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THREE DAYS UNTIL THE WEDDING
“Morning, B.”
When I force my eyes open, I’m alone in the California king bed except for the huge black fluffy dog leaning against the mattress and nosing my fingers.
The alarm clock says it’s after ten.
Harrison’s oceany scent clings to the sheets, and the subtle ache in my muscles reminds me of last night.
I had the craziest, best dream…
Marry me now. Here. In Vegas.
But when I roll over between the soft sheets, there’s a note lying next to my pillow.
Three days.
A shiver of excitement grips me.
My phone rings from the bedside table, Annie’s number flashing on the screen. I reach around Barney to grab the handset.
“Want me to pick you up? I’m on my way down to the interview.”
Shit. I’m late.
My legs are tangled in the sheets, and I work to free myself with one hand. “I need to walk Harrison’s dog.”
“Is that a euphemism?” Elle’s voice comes over the phone—she must already be with Annie. “Tell the dude to ‘walk his own dog.’”
My bare feet hit the soft carpet. “Give me fifteen minutes.”
I take the world’s fastest shower, spritz in some dry shampoo, then yank on the first clothes that aren’t made for the stage. My hair gets tugged back in a low ponytail, and I shove on a pair of Gucci sunglasses Harrison got me in Italy last fall.
Barney whines.
“One sec, bud.” I tug on shoes and pocket my phone and the note from my pillow, then put Barney’s leash and the protective boots that keep his feet cool on him and head for the elevator.
Annie and Elle are waiting by the main entrance downstairs.
“You meant the actual dog,” Annie realizes. The girls exchange a look before laughing.
My security falls into step behind us. At my look, he hangs back a few more paces.
“Last night was amazing,” Annie says as we walk down the sidewalk. At eleven on a June morning, the heat has long since laid claim to the Strip and the desert beyond. “I’m so proud of you.”
“I’m glad you guys came.” I reach into my pocket for a bag, and the note from Harrison nudges at my fingers. “Any chance you want to stick around a few days?”
Before I can spill my secret, a kid a couple of years younger than us descends on us with a stack of brightly colored cards. “Three beautiful women. Is it your first time in Vegas?”
“Not quite,” Elle answers.
“I have an amazing offer for you.” He pushes the card closer, and Barney decides to do his business on a weed at the edge of the sidewalk. “Little Queen closing at Hakkasan.”
“Not gonna happen.” I clean up after the dog.
The guy’s brows shoot up. “I’m serious. It’s a sick show. You can’t buy tickets.”
“I mean it’s not gonna happen because that show was last night.” I start to take the stack of cards from his hand to point at the date on him, but he resists.
