“Two weeks,” I whispered back. “Mari doesn’t do slow burns.”
“What are you two whispering about?” Mari snapped, finally tearing her gaze away from Mr. Gable. “I don’t like that look in your eyes, Burkhardts. Fix it, or I’ll fix it for you.” She glared at Callan and me before whirling on Mr. Gable. “And you. If I ever see you again, I will skin you alive and feed you to the piranhas in the Chicago River.”
“There aren’t any piranhas in the Chicago River.”
“Well lucky for you, dickhead, my best friend married a billionaire and he can get his hands on piranhas so that I can carry out my plan.”
“I actually could,” Callan whispered to me, and when I glared at him he shrugged his shoulders. “Just saying.”
“I’d sooner date a piranha than see you again, Missus...”
“Oh hell no. I am not giving you my–”
“Her name is Mari Landry,” my husband said, holding his hand out for Mr. Gable to shake. “And you’ve met my wife, Anica Burkhardt. I’m Callan. It’s nice to meet you.”
Mari looked ready to start threatening Callan, and I decided to step in.
“Time to go!” I grabbed Mari’s arm before round two could commence in the parking lot. “Mr. Gable, I’m sure we’ll see you at future events. Preferably with a fire extinguisher on standby.”
“Mrs. Burkhardt.” He gave a stiff nod. “Mr. Burkhardt.” His gaze slid to Mari, hardening again. “Ms. Landry, I look forward to never working near you again.”
“Feeling’s mutual, dickweed,” she spat.
As we walked toward our car, I glanced back. Mr. Gable was still standing there, foam-covered and disheveled, looking at Mari with an expression I couldn’t quite read, but it fell somewhere between fury and fascination.
“I cannot believe you,” I hissed once we were out of earshot. “Our first Chicago expo, and you nearly burn the place down!”
“He deserved it,” Mari muttered, attempting to brush glitter from her ruined blouse. “You should have seen what he did to our consultations. He kept sliding in with his stupid face and dropping lines like ‘Oh, have I shown you our 3D venue projections yet?’ as if we were offering finger paintings compared to his tech.”
“So you set his booth on fire?”
“I didn’t set anything on fire! I was just swapped his fancy little business cards for some I grabbed while getting coffee. They were for a sketchy spa downtown. The fire started when I found those weird candles hidden in our display. They wouldn’t go out when I tried to blow them out, and then suddenly everything was in flames!”
I rubbed my temples, a headache building there. “This is going to cost us thousands in damages. Not to mention our reputation.”
“Actually,” Callan interjected, checking his phone, “we’re trending on Twitter. #WeddingWars. The videos are getting serious traction. I just got a text from my marketing director asking if this was a planned publicity stunt because our website traffic has quadrupled in the last half hour.”
Mari brightened. “See? Silver lining!”
“We are not spinning an act of arson into a marketing opportunity,” I said firmly, despite the small voice in my head calculating exactly how many new clients we might get from the viral exposure.
“Of course not,” Callan agreed. “Though it is kind of hilarious and definitely something I’d watch on television. Could make a fun reality TV show.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Obviously.” He paused. “But I did just get a message from Erika. A producer wants to speak with us. They made a compelling offer.”
“You’re kidding me. This soon?” I stared at him with my mouth open. He nodded. “No. Absolutely not.”
“It would be strictly exploratory,” he assured me, wrapping an arm around my waist and pressing a kiss to my temple. “Besides, don’t you think ‘Wedding Wars’ has a certain ring to it? Mari versus Mr. Gable in a battle of event planning titans?”
“I’d crush him,” Mari declared.
“Hell yeah you would,” Callan said, giving her a high five over my head.
“I’m surrounded by lunatics,” I muttered, leaning into Callan’s embrace despite my exasperation. “And I’m married to the ringleader.”
“I just need the fun top hat.”
