Chapter One
Still Smiling
Poppy
“You’re fired.”
I’m doing seventy-five on the throughway, wrestling a rental car that smells like beef jerky and bad decisions, when my entire life implodes through the Bluetooth speaker.
“Wait, what?” I swerve slightly. The car behind me honks. “Miranda, the Goldman wedding was perfect—”
“Perfect?” My now-former boss laughs, but it’s a laugh that makes my stomach drop. “You let the mother of the bride’s Pomeranian eat half the cake.”
“That was—”
“You seated the groom’s mistress at the family table.”
“I didn’t know she was—”
“And you told the bride’s father to, and I quote, ‘shove his suggestions up his trust fund.’”
Okay. That one I did do.
“Miranda, please. I have the Lin wedding next weekend. I can’t—”
“It’s nothing personal, Poppy. I’m sure you’ll land on your feet.” The line goes dead.
I stare at the road, hands white-knuckling the steering wheel. My chest feels too tight. Like someone’s sitting on it. Like I can’t—
No.
No.
I slam my finger on the redial button. Nothing. I call again. Straight to voicemail.
“No.”
The word comes out raw. Broken.
I’ve been at Coleman Events for three years. Threeyearsof sixteen-hour days and bridezilla tantrums and eating lunch out of Tupperware in bathroom stalls because there’s never time to actually sit down. Three years of building my reputation, my client list, my entire future.
And now it’s gone.
My phone buzzes. For one stupid second, I think maybe Miranda’s calling back. Maybe she’s—
IVY LIN:Can’t wait to see you! This is going to be PERFECT!
I laugh. Or maybe it’s a sob. Hard to tell when your whole life is combusting at seventy-five miles per hour.
Because here’s the thing Miranda doesn’t know—I already told Ivy I’d be her planner. Already signed the contract. With my name. Not Coleman Events. She wanted me,personally, and I promised her of course it would be me.I figured Miranda would understand the technicality.
Now things are different. Which means I’m about to show up at this estate to plan a wedding I’m no longer authorized to plan, for a client who thinks I still have a job, without a team, or a clue about what the hell I’m doing.
I should have known today was going to go off the rails. My flight was delayed two hours, I spilled matcha all over my blazer, and the bridesmaid group chat had already implodedtwicebefore I boarded. But I force asmilebecause this week matters. No—it doesn’t just matter. It’s everything.
Deep breaths, Poppy.
Except the rental car smells like beef jerky and broken dreams.
