Free Lucky Love by Nicola Marsh

where it rested in my lap and I stiffened. “Thanks, you’ve been great.”
    He squeezed. I extricated my hand on the pretext of a sneeze. “Is that all?”
    “No.” He draped his arm across the back of my chair, his fingertips deliberately brushing my shoulder.
    Hell, what was he up to?
    His fingers edged along my sleeveless top, snagging on my bra strap. Yikes.
    “Would you like to have dinner with me?”
    “Are you freaking kidding me?” I stiffened like he’d prodded me with a thousand volts. “You’re hitting on me two seconds after I’ve agreed to help cancel your wedding?”
    His eyes narrowed and his lips compressed as I belatedly questioned the wisdom of yelling at Cameron Lovell, one of Australia’s corporate giants, in the middle of Starbucks on a Saturday afternoon.
    Rather than appearing daunted, he tried to kiss me to shut me up. Seriously.
    Appalled, I reacted without thinking. My elbow shot out and connected with his ribs in a satisfying thud.
    “Fuck.” He clutched at his side and stood, towering over me, anger twisting his mouth. “I could have you fired.”
    I shot to my feet and didn’t hesitate in going toe to toe with the arrogant sleaze ball. “Good luck with that.”
    He stared at me, gobsmacked, as I grabbed my bag and made a run for it.
    It wasn’t until I hit the street that I realized something.
    With the shit I’d been putting up with lately, his threat didn’t seem so scary.
     
    By the time I made it back to the office, I wanted to kill someone.
    Preferably every sleazy, Neanderthal guy who thought it was okay to cheat. Not only had I lost my biggest event ever, I’d have to explain to Amanda—omitting the part where the groom tried to stick his tongue down my throat.
    As I barged through the glass doors and headed for my cubbyhole, for the first time in ages I wondered what I was doing here. I usually loved my job. But I went through a philosophical stage every now and then, contemplating the wisdom of my life choices: my job, my apartment, my guy. Uh, I hadn’t managed to secure the last one yet.
    I glanced around at the cream shag, the minimalist chrome and glass desks and the crappy old coffee machine that produced sludge. Familiar and comforting suddenly held the appeal of a root canal performed by Edward Scissorhands.
    Maybe I needed a change? Aunt Flo and her crazy Love were looking more appealing by the minute.
    The moment I thought it, I knew I had to do something proactive to stop me chucking in my job and boarding a plane. I had upcoming weddings to finalize, a ton of quotes to do for next year’s spring weddings, venues to Google and a stack of invitations to dream up romantic drivel for.
    I kicked a pot plant on the way to my cubicle and would’ve kicked the water cooler too if Brody hadn’t stepped in front of me.
    “Hey, what’s up?”
    “You don’t want to know.” I tried to push past him but he snagged my hand, dragged me into his office and kicked the door shut.
    “I’ve never seen you this wound up.”
    That’s because he hadn’t seen me made a fool of by a young guy who’d wanted to shag me on a bet. Hadn’t been on a mortifying speed dating dinner with the seven dwarves. Hadn’t been felt up by the richest guy in Australia who also happened to be the disgruntled groom of the wedding of the year.
    Yeah, I was wound up. In fact, wound up was a gross understatement. And in that moment, as I stared at my hand still being gripped by Brody, every crappy thing that had happened to me over the last month—make that year—coalesced.
    “Wound up doesn’t come close to how I’m feeling,” I said through gritted teeth, dragging in deep calming breaths that didn’t work. “Try fuming, incensed, super pissed.”
    “Why—”
    “Because Cameron frikkin’ Lovell has cancelled his wedding and celebrated by practically shoving his tongue down my throat.”
    Brody’s eyebrows shot up.
    “I’ve had a gutful of sleazy guys.”
    The corners of