Kennedy, still holding on to her, paused as well and followed Sierra’s line of sight. In a voice that only Sierra could hear, she said, “He cleans up well.”

That was an understatement.

“Who knew?” Sierra muttered. Yes, she’d spotted him briefly right before the ceremony, but she’d been sidetracked and certainly hadn’t had a chance to linger over him and appreciate the pretty picture he made.

“You should. Don’t you work with him every day?” her sister said.

“He wears a T-shirt and old jeans.”

And as a rule, she didn’t allow herself to think about his appearance beyond that. He was her employee, and she didn’t consider the men she worked with to be dating prospects, period. While she and her BFF, Hayden, did plenty of looking and sizing up and even sampling when they went out, Sierra’s agenda at work was altogether different, her mindset that of the day’s goals, to-do lists, and challenges.

Now she took a moment to really look at him. Cole wore a black suit with a white shirt and a gray and black tie, one shoulder supporting his weight on the wall, his gaze zeroed in on his phone. He was good-looking in a rough, hard-living way, with dark hair he kept cut military short, caramel-colored eyes that had an edge to them most days, and a seriousness it was sometimes hard to break through. From here, she thought she spotted a cut above his eye, not fresh, but he hadn’t had it Thursday at work.

His body was chiseled and solid, the kind earned from a physically demanding job instead of a gym. The suit smoothed out some of the rough edges, but even though Sierra had registered his appeal on some superficial level in the past, this was the first time she’d seen him in this context—as the guy who’d be at her side all night, the guy whose arms she’d be in for dancing.

He looked up and met her gaze, his normally scruffy jaw clean-shaven, and when his lips slid into a slight grin, she felt it in her chest.

He straightened, slid his phone into his pocket, and Sierra stood there, not moving, not taking her gaze off him, momentarily stunned stupid, like a bird that flew into a window and found itself on the ground, trying to figure out what had happened.

“Are you ready to go, Mrs. Clayborne?” Hunter’s question to Kennedy as he approached them pulled Sierra out of her stupor, and she held her sister’s arm out to him as if hand-delivering his bride.

“Kennedy Clayborne,” Sierra said, thinking it sounded just right, as Hunter swept in and took Kennedy’s hand. “I’ll see you two lovebirds at the Wentworth.”

When she turned toward Cole again, he was only steps away.