Rose
The call came in on the second of February at half past ten. Rose was at her desk with three vendor contracts open and a coffee going cold beside her keyboard.
The number was unfamiliar. It was a Los Angeles area code she didn’t recognize.
“Rose Delaney Events, this is Rose.”
The woman on the other end was breathless. She needed a Valentine’s charity gala. She’d heard Rose’s name from someone at the wedding. At any rate. She just needed someone who could handle the scale.
Rose pulled up her calendar. Aggressive but possible. Her hands needed the work. She needed something to do that wasn’t sitting with the low, persistent unease that had followed her since the withdrawal.He made the calculation and walked.She kept turning it over. Jeremy didn’t walk away from anything without a reason. And then there was Lizanne’s odd behavior. Those strange moments when she looked like she was elsewhere, as if her mind was …heavy.
“Send me the address,” Rose said. “I’ll come to you.”
The address the woman sent was not a venue. It was a restaurant in Silver Lake. Rose stood on the pavement and checked the text again. She went in.
The host led her to a corner table at the back. The woman was already there. Tall, hair in an updo.
She approached, shoulders pulled back.
“Hi, you must be Evelyn…”
The woman turned to face her. And Rose took a step back. Because the person in front of her wasn’t the client she’d expected.
It was Trina Holmes.
“Sit down,” Trina said.
Rose stayed on her feet. “Where is the client?” A dumb question. She knew it the second she’d said it.
“There is no client.” Trina gestured at the chair opposite. “I needed you here without a lawyer, a camera crew, or Pat Seahorn. Sit down, Rose. Please. This won’t take long.”
Rose calculated the distance to the door. Then she sat. She kept her coat on. “Ten minutes.”
Trina nodded, folding her hands on the table. “I want to start by saying I don’t dislike you. I want you to know that before I tell you the rest.”
“Strange opening.”
“You look good. A fake marriage suits you. Still more real than your engagement.”
The air in the room shifted. Rose kept her face still.
“What does that mean?”
“I mean being married to my fiancée suits you. Probably is more profitable than that fake one you cobbled together. What was his name? Derek?”
Was she here because of a lie she’d told months ago?
“Lizanne knows.”
“I know. She told me.”
Rose blinked.
“Not recently,” Trina continued. “It was before any of this — before the wedding, before the show. We were still together. She left me a voicemail. Giddy, actually. I don’t think I’d heard her sound like that in years.” A small, humorless smile. “She’d figured out the fake fiancé, the registry, the brother in the photo. She thought it was the funniest thing she’d ever seen.” She paused. “The next day, the photos of me and Marcus were everywhere and our world fell apart. I never got to tell her what I thought about it.”
“Why are you telling me this now?”
“Because I assume that is how she got you to marry her in such a rush. She blackmailed you. Didn’t she? That’s just like my honey bee.” Trina placed her phone on the table, face up, and turned it toward Rose.
