“Yes, but do we really want Scott to be the one making small talk?” Claire asked, knowing full well that her husband, while sinfully rich and a pseudo-celebrity in the world of Manhattan real estate, had little tolerance for pretty manners.

“Right, okay. Go. Make sure you mess up your hair a little, like you were doing the nasty,” Naomi said, gently shoving Audrey toward Clarke. “Oliver and Claire will make fancy talk. Scott and I will stomp around and glare at anyone that dares to grumble at your absence.”

“You’d better not grumble,” Audrey said. “There’s a caviar and champagne bar up there.”

“Ooh. Well, in that case, tell Clarke to hurry up,” Claire said.

Audrey nodded in acknowledgment and headed toward a waiting Clarke.

“Hey, but, Audrey?” Naomi called.

She turned back toward her friend, who gave her a side grin. “Don’t hurry too much. Clarke doesn’t strike me as the type of man who would rush through that.”

Audrey rolled her eyes and turned away. She had never spent much time thinking about her best friend’s sex life, and she certainly wasn’t about to start now.

“Do you really think your parents did it on purpose?” Audrey called from the bed, her feet dangling over the side. She’d kicked off the Louboutins. As expected, cute definitely did not equate to comfortable.

“Did what?” Clarke asked back through the open bathroom door.

“Arrange for you to be the keynote speaker on the same day as your engagement party.”

There was a knock at the hotel room door before he could answer, and Audrey hopped off the bed. “I’ll get it.”

She opened the door to a smartly dressed hotel employee holding a tray with champagne in an ice bucket and two flutes. “Champagne for Mr. West and Ms. Tate, courtesy of Naomi and Claire,” he said by way of explanation.

Audrey rolled her eyes, even as she stepped aside to let him bring the tray into the suite Clarke had reserved for the night.

“On the table okay?”

“Sure, that’s great,” she said, picking Clarke’s wallet off the dresser and pulling out some cash for a tip.

“May I open the bottle for you?” the man asked.

“No, thank you, we’ve got it from here,” Audrey said.

He nodded in acknowledgment, wished them a good night, and closed the door behind him with a quiet click.

Clarke stuck his head out of the bathroom, the lower half of his face covered in shaving cream. “Champagne?”

Audrey lifted the bottle out of the ice bucket to read the label. “Taittinger.”

“Let’s open it.”

She glanced at the clock on the nightstand. “It’s six oh five.”

“Exactly. The party’s been happening for all of five minutes. The majority of the guests haven’t even left their penthouses yet.”