The Wedding Planners, page 6
WHY DID HE HAVE TO BE MARRIED?
Granted his relationship status didn’t actually change anything. Even if he was single, it wouldn’t mean that I’d have dragged him out of the restaurant and stripped him naked in the closest semi-secluded spot—tempting as it was. No, that was not going to happen because I stood by my one-night rule. However, the fact that he was married (fuck!) threw a whole bucket of dirty sink water all over my sexy memories.
And he was a chef. Strike. Fucking. Two.
I slowed my stride and focused on breathing deep to ward off an impending panic attack. I was never supposed to see him again, he was going to live in my mind as the shag to end all shags and now we’re supposed to plan a wedding together. In four weeks. This was an absolute disaster.
Should I tell Dallas? Did I have an obligation to let her know that I had been naked with her (married) brother? I’d have to preface the confession with a large I-did-not-know-he-was-married disclaimer, but it did kind of seem like the right thing to do. Maybe then she wouldn’t expect me to go on planning her wedding with him. That might set me free of that immeasurable awkwardness. Was it something I needed to discuss with him first? No, I didn’t owe him anything. I didn’t even know him. What the hell was I thinking? I couldn’t tell her I’d had sex with her married brother.
An icky type feeling crawled over my skin. I couldn’t believe he was married. I supposed he might not actually be married. He had seemed very adamant about being separated from Nadia. Nadia and Nash. God even their names sounded good together. I bet she was gorgeous, tall and slim, with perfect hair and perfect boobs and perfect fucking everything. A guy like Nash would definitely be married to a woman like that. Fuckity shitting bollocks fuck. Was he actually married? He’d said the separated thing first in front of Dallas, so it wasn’t only for my benefit, but she didn’t exactly look like she believed him.
It didn't matter. It didn't matter whether or not he was married. And it didn’t matter because there was not going to be a repeat of last week. I already knew that. But this, this was just hammering it home. God, imagine if I hadn't said he needed to leave. What if Nadia had called when we were together? My stomach rolled.
He was a one-night mistake that would not be repeated because I did not sleep with men who were married, engaged, or otherwise romantically entangled. Anymore. And I didn't even need to think about him because I had a whole lot of other shit on my mind. Like being a wedding planner for a social media darling and the next big action star. This was it. The opportunity I’d been wanting, needing, and, although it could be a little too good to be true, I was going to grab the thing with both hands and deliver the best bloody wedding this city had ever seen. And there was absolutely no fucking way that was going to be jeopardized by some hot as sin philanderer, no matter how outstanding his dick was.
I didn’t even need Nash. I definitely did not. Not one bit. And he wasn’t even that good looking. Ha. Lies. Lies. Lies.
Last week, when he first walked up to me, I could appreciate his face, obviously, it was a very nice face, but my first thought was hot but not my type. Today though, in the fresh afternoon sunshine, well, he was something else altogether. Not once had I ever experienced such a raw and primal reaction to someone, like my entire existence depended on seeing him naked. Whatever happened in my body when I saw him was a base physiological want. No, it was a base physiological need. I needed to rub myself all over him and mark my territory. And it threw me for a bloody loop, which was probably why I went from stammering idiot to raging bitch in two seconds’ flat. Well, that, and the fact he might be married. Self-preservation was a hell of a thing.
But there was nothing to do about any of that now. I had a wedding to plan. In four weeks. I let out a high laugh that quickly turned into a choked sob and a few other pedestrians glanced at me in concern.
Nothing to see here folks, just teetering on the brink of a mental breakdown is all.
No. I was not having a mental breakdown. I was fine. And I sure as hell did not need Nash and his smoldery eyes anyway. Yes, he was gorgeous. Yes, just sitting next to him and breathing in his smell made me wet, embarrassingly so. But Sex Kitten Jemma had been safely subdued and I was not going there again. Because he was married. And even if he wasn’t (but he probably was) he was also my client’s brother. Wedding planners did not sleep with their client’s potentially married brothers (not more than once, knowingly, anyway).
I walked, muttering to myself about the universe’s fucked up sense of humor for five blocks before I realized I had no idea where I was going. I needed to get my head in the game. I had a wedding to plan. I needed a list. I needed a bunch of lists.
No, a list wasn’t going to cut it, what I needed was a spreadsheet. A big one.
Feeling slightly more in control of my thoughts and emotions, I made my way to the closest subway station and jumped on the L. I could do this. I could plan a wedding in under a month. No sweat. I wedged myself into a window seat and pulled up Google, because everything in life started with Google.
Nash Easton.
Wait, what?
That was not what I intended to search but as soon as I hit go the screen was flooded with results and I couldn’t look away. Just a quick look to appease my overly active imagination and then it was back to wedding planning.
The first few results were links to articles from various news outlets about the sale of something called Bailey Brick Co. I clicked on the top one. And it turned out that Nash was some kind of LA food celebrity. He and another chef—Kieran something—had started the restaurant together almost ten years ago and it exploded overnight. Three years later they had another two opened and at the time of sale there were six in total. Bloody hell. I scrolled down and nearly choked when I saw what the new owner paid for the chain. With a sale like that he’d never have to work again.
I kept scrolling and found a photo of them. The happy couple. Celebrating their engagement at one of his restaurants. How fucking romantic. Then they had a large wedding here in New York, too. And just as I thought, she was perfect. She was tall and slim with sleek, dark hair. She looked like Gal Gadot, Ariana Grande and Sofia Vergara had been shoved into that Weird Science machine and combined to make the perfect woman. I blew out a breath. Moving on. Time to plan a wedding.
Wedding planning checklist.
Oh, good grief.
I chewed on my lip. Maybe googling wasn’t such a good idea. Maybe I couldn’t do this? No. I could. I would. I had to. And like I’d said to Nash, it was going to be fucking spectacular. I downloaded the checklist and ignored the fact it was all set out in time brackets starting at twelve months out. Don’t think about it. Just start.
Next up, Dallas’ wedding inspiration Pinterest board. It was gorgeous, she might be completely batty but the woman had taste. And I didn’t miss the fact that there were a few shots from my events in there, too. Her style was clean, simple, organic, lots of nature and country vibes. It was beautiful. I could already see it. Now I just needed to pray I could make it happen.
The quiet, empty kitchen of Cream and Sugar helped to ease the anxious knot in my chest. I wasn’t sure why I headed here instead of home, but now that I was here I figured I’d get some prep done for tomorrow. The familiar actions would hopefully get me into the planning zone and I might even get some menu ideas while I was playing around with the food.
“I thought I heard something, what are you doing here?” Darcy asked, standing in the doorway.
“Hey, just needed somewhere to clear my head. That’s okay, right?”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course, why does your head need clearing? You wanna talk about it?”
“I had lunch with Dallas Easton.”
“The swimsuit model with the crush on you? Did she just get engaged?”
I gaped at her for a long moment. Dallas did not have a crush on me.
“Don’t try and deny it, Jem,” she continued, “there is a definite platonic lady crush vibe with that one.”
I opened my mouth to respond but had no idea what to say. Dallas absolutely did not have any kind of crush on me, platonic or otherwise. Why would she? That was complete madness. I shook my head. “She wants me to plan her wedding.”
Darcy tripped over her own feet as she crossed to me. “She what now?”
“Oh yes, and it gets better.” She motioned at me to continue, judging by the look on her face I was sure she didn’t think it could be that bad. Oh baby, she was in for a surprise.
“Not only does she want me to plan it—in four weeks—but she wants me to do it with her brother. And before you ask why he is relevant, the brother happens to be the man I went home with last week. Oh, and he might be married.”
She blinked at me, mouth hanging open. “Too much, there’s too much going on in all of that… He’s married? Hot guy who approached you and after one kiss you dragged his ass out of Bucks’. That guy is married? Wait, what do you mean he might be married?”
“Well, Dallas said something about Nadia, his wife, he said they were separated but I don’t know if I buy it.”
As I explained all of the pertinent snippets of the conversation my anger started to wane, leaving me feeling dirty and used. And yes, I suppose I had used him too, especially when one considered the fact, I told him he needed to be gone before morning, but that was entirely different. I wasn’t married, or potentially married.
“Okay… he sounds like he could be an asshole, or he could be single. Maybe they only recently broke up?”
“Maybe,” I agreed, because I really didn’t want him to be an arsehole. He definitely hadn’t seemed like one when he was worshiping my body and calling me ‘sweet thing’. I shivered. He had been so sexy, and so attentive, and so fucking good. I really hoped that I wasn’t wrong, again. Not that it mattered, I reminded myself. I was not in the market to get my heart ripped out again. No. Thank. You.
“Married or not, it doesn’t actually matter because I’m not planning the wedding with him. He can go back to LA and his model wife, and I will plan his sister's wedding, and it will be incredible.” I swallowed against the rising bile at the thought of seeing Nash and Nadia together at the wedding. I couldn't think about it.
I marched to the fridge and started looking at produce, but all I could see was tomatoes and avocados and eggs—not the meals they would become. I couldn’t stop my mind from straying toward Nash, which was ridiculous and infuriating because he might be a liar and a cheater.
He didn’t feel like one though, not when we were together. Not that it meant anything, he might just be a really good actor. I needed to stop thinking about it, I needed to stop thinking about him. It was just that he was the first guy I’d had any kind of zing with in way too long. Granted we hadn’t actually spoken that much but there was still something there, or I thought there was. Maybe I was just imagining it all.
I huffed.
“You okay over there?” Darcy asked, she was still leaning against the bench when I shut the fridge door.
“I’m fine.”
“Uh huh… you wanna keep talking?”
“Nope. I’ll get all of the prep done and then head home and start getting my head around planning this wedding.” Despite the complete overwhelm that was hitting me somewhere between my stomach and my lungs, the possibilities this opportunity could open up were insane. This would put me on the map. If I got it right.
Darcy nodded. “Everything will be fine, Jem. Call me if you need me, yes?”
“Yep, thanks for listening to me lose my shit.”
“You were nowhere near losing your shit and we both know it. Love your face.”
“Love yours more.”
She waved and slipped out through the swinging doors and a second later I heard the bell go before she locked up.
I forced down the spike of anxiety and got to work. I just had to keep moving and there was nothing like the sound of a Kitchenaid and the smell of cinnamon to soothe my frayed nerves, the combination was second to none. All I needed to do was focus on what was in front of me, and work through my mental list, which needed to become an actual list pretty soon or I was definitely going to start forgetting things.
With all of Monday’s prep done and the kitchen clean enough to perform surgery in, I locked up and headed home. I was about ready to eat an egg on toast for dinner and drop into bed, but I knew I needed to try and make some kind of start on this wedding thing.
I was on the couch, cradling a mug of soup with a side of grilled cheese (because I was out of eggs) when a new email popped up. Dallas. I hesitated, was she telling me that she’d found an actual wedding planner? I wouldn’t blame her, obviously, and it would probably make my life easier—I wouldn’t have to see Nash again at the very least—but now that I’d had the chance to do a little research, I was starting to think that I really could pull this thing off. I wanted a chance to be able to do that. I clicked on the email and let out a snort of laughter at the opening line.
Hey dream team!
Duke suggested that I might need to give you a tad more detail if I can expect you to actually pull this thing off.
I guess you’re both probably wondering why it needs to be in four weeks… Well, my incredibly talented fiancé is jetting off for A YEAR to film the action trilogy you’ve probably read about in the news.
I’ll be accompanying him for a good portion of that between my shoots. So it’s the last chance in over a year that we’ll have time in both our schedules to make this thing happen. There is no wiggle room.
Attached is the proposed guest list and rough budget. We want a cocktail style reception, but there needs to be a lot of food. I don’t want it to be one of those things where there’s like one blini and a tray of over-cooked chicken skewers for an hour. I know neither of you will let that happen! ;)
As I mentioned at lunch, I will take care of both my dress and Duke’s suit. There isn’t going to be a wedding party. Honestly I just want something pretty low key but really ‘us’.
Jemma, I know you haven’t met Duke, but Nash will be able to fill in any blanks for you (right big brother?)
Anyway, I’m really looking forward to seeing what you guys come up with.
I guess that’s it for the moment. Don’t hesitate to call or text or whatever if you need something.
D x
I drummed my fingers on the laptop. The wedding was still happening, and she still wanted me, and Nash, to plan it. Now all I needed to do was plan the thing and not let her know that he wasn’t doing anything. No sweat. How hard could that be?
Eight
Nash
It was seven-thirty on Monday morning and my mother was sitting at the breakfast bar cradling a large iced coffee. I didn’t realize we had an appointment to see one another, and yet she glanced down at the diamond encrusted watch on her slim wrist as I entered the kitchen.
“What time do you call this?” She asked, dark eyes trailing from my head to my feet, taking in my disheveled appearance as only my mother could. She paused briefly on the newest tattoo that wrapped around the left side of my ribs.
“I call it early,” I said, scratching my bare stomach. I wondered how long she’d been sitting there, hopefully not long enough to hear me jerking off. I tried not to think of Jemma, but it had proved futile, so I went with it, a couple of times.
“Well, let’s get a move on!” Mom popped up and swiped her coffee off the counter. “We need to be uptown by eight.”
“Have I missed something?”
“We’re going to find you an apartment,” she said as if I should have been aware. I wasn’t. And I certainly wasn’t going apartment shopping with my mother.
“We are? Today?”
“God willing, sweetheart, God willing. Your baby sister is engaged, and you are squatting in your parents apartment.”
“Squatting, really?” Was it bad that I was tempted to strangle the woman? “Last I checked, you railroaded me into staying here. I was more than happy to go to a hotel.”
She tsked, a stern look transforming her features. “For God’s sake, Nash, you cannot stay in a hotel. Now, I know that you and Nadia don’t plan on living here full time but—” And here we go.
“I don’t know about Nadia, Mom, but I do plan on living here full time.” I poured myself a large cup of black coffee, knowing I was going to need it for this conversation.
“Well, I hardly see how you’re going to have a successful marriage if you’re living on the other side of the country to your wife for half the year,” she said with a delicate snort and I couldn’t stop my eye roll.
“And here I was thinking the fact that my wife is living with another man would be the issue...”
She made a face, like she was humoring a child who was being difficult. “It’s a blip. You’ll work things out. She’s a good girl Nash, and you two are good together.” For fuck’s sake. She just didn’t want to listen. And I could not keep having this same conversation over and over.
“Mom, Nadia met someone else. She moved out. It’s not a blip and I really don’t think there is anything for us to work out. She’s done. We’re both done.”
Her eyes narrowed, I could practically see the internal struggle to push this further or accept defeat. Not that Eva Easton was one to accept defeat, in anything.
“And I can’t go apartment shopping with you today because I have a wedding to plan. Dallas has asked me to help out,” I added seeing the heavy skepticism on her face.
“Is that right?” She was positive I was lying. Joke’s on you, Mom.
“It is. And considering Dallas has decided she needs to get married in a month, I should probably get to work.”
After a further ten minutes of convincing she finally left, promising to send me all the links for the apartments that Trisha, her realtor, had found. I could imagine the kinds of places that Trisha would be putting forward, and I had zero interest in looking at any of them.
