“The bride and groom still have to pay you.”
“That’s not the point.” She closed the gap between us. “But I wouldn’t expect you to ever understand that, because whenever you see someone even thinking about getting married, you see dollar signs and ways to ruin it.”
“That’s not how my job works.”
“You don’t have a job, Asher.” Her lips were way too close to mine. “You’re a literal cancer on the world.”
“Walk away from me before I make you regret saying that.”
“Truth hurts.” She shoved past me and kept walking.
I didn’t stop her, and I didn’t reach for her like I’d done a few times in the past.
I just watched her go like I wasn’t already thinking about the next time I’d see her.
Three
PRESENT DAY
KATIE
“Please tell me you found Asher Brooks’ car last night and egged the hell out of it?” I stared at my top assistant, Madison, via video call.
“We egged three of them.” She smiled. “Five dozen eggs for us, and an extra dozen for the time we wasted. He left his sunroof down in his convertible, so he’ll probably have to air that one out for weeks.”
“You’re the best for a reason.”
“The back of Brian’s shirt may have gotten caught by one of the security cameras, though.” She tapped her lip. “He forgot to change out of his uniform.”
“I’ll handle it.” I shrugged. “Don’t stress.”
“Want me to bring you a latte when I get in?” she asked. “Egg white to celebrate?”
“I’ll take it black like Asher Brooks’ soul,” I said. “See you soon.”
I ended the call and opened my FUCK ASHER list and added this newest incident.
In the days after a wedding-that-never-was, I always started the morning by tucking all the unused blooms into cases and donating them to businesses nearby.
Thanks to multiple misfortunes, John’s Pizza Cafe next door has transformed from a gritty dive bar into a place where people stand in long lines just to dine under the ornate arrangements.
At least someone benefits from the disasters…
After sealing up five floral crates, I set down the tape and walked through my showroom. Every table was set with the names of the bride and groom for an upcoming wedding—from three weeks from now through three years from now.
Sixteen-year-old me would be jumping for joy at this dream coming true, but present-me was starting to dread things here and there.
The nightmare clients were becoming a lot more frequent, and my late nights of perfecting table settings and invitations were no longer being appreciated.
They wereexpected.
I walked to my office and contemplated taking a few months off to finish working on my debut romance novel.
Well, my eighteenth attempt at writing one.
Opening my latest manuscript, I found myself face-to-face with what I’d last written.
Untitled: A Romance Novel
