Asher offers a subtle shrug while his hand rests comfortably on the small of my back. “She tried to ruin your business reputation. She cost you some clients. She got you desperate enough to work this wedding because you would either succeed or fail miserably. In her sick mind, success means you owe her. Failure would’ve meant a miserable bride like Katrina hating you even more. Sheila doesn’t take her son or her daughter-in-law’s feelings into consideration, only her personal agenda.”
“Well, Sheila’s in for an unpleasant surprise, then, because I don’t owe her a thing,” I say. “And this wedding is proof that our agency is awesome. Everybody here knows it now, too, so she can’t badmouth me to anyone, not anymore.”
“Don’t think for a second that she’s done giving you a hard time,” Toby says. “You’re ours, Willow. And if there’s one thing Sheila hates more than seeing you happy and thriving, it’s seeing us happy and thriving.”
“That soundsominous.”
I gulp down the rest of my champagne and give my empty glass to Jamie for a refill. He makes his way to the bar, chatting up a few more guests along the way. He’s so charming and talkative, he needs to hand out a couple of cards before he even reaches the bar counter.
“I don’t think I could’ve pulled this off without him,” I tell Cole.
“Jamie’s a badass, I’ll give him that. He’s quite the diplomat, too. He held his own with Sheila more than once, and he was firm during the price negotiations,” Cole says.
“I was so nervous at first,” I reply.
“Speak of the devil,” Toby warns.
We all see her approaching our group.
Behind Sheila, the reception unfolds. Champagne rivers flow from intricate ice fountains. Chocolate pours hot over platters of fresh fruits, while bartenders mix Christmas-themed cocktails in stainless steel shakers before pouring them into perfectly chilled martini glasses with salt-crystal-coated rims.
It’s a winter wonderland for the rich: silver sparkles and white tulle, classical music and white poinsettia blossoms bursting across the walls, lights twinkling from ornate icicles, and a fine, subtle fragrance of pine and winter spices floating through the air.
Sheila stands out with her bright red curls and dazzlingly tight silver sequined dress as she glides towards us with two glasses of champagne. One is for her, and one is for me, apparently.
“Congratulations on a job well done, Willow,” she says, her smile faker than her veneers. “You truly outdid yourself.”
“Thank you,” I reply, unable to mimic the same. “I’m glad you’re happy.”
She steals a glance at Cole, a shadow briefly darkening her face, before she shifts her focus back to me. “My happiness is beside the point. My son is thrilled, and Katrina is a glowing bride. The event was just gorgeous from top to bottom. I would’ve gone for the roses for the bouquet, they’re classier, but I couldn’t argue with the bride on that.”
The falsetto laugh tells me everything I need to know. Sheila had no idea Katrina would be carrying the lilies for her bridal bouquet until she walked down the aisle. I saw the look on Sheila’s face. She didn’t like it.
“You’re absolutely right. You can’t argue with the bride’s wishes,” I reply.
She takes another look at Cole, blatantly ignoring Asher and Toby. I find it odd. But then she smiles my way again. “I was hoping we could bury the hatchet. You proved your professionalism, despite the personal issues, and my son is now happily married to the woman of his dreams. No hard feelings?”
“No hard feelings for what, exactly?” I ask, my tone as flat as death.
“For the harsh words that were said perhaps, for the collateral damage your business incurred after Terrence broke off your engagement, for how it must’ve all felt. And then for you to organize this event, it couldn’t have been easy, but you rose above.”
“I always rise above, Sheila. Don’t worry.”
She nods, but an insidious smile stretches across her red, glossy lips as she measures me from head to toe. “I’ll tell you one thing, though, honey. If you drop about thirty, maybe forty, pounds, I’ll be more than happy to introduce you to some of the finer men of New York. My bridge club ladies have some of the city’s hottest bachelors for nephews and grandsons. A self-made woman like you deserves the best shot.”
“I’m trying to figure out what sort of gift one needs to be able to mask an insult underneath all that fluff,” I retort and take a sip from my glass.
Welcoming the slightly fruity, bubbly liquid down my throat, I wait for Sheila to flutter her eyelashes in faux confusion. Beside me, I can already feel the Morgan brothers becoming tense, like walls that are about to close in on her. She senses the shift in the air between us, as well.
“Whatever do you mean?” Sheila asks me. “I was just saying?—”
“You were just saying that I’m too fat to be with what I assume you consider a high-quality man,” I boldly interrupt. Having Cole, Asher, and Toby beside me fills me with incredible confidence. “But you ignore the fact that I’m already in the company of three of the city’s most desirable men, right here, right now. I don’t need to look like someone else to be with a good, high-value man. In fact, by being myself in every aspect of my life, I’m not with one, or two, but with three of them. And that, Sheila, makes me the luckiest woman in this ballroom.”
Sheila’s jaw drops to the floor. The anger in her eyes is damn near palpable. It makes my skin crawl, but I keep my chin up, not regretting a single word that came out of my mouth.Asher’s hand adds pressure to my back, as if to remind me they’re still here and I’m safe.
“It was just a piece of well-meaning advice, Willow. You don’t have to get so defensive about it,” Sheila scoffs. “You do you and see how that works out. But when you’re ready to take things to the next level, I’m here. I doubt the Morgan brothers are the marrying type.”
Sheila walks away, hips swaying, as she blends into the swelling crowd.
