“No,” Sophie said in concern. “Don’t do that. What if people find out? They’ll think you broke up him and Camilla’s marriage.”
“I am not going to sleep with Evan!” I said, shocked. “No way, no how. Haven’t even thought about it.”
“Not even once when he was naked sleeping in your bed?” Grace teased.
I reddened slightly then swallowed. “There was a feral cat between us.”
“Good,” Elsie said. “Sophie’s right. Our business is already in hot water. We cannot afford to be blacklisted because you couldn’t keep your panties on.”
“Don’t listen to them,” Grace said. “Sleep with him and then tell us about it so I can live vicariously through you. I will die chained to my laptop, editing wedding photo after wedding photo. I need some excitement.”
“The video of the ruined wedding already ended up all over the internet. People are going to be watching Evan closely for the next few months. We already have one business disaster,” Elsie warned. “Let’s not create another one.”
* * *
Forget business disasters,I thought as I dragged myself back to my apartment.I have life disasters.
I needed to figure out how I was going to pay the two mortgages. My friends and I were at max capacity during wedding season. We really needed to charge more, I decided, as I looked over our finances, feeling sick. Elsie had been an accountant before she became a caterer, and she had our spreadsheets super organized. I was not a math person, but with all the red boxes on the spreadsheet, even I could tell things weren’t all that great.
Instead of being an adult and looking for a way to send Camilla’s bill to collections, since clearly that was where this was heading, I heated up the leftovers of the food Evan had brought me and worked on a vision board for Imogen’s wedding décor.
I loved crafting and making fun, colorful boards of design ideas. That was one of the main reasons I had become a wedding planner. I just could not get enough weddings! Sitting cross-legged on the bed, cutting out shiny gold paper, pictures from magazines, and scraps fabric Brea had given me at the meeting, I slipped into my happy place. Even Fergus came out from under the bed and let me feed him little bits of the veal from thevitello tonnato.
I looked up longingly at the picture of the fabulous Brookview Hotel clock tower penthouse. Crafting would be so much better there. Then I wouldn’t have to find money for an office. There would be plenty of room for my team to camp out. Fergus yowled.
“You’re right,” I told the cat, feeding him another bite of food. “There’s no way I’ll ever in a million years be able to afford that. But that’s fine. We have everything we need. Maybe eventually I’ll save up enough for a Murphy bed set from Ikea, and you’ll have more room to run around.”
My phone beeped, and I set down the glue stick and tapped it, my stomach dropping as soon as I saw the name.
Mom:Hey dumpling! I saw you on Facebook in that video of the cheating bride. Looks like business is going well for you. Maybe you could send a little something to your mommy?
Mom:Don’t forget how much I sacrificed for you. I put my whole life on hold to raise you. You’re my retirement plan!
My stomach sank. I could not give my mom any more money. But I knew as soon as I saw the guilt-trippy text that eventually I was going to make a decision I was going to regret.
16
Evan
“You don’t have an office?” I asked Ivy when she showed up outside my door, toting an elaborate bouquet of flowers. There was a short, plump young woman behind her wheeling another cart holding more huge flower arrangements.
I took the bouquet in its glass jar from Ivy. “I was looking online at wedding bouquets, and it got me thinking that you should branch out, do something a little different. There are some made out of LEGOs, there are some that have little mini alcohol bottles in them—”
“Don’t you dare, Evan!” Ivy scolded. “This meeting is already threatening to go off the rails. You cannot start throwing wrenches in the mix.”
The florist looked between the two of us. Ivy straightened her back.
“Mr. Harrington, where would you like Amy and me to set up?”
“Ms. Williams, my family is waiting in the dining room. You should have enough space to set up.”
I gestured with one of the hands holding the four-foot-tall centerpiece, and Ivy swept past me, her florist friend following.
Imogen was sitting on the edge of the table, legs crossed. She pressed her lips together critically as Amy and Ivy arranged the bridesmaids’ bouquets, the boutonnières, the centerpieces, and the bridal bouquet on the table.
My half sister picked up the bridal bouquet of fluffy white flowers surrounded by greenery and bound with a silk ribbon then turned up her nose.
“I cannot have flowers this white.”
