Page 3 of The Golden Scoop

The boys chuckle. I suppress a growl. I did not expect to share my best friend’s wedding day with some cocky, self-centered jerk. Yet here he is, and I’m letting it ruin my mood. I need a reset. I don’t want my memories of Julia’s wedding to revolve around him.

“I’m going to get some air.” I push my chair back and drop my napkin on the table. “I want to go over my speech one last time.”

“I’ll come with,” Matt says, making a move to stand up.

“Nope. Take the hint. I need a breather from all your—” I wave my hands in his direction, “—PR perfection.”

“I could use some fresh air,” Julia says, taking my hand.

We slip out through the glass doors to the small terrace. Rows of vines stretch before us, lit by strings of fairy lights that fade into the horizon. The air smells of sunbaked earth and sweet grapevines.

“This place is magical. And you look stunning, Mrs. Harrison,” I tell her, leaning on her arm. She hums softly. “Thanks for the save back there.”

“Why do you hate Matt so much?”

“It comes with the job, I guess,” I reason as I go—because he’s never actually done anything to me directly. “It doesn’t matter who I’m investigating; he’s always there all over the drama. Endless parties, countless women, and yet, his playboy image serves in his favor.”

“He never seems out of control when he’s with us, though.”

“That’s because he’s already charmed you.”

The words fight on their way out because, selfishly, I don’t want to share her.

“And you’re telling me you don’t want to be charmed?” she teases, wiggling her eyebrows. “Not even a little bit?”

“You know I’m not looking for a fling,” I remind her. “And if I were, it would be with someone who isn’t constantly trying to annoy me.”

“It’s called tension,” she teases, “and it does wonders in the bedroom.”

I close my eyes and give them a good rub. “That is not an image I need in my head.”

Sure, Matt’s not your average Joe. He’s got broad shoulders, muscles for days, and baby blue eyes constantly embracing this mischievous look that’s almost daring you to misbehave. It would be a lie to say I’m not attracted. But his walking-red-flag personality overpowers everything else.

Back inside, people are starting to slowly fill the dance floor. Julia’s dad is pulling some improvised seventies-style moves.

“He’s really something else,” she mutters between laughs. “We should head back before he starts a conga line.”

I nod and follow behind her. Matt’s alone at the table, sipping on some colorful cocktail with sugar on the rim. He gives us the side-eye but continues watching the crowd.

“And now, before we call out the lovely couple to the dance floor to share their first dance,” says the DJ from his stand at the corner of the room, “the maid of honor and the best man have a few things to say.”

Everyone settles back into their seats, and a staff member hands me and Matt microphones. I grab my glass of water to clear my throat—only it’s vodka. I choke on it, sputter, and instantly glare at Matt. He covers his mouth with his napkin, as if that could hide the laugh echoing through the silence.

“What’s your problem, Matt?” I hiss, covering the microphone. There goes my reset. “Are you trying to sabotage me?”

Harrison slaps his arm, and he finally regains composure. “Relax, Mills. I just wanted you to loosen up a bit.”

The audacity.

“I can’t,” I retort. “I’m too busy trying to make sure you don’t ruin the whole evening by making it about yourself.”

Before he can fire back, the DJ taps his glass with a fork. “Alright everyone. Time for speeches!”

A wave of cheers and clicking fills the room. I take a slow breath and wipe the corner of my mouth. Great. No pressure. Just me, a microphone, and the taste of alcohol still burning down my throat.

I rise from my chair, trying to ignore Matt’s smug little grin.

“Do I need to introduce myself?” I say.