“We’re friends on Facebook and I’m following her on Instagram.” Grandma shows me her phone. “She doesn’t have many pictures of herself—or you two together. But Reggie is really photogenic.”

“You know Reggie?”

Grams nods and taps her phone a few times, showing me the picture of a golden retriever, right next to him is Claire, hugging him. I smile at the sight of her. She looks different from the woman who works for me. The woman in the picture looks pretty close to who I spent my weekend with.

“I know it’s too soon for the two of you, but that girl is a keeper. Don’t let her go,” Mom advises me. “Too soon?”

“There’s a lot more to cupcakes than the frosting.”

“Frosting is life,” Claire answers, licking a spoonful of frosting, the same way she licked my length earlier during our shower.

“Claire, don’t forget to give me the name of your stylist,” Allie, one of the bridesmaids says, patting Claire’s shoulder.

“I’ll make sure to send it with Miller when we get back home,” she says with a smile.

“She’s a treasure,” Allie says and walks away.

“See? I’m a treasure, Mr. Archer. You should add that to my annual employee evaluation.” She laughs eyeing my cupcake. “Are you going to eat that?”

“You need more frosting?” I ask her, pushing the plate closer to her.

Her face illuminates and she gives me a big smile. “You’re the best. If I could, I’d eat frosting all day.”

“We could find other uses for frosting.” I waggle my eyebrows, getting a few ideas of my own.

She turns slightly red.

I stand up and bow at her, extending my hand. “Dance with me, beautiful princess.”

Dancing with her is just like having sex. It comes easily, feels extraordinary, and I never want to stop. We dance while a slow song comes through the speaker, and I hold her in my arms, enjoying the feel of her soft body against mine, hating this might be the last time I’ll enjoy her.

“We did it,” I murmur into her ear, pressing her even closer to me.

“I won’t lie to you, at some point I thought they wouldn’t buy it,” she says with a brisk voice.

“You were great,” I praise her.

“Will you be adding this to my annual performance, Mr. Archer?” she asks with that low voice that hits me right in the gut and makes me hard.

“Sorry, that sounded dirty. I just meant…”

“How much did you drink?” I ask before I beg her to come upstairs with me.

“Enough to ask if my boss wants to evaluate my performance before he raises my salary.”

“I’m not your boss,” I say, irritated and jealous at the thought of my best friend looking at her.

“Devon’s not allowed to touch you,” I say possessively, taking her lips.