Chapter One
Piper
Piper
A face-plant into the concrete steps would ruin both Piper Daws's dignity and her carefully calibrated timeline for the biggest day of her event planning career.
The black key fob she stumbled on skittered across the step leading to the door of her office building. The fob popped open, tossing two little circular batteries flying.
The button kind that are a total pain to find at the store.
She reached for the stair railing to catch herself before disaster really struck. Her pastel-pink fingernail polish contrasted against the chipping black paint as she grasped the warm metal rail.
"I'm not going down that easily," she muttered, steadying herself with the same resolve she used to handle difficult clients and impossible deadlines.
Not today of all days, when she finally had the contract from the Directors of Interment and Cremation Knowledge locked down for her employer, Montgomery Events. She was a junior event planner with aspirations to snag the head event planner role. Unfortunately, she wasn't the only one with the goal.
But this contract meant guaranteed corporate clients who wouldn't sob over wedding centerpieces or demand a last-minute dove release. Just neat, orderly, funeral professionals who appreciated her ability to organize the hell out of a conference and the occasional luncheon.
Sayonara to the bridezillas and the family drama that always paired so well with weddings. The briefest flicker of her mother's fourth wedding tickled at her memory. But she shut that shit down fast.
"Success by death." She smiled at her little joke. Smiled so wide it settled deep in her soul. Even the bright pink, yellow, and red flowers peeking through leaves seemed to cheer her on.
Piper had made her own magic happen. Unlike those ridiculous fairy tales her mother used to read her, where some born-royal prince showed up to save the day. Thanks to her hard work, this was the best day ever.
The universe clearly wanted to test her best-day-ever declaration when her right heel stuck in what was in the running for the world's stickiest wad of gum.
Okay, ew.
Balancing the found key fob on the top of a nearby trash-can lid, she pulled off her glittery gold shoe and, standing on one foot so she didn't accidentally step her bare foot into something worse, she scraped the residual gum goo through the rectangular opening into the waste bin.
Smacking the stretched Hubba Bubba against the side dislodged most of the sticky nonsense, but there was a good amount of scraping still to be done.
"Need a hand there?" a guy with a husky, deep voice asked in a tone that held entirely too much teasing given her precariously one-footed situation.
She glanced up, ready to deliver her standard "thanks, but I've got this" speech—and promptly forgot how words worked.
Because standing there, looking like he'd just walked off a photoshoot for HotGuysinCasualWear.com, was quite possibly the most gorgeous man she'd ever seen outside of a wedding party where the groom modeled regularly for GQ.
"I'm… fine?" she forced out with only a tiny squeak.
Though—her current position with one shoe off—balancing drunken flamingo-style while scraping gum on the trash can might have suggested otherwise. "Urban bubblegum warfare. It's everywhere in Cherry Creek these days."
He chuckled at her joke, and the sound did something weird to her stomach. Weird good, that is.
"The Mint Gum Menace hits again. He is particularly active around corporate offices lately. The jerk." He stepped closer and she held her breath.
Not because of the proximity, but he probably smelled amazing to match the whole thing he had going on. She did not need that kind of distraction in her nostrils.
He reached his hand out and—
"That key's for my car."
"Oh." She glanced to where it balanced on the trash can lid. "I was just going to turn it in at lost and found. Though, technically, it found me. Attacked me. Whatever you want to call it."
"It's been known to misbehave," he said, a twinkle in his eye that made her suddenly want to misbehave.
His eyes were so ocean blue they made her want to jump in and go for a swim. They crinkled at the corners as he smiled. "The damn thing's never coordinated an attack with gum before. That's new."
"Clearly a conspiracy." She continued to scrape the sticky mess from the sole of her new Louboutin heel (okay, the knockoff, fast-fashion, budget-friendly version).
An awkward pause stretched between them like the big ol' wad of goo she tried to dislodge from her sole.
"I'm having a good day today," she blurted. What compelled her to share this with a hot-guy stranger? She had no idea.
"Zach," he said, those laugh lines deepening. "And clearly your day involves a battle with sidewalk hazards."
Something about his easy smile made her want to keep talking. "The gum is only a minor setback to an otherwise perfect day."
"Perfect?" He raised an eyebrow. "Now that's a dangerous word."
"I like dangerous words." She finally freed her shoe from the last of the sticky residue. "They keep life interesting."
"So does breaking from routine." He stepped closer and her breath caught. "Like helping strange women with their shoe emergencies."
"I'm not strange, and this isn't a shoe emergency." The words came out fainter than she intended.
His pupils flared. "What would you call it?"
"A temporary lapse in judgment." But she smiled as she said it.
"Temporary lapses can be the best kind of lapses." His voice dropped lower, sending a shiver down her spine. "They're the ones we don't see coming."
Their gazes tangled and, for a moment, the busy street around them faded away. Nothing existed except the electricity sparking in the air between them and the dangerous possibility of what might happen next.
Zach held his hand out for something.
She glanced to his hand. Then back to his face. Her brain short-circuited. Obviously, the shoe. Obviously. Right?
He moved his hand. "I'm just going to—"
On autopilot, she handed him the shoe.
"Oh." He seemed like he wasn't quite sure why it was in his hand. "Let me … uh…?"
He sort of shrugged and then knelt to help her slip it back on like he was some kind of Prince Charming and it was a glass slipper. Instead of some random guy on a sidewalk with a knock-off pair of designer cheapies.
She was about to say something witty. At least, she hoped it would be witty, when she wobbled slightly. His free hand reached to steady her, wrapping warm and firm around her ankle.
The contact sent a little sizzle decidedly north. His thumb brushed ever so slightly against her skin as he helped slide her foot back in the now gum-free shoe.
Her breath hitched and her pulse raced inappropriately. Entirely unwelcome. And, apparently, not stopping anytime soon.
He had a knowing look, like he knew that she'd sizzled like that for a guy wearing well-worn jeans and a plain T-shirt. He stood, and it was not fair that on his athletic frame, even casual clothes seemed tailored.
"Thank you," she said, adjusting her foot. "That's so nice of you to help me out. People just… aren't nice lately. Like, at all. Seems like everyone needs a dose of happy. You know?"
"Yeah, no problem." He smirked as he reached around her and grabbed the key fob off the top of the trash, then stuffed it in his pocket.
Her smile froze.
"You weren't being nice to me, were you?" she said, the numb dose of reality taking hold. "You only wanted your key?" She said the last bit extra slowly as it sank in. "You held your hand out for your key. Oh my God. I swear to you I am not some kind of deranged Cinderella."
Though, if one had to announce that, then maybe she was a touch off? She melted into a puddle of embarrassment, her cheeks heating enough to likely match the color of her pink suit.
"Don't overthink it. I'm not." The slight breeze brushed his dusky blonde hair across his forehead.
"I mean, I'm not overthinking it." She totally was, but he didn't know what was going on in her brain.
"All good," he assured, carefully watching her. "I understand."
She pressed her palms along her sides to straighten her suit jacket. "What do you understand?"
"That whatever happened just now was unusual for you. It threw you off. I get it," he said, studying her with those annoyingly perceptive eyes.
"It didn't throw me off," she assured him. The words sounded flat, because they weren't entirely the truth.
"Okay," he said, moving so she could get by.
She didn't, however, move. "I feel like you're analyzing me and getting everything wrong."
"I'm not getting anything wrong."
Her lips pursed and she lifted her brows in what she hoped was a silent invitation for him to leave.
He didn't.
"You seem like the type who likes control. Prefers to manage everything so that you know where it goes. And you have no idea where to catalog… that. " He gestured to where he'd knelt to slip on her shoe.
"That?" she asked.
"The whole unexpected chemistry with strangers on sidewalks."
She bristled. Not because he was wrong, but because he wasn't. And that unsettled her more than anything. But she'd rather eat gum off the sidewalk than admit it. "I was removing gum from a shoe, not speed dating outside my office."
He smirked again, like he knew exactly how off-kilter he'd knocked her, and worse, how she didn't hate it. A muscle twitched in her jaw as she pressed her lips together. Their odd little back-and-forth hummed under her skin, like nerves reacting to a caffeine overdose. Jittery. Persistent.
"I don't remember Cinderella dealing with gum issues, but it would've made for an interesting twist on the fairy tale," he mused.
"Cinderella stories never end like they're supposed to, gum or no gum," she replied.
She needed to get upstairs. Any second now. Right after this conversation stopped being... this.
"Not a fan of the fairy tale endings with the wedding and the happily ever after?" he asked and, for a half-second, the twinkle faded. Like maybe he'd learned that lesson the hard way.
"Well, since fairy tale endings don't exist, no." Not only no, but hell no. She cringed inside, and it likely showed on her face, as well.
"You don't think so?" he asked, as though this was a problem. Which was stupid because he didn't know her and she didn't know him and, dammit, she had news to tell her boss inside.
Upstairs. Away from here.
She shook out her sleeves and forced a smile on her face. "Let's just say I prefer events where the biggest drama is the decision to serve chicken or fish, and no one ends up divorced afterward."
"A nice Chamber of Commerce event dinner?" Zach suggested.
"That would be fine. Or a funeral," she added, a mischievous glint in her eye as she began to walk toward the front entrance. "Those are always predictable."
Zach's lips twitched and he kept stride with her. "Morbid, but efficient. I think I get it now."
Oh no, he didn't attempt to figure her out in a three-sentence sound bite. "Stop trying to put me in a box like that when you don't even know me."
He stayed with her pace.
Piper was rarely at a loss for words. They flowed freely whether she wanted them to or not. But in that second, she could not find the syllables to say anything. Surely, they were there somewhere in her brain, but they were not making their way to her mouth.
Her heart kind of kicked at her to say something. But… it was like someone pushed pause on her ability to speak.
And there he was, still walking with her toward the door.
"I've got a meeting happening inside I need to get to," he clarified.
Her gaze focused on the floor tiles as her shoes click-clacked in the otherwise silent atrium. She skirted around the fountain spitting water all over itself, and approached the elevator moving double time to… hold on, was she keeping up with him?
"Nice to meet you but I have to jet. I do have some good news to deliver. Big news. The kind that involves bonuses and promotions." She gestured vaguely toward the bank of elevators.
"Sounds exciting," Zach said, as he continued to walk with her. "Don't you want to know how the story ends? Does the key fob find true love? Does the gum exact its revenge?"
"I have a feeling," Piper said dryly, "that the story ends with us going our separate ways."
"And yet..." he loud-whispered.
Don't do it, Piper. Don't do it. Keep walking.
She totally stopped, turned around. "And yet, what?"
"You got a little tingly when I was helping you with your sticky situation. Am I right?"
"I did not." She totally did.
"It's not a big deal. This was a first for me, too. Usually, I buy a girl coffee before she lets me play Prince Charming and we get tingly."
Her spine stiffened. "I didn't let you play Prince anything."
Hold up, did he also feel that momentary chemistry when he touched her leg? She shook her head.
"Okay," he conceded in that way people do when they aren't actually conceding. "But you did get a little zingy, right?" He wiggled his eyebrows.
"Zingy?" she repeated, incredulous. "That's not even a word."
"Maybe not in the dictionary, but I know it when I see it. We're not talking a full-on lightning strike. Maybe just a little static shock. But it was there."
Damn, this guy was smoother than freshly shaved legs on satin sheets.
"Being in control isn't a bad thing," Zach said gently. Unfortunately, he also kept stride alongside her but didn't say anything more.
He did press the button with his thumb and shifted from foot to foot in that awkward way people do when they're waiting for the same elevator.
She couldn't help it; she reached out to press the already-lit call button. His gaze snagged with hers and he lifted his eyebrows slightly.
Gah, what is wrong with me?
"That doesn't mean anything," she said in a rush, gesturing to the button she'd just double pushed.
The elevator dinged, its doors about to slide open with an invitation she suddenly couldn't accept.
"You know what? I think I'll take the stairs," she announced, backing away from both the elevator and him. "It's only three flights. Good cardio. Very...unexpected." She emphasized the last word with enough sass to make him grin.
"Three flights in those heels?" His gaze dropped to her shoes, lingering just long enough to remind her of that earlier touch. "Seems like a lot of effort to avoid being alone with me."
"Maybe I like the exercise." She did not enjoy exercise. Not at all.
"Maybe you're running away."
"I don't run." She lifted her chin. "I make strategic exits."
"Is that what this is?" He stepped closer, right inside the edge of professional distance. "A strategy?"
The space between them tightened like the air had taken on weight she wasn't certain she could carry.
"You didn't tell me your name," he said lower.
She hadn't told her name, had she now? "Cinderella."
For a second, she almost smiled and let something subtler slip through. A crack in the fairy-tale armor.
His lips curved. "See you around, Cinderella."
For the record, she was not running away from him. She was making a strategic retreat from the terrifying little flicker of hope he'd sparked. Everyone knew hope was the most dangerous fairy tale of all.
© Copyright 2025 Christina Hovland. All Rights Reserved.
