glass in her hand to be polite, when all she really wanted to do was hand it back. “Thanks.”

“Oh, we’re all sitting down to eat now,” Gretchen said, releasing Chelsea’s arm. “Come on. Sebastian should be around here soon.”

“Join you in a sec,” Chelsea said, her panic rising. It was stupid, really. Sitting next to some random guy in a room full of friends shouldn’t throw her into a tizzy. But Pisa wasn’t here to troubleshoot. She’d be by herself. And who knew what would happen then?

Stop it , she told herself. These are your friends. Indeed, walking into the room and seeing so many familiar faces was like a hug from a distant relative: comfortable but still somehow awkward. She shouldn’t be freaking. But she needed a minute to calm down and chill, to get her head in the bout.

And to dump her damn drink, because its presence was bugging her.

So she excused herself and made a beeline for the bathroom. Inside, she wasn’t alone. To her surprise, she saw tiny Greer, desperately trying to fix her makeup. One of her eyes looked . . . off.

Greer gave her a panicked look as Chelsea entered. “Chel! Oh. Thank god. I need your help.” She pointed at her eye. “My eyelashes are gone! Does it look bad?”

Chelsea peered at her face. “Well, it looks like one of your eyes is bald. Is that what you mean by ‘bad’?”

“Oh, no,” Greer moaned, and leaned in close to the mirror, squinting. “I can’t tell. I’m not wearing my glasses tonight.”

“Uh, why not?” From what she knew of poor Greer, they were some mighty strong glasses. She was always a bit of a mousy thing, shy and sweet and prone to fading into the wallpaper. “Don’t you need them? Did you get Lasik?”

“I don’t qualify for Lasik, and yes, I do need them.” Greer shot her an unhappy look. “Asher’s here tonight and I wanted to look . . . pretty.”

“Oh, sweetie.” Greer was a sweetheart, but she wasn’t Asher’s type. Was she still hung up on the arrogant SOB? He liked them tall, leggy, and busty. Kind of like Chelsea herself, but Asher was an old buddy and the thought of dating him was kind of gross.

“Please,” Greer said, her voice barely a whisper. “Please, can you go looking for it? I was in the library earlier. It must have dropped off then. I can’t go to dinner without looking my best. Please. Please please.”