Noah frowned. “Because of Mrs. Greene?”

No one ever referred to Gracie’s mother as anything but Mrs. Greene, although Paul had been led to suspect her name might be Cecilia. Despite sharing her daughter’s petite stature and flair for style, she lacked any of the warmth and charisma that Gracie exuded, and had a reputation as being a bit of a dragon.

“Yeah.” Des raked a hand through his dark hair. “She’s driving Gracie bananas, but I can’t get involved. She gets worked up if I mention it. Good thing it’ll be over in a few weeks.”

Paul choked on his drink. “A few weeks?”

“Yeah, we’re going to announce it tonight. The wedding is going to be in six weeks.”

“Is she…” Noah looked around to see if anyone else was in earshot.

Des folded his arms across his chest. “She’s not pregnant.”

“Not yet,” Noah said, waggling his eyebrows.

“Why the hurry?” Paul set the champagne flute down.

Des looked over his shoulder. “I don’t want this planning phase to go on any longer than it has to. Besides, we’re ready to be married. It sounds corny, but I don’t want to wait any longer.”

Paul made a gagging motion. “What chick flick did you pull that from?”

“Mock me, oh little brother. One day this will be you, and I’ll be the first one to remind you of this moment.” Des turned to Noah and slapped him on the back. “And when it comes to the wedding you have to wear a suit. No excuses.”

Noah had worn black jeans and an open-collared shirt under a leather motorcycle jacket, despite the fact that the invites had said Dress Code: Cocktail. “It’ll be the first time.”

Des moved on to talk to Gracie’s older sister and left the two men to their drinks. The engagement party was intimate. Private. Immediate family and the bridal party only.

But the wedding would be filled with people Paul didn’t want to face. Most of all, his ex-almost-fiancée and the guy she’d married…who just so happened to be his cousin.

“Six weeks, can you believe it?” Noah shook his head. “How are we going to plan a buck’s party in that time?”

“Yeah…”

But Paul’s mind was consumed with the wedding itself. He’d thought that Gracie and Des would have a more standard engagement, like one or two years…five, if he was lucky. Then he would have time to get his shit sorted, find someone he trusted enough to bring to a family function, and do something noteworthy so he didn’t have to rehash the overdone conversation about his lack of direction in life. He could hear his aunts now.

Paul, why can’t you be more like your brother? Why haven’t you settled down with anyone yet? Don’t you want to get married?

And the underlying question beneath it all: what did you do that was so bad your girlfriend cheated on you with your own cousin?

Like it was his bloody fault.

“Hey.” Noah waved a hand in front of his face. “I said, do you think Des would want a weekend away for his buck’s?”

“Maybe.” Paul wanted to talk about anything that wasn’t connected to the wedding, but his concentration had deserted him.

“You giving a speech?” Noah asked.

Paul looked up. “Huh?”

His friend pointed to a piece of paper sticking out of his suit pants pocket. “I thought you hated speeches.”

“I’m not giving a speech, but I did get her number.” He nodded toward the blond catering assistant who flushed when the two men turned to look at her.

“This is a family event.” Noah shook his head.

Paul grinned. “Girls love me, what can I say?”

“You’re so full of shit.”

Truth was he hadn’t really wanted her number, but old habits die hard. At one point women were the center of Paul’s life, though not any one woman in particular. However, lately he’d stopped going out partying with Noah. He’d even deleted all the numbers in his phone that weren’t family or his mates. Empty encounters had begun to fill him with resentment.

The kind that burrowed deep down and made you question everything.

The sudden decline in socializing hadn’t gone unnoticed; both Des and Noah had questioned him to no avail. He didn’t want meaningless sex anymore nor did he want to be chained up in a relationship hell. If only he could have some kind of in-between solution…

But now Paul had bigger problems to deal with other than his sex-life limbo. Tonight’s announcement meant he had only six weeks to find someone to stand by his side at the wedding and do something meaningful with his life. No big deal, right?

There was no way in hell he’d front up to his ex alone being exactly the same guy as when she’d dumped him two years ago. Not going to happen.

Libby Harris begged her cell phone not to ring again. After four calls bearing bad news, she was about ready to hurl the damn thing out a window. This couldn’t be happening.

One press release and her business—which was on the brink of launching—was going down the drain faster than a Britney Spears comeback. Maybe if she stopped answering her phone the bad news would disappear.

“Stay calm.” Her best friend, Nina Bauer, sat cross-legged on the couch in Libby’s office and mimicked deep breathing. “I know it seems bad, but there’s room in the market for more than one person. Everything will be fine, and we’ll probably laugh at this in a few months.”

“Laugh?” Libby held up her iPad with both hands and thrust it in Nina’s general direction. “My business is going to die because I didn’t launch early enough. That’s nothing to laugh about.”

“Freaking out isn’t going to help the situation.” Nina pushed off the couch and grabbed the iPad, gently setting it down on the coffee table. “And stop waving your gadgets in my face.”

One month out from her launch party, Libby’s business—a line of girlie infused vodkas and cocktail mixes—was in peril. That morning a press statement had been released that the infamous reality TV star turned sex-tape celebrity, Kandy K, was launching her very own line of flavored vodkas.

What were the friggin’ odds?

Now all the businesses she’d lined up to stock Libby Gal Cocktails were dropping like flies—they wanted to jump on the celebrity bandwagon. Despite her social pedigree, Libby Harris was not a celebrity.

“We don’t know how many places are going to pull out. Maybe the worst of it is over.”

Libby dropped her face into her hands and tried not to hyperventilate. “I’m going to fail because I never made a sex tape. How ironic is that?”

Her phone rang again, and Libby threw it into the drawer of her desk, slamming it shut with a resounding bang. She couldn’t take hearing one more restaurant owner tell her that they were “very sorry” but they needed to put their business first and “explore other options.”

They didn’t even have the guts to admit why they were dropping her.

“Trust me, in a few years you’ll be happy you don’t have a sex tape.” Nina pulled open the desk drawer and retrieved the phone. “There’s no point sticking your head in the sand. We need to focus on fixing this problem. How many are we down to?”

“Six, I think.” Libby flipped open her laptop, scanning down the details neatly typed into a spreadsheet. “I had ten restaurants lined up for the soft launch in Melbourne; four have pulled out so far. But I’m pretty sure that”—she pointed at her phone, not daring to pick the damn thing up. It may as well have been a venomous snake baring its fangs—“was Lulu Bar.”

“So we go into damage control. Let’s meet with the restaurant owners and see what we can do. Don’t they say market competition is good?”

Libby balled her fists. “This is not good, it’s a bloody disaster!”

Nina sighed and grabbed one of the bottles of Libby Gal Cocktails infused vodka that sat in an open box, awaiting shipment. “Marshmallow and rose petal, my favorite. Just what the doctor ordered.”

She screwed the top off before Libby could protest and fished out two of the branded shot glasses that were supposed to go along with the order. The sight of her business logo—a martini glass with a lip print on the side and her initials in pink and green—made her suck in a breath.