“I don’t believe it.” Max passed a hand over her mouth as Hailey finished her explanation. Her mane of red hair quivered as she barked a laugh. “You’re making this shit up.”

“Nope.” Even Hailey didn’t have that fantastic an imagination.

Though there had been those erotic dreams last night starring a certain sexy Genie of her acquaintance.

Which she was never thinking of again.

Quentin’s eyebrows drew straight as he shook his head. “She’s gone over the line this time,” he said, referring to Erica. “She said the promotion’s contingent on it?”

“Yep.” Hailey sat at her desk and sipped what was supposed to be calming green tea from her favorite mug. It might as well have been green water for all it calmed her nerves. Her coworkers, and best friends, stared in crackling disbelief as they absorbed her news.

Well. Half of her news.

For her sanity—and a credible ostrich thing she had going—she’d opted to omit the auction, focusing instead on the most relevant and somehow less fantastic story. Her promotion hinging on planning her ex’s dream wedding.

Her life was rapidly turning into a Shakespearean farce. Any minute now she’d start spouting soliloquys.

To wish or not to wish?

Aaand she was losing her fricking mind.

Max and Quentin had leapt at her as soon as she’d got in, bombarding her with questions about Erica’s request for a private meeting. The three had survived disastrous weddings, aggressive exes, Erica meltdowns, and more escapades than you could list on the side of the Empire State Building. Telling them about Erica’s latest crazy scheme was a no-brainer.

Telling them about Ryder and his refusal to let her back out of her bid was self-protection. Both Max and Quentin had been pushing her for months to get back on the dating horse. They’d look at the wish as a) a goddamned wish and b) a golden opportunity to get over the ghost of Ethan by getting under Ryder.

And she was so not ready—or interested—in another man.

Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.

She focused on Quentin, dropkicking that truth out her mind. Her friend perched on his desk, long legs dangling off the edge as he studied her face. Late twenties with sandy hair, brown eyes, and lashes a calf would envy, Quentin handled tears and tantrums like a mother hen, and also possessed an incredible eye for design. His had been one of the most used shoulders in the aftermath of her breakup. If anyone could find the right words to say in this situation, it’d be him.

Quentin blew out a breath. “You’re screwed.”

Or maybe not.

He caught her look and slid her a weak smile. “Sorry, love, but it’s the truth. How are you expecting to pull this off? You know you’re not over what he did to you.”

“Yet. I am almost, nearly, so close to being over that.”

Max raised her eyebrows. “When you heard Ethan was getting married, what did you do?”

“That is so not the point.”

“Hales, you’re not strong enough yet.”

Hailey cupped her mug, soaking the warmth into her cold hands. She concentrated on that. “Look, I’m not stupid. I know it’s going to hurt like hell when I see them together, while I’m still alone. Just like he predicted. But I’ve been working toward being a full-fledged wedding planner since college. If I don’t do this, I won’t get another opportunity for years.” She edged up a shoulder with a small smile. “Besides, I have to show Ethan and Bitch-Face that I’m not poor little Hailey. I’m strong, confident, mature, totally-over-it Hailey.”

“Bitch-Face? Real mature.” Max dodged the napkin samples thrown at her, the office chair she sat in squeaking as it wheeled out of harm’s way. She smirked, then shook her head. Jabbed the table with a red-manicured finger. “What I wanna know is why the bastard’s even dared hire us.”

Hailey stared glumly at her friend. “C’mon. If you were a socialite, where would you go?” For the first time in her career, she cursed the fact that Erica Pearce was so sought after.

“It’ll be her decision,” Quentin pointed out. “Ethan’s probably sweating bullets that he’ll see you.”

It was small of her to smile at that. So call her a munchkin.

“I’m a professional.” Hailey glared at Max’s snort. “Besides, it’ll be like the last hundred socialite weddings we’ve done. One meeting will probably be all I’ll need to get the details.”

“Yeah, what do you wanna bet it’s gonna be the same chintzy, damn-ass boring soiree?” Max mused, leaning back in her chair. The wheels squeaked again. “Bet she won’t even have the sense to hire a stripper for the bachelorette party, get into the spirit of the thing. Like hanging penis necklaces around her friends’ necks or wearing a tacky sash. Or even something tame, like a cock cake.”

Quentin blinked. “A . . . what?”

“You know. A cake in the shape of a cock.” Max flicked her hair behind her shoulder with a wide grin. “You can even get one that’s cream filled.”

“That’s tame?” Hailey questioned.

Quentin studied Max with quiet awe. “How you got this job amazes me. Was the Duchess completely conscious in the interview or did you slip her something?”

Max flipped him off.

He grinned. His legs knocked against the desk’s wood before he exhaled and checked his watch. “Okay,” he said to Hailey. “When are they getting here?”

“This afternoon.” Erica had called Hailey in immediately that morning to inform her the bride and groom would be attending the initial meeting together. Cue some deep breathing exercises and the hot green water.

And she may or may not have given herself another pep talk in the bathroom mirror.

Quentin looked her over and slid off the desk. “Right, then we don’t have much time.” He tugged the mug out of Hailey’s hands and set it next to the invoices that needed filing first chance she got. “Up you get.” Suiting action to words, he levered her out of her chair.

“Where are we going?”

“To a mirror.”

Assuming he was being sarcastic, Hailey scowled. “I’ve already given myself a lengthy pep talk, thanks.” She pulled at Quentin’s hand as he made to lead her out of the office. “Stop. I need to tie up a few last details on the Keller wedding.”

“No, you need to reapply your makeup, fix that bump in your hair, and spray on some of that expensive perfume we have in the samples closet.” Quentin chucked her under the chin. “What do we tell brides?”

“Always wear white underwear under your gown.”

“Try again.”

Hailey rolled her eyes in surrender. “That a woman can do anything if she looks and feels fantastic.”

“And we need to talk about your dress,” Max commented as she held open the door to the office.

“What’s wrong with it?” The biscuit-colored sheath clung to her curves and was the epitome of pretty, efficient businesswoman. A so-totally-over-all-those-cruel-things-you-said professional.

“Nothing,” Max said, “if you’re attending an Amish wedding.”

“What?”

“It’s as sexy as a burlap sack.”

Hailey stopped before the bathroom. She folded her arms. “It’s sexy,” she defended the sheath. “It stops well above the knee.”

“But it doesn’t show the girls.”

Hailey waved at Max’s outfit, a bold emerald shirt tucked into a form-fitting pencil skirt the color of her black stilettos. “You’re not showing yours off.”

“But I could by opening another button.” Max demonstrated and immediately a smidgen of red-lace bra was on show.

“Classy as ever,” Quentin commented.

“Does the red turn you on?” Max proffered her boobs in Quentin’s—very gay—direction.

Hailey shook her head and interrupted before they started bickering. “Guys, this is a business meeting. It’s not about proving I’m sexier than Serena.”

“Yeah. Right.” Max shoved her into the bathroom, clapping her hands together and rubbed them in thought. Her eyes scanned Hailey, narrowing at the corners. “Q, get me some scissors and I might be able to do some creative designing.”

“Quentin, don’t you dare or I’ll tell Erica it was you who misspelled the groom’s name on the Grover wedding’s save the dates,” Hailey warned, hanging back and wrapping protective arms around herself. “The dress is fine. It shows my legs, doesn’t it?”

“True,” Max allowed, fussing with Hailey’s hair. “But you should’ve worn the black with the lacy neckline.”

Hailey put a hand to her temple and massaged. “I don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard. I will not have either of them pitying me.”

“I think she’s the one who deserves pity,” Quentin said as Hailey nudged Max’s hands away and took down her bun to redo. “She’s got to spend the rest of her life listening to Ethan spout poems about ‘his throbbing heart.’”

“I forgot about that one.” Max sniggered as she dabbed at Hailey’s cheeks with bronzer she’d helped herself to out of Hailey’s makeup bag. “What about the one that talked about ‘his wilting lily’?”

“I always wondered if that was a euphemism, in which case, I really feel sorry for Serena.” Quentin smirked.

Hailey exhaled as her friends continued to lampoon Ethan’s admittedly terrible poetry. She stared into her own green eyes, searching for a sign.

Whaddya think, Hales?

Was she strong enough for this? Or was she about to make an ass out of herself in front of the last two people she’d want to have to protect in a zombie apocalypse?

Judging on recent experience, Hailey would put her money on horse number two.

Damn it.

* * *

It didn’t take long to improve upon the subdued makeup she’d already applied that morning. A few minor fixes and they were back in the office, attending to the little niggles, threads, and details that made up weddings. Hailey usually relished the strict organization of it, the high she got checking items off her many color-coded lists—yes, she was a nerd and had the pocket protector to prove it—as well as running up obscure objects and sourcing the exact things that created a person’s ultimate dream for their special day.

Today the clock ruined it for her, the hands ticking like some live grenade until noon hit and the buzzer for the door could be heard down the hall. Hailey half leapt out of her seat.

Megan, who’d returned from doing errands for the upcoming Shiler-Kay affair, glanced up. “You okay?”

“She’s fine, Intern.” Max didn’t glance up from her perch on her desk, phone tucked between her ear and her shoulder as she made a notation on her to-do list. “Give ’em hell, Hales.”

Quentin had already disappeared to round up a bucketload of chintz to decorate a ballroom that Saturday’s wedding was to be held in, but he’d squeezed Hailey’s hand before he’d left, voicing pretty much the same.

Hailey breathed out through her mouth. Inside, acid clashed in her stomach like a ship in a Neptune’s-pissed type of storm. She braced her arms on her desk and closed her eyes.

You can do this. You can totally walk in there and not have all the old hurts plastered over your face. You can smile and be pleasant and plan the goddamned wedding of his new woman’s dreams. And when it’s time for the toasts, you can spit in his champagne.

Good plan.

“Hailey?” Megan’s tentative voice reached her. “The Duchess’ll be furious if you’re not there to greet them.”

Hailey smoothed hands that shook down the front of her dress. “Okay.”

A thousand doubts surfaced as she dragged her feet down the hall toward where their tiny reception was based, but she squashed them all down. It didn’t matter if she was ready to do this. She had to, and Lawsons never backed down.

Chin up, Hailey May. Never let them see you sweat.

With her father’s voice ringing in her ears, Hailey rounded the corner.