“This seemed more important,” I said simply. “What do you need me to do?”
She stared at me as if I’d grown a second head. “But your date!” she repeated. “With Angie! The perfect match!”
“Anica,” I said, placing my hands on her shoulders. “Tell me how to help.”
“Well, the flowers are ruined,” she said. “We need replacements. The hotel has a garden, but the manager won’t let us use any of it without proper approval, which could take hours we don’t have.”
“Leave the manager to me,” I said. “What else?”
“The linens are soaked. We need dry ones.”
“Done. I’ll have someone arrange an emergency delivery.”
“The sound system is fried.”
“I know a guy with a mobile DJ setup. He owes me a favor.”
She looked at me with that mix of surprise and something else again. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because you need help,” I said simply. “And I’m good at fixing problems. Almost as good as I am at creating them, which is saying something.”
For a moment, she just looked at me, water dripping from her hair onto her cheeks. Then she nodded once. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
The next two hours were a blur of activity. I charmed (okay, I bribed) the hotel manager into letting us harvest flowers from the hotel’s private garden by casually mentioning that my investment firm was looking at hotel chains for acquisition and how impressed I was with their “community spirit.” I called in favors to get a sound system delivered, promising the DJ who owned it a spot at my next charity gala. I even helped rearrange the seating chart when we had to move everything to a smaller, but dry, auxiliary ballroom.
Working with Anica in crisis mode was like watching a master artist at work. She anticipated problems before they arose, delegated tasks, and somehow managed to keep the bride calm through it all. I followed her lead without question, taking orders from someone for the first time since... well, probably since my grandmother had last told me to take out the trash.
And the strangest part? I was enjoying it.
“No, the tall centerpieces need to go on the round tables, not the rectangulars,” Anica instructed a flustered waiter. “The sight lines won’t work otherwise.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the waiter replied, clearly intimidated.
“And tell the chef we need the appetizers ready in twenty minutes, not forty,” she continued. “The timeline’s been compressed.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She turned to me, her expression all business despite her disheveled appearance. “The bride’s dress has water stains on the hem. Any brilliant ideas for that?”
“Actually, yes,” I replied, pulling out my phone. “My friend dated a costume designer who specializes in quick fixes. Let me make a call.”
Fifteen minutes later, a harried woman arrived with a steamer and some kind of fabric solution that, according to her, would “make water stains my bitch.” I didn’t ask questions, just directed her to the bridal suite.
When the ceremony finally began, only thirty minutes behind schedule, with fresh flowers, dry linens, and working music, the bride was radiant with relief.
“You literally saved the most important day of my life,” she told Anica, tears in her eyes. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“It’s my job,” Anica replied with a modest smile. “And I had help.” She glanced at me with a grin.
As the reception got underway, Anica and I stood alone in the empty auxiliary room, surrounded by the remnants of our frantic preparations. Anica had somehow found time to fix her makeup and dry her hair, though her dress was still damp in places, clinging to her curves in a way that made me force my eyes to stay firmly on her face.
“You left your date with the perfect woman to help with this,” she said, shaking her head. “There is something seriously wrong with your brain. You should probably get that checked out. I can recommend a good neurologist.”
“Seemed like the right choice,” I replied, stepping closer to her. “The date was fine, but this was... an adventure.”
She looked up at me, her gaze searching my face. “You didn’t have to do any of this.”
“I wanted to.” Another step closer. I could smell her perfume now, something floral and subtle beneath the lingering scent of wet fabric. “Besides, what kind of fake fiancé would I be if I didn’t show up to help my wedding planner in her hour of need?”
