Maybe I should make it for nine thirty.

“You don’t want a courthouse wedding?” Declan asks, and Cohen looks over at me again, his eyebrows almost touching in the middle of his forehead.

Gulp.

Nine. Yup, it’s going to be a nine o’clock tongue-lashing.

With a deep sigh, he turns to Declan. “It’s nothing you need to worry about, and nothing Luna should be sticking her nose in. I said no, and that’s final.”

CHAPTER TWO

ALEC

“I cannot believe you scored the Hamptons house,” Lucas, my coworker and friend, says as he leans back on the couch in my office, awestruck eyes directed at the ceiling. “How the fuck did you get the asshole to cave?”

Pleased with my showing in arbitration today, I kick my feet up on my desk and smile. “Threw down a file of photographic evidence.”

“Oh shit.” Lucas chuckles. “Who was it this time? The assistant?”

“Maid. In the solarium. With a vibrator up the ass.”

“His ass or her ass?”

“His.”

Lucas sits up and folds his hands in front of him.

“You’re telling me you caught the president of Markman and Wire, the most prestigious advertising company in New York City, with a vibrator up his ass in a sunroom?”

I nod.

Lucas lets out a low whistle and leans back again. “You need to pay your private investigator more.”

“I think that every goddamn day. Then again, if I were Elijah Markman, I wouldn’t be cheating on my wife in a sunroom, where anyone could take pictures from surrounding bushes.” Then again, I would never cheat on my wife either . . . or even have a wife, for that matter.

Marriage is not for blackhearted, realistic assholes like me. Marriage is for naive, love-blinded fools who believe another soul can make them happy. Fact: the only person who can make you happy is yourself.

Being the top divorce attorney in New York City will enlighten you: men are pigs. Granted, there are some great men out there, and women screw them over, but in my profession, it’s usually the man. He’s usually cheating, and he wants to fuck over the wife as much as possible when it comes to the divorce proceedings. Not on my watch.

To sum it up: I’m never getting married.

“I’m getting married!”

The door to my office busts open, startling both Lucas and me. Our eyes zero in on the door as Thaddeus floats—yes, floats—in, arms spread, before taking a huge, idiotic bow.

“Thad, what are you doing here?” I ask, standing from my desk, hands on the cool glass surface.

“Came to delight my big brother with the news of my engagement.”

“I know you’re engaged. You called me two months ago with the news.”

“Yes, well, I’m still waiting on that engagement gift. Thought you forgot.”

How could I possibly forget about Thad’s engagement? He bawled on the phone, recounting every last detail. And the only reason I picked up the phone was because he texted me at least a dozen times beforehand, telling me he was going to call me at 8:00 p.m. sharp, and I’d better answer.

For a brief second, I considered letting the call go to voice mail, just to make his blood pressure skyrocket—the brotherly thing to do—but I thought better of it and answered.

In all honesty, I question Naomi’s sanity. Thad is an interesting character. A man’s man when he wants to be, a ladies’ man in college, and a whiny baby for the majority of his day-to-day life. Maybe some of it’s my fault. I did baby him when we were kids, but someone had to make sure he didn’t become as jaded as me. I still saw the hope in his eyes that we could have the perfect family, despite our parents’ constant screaming matches.

Dad was a workaholic on Wall Street; Mom was an emotionless trophy wife. They were picture perfect on the outside, a tragedy of a marriage on the inside. It was rare that we saw them happy together. It was rare that they were in the same room and not arguing.

Always about money.

It’s what everyone fights about. Money.

It’s why I despise it.

I hate that I need it to uphold a certain image for my job, and I hate that it’s what makes the world go round.

I sit back down in my chair and cross my ankle over my knee while picking up a pen to fiddle around with. “Didn’t forget. Didn’t think it was necessary.”

“Not necess—” Thad stops abruptly when he spots Lucas, finally. My friend looks like he has whiplash from our conversation. “Hey, man.” He holds his hand out. “Thaddeus.”

Lucas stands and takes Thad’s hand, giving it a good shake. “Lucas. Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Thad adjusts his suit jacket. “Ever buy an engagement present for a sibling?”

“Don’t have any. Sorry, man,” Lucas answers, a slight hitch in his voice.

“Would you?” Thad asks, clearly trying to prove a point.

A smirk crosses Lucas’s face, and I know he’s about to make things exponentially worse for me. “I would throw a party.”

Slowly, Thad swivels on his heel, hands on his hips, nostrils flared. Speaking through his clenched teeth, he says, “Did you hear that, Alec? A GD party.”

I stare down at my ankle. “Yeah, I heard the asshole.” I lift my head just enough so I can see the giant smirk on Lucas’s face. “You can leave now.”

He salutes me with two fingers. “My work here is done. Let me know if you’re still on for lunch.”

“You’re buying!” I call out right before he exits.

Thad stares after him and then turns back to me. “He seems like a stand-up guy.” Not waiting for an invite, Thad rounds one of the chairs in front of my desk and plops down. “I have a favor to ask.”

Hell . . . this can’t be a favor that I’m going to like. Just from the excitement in his eyes and the fact that he came to my office, I can tell that this isn’t only a big favor but one that’s most likely going to make my life a billion times harder.

“No ‘Hey, brother, how are you?’” I ask, forcing my voice steady. “Just getting down to business?”

“As if you even enjoy small talk.”

“I might be in the mood for it,” I say, just torturing him at this point.

“You want small talk? Fine.” Thad crosses his arms over his chest. “Hi, brother, how are you? Oh, is that so? Busy? Great. Yeah, I’ve been busy too, but still find time to text. Did you know it was Mom’s birthday the other day? I did, because I went to the brunch she held. I was the only child she birthed who was there, which was sad since she only birthed two. It was a boring-as-shit brunch with a bunch of old ladies in hats talking about Candace Howe’s latest face-lift, which, according to them, has wreaked havoc on her eyebrows. Oh and hey, did you know vaginas get dry when they’re old, making it harder to have sex? I do now, thanks to Mom describing the best lube—”

“No more small talk.” I hold up my hand as bile starts to rise in the back of my throat.

“Oh, you don’t want to talk about Mom’s dry vagina?”

“Get to the favor.”

“That’s what I thought.” Thad smirks. “Now, to business. As you know, I’m getting married to my beautiful Naomi. Weddings are expensive—”

“So you need money? How much?” I reach into my drawer for my checkbook, irritated that once again, money is taking hold of one more thing in my life.

“I don’t need money.” Guilt stabs through me at the insulted look on Thad’s face. I should know better at this point. Thad never asks for money. Just my attention. And the thought of him asking for my attention makes me wish he wanted just a check.

“Sorry.” I grip the back of my neck. “What do you need?”

He looks off to the side, and his demeanor morphs from annoying little brother to concerned fiancé. “I want to give Naomi a great life, the one that she deserves.” He chuckles. “For putting up with me and loving me. We want to move to Manhattan, make the leap, finally. But I can’t do that and put on a wedding at the same time. That’s when I came across an opportunity to compete on a wedding show, where contestants plan a New York City wedding on a budget.” He glances up at me.

Ohhh.

Shit.

I think I know where this is going.

“The Wedding Game. Have you heard of it?”

“No.”

“Didn’t think so. Well they’re looking for couples. Naomi and I would be perfect. The wedding would be paid for, and the grand prize is a penthouse in Manhattan. I definitely have the charisma for television. America votes, and there’s no way they won’t choose this handsome face.” He vogues a frame around his face, and I repress the deep, passionate urge to smack his hands away. “I can feel it in my bones. We can totally win, but there’s one catch.”

“There always is.”

Ignoring me, he says, “Every couple needs at least one member from their family to participate. Since Naomi’s family lives in Oregon . . .”

“No.”

Don’t even have to think about it. That’s a big fat no from me.

Television.

Wedding planning.

Dealing with what I can only imagine will be a groomzilla of a brother . . .