Mix 'N Match (No Match for Love)

by Lindzee Armstrong

  So maybe Brooke wouldn’t be a bridezilla. Mitch had to admit, she was being pretty cool about this whole thing.

  “Are you sure?” Zoey asked. “I feel like I’m stepping on your toes if I try it on. This is your dress.”

  “Don’t even go there. It’s fine! Really, Zo. I want you to try it on. I’ve gotta go. Send me the pictures, okay? I’ll call you back when I’ve got a few seconds.”

  “Okay,” Zoey said and clicked off the phone.

  Madame Rousseau smiled. “You try?” she said again.

  Zoey nodded. “I’ll try it on.”

  Mitch stifled a sigh. He wondered how the Wi-Fi was in this place and how many emails he could answer while Zoey played dress-up. How had this ended up as part of his job description?

  Madame Rousseau motioned for them to follow her. Another hallway opened up into a small alcove. A raised platform stood between two doors, with three full-length mirrors angled around it. She opened one of the doors and motioned Zoey inside, handing her the dress.

  Mitch sank into one of the chairs in front of the platform, pulling out his tablet and opening the email app. He searched for Wi-Fi networks, but there were none open within range, and one glance at Madame Rousseau convinced him that asking her for the password would be pointless. He opened his email anyway and refreshed, but the hot spot was slow and sluggish.

  “I can’t button this myself,” Zoey called from inside the dressing room. The door opened, and she stepped out.

  Mitch glanced up from his tablet. His mouth fell open, and the tablet slid to the floor. Zoey stepped onto the platform, the unbuttoned dress revealing the smooth, tanned skin of her back.

  Madame Rousseau plucked a small wire hook from her pocket and began buttoning the dress with quick, nimble motions. Zoey turned around, facing Mitch. The fabric hugged her like a glove, the lace molding to her figure and showcasing her curves. The dress dipped low in the front, but not so low as to be distasteful for a wedding. The light bronze color, barely noticeable—champagne, Zoey had called it—made her skin glow.

  “Well, how do I look?” Zoey asked.

  Mitch swallowed, unable to look away. “Absolutely beautiful.”

  The heat in Mitch’s gaze had Zoey’s cheeks flaming. She looked away, unable to take the intensity any longer.

  She smoothed the front of the gown, admiring herself in the mirror. The dress was a modified mermaid, fitted through the hips and upper thighs before flowing into a subtle flair. The train was understated, just long enough to be elegant without interfering with movement. Small lace straps complimented the sweetheart neckline. Not something she’d ever choose for herself, but it was perfect for Brooke. Brooke, who should be here trying on the dress herself. Brooke, who was stuck in L.A. because of Zoey’s poor judgment.

  “She has excellent taste. Very classic.” Zoey tried to make her voice sound normal, but she could hear the slight tremble in it.

  “Vous êtes magnifique,” Madame Rousseau said, beaming.

  Zoey couldn’t help but smile. She’d seen Mitch’s jaw drop, his tablet slide to the ground. She still had the ability to stop him in his tracks, even if he wasn’t interested in her that way anymore. Even if he wanted her to become some subdued version of herself.

  “Brooke will love it,” Zoey said.

  “You try your dress?” Madame Rousseau asked.

  Zoey raised an eyebrow. She hadn’t even thought about the bridesmaid dresses. “You have it?”

  “Wait.” Madame Rousseau hurried out of the room.

  Zoey caught Mitch’s eyes in the mirror. She fidgeted, running a hand through her hair. Mitch’s gaze was so intense.

  “I feel awkward wearing Brooke’s dress,” she said, just to break the silence. Why was he still watching her?

  Mitch rose, coming to her side. She watched him through the mirror, could feel the heat of his body mere centimeters from touching her back. “Give me your phone,” he whispered.

  Zoey bit her lip, trying to still the pounding in her heart. “What?”

  “Your phone. Brooke wanted you to text a picture, right? I’ll take a few for her.”

  “Brooke! Right.” Zoey shook her head, trying to bring herself back to the present. “It’s in my purse. Can you get it from the dressing room?”

  “Sure.”

  She watched him walk away, his slacks hugging all the right places. Why couldn’t she be indifferent to him?

  Mitch was back moments later, her purse in hand. Zoey rummaged inside, impressed he hadn’t gone through it himself, then handed the phone and purse to Mitch.

  “Smile,” he said.

  Like she could do anything else when he had a purse slung over his shoulder. He looked adorably ridiculous.

  Mitch snapped a few photos, then dropped her phone back in the purse. “You really do look beautiful,” he said, his voice low and soft. “If Brooke is half as gorgeous as you in that dress, she’ll make a stunning bride.”

  Zoey sucked in a breath. She had never wished so much that she hadn’t freaked out after their kiss. What would’ve happened if he’d called her the next morning, as promised? What would’ve happened if she hadn’t kissed that random guy, and what would’ve happened if Mitch hadn’t caught them?

  “Mitch,” Zoey said, her voice quiet. “I—”

  “I found.” Madame Rousseau bustled into the room, and Mitch quickly took a step back. She held up a knee-length dress in a vintage lilac. “You try.”

  Zoey nodded, swallowing hard. She turned around so Madame Rousseau could unfasten her buttons, then took the bridesmaid dress and escaped into the room, not looking at Mitch.

  If they had dated, Mitch would’ve tried to change her. Heck, they weren’t anywhere close to dating, and he’d flat-out told her she needed to act differently. He’d try to stop her from quitting Toujour if she told him about her plans for the makeup business. He was attracted to her body, but he didn’t want her.

  A few minutes later, Zoey stepped out of the dressing room in the bridesmaid dress. Madame Rousseau clasped her hands together and motioned for Zoey to turn toward the mirrors. Zoey did, and her eyes locked with Mitch’s. You’re beautiful, he’d said. And she’d been able to tell, by the look in his eyes, that he meant it.

  She blinked, forcing herself to focus on the dress. Yes, she was beautiful. And yes, Mitch was attracted to her on a physical level. But that didn’t change the fact that he viewed her as irresponsible, chaotic, and unstable. She could never fit in to his perfect type-A life.

  Madame Rousseau smoothed the front of the skirt. The fabric was featherlight and airy, just brushing Zoey’s knees. White lace crept over the shoulders and down the bodice. The dress would complement Brooke’s nicely, and Zoey had no doubt Brooke would be happy with the end result. The photos would be stunning. Zoey fingered the teal highlights in her hair. She’d have to dye it to match the lilac in the dress before the ceremony.

  Madame Rousseau fussed with the dress, pulling it here and tugging at it there. She stood back and eyed Zoey critically before tugging at something else. Finally, she gave Zoey a wide smile and said, “Absolument parfait.”

  Perfect. Then why did everything suddenly feel so wrong? Zoey blinked, forcing back the tears stinging her eyes. Brooke should be here. Zoey shouldn’t have feelings for Mitch. Things should be different.

  “Let me take a few pictures of this one, too,” Mitch said.

  Zoey nodded, plastering on a smile while the phone’s shutter clicked away.

  “If you aren’t careful, you’ll outshine the bride,” Mitch said. His smile was warm, his tone friendly and sincere. Flirtatious, even.

  What was happening?

  Zoey took the phone and her purse, feeling suddenly vulnerable, like Mitch had seen into her soul. She wasn’t ready for that.

  Zoey changed, and they left the shop, promising to return in a few days.

  “We should probably head over to the caterer’s now,” Zoey said. “We’ll be a little early, but there
isn’t really time to do anything else before our appointment.”

  Mitch nodded. He held open the door and helped her into the car, his touch sending tingles up and down her arm.

  Stop it, Zoey commanded as Phillipe weaved in and out of traffic. There were plenty of guys out there—ones that wouldn’t drive her insane. She should have a crush on one of them.

  Mitch’s gaze burned her the entire drive, but Zoey steadfastly avoided it, staring out the window. When Phillipe pulled the car to the curb, she bolted out the door and onto the sidewalk.

  Mitch gently grasped Zoey’s arm, pulling her to a stop. Slowly she looked up, her eyes meeting his. His forehead was creased with worry lines, and his eyes searched hers.

  “What happened with us, Zo?” he asked, his voice soft. “Did I misread things?”

  Zoey thought back to that kiss. She’d felt it in every part of her body, but more than that, she’d experienced an emotional connection unlike anything she’d felt before.

  And it had totally, completely freaked her out.

  Zoey shook her head. She choked, trying to swallow back the tears. “Mitch, I—”

  Mitch stiffened. “He’s here.”

  “What?” Zoey whipped around.

  Alan. He leaned against the stone front of the building, looking triumphant in jeans and a leather jacket.

  Be Brooke, Zoey reminded herself. She tried to take one of Mitch’s cleansing breaths. She could be calm.

  Alan smirked. And Zoey snapped.

  She’d leave calm to Mitch.

  Zoey strode over to Alan, wishing she’d worn heels instead of the gladiator sandals so that she could look him in the eye.

  “Zoey,” Mitch said, his tone heavy with warning and worry.

  But she was done playing nice.

  Alan’s smirk faded to worry. Worry melted into straight-up fear when Zoey grabbed him by his lapels and pushed him against the wall. She felt his surprise in the lack of resistance. If he wanted to, he could push her off him in a second. But shock apparently held him paralyzed.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Zoey yelled. She shoved him against the wall again, feeling her nails gouge the leather of his jacket. “Are you stalking me? Do you think it’s funny to follow random girls around Paris?”

  “Zoey,” Mitch said. His hand landed on her arm, silently urging her to let go. “We don’t want to attract attention.”

  Zoey glared at Alan, her grip tightening on the fabric. She imagined slamming her fist into his face, wiping that smirk right off.

  He was going to ruin everything. He was a selfish, sleazy, no good son-of-a—

  But if she caused a scene, it would make a bad situation even worse.

  Zoey gave Alan another shove, then released him and stepped back. Her fingers ached from how tightly she’d held onto him, and her body trembled as rage ripped through her. “Leave. Me. Alone. Why won’t you crawl back into whatever hole you were hiding in before deciding to use me?”

  The smirk was back. “I have a job to do, just like you, Zoey. You convince random couples they’re in love with each other, and I sell the photographs to the highest bidder when those couples break up, if they’re famous enough.”

  “You are despicable.” She spit out each word. Mitch’s hand landed on her arm, and she knew he was worried she’d fly at Alan again.

  She still hadn’t ruled it out as a possibility.

  “How did you find us?” Mitch asked. Unlike her high-pitched shrill, his voice was carefully controlled.

  “A reporter never reveals his sources,” Alan said.

  “Why aren’t you hiding like most of the paps?” Mitch said. “Why confront us?”

  “Sticking to the shadows is so boring, and I couldn’t do it any longer. I like to play with my food before I devour it.”

  Zoey slammed her hand against the brick wall with a yell. “Leave. Us. Alone!”

  “Not a chance. I know the wedding is going to be here, and soon.”

  “You’re wrong.” Panic bubbled up in Zoey’s throat, and she fought it down. “They still haven’t picked a date.”

  “Then why are you traipsing around Paris with a wedding planner?” Alan smirked. “I’m not an idiot. I can put two and two together. Photos of that wedding will make my entire career.”

  “I will obliterate your career if you don’t leave me alone,” Zoey yelled, shoving a finger in his face. “We lost you once, and we can lose you again.”

  “You can lose me all you want, but I’ll find you again easily enough, just like I found you now. Like I’ve found you every day since you’ve been here.”

  Zoey’s heart thudded in her chest, and her hands turned clammy. “Who’s your source?”

  “Nice try.”

  “I can destroy your entire career,” Mitch said.

  Zoey whipped her head around, eyebrows skyrocketing at his low and dangerous tone.

  “I will make sure you are blacklisted from every media publication in the country,” Mitch said. “You won’t even be able to get a job writing feature pieces for a small-town newspaper.”

  “When I get those photos of Brooke and Luke’s wedding, I’ll make a half million overnight, easy.” Alan ran a finger over his camera strap, almost caressing it. “There will be nothing you or anyone else can do—or say—that can touch me.”

  “I told you, they haven’t yet set a date,” Zoey said.

  “Right.” Alan raised an eyebrow. “And I suppose you’re in Paris, planning a wedding, just for the heck of it.”

  “It’s our wedding.” The words were out of Zoey’s mouth before she could think. Blood roared in her ears, and she didn’t dare look at Mitch. This was do or die, and she wasn’t about to go down without a fight.

  Alan snorted. “So you agreed to go out with me for what reason?”

  Think, Zoey! There had to be a plausible explanation.

  Mitch’s arm settled around her shoulders. “That’s my fault,” he said. “Zoey and I had a fight, but seeing you at Disneyland convinced me if I didn’t snatch her up soon, someone else would. So I proposed.”

  Alan glanced back and forth between them. Zoey saw the doubt in his expression, but also a flicker of unease. He wasn’t buying the story—not entirely—but it had planted the seed. “No way. You guys are covering for your friends.”

  “Of course we are. I always tell reporters I’m getting married when someone’s accosting my friends.” Mitch infused the words with so much acid that even Zoey believed them. “We didn’t want to steal the limelight from Brooke and Luke, so we’re eloping.”

  “You’re lying.”

  Mitch folded his arms. “My fiancée and I have a lot to do today. Go back to California and bother someone else. If you aren’t gone by the time we come back outside, I’ll make sure the owner of this fine establishment charges you with loitering.” Mitch opened the door, placed a firm hand on Zoey’s back, and led her inside.

  “I can’t believe you did that,” Zoey said. “I didn’t know you were such an actor.”

  Mitch’s breathing was slow and labored, a sure sign he was struggling to find his Zen. “He’s gone too far and made this personal. No one is ruining my best friend’s wedding.”

  “I don’t think he bought it,” Zoey said. “At least, not entirely. But we planted a seed of doubt. Hopefully that will be enough.”

  “And if it’s not, I guess we’ll just have to put on a show.”

  I guess we’ll have to put on a show. Had Mitch seriously said that? To Zoey, of all people? Even days later, he had a hard time believing what had happened. Because he had no doubt that she could deliver a memorable performance. One that had a high likelihood of messing with his brain. He’d been waiting with baited breath for the start of her little show.

  No. He didn’t have to obsess over the fact that they were constantly looking over their shoulders, or the way just seeing Zoey made his stomach swarm with butterflies, like some cheesy cliché. All he had to worry about right now was ge
tting to the caterer’s and approving the menu selection for the reception.

  Zoey coughed, the sound a shotgun in the silent foyer of the office building. Mitch glanced over at her, then away again quickly.

  In the past four days, they’d alluded Allen no less than four times. Mitch was beginning to wonder if his heartbeat would ever achieve a normal rhythm again. So far, they hadn’t had to play up the bride and groom angle for Alan. Mitch was equal parts elated and disappointed.

  Zoey had slipped back into her calm, subdued persona, something Mitch was growing to hate. He kept replaying the moment they’d confronted Alan. Watching her slam him against the wall and defend her best friends had been … well …

  Sexy.

  Mitch shook his head, pushing the up button for the elevator. The doors pinged open, and they stepped inside. Zoey’s breathing was loud and rushed in the confined space, probably from the white-knuckled ride they’d just taken through Paris to lose Alan. Again.

  Mitch should say something. Tell her everything would be okay. But he should keep how attractive he found the fiery part of her personality to himself.

  The elevator jerked to a stop before he worked up the courage to open his mouth.

  Juliette waited for them in the small lobby of the caterer’s. “Bonjour,” she said, smiling. “I hope you are both hungry.”

  “Starving,” Zoey said.

  Funny. Mitch didn’t have much of an appetite at all. It was hard to think about things like food when Zoey had monopolized every thought.

  “They’re ready for us,” Juliette said. She led them to a room with a round table and three chairs, and they sat down. A waiter immediately appeared and sat a small salad in front of each of them.

  “We’ll taste twenty dishes today, so don’t eat the entire portion or you will be too full to try everything,” Juliette said. “This arugula salad is a house specialty.”

  Zoey nodded and picked up her fork, dragging the tines through the dressing. Mitch frowned. When was Spunky Zoey going to return?