"He's leveraging a potential tort claim, negligence and battery, against a business entity to coerce a personal service agreement," Mason explains, sliding the phone across the coffee table back to me. "It's textbook extortion. If we took this to a judge, Brooks Taylor would be laughed out of court."
"Great!" Maddy throws her hands up, the tension in her shoulders dropping an inch. "See? Mason says we can fight it. We'll go to a judge. We'll explain that it was an accident, that he's being unreasonable?—"
"We can't go to a judge," Mason interrupts.
Maddy freezes. "Why not?"
“Because going to a judge makes it public,” Mason says. He removes his glasses and rubs the bridge of his nose. “An extortion claim would force us to acknowledge the threat itself, along with Ivy tackling a guest and lying to hospital staff. Once that’s in the public record, the reputational damage to Ever After is locked in. Brooks knows it.”
"He's ruthless," Savvy spits out. She pushes off the desk, her gold hoop earrings flashing as she moves. "I knew it. He has 'corporate raider' written all over him. I Googled him while you were in the hospital. He's a soulless, calculating, hedge-fund robot."
"Venture capitalist," I correct, though I'm not sure why I'm defending his job title. Maybe because 'robot' implies he doesn't have feelings. I saw him in that hospital bed. I saw the panic in his eyes when he read that email from the board. He has feelings. He treats them like leverage.
"Whatever," Savvy says. "He's threatening us. He's threatening my business. I say we call his bluff. Let him sue. We'll counter-sue for... I don't know. Harassment? Being a dick?"
"Savvy," Mason warns.
"I'm serious!" She gestures to me. "Look at her! She's exhausted. She's traumatized. She can't spend eight weeks in the Hamptons playing house with the enemy. It's a recipe for disaster."
"I agree with Savvy," Maddy says, coming to sit next to me on the sofa. She wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into her warmth. She smells like her signature rose perfume, a scent that usually calms me down but right now makes me want to cry. "Ivy, we can't ask you to do this. We'll take the hit. We have insurance. We have savings. We'll survive a lawsuit."
I look at Maddy. I look at the worry lines etched around her eyes, eyes that have been tired lately because she's been working non-stop to cover our expansion costs.
I look at the office around us. The rough-hewn timber beams we refinished ourselves. The custom chandelier Savvy found at an estate sale and re-wired to hang from the vaulted ceiling. The wall of thank-you cards from brides who told us we saved their biggest days.
We built this. We built it from nothing, working out of our cramped apartments on shoestring budgets, hustling separately until Savvy came back and pulled us all together. Ever After, Inc.isn't just a company. It's our freedom. It's the proof that we made it.
If Brooks sues us, the legal fees alone will drain our operating capital in months. The bad PR will kill our bookings for next season. We won't only lose money. We'll lose this.
And I won't be the one who burns it down.
"No."
The word comes out stronger than I expect.
Maddy pulls back to look at me. "No, what?"
"No, we are not calling his bluff." I sit up, setting the cold tea on the table. "And no, we are not letting him sue. Mason is right. If this goes legal, we lose. Even if we win in court, we lose in the court of public opinion. Who's going to hire the wedding planners who tackle the guests?"
"Ivy—" Savvy starts.
"It's eight weeks." I cut her off, forcing that professional detachment into my voice, the same one I use when a caterer tells me they're out of salmon. "It's two months. I can do anything for two months. I once planned a destination wedding in Iceland with three days' notice. I once sewed a bride into her dress while she was having a panic attack in a port-a-potty. This? This is... a long, really immersive acting gig."
"With a man who hates you," Savvy points out.
"He doesn't hate me." I shrug. "He finds me useful. There's a difference."
"He blackmailed you in a hospital bed," Maddy whispers. "Ivy, that's not normal behavior. That's villain behavior."
"He's desperate," I say. "I saw the email from his board. His father is benching him. For a guy like Brooks Taylor, a guy whoseentire identity is 'The Winner,' being benched is worse than death. He needs a prop. I'm the prop."
I stand up and walk over to the mood board for next week's Cohen-Levine wedding. I start straightening the swatches of fabric, needing something to do with my hands.
"Here's the plan," I say, pivoting into logistics mode. "I go to the Hamptons on Friday. I play the part. I charm the mother, Betty, apparently she's a nightmare, which means she's exactly my demographic. I smile at the father. I keep Brooks stable until Labor Day. Then, we stage a breakup. He signs the waiver. We walk away."
"And you think you can handle him?" Mason asks. He's watching me closely, his lawyer brain assessing the witness. "He's smart, Ivy. And he's angry. You're going to be living in his house, isolated from your support system."
"I have you guys on speed dial," I say. "And honestly? I think I can handle him better than anyone else. I know his secret. I know this whole engagement is a sham to please his daddy. That gives me leverage, too. If he pushes me too far, I can blow up his deal just as easily as he can blow up ours."
