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CHAPTER 1
I never thought I’d say this, but I love my job. I bring smiles to people’s faces. I make them laugh, dance, weep. Their dreams come true thanks to me. I’m like a frickin’ fairy godmother.
No, a fairy godmother is always old, fat, or both. I’m a dream come true.
“The party is amazing,” June said to me, her eyes surveying the room. “Better than I ever could have hoped.” She took one of my hands in hers. “You’ve saved my life, Elizabeth Elliot.”
That’s me—the party-planning angel, saving lives one centerpiece at a time. That should’ve been my brand line. Too late to change my logo?
My gaze caught on a vase that was off-center. “Excuse me, June,” I said, pulling my hand from her leathery grip. I never wanted to get old. Wrinkles were gross. “I have a disaster to avert. Enjoy your party. And don’t worry about a thing.”
Her gratitude echoed over the string quartet, but I didn’t stay to listen. I searched the ballroom for Juliet. If she didn’t get her tiny behind in gear, she’d be so fired. Which I told her once I found her by the bar, working out a problem with the ice. Honestly, who has problems with ice?
“I’m so sorry,” Juliet said about the vase, “I’ll get on it right away.”
She scurried away, her jet-black hair in a perfect bun, not one strand out of place. Her gray skirt and jacket were both wrinkle free, and she didn’t wobble one bit on those stilettos. Honestly, I would never fire Juliet—she was the best assistant I’d ever had. Just contemplating interviews with another string of idiots set my teeth on edge—but she didn’t need to know that. I’d learned, in the few short weeks she’d worked for me, that Juliet functioned much better under pressure.
“Stop shoving them in my face!” a voice said nearby. “I don’t want another tacky crudité.”
Tacky? TACKY? I spun toward the voice. Two men stood by the bar, one holding a plate piled high with canapés, NOT crudités. He was happily munching while the other was sipping champagne, his nose wrinkling as if his glass of Moët & Chandon smelled bad.
“These are delicious,” the first man said. He was probably forty-ish, blond, and slightly chubby. There was a smear of something white on his cheek.
The other man was tall and slim, his blue suit perfectly cut across the shoulders. “I’ll take your word for it,” he said. His voice had a slight accent, but I couldn’t place it.
The chubby one waved a canapé around. “You have to taste it.”
“Stig, if you put that thing in my face again, I will shove it up your nose.”
My hands went to my hips. Oh no, there would be no fights at one of my parties.
“What is your problem, Tony?” Stig asked.
“My problem is that I was dragged to yet another showy and tasteless display of wealth, with nothing to make it the slightest bit amusing or worthwhile.”
Anger lit my entire body on fire.
“The pretentious string quartet, décor that looks like it came from my grandmother’s living room, food that’s hardly edible, and the same old people talking about the same old things.”
“I think you’ve had enough to drink for one evening.” Stig reached for Tony’s champagne.
Tony knocked it back before his friend could take it, then whistled loudly for a waiter.
I marched over. He would calm down or get out.
He saw me approaching, his expression of annoyance didn’t budge. He held out the glass for me to take, as if I was some kind of servant.
“Do I look like a waiter to you?” I demanded.
His eyes swept me from top to bottom. “Not interested.”
My eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”
“Whatever it is you want, I am not interested. I don’t want to talk, I don’t want to flirt, I don’t want to date. If you’re not going to get me another drink, then you can go away.”
His friend, Stig, choked on his drink.
He went to move past me but I stepped in his way. “Tony, is it?” I didn’t wait for him to respond. “Believe me, I don’t want to date you either.”
He pressed his hand to his chest in mock hurt.
“You need to step outside and take a breather.”
He leaned in and I caught a whiff of alcohol mixed with cologne. He was tall, but so was I, especially when I raised my chin to meet his gaze. “Who the hell are you to tell me what to do?”
My eyes flashed. “This is my party, which makes me God, and you the mere mortal who has to obey my wishes.”
He leaned back. “So you are the help.”
“I am not—”
“I need a drink.” He slid past me, grabbing another from the nearest tray.
No one was allowed to interrupt me. I scanned the party, making sure our interaction hadn’t caused a disturbance. He’d rattled me, but I would not be unprofessional.
I followed him, lightly grabbing his elbow.
He stopped, tilting his head at me. “You again.”
I gave him my nicest, most polite, smile. “If you cause a scene,” I said, my voice low, “I will have you ejected from this party.” I patted his arm. To anyone watching, it probably did look like we were flirting.
He guzzled another glass of champagne then smiled at me. “It would be fun to call your bluff. Liven up this fiesta.”
“How do you know June?”
He blinked at my change in subject. “Her husband, Harold, is a client of mine.”
“And how do you think Harold would feel if you ruined his wife’s party? I can’t imagine he’d be pleased.”
Tony shifted his feet and avoided my eyes.
“I don’t know what you do,” I said, “but I’ve never met a businessman who likes losing a client.”
“And you’re an expert?” He took a shot. A couple more of those and he’d be getting into a fistfight with someone.
I placed my hands on his cheeks, forcing him to look at me. Anyone watching would’ve thought I was just being friendly. Hopefully. “I think you’ve had enough for one night. This is your last warning.”
His jaw clenched. “Out of all the women I have ever met, I think I hate you most of all.”
My smile was tight-lipped. “The feeling is mutual.”
He stalked away, and I immediately went in search of Juliet.
“Watch that one,” I said, pointing to Tony in the crowd. He was sitting at a table with his friend Stig. “Let me know if he gets out of hand.”
“Will do,” Juliet replied.
A few hours later, the awful Tony had left—luckily without causing a scene—and the party started to wind down. It had been a smashing success. Obviously.
June thanked me a zillion times for making the evening more than she imagined. The new caterer I’d decided to take a chance on had been sublime—proving once again my intuition was spot-on. And Juliet hadn’t let me down once.
Other than the blip that was Tony, it was a stellar night.