Chapter 1

Penelope Monroe

Weddings had always been my escape. Something about organizing every intricate detail and crafting that perfect day made me feel like I had control, when life had otherwise thrown me curveballs.

Financial struggles? Check.

Heartbreaks? Check.

A series of almost-but-not-quite successes? Definitely.

In the wedding world, I was the queen, clipboard in hand, calling all the shots. Here's your passage with a smoother flow, sharper wit, and a bit more punch:

My phone rang for the third time, Tara again.

"Penny, I know you're in a meeting, but—" she started, her voice edged with nerves.

I pressed the elevator button, silently praying the call wouldn't drop. "Penny, I know, we haven't paid the office rent, the vendors are breathing down our necks, and they've been patient only because they respect you. But now they need the money, and they're only giving us one more month."

I exhaled, my grip tightening around my phone. "Don't stress. I'll handle it—like I always do." Even as I said it, doubt gnawed at me. "You don't need to worry about this. You're too young for all this stress."

"Too young? Penny, I'm seventeen, not seven."

"Tara," I said, ignoring her, "I have a huge project lined up that'll take care of everything. I just need to go lock it in."

"Okay, but listen," she said, her voice softer now. "I know you like to do everything yourself. And I know you always find a way. But please. if you need help, ask. You don't have to carry everything alone. I'm here for you."

Something tightened in my chest.

"I know, sweetie. Thanks," I said, forcing a laugh to cover up the crack in my voice before quickly ending the call.

As I reached the door, I hesitated. Instead of stepping out, I sank onto the couch, taking a deep breath. The weight of it all pressed down on me.

I'd always been that girl. The self-sufficient one. The one who never showed weakness, never needed a safety net. Independence was my armour.

And yet, here I was: dodging payments, buying time, scrambling to keep everything afloat. It stung, knowing how much my dad boasted about me to everyone, painting me as this unstoppable success. If only he knew how tight things had gotten.

But that was the thing about pride, it didn't pay the bills.

So when the Rutherford family, fabulously wealthy and even more fabulously dramatic, called me after I'd planned their younger son's wedding, I knew exactly what they wanted.

Their last bachelor standing.

Ethan Rutherford.

Poor girl, I thought as I grabbed my bag and headed out. What woman in her right mind would willingly sign up to marry that arrogant prick?

Sure, Ethan was tall, muscular, and unfairly gorgeous, the kind of man who made heads turn and hearts malfunction but money and a chiselled jaw couldn't buy love. Or a personality.

Unfortunately for me, it could buy my time.

And that was exactly what I needed right now.

"Ms. Monroe! So wonderful to see you," Mrs. Rutherford greeted me with a smile so polished it practically sparkled. She pulled me into a hug like we were old friends.

"Thank you for calling me. I'm happy to hear your elder son is finally getting married," I said, my own smile plastered firmly in place. I had mastered the art of smiling all the time because it was something that was taught to me in management school.

But then Mrs. Rutherford and her husband exchanged nervous glances.

Uh-oh. That's never good.

"Actually...," she began, her voice dropping into a pleading tone. "We didn't call you here for that reason. Please, before you say no, hear us out. We really need your help."

My eyes narrowed. Something was off. "Then what can I do for you?" I asked, looking between the two of them. Mr. Rutherford, typically the strong, silent type, suddenly seemed far more interested in his cufflinks.

"We'd like you to find a bride for our son," Mrs. Rutherford said. Calm as you like, as if she hadn't just asked me to find the most stubborn man alive a bride.

"Wait... I'm sorry, what?" I blinked. "You want me to 'find' a bride for Ethan Rutherford?"

"Yes," she continued nervously, "Ethan's not exactly... cooperating. But he's agreed to this arrangement as long as we keep it discreet."

My mind reeled. Ethan Rutherford, the billionaire tech genius, the bachelor that every woman in town drooled over was outsourcing his love life? This had to be a joke. Or a nightmare.

"I'm sorry," I said, shaking my head. "That's not my job. I can refer you to—"

"No," Mrs. Rutherford cut me off. "We want this handled quietly. And you've handled so many lavish weddings. You know the right people, the right families. You could find him someone perfect." She glanced at her husband, who stepped in with the trump card.

"We'll pay you a million dollars, Ms. Monroe."

A million dollars. A number so ridiculous I almost choked. I normally charged around ten to fifteen grand per wedding. A million could solve all my problems in one fell swoop.

All my bills, student loans, debt, rent 'gone'.

Just as I was processing this, Mr. Rutherford turned to his assistant. "Linda, call Ethan in here."

Great. The man himself was about to make an appearance. My heart told me to run. But my bank account was already screaming, 'stay'.

It was at that exact moment that the door swung open, and in walked him.

Ethan Rutherford.

If he was devastatingly handsome in photos, in person, he was downright lethal. His dark hair, tousled in a way that was too perfect to be accidental, framed a face that looked like it had been sculpted by the gods themselves. Sharp jaw, high cheekbones, and those intense gray eyes that held a mix of mystery and arrogance. The suit he wore fit his broad shoulders like it had been sewn onto him, every inch of him screaming wealth and raw masculinity.

He moved with a quiet, intimidating grace, owning the space without trying. He didn't even glance my way as he sat across from me.

"Ms. Monroe," he greeted, his deep voice low and rough, sending a shiver down my spine.

Damn it. Too late to pretend like I wasn't affected.

"Well, this is off to a fun start," I muttered under my breath, trying to hide how his presence rattled me.

"Ethan," his mother said, trying to ease the tension. "Penelope has kindly agreed to help us. Why don't you tell her the kind of woman you're looking for?"

My eyes slid to him, his sharp gaze finally landing on me. When those gray eyes met mine, it felt like a slow, calculated inspection, as if he were weighing my every feature, every reaction. His stare lingered, just long enough for me to feel the heat creeping up my neck. I forced myself to stay composed, even though my pulse was racing under his scrutiny.

"Well?" I pressed, my voice taut. "Are you completely on board with this plan?"

Ethan leaned back in his chair, draping an arm over the backrest with an ease that only irritated me more. "Sure. Why not? It's just business. Once I get married, my parents will stop breathing down my neck. All I want is someone who doesn't annoy me."

I clenched my jaw.

What an ass.

"I'm curious," I said, narrowing my eyes at him. I was beginning to wonder if this entire thing was a waste of my time and if he'd just back out halfway through, leaving me unpaid. "Are you absolutely certain about this? Because, to be honest, you don't exactly seem thrilled about the idea, and I'm concerned that this might—"

"Ms. Monroe," he interrupted with a faint smirk, his tone dripping with condescension, "I'm getting married because I'm a 32-year-old man, and that's what 32-year-old men do. My parents talked me into it, and I'm fine with it. End of story." He shrugged, his nonchalance so casual it felt like a slap in the face.

Every fibre of my being screamed at me to walk away. Helping people find love was supposed to be beautiful, but this man? He made it a chore.

Forcing a tight smile, I turned toward his mother. "Alright, I'll compile a list of eligible women and send their photos over. Let me know which ones he... prefers, and we'll arrange meetings from there."

Ethan's eyes flicked up, glinting with lazy amusement. His lips curled into a grin that made my pulse spike, a maddening mixture of arrogance and charm. He was the kind of man who could make you furious and breathless all at once.

"I want my wife to be obedient, quiet... someone who knows when to stay out of my way." His tone was so nonchalant, it made my blood boil.

I arched a brow, unable to help myself. "Maybe you should get a dog instead, Mr. Rutherford," I snapped, my voice sweet as honey but laced with venom.

Silence filled the room. His parents stared at me, shocked, but Ethan? Ethan's grin widened, his eyes gleaming with amusement. He didn't look offended, no, he looked intrigued.

"Do you find me infuriating, Ms. Monroe?" he asked, his voice dropping an octave, sending a thrill down my spine.

I swallowed hard, keeping my composure. "No, Mr. Rutherford. You're my client. I don't get mad at my clients. I'm here to find you the woman of your dreams." My fake smile stretched painfully across my face, and I could see he wasn't buying it.

"Really? No matter what I say, you won't get annoyed?" he teased, leaning forward slightly, his eyes now roaming my face with deliberate, slow precision.

"No, I won't," I replied, teeth clenched behind that strained smile. "But if you're going to make this difficult, you might as well save me the trouble and just say you're not interested."

"Oh, I'm interested," he drawled, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "In watching you try." His lips curled again into that maddening smirk. "Guess this isn't going to be as boring as I thought it would be."

His gaze travelled over me, lingering on my lips, then my neck, making my breath falter. I could tell he was testing me, watching for the reaction he knew he could pull from women with just one look. And damn it, I gave him exactly what he wanted. The subtle, triumphant smirk on his face told me he noticed, and he enjoyed winning this small game.

This was going to be hell.