Every Minute (Max & Skyler 3)

Every Minute (Max & Skyler 3)
by Acer Adamson


Chapter One

Ten months ago . . . .

Inarguably, the wealthy Mariana family did everything big, the wedding of their only daughter proving to be no exception. The ceremony joining Anna-Sophia Mariana and Detective Paul Hiller had gone off without a hitch at the Roman Catholic cathedral, and the reception at the largest ballroom of the fanciest hotel in the city was now well underway.

Max, the best man, sat next to Paul at the head table, nursing a hangover earned at the previous night's bachelor party. Dinner had ended, and now the tuxedoed waiters were pouring expensive champagne into crystal flute glasses for everyone, including the twenty-two members of the bridal party and the four-hundred-and-some-odd guests in attendance.

"Okay," Paul said, giving Max an elbow nudge. "Everyone has a glass, so it's time for you to make the toast. And keep it clean."

Max snorted. "You imply that I have no class."

Paul shrugged. "I know you have no class, but you're my best friend and this is your job. Don't embarrass me."

"Christ." Max rolled his eyes. "You sound like my ex-girlfriend."

"Since I just married your ex-girlfriend, I guess that means we're a good match." Paul grinned. "Now pick up your glass, stand up, and say something nice about me. I'm a little afraid of my new in-laws."

Max laughed. "Better you than me. I advise picking up the boxed set of The Sopranos for study purposes, my friend." He stood and tapped his butter knife lightly on the crystal glass. "Ladies and gentleman, I would like to propose a toast to the happy couple. I'm not real good at making speeches, so I'm going to keep this simple." Max raised his glass and turned to face the bride and groom. "To Anna-Sophia and Paul: may you look back on this day together in the years to come, and remember this as the day when you loved each other the least."

With a loud chorus of verbal salutes, and the clinking of glasses followed by applause, Max's duty was nearly complete. Now—like every red-blooded, American best man—his only remaining task required him to get shit-faced drunk. He had dreaded wearing the fancy tuxedo and giving the official toast, but this part of the event he could handle.

He downed the rest of his champagne then shook Paul's hand. "I'm going to hit the bar for some real booze now. I'll catch up to you before Chicken Dance and Hokey-Pokey time."

Paul laughed. "No class, like I said. Stay out of trouble, Maxie."

To the strains of the band playing the ubiquitous wedding song, Always and Forever, Max crossed the huge, ornately decorated room to the bar, tugging at the tight collar of his tuxedo. He would have a few drinks, then once all the traditional, ceremonial crap was over—the couple's first dance, Daddy's Little Girl, the tossing of the garter and the bouquet—he could discreetly bug out without seeming like an ignorant jerk.

He settled onto a barstool, ordered a double Jack Daniels and Coke, and spun around to people-watch the wedding attendees. Aside from the bride and groom, the only people present that Max knew were fellow cops and local politicians, along with a few socialites he either had seen in the newspaper or had met in person while he'd briefly dated the bride. Max glanced down at his watch, and when he looked up, the prettiest little thing he'd ever seen in his life stood right before his eyes.

She had a cute, black bob, parted neatly in the center, and impossibly wide, green eyes. Petite, she wore a pale blue dress, low-cut in the front but still quite demure. Legs like nobody's business, long and lean, the hem of the dress falling at mid-thigh. On her pretty face, she wore only enough makeup to accentuate the big eyes, a generous mouth, and high cheekbones. Max took a sip of his drink, thinking that he might not be making an early exit after all.

"Do you mind if I join you?" The girl nodded toward the empty barstool beside Max. "I'm afraid I don't know a soul here except for the bride, and I'm feeling a little awkward at my assigned table."

"Be my guest." Max pulled the vacant stool out from the bar. "Can I get you a drink? My treat, of course."

The young woman smiled. "It's an open bar."

"Hey," Max said, grinning. "It's the thought that counts."

"Indeed." She slid her cute little fanny onto the barstool and swiveled around to face the male bartender, smiling sweetly at him. "I'll have a Singapore Sling, please, with extra powdered sugar."

Max turned to look at her. "I see you appreciate sweet, pretty things."

"Sometimes," she said. The bartender popped a straw and a metal sword filled with fruit chunks into the glass and handed her the tall, red drink, and she spun the barstool back around. Thick, black lashes batted over green eyes, and she gave Max an obvious head-to-toe. "However, I do occasionally prefer spicy and rustic." She offered her right hand. "Skyler Trent. I'm pleased to make your acquaintance."