I’m going to make sure you pay for that.
You have the wrong number, whoever you are.
The damage to my Audi windshield is 8k. Should I send my bill to “Epilogues Forever: Weddings by Katie Elizabeth?”
We get enough junk mail, Unknown Number. But I’m pretty sure you can afford that charge… You seem like the type who wears Audemars Piguet watches and thousand-dollar suits…
It’s not my fault I’m good at my job, Katie. Get over it.
Please stop calling what you do a “job.” It’s an insult to people with real ones.
So, you *do* know who this is?
If you keep texting me, STRANGER, I’m reporting you to the police for harassment.
Guess I should make the charge worth it, then…right?
For someone who calls themselves an “event perfectionist,” I was shocked to see you at the Rhode Island wedding without panties under your dress…
You’ve never done that before.
You have NO IDEA what the hell you’re talking about.
I like your new waxed and bare look, but there’s a consequence to that.
What consequence?
Now, you won’t be able to hide it whenever you get wet for me…
Screw you, Asher.
I blocked his number before he could say anything else.
Five
PRESENT DAY
KATIE
A few days later
The second I stepped into her fiancé’s condo, I knew Michelle hadn’t just upgraded her life—she’d skipped about ten levels.
With its exclusive Hoboken address, Manhattan skyline dead ahead, and a setup that looked like it belonged in a magazine spread no one I knew could afford.
This wasn’t a casual brunch setup.
This was a tax bracket I didn’t even know existed.
I walked through the colossal parlor room, resisting the urge to calculate the cost of everything within reach, and headed back toward the kitchen—straight into a blond man with deep brown eyes who had no business being this attractive.
“Well, hello there.” He smiled and reached for my hand. “I’m Grady Spencer—one of the groomsmen, and you are?”
“Katie,” I said. “Katie Elizabeth.”
“Ah,” he said. “The wedding planner Michelle’s been bragging about.”
“That’s me.”
