7
Ivy
“What an entitled piece of walking, talking male ego,” I fumed as I stared down at the phone after Evan hung up on me.
I started to compose a hate-filled text message then caught myself. I still needed that money. I had hoped maybe Evan could grease the wheels. He had, after all, hidden in my apartment. But of course Evan was too selfish and self-absorbed to help me.
I chewed on my lip. Maybe I shouldn’t have pushed him though. Was it too much to ask someone to talk to their cheating ex’s father?
* * *
Early the next morning,I was standing in the waiting area on the top floor of the Sutherland Bank building.
Mr. Sutherland’s secretary wrinkled her nose when she saw me. I resisted the urge to tug at the hem of my skirt. I was in my standard all-black wedding planner attire, though it was a little snug in the hip area. Wedding planning was stressful, and I coped by snacking and drinking and more snacking.
Be a ladyboss.
“I’m here about the invoice,” I said, hoping I sounded authoritative.
“You’ll have to wait; he’s in a meeting.”
I sat in one of the large leather chairs across from two middle-aged men in suits and scrolled through my phone. Imogen, the latest bride, was high maintenance and also picky. This latest string of text messages was about the color of the dress. She thought the ivory wasn’t white enough.
Brea:Did you see Imogen’s messages? I swear I’m already almost done with this dress. She cannot change the color.
Brea:She wants to bleach it! Handmade silk lace and she wants to BLEACH IT.
Ivy:I’ll talk to her, it’s probably just nerves.
“Well, well, if it isn’t the person who ruined my wedding.”
I looked up to see Camilla tapping her foot in front of me.
“You lost the groom and screwed up my big moment,” Camilla said.
So we’re rewriting history, and it’s only been a couple of days? Alrighty then…
“Everyone liked the gift bags,” I said weakly, because what else could I say? I didn’t sleep with the groom’s father, that was you? I also didn’t destroy the wedding cake, that was you? And oh, by the way, that was a ten-thousand-dollar cake, so pay up?
“You did it on purpose,” she hissed at me.
I gestured helplessly.
“We had a contract. My team went above and beyond on the wedding. I just need to you to pay the final invoice, please. Then we can consider this business relationship over.”
The middle-aged men in the lobby looked uncomfortable. Camilla’s father hurried out of his office.
“Yes, yes, of course that’s why you’re here—to settle up!” he said loudly smiling at the two men as he ushered me into his office. “Honestly,” Orson Sutherland said to me after shutting the door. “Of course we’re going to pay you. You didn’t need to come here and make a scene.”
I forced myself to relax.
I will never ever not take the money up front again. Never ever ever.
“That was not my intention,” I said, using my best professional voice. “I’m sure it’s all a misunderstanding. I could have simply sent you the invoice. I really didn’t need to come all the way down here, though your secretary insisted.” I slid the paperwork across his desk.
“Now look here,” Orson said, “I run a major financial institution. These things work on cycles. You’re just going to have to wait.”
Or you could just write me a check, because you probably spend more on food each month than you owe me...
