He stands at the edge of the bar and turns around, spotting me. A soft smile tugs at his lips. His gaze fixes on me like a spotlight. Those bright hazel eyes light me up from the inside out.

He strides the few steps to where I’m standing. There’s no hug, no cheek kiss, no bodily contact of any kind. And that’s one hundred percent fine. We’re standing in a room full of his family and friends after all. It would be awkward if he had to explain that he invited his work rival to this family engagement. Standing this close to Callum, so close that I can feel that delicious heat from his body hitting mine, is a worthy alternative.

“You made it,” he says.

A roar of cheers from across the room captures our attention. A handful of tux-clad men hold pints of beer above their heads, yelling something nonsensical in unison. The guy at the end leans down to kiss a woman, who is rolling her eyes but smiling. The bride, I assume, since she’s wearing a white ball gown.

Callum frowns, then touches the small of my back. “Here.”

He leads me to an empty side room. The expression on his face turns sheepish. “I love my family, but Christ am I done with the drinking and shouting and toasting.”

“It’s all right. You look really good, by the way. Like, really, really good.” There I go again sounding like a bumbling middle schooler with no game whatsoever. I power through the urge to face-palm.

Under the dim mood lighting of this side room, his skin flushes light pink. “Thank you. I hardly ever wear getups like this anymore. Feels weird.”

“It looks the exact opposite of weird.” My eyes move in a slow scan down the length of his body. “You’d give James Bond a run for his money.”

He lets out a chuckle before doing his own visual scan of me. “And you look . . .”

Automatically, I cross my arms over my chest. I didn’t plan to attend a wedding while on vacation in London, so I made do with dark skinny jeans, a black blouse, patent leather heels, and a cream trench coat. I’m not the best-dressed person in this room by a long shot, but I’m proud of how put-together I look on such short notice.

“I didn’t pack anything that was even close to suitable for this type of thing,” I say. “I told my aunt and uncle I was meeting a culinary school friend for drinks at a nice pub, so I had to try and look the part.”

I bite the inside of my cheek when I remember how I lied to them. But no way in hell was I going to tell them the truth: that I was meeting up with my rival who I’m wildly attracted to.