ANYONE WHO LOOKED at Sabrina McCallan usually did a double take. With her blond hair, blue eyes and nicely kept curves, she was physically perfect. Add impeccable manners, poise, charm, grace and intelligence, and Trent “Ziggy” Sigmund thought the woman was class in Chanel.
Until today.
As a bridesmaid in her brother Seth’s August wedding, standing by a church pew, waiting for her turn in the after-ceremony pictures, she seemed frazzled. Nervous. Plus, a strand of yellow hair had sprung from her up-do and she hadn’t tucked it back in.
Which was why Trent couldn’t stop staring at her.
Sabrina’s partner in Seth and Harper’s wedding, Trent was supposed to be aware of where Sabrina was when their names were called for the pictures, and her fidgeting confused him. He wasn’t staring because he was attracted to her. She wasn’t his type. She was perfect, flawless, and he liked things a little messy. Not a disaster. But wild hair on a pillow, sleepy eyes, torn jeans and scruffy tennis shoes were more his speed.
Still, something was up with Sabrina and he had responsibilities as her partner in the wedding, more as her brother’s best friend. He and Seth had lived together in a run-down apartment, both earning their living as waiters, as they finished school. They’d shared spare change and food, knew the bus and subway schedules like the backs of their hands and played wingman when one or the other spotted a girl they liked. Though Seth had dropped out of his family for a time, the second McCallan son still knew “people” and that had helped Trent get his first job, which had resulted in his learning the right things at the right time to develop his genius, strike out on his own and become rich.
In some ways they were like brothers. In other ways they were closer than brothers. Trent would be a fool if he didn’t realize he owed Seth. And Trent wasn’t a fool.
Which was why Seth’s little sister’s fidgeting was like a red alert alarm. The groom, Seth, was too busy to notice. Even Jake, Seth and Sabrina’s older brother, was busy with his toddler and pregnant wife. Only Trent had time to see the McCallan daughter was off her game today.
When his name and Sabrina’s were called for their picture, Trent sauntered across the church aisle to stunning Sabrina. Her pale purple dress highlighted her blue eyes. Her yellow hair would have been perfection, except for that one wayward strand, which to Trent’s way of thinking, actually made her more beautiful.
He offered his arm. The way he and Sabrina had grown up might have been worlds apart, but twelve years of knowing a McCallan had taught him how a gentleman behaved.
“Ready for pics?”
Sabrina smiled politely as she slid her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Yes.”
He nearly told her she looked elegant and feminine in the simple lilac dress Harper had chosen for her bridesmaids, but he figured she’d probably heard that thirty or forty times already today.
They walked to the space the photographer pointed out, stood by Seth and Harper and smiled as the middle-aged man snapped a picture. He took at least a hundred more shots with Seth and Harper and the members of their bridal party, Harper’s parents, Seth’s mom Maureen, Seth’s brother Jake and his wife, Avery, and then a few final shots of everyone—a big mob of men in tuxes, women in gowns and little girls in dresses with so much tulle and ruffles, Trent wondered how they could stay upright.
Seth’s mom and Harper’s parents said their goodbyes. Harper’s parents were taking Harper’s daughter, Crystal, home for a nap before the reception. Seth’s mom was going home for a nap herself. Jake and Avery’s nanny hustled Abby to their Upper East Side condo for some quiet time. The rest of the wedding party took limos to Seth and Harper’s penthouse for a few pre-reception drinks.
Thanking everyone for joining him in the celebration of the happiest day of his life, Seth popped the cork on the first bottle of champagne, then servants scurried over to open more champagne, fill glasses and distribute them for a toast.
Leaning against the bar, Trent kept his attention on Sabrina. She took a glass of champagne, happily raised it when best man Jake made a toast, then pretended to sip.
Trent’s eyes narrowed. She had absolutely pretended to sip. Three toasts later, she still had a full glass of champagne.
The bride and groom mingled through the small crowd. Waiters brought out trays of hors d’oeuvres. Seth told stories of his misspent youth, and with Harper by his side, he spoke fondly of her deceased husband, Clark, the third roommate in the trio of Clark, Seth and Ziggy, who now preferred to be called Trent. Trent joined him in one final story. Then the conversation drifted to more current topics, and before Trent knew it, it was time to go to the Waldorf Astoria for the reception.
He had to hunt for Sabrina. When he found her, she looked to have gotten lost in the shuffle. A woman who ran a nonprofit that helped startups turn into corporations did not get lost in any shuffles.
He added her obvious confusion to her not drinking and came up with a conclusion so startling it almost made him whistle—the way his stepfather always had when he realized something outlandish, something farfetched, something so out of the realm of reality that only a physical gesture or a reverently whispered “Wow” would do.
* * *
Sabrina held up as well as she could through the small party at Seth and Harper’s. When Ziggy found her—again—to ride with her to the reception, she wanted to throttle him. She needed some alone time to figure things out and her brother’s best friend, her groomsman partner, always seemed to be two feet away.
She’d think he’d suddenly gotten a thing for her, but she knew better. If the wild-haired waifs he dated were anything to go by, she wasn’t his type. But he wasn’t her type, either. He was good-looking enough. His black hair curled into sexy ringlets on his collar. His heavy-lidded dark eyes never missed a thing. But he was scruffy. He liked things like dimly lit jazz bars and kicking back with a beer by the lake. Any lake. She was pretty sure he owned houses on three of them.
Then there was his name. She’d never get used to calling him Trent. First, because her brother had called him Ziggy for at least a decade. Second, because to her the name Ziggy fit the laid-back billionaire much more than Trent.
And nobody really wanted to be dating a guy named Ziggy, let alone a high-profile professional woman. She ran a respectable nonprofit. Her public persona determined whether she got contributions and grants