“You’re going to sleep here?” Disbelief fueled my voice. “On my sofa?”
“Look, Jess, don’t take this personally, but I really love Syra. I know you and I go way back, but it just can’t happen between us.”
A grin tickled my lips as I watched him snuggle down into the sofa pillow. “You just might be in love, after all.”
20
After a sleepless night (half spent listening to Gio cry—so loudly he’d drowned out Snooki’s barking—and the other half listening to him roar—I mean snore), I barely dragged myself into the office by nine.
Andrew was already halfway through a latte, while Burke was on the phone with Delaney, who wanted to change her signature cocktail from a chic Cosmo to a banana daiquiri.
“Don’t tell me.” I held up a hand as he slid the phone into its cradle. “She’s through with the sexy urban theme.”
Burke shrugged. “She saw a come-to-Jamaica commercial and she thinks fun and tropical is a better fit for her personality.”
I thought about the enormous amount of time and energy that had already been wasted and the mountain of work that still waited should she switch themes yet again.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” I murmured as I sank down at my desk and reached for the Life Savers in my drawer.
“Well, I have something that will cheer you right up.” Andrew set a large brown envelope in front of me and beamed. “Couriered over from the publisher first thing this morning.”
I opened the clasp and slid the contents from inside. My gaze riveted on the glossy cover of the upcoming issue of Texas Brides, complete with my picture and a caption that read Meet the wedding genius behind Houston’s wildly successful Happily Ever After Events.
“The editor wanted you to see it first,” Andrew said, “before it hits the stands next week.”
Dread churned in my stomach.
I’d been so frantic that I’d actually forgotten about the magazine article touting me as the fastest-rising star in Houston’s wedding biz. And the cover shot of me surrounded by stacked wedding cakes. Proof beyond a doubt that I’d gone legit.
But it was real. And it was hitting the stands in just eight short days for all the world—and the Underworld—to see.
“Now I know I’m going to be sick.” The cherry candy suddenly felt strange on my tongue. My hands shook. My stomach hollowed out.
“I know what you mean.” Burke waved a hand. “They should have put you in green instead of that awful pastel. Everyone knows redheads can’t wear pink.”
My fright level shot to DEFCON 1 and I hyperventilated for the next few moments while Burke raced around searching for a paper bag.
“Try this.” He shoved a handful of plastic at me.
I stared at the Ziploc baggie. “I don’t think this will work.”
“Well, it’s the best I could find. I dumped my carrots out so you could at least try.”
I nixed the baggie and focused on not freaking out. What the hell was I doing? Even if I managed to pull off Mom’s wedding and help Cutter reclaim his soul, there was no way I was getting away with this. My mother would see it, the ruse would be over, and my chance at my own happily-ever-after would be lost.
Dead.
Because I’d be dead.
I ripped open the Ziploc and shoved the baggie over my nose and mouth.
In. Out. In. Out.
Easy. Calm. Breathe.
The room started to spin, and I spent the next fifteen minutes in the bathroom wishing with all of my heart that I had skipped the three doughnuts I’d scarfed earlier that morning.
My mother was going to kill me when she saw the magazine. If she saw the magazine.
As it was, she was scheduled to cruise the Caribbean next week for her honeymoon, which meant there was a slim chance she would miss the issue. Unless I failed miserably, the wedding was called off, and she stayed in Houston.
All the more reason I couldn’t fail. I wouldn’t fail. I was Houston’s hottest up-and-coming wedding planner and it was high time I started acting like it. Forget all the anxiety and worry. I was taking control. Starting right now.
I walked back into the workroom. “You.” I pointed at Burke. “Call Delaney and tell her to meet me in a half hour at the bridal salon. And you”—my gaze shifted to Andrew as I snatched up the magazine and shoved it at him—“burn this.”
I might be going down with a sinking ship, but I intended to tread water for as long as possible. Some things I couldn’t control—hurricanes, my favorite candidate getting voted off The X Factor, my mom killing me when she saw the magazine article. But Delaney Farris and her indecisiveness?
That I could fix. I could reason with her.
And if that didn’t work?
Head spin, here I come.
I didn’t have to resort to a three-sixty. Not that Delaney capitulated on the Jamaican theme, but she did cry. And scream. And kick.
My shin still ached by the time I got back to the office a few hours later and called the florist.
“I need to order five hundred birds-of-paradise.”
“No problem. When’s the event?”
“Two weeks.”
Laughter rumbled over the line and I blinked against the burning behind my eyes.
Okay, so Delaney wasn’t the one who’d cried. Rather, she’d done the kicking and screaming and yours truly had turned on the waterworks.
I fought back another wave of tears and stiffened. The one thing about crying? It made me feel better. Stronger. Determined. And less likely to slit my wrists.
I wasn’t going to accept defeat, no matter how bleak the future seemed. I was going to give Delaney the wedding of her Jamaican dreams.
But first, I was going to pull off an even more hellacious wedding and help a certain demon hunter reclaim his soul. And I was going to do it without having a bona fide meltdown first.
“I’ll pay extra,” I told the florist. “Double.”
“How about triple and the extra shipping to get everything here in time?”
“Done. Now tell me what you can do about supplying two thousand roses for Saturday.”
“It’s no problem getting the flowers. It’s storing them that’s impossible. My cooler is already full for a wedding I’m doing Saturday morning. The only extra space I have is my back storage room and I’m afraid it’s not air-conditioned. In this hot temperature, they’ll be shriveled and half dead in less than a few hours.”
“Perfect. I’ll take them.”
The rest of Monday went a little smoother. After securing the roses (and a few hundred other variously colored flowers to feed into my Day of the Dead theme), I managed to find my ceramic skulls and a local artist to do the hand painting. I also secured a photographer that Sassy turned me on to when I called her about the demon powder. No, she hadn’t gotten a shipment in, but she did know a guy/werewolf who worked construction by day and moonlighted as a paranormal paparazzo by night. For an indecent amount of money, he agreed to cover the wedding and not get all fanged and furry if some drunk demon made doggie noises.
While I had a few misgivings about having a werewolf in attendance—demons and werewolves didn’t exactly get along—I had to swallow my trepidation and hope for the best.
Then again, demons didn’t get along with any paranormal entity. Rather, they tended to be outrageously snobbish. Which wouldn’t have been so bad except every other supe out there (vamps, werewolves, shifters, etc.) tended to be outrageously snobbish too. Bottom line, supernaturals kept to their own kind.
At the same time, just because of the segregationist mentality of my demon brethren, I couldn’t very well have a human photographer at my mom’s event. That would be like leading a lamb to slaughter. Talk about bad mojo.
Bottom line, werewolf or not, I had a photographer who wouldn’t be mistaken as an appetizer. I also had a caterer. Luckily my one and only demon food service connection was a sixth-tier demon who hadn’t made the guest list. Needless to say,
she was itching to rub shoulders with the demon elite. She all but jumped at the chance to cater the event.
“It’ll be my pleasure,” said Edna of Edna’s Edibles. “I can’t wait for Lillith to try my marinated brains. I use a habanero sauce that’s to die for.”
First off, ew. “Sounds yummy. Listen, just make sure you have enough to accommodate everyone. Running out of food would be a disaster of biblical proportions.”
“You can count on me,” Edna said. “I’ve got it covered.”
Caterer? Check.
I breathed a sigh of relief as evening rolled around and I’d managed to knock out over half my momzilla list and most of Delaney’s last-minute changes, including trading in the harpist for a bongo drummer.
I was actually feeling optimistic as I closed up shop and headed upstairs.
Until I caught a glimpse of the Datsun sitting across the street and the young man perched behind the wheel. He looked to be in his early twenties, with blond hair and a clean-shaven face. He dropped the binoculars when he saw me and sank down into his seat.
The kid might have joined up with the baddest slayers in the world, but he was still terrified of a big, bad demon like yours truly. A fact that would have bothered me if I wasn’t so busy wondering about Cutter’s whereabouts. Or fretting over the fact that he hadn’t so much as called. Or texted. Or—hell, no.
I was through wasting another second angsting over Cutter. If he’d changed his mind about me, I wanted the truth.
Stepping forward, I crossed the street and approached the young rookie.
He scrambled upright in his seat just as I reached the car. The locks clicked down. “W-what do you think you’re doing?”
“My question exactly.” I nailed him with a glare. “What do you think you’re doing parked out here in front of my house?”
“I’m just killing some time, w-waiting for my girlfriend and—”
“Bullshit. You’re watching me.”
He tried to fake a get-outta-here smile. “That’s crazy—”
“You’re a member of the Legion and you’re watching me.” He started to protest, and I held up a hand. “What’s your name?”
“Smith.”
Yeah, right. “Listen up, Smith. I know you’re part of the Legion and I know you’re here for me. What I don’t know is why it’s you and not Cutter. Where is he?”
He didn’t look as if he wanted to answer, but then I stared deep into his eyes and summoned every ounce of demon mojo buried down deep. “Please.” I tried for my sexiest, sultriest voice ever. I don’t know if it was lack of practice or the sheer amount of stress I’d been experiencing, but it came out more as a sad, desperate cry. “Please.”
He looked uncomfortable, as if afraid I might burst into tears. And where lust failed, good old-fashioned female hormones saved the day.
“Cutter needed to go off the grid for a little while,” poured out of his mouth. “He asked me to keep an eye on you and report directly back to him.” His voice lowered a notch. “There’s a lot of demon activity going on right now. Something big is brewing.”
Tell me about it. Satan herself was tying the knot. It didn’t get bigger. Or more strange.
“So you’ve talked to him recently?”
He nodded. “An hour ago. He checked in to make sure you were home safe.”
Warmth rushed through me, momentarily easing the coldness that sat in the pit of my stomach.
“Do you want me to get him a message?”
I thought of a half dozen things to say.
I like you.
I want you.
I need you.
Call me, already!
I shook my head. “Tell him I can take care of myself.” Then I turned on my heel and headed back across the street to my apartment.
Inside, Gio was sprawled on the sofa, a massive pizza box open on the coffee table in front of him. He picked up a slice dripping with cheese and swallowed half of it in one bite before tearing off a piece of the crust and feeding it to Snooki, who cuddled next to him.
Cuddled. No, really.
The animal lapped at the treat and wagged her tail excitedly, oblivious to the fact that Gio was a vicious, forked-tongue demon himself.
“She likes you,” I said accusingly.
“It’s called bribery,” he murmured as he fed her a slice of pepperoni. “It works every time.”
“She really shouldn’t eat junk food.” I headed for the sofa. “It’ll give her a tummy ache. Traitor,” I murmured as I snatched her up and deposited her behind her doggie fence.
She barked at me as if to say, “You’d be a traitor too for an extralarge pepperoni with cheese,” before pivoting and heading for her water bowl.
“Want some?” Gio held up a slice.
“I’d rather have a cupcake.” I started for the kitchen, but he stopped me.
“I, um, sort of ate them all.”
I arched an eyebrow. “My Twinkies?”
“Gone.”
“Snickers bars?”
“History.”
I eyed him, noting the circles under his eyes and the tired expression on his face. “Why don’t you call her?”
“I tried. She won’t talk to me. She said to take a flying leap.”
“And instead you headed for the kitchen?”
He shrugged. “What was I supposed to do? I’m desperate.”
I knew the feeling.
Cutter was MIA, and while I was trying to stay superpissed because he’d up and disappeared without so much as a text, I actually missed him. My hunger stirred and my optimism took a nosedive.
An entire evening without sugar?
To heck with that. I snatched up my car keys and motioned to Gio. “Walmart, here we come.”
21
“I still don’t understand why you want us both to go to the bridal expo.”
“Because we work with brides.”
“In Houston,” Burke pointed out. “Why are you sending us all the way to Boston?”
Because it was the only wedding extravaganza taking place this weekend, with the exception of the Beaverville Bridal Bash in Beaverville, Alaska. Um, yeah. Not that I had anything against Alaska. But the bash was a Saturday-only event and I needed my faithful assistants out of my hair and far, far away from the demonic wedding about to take place this weekend. The Boston expo ran Thursday through Sunday, which made it the perfect distraction.
“Boston?” Burke prodded again. “Really?”
“Boston is the new New York when it comes to designer bridal couture.” My mind raced for a convincing argument. “Modern Bride did a big write-up about how Boston is a virtual hotbed of wedding trends.”
“Which issue?” Andrew cut a glance at me. “I’ve read every issue cover to cover and I don’t remember any such article.”
“I think it was an online exclusive.” I waved a hand, dismissing the subject, before he could ask any more questions. “Come on, we’re rising stars in the wedding biz. We need to be front and center. Since I can’t go, I need the next best thing. You guys. My right hand and my left hand. The geniuses behind Happily Ever After Events.” Andrew blushed and Burke flexed. “I need you guys,” I added, heaping on a steaming side of guilt. “Happily Ever After needs you.”
“We are good at what we do,” Andrew added before lapsing into a pout. “But why do we have to leave today?”
Because it was already Tuesday and things were getting stranger by the second. Case in point, the wedding gifts that had started to arrive earlier that morning.
My gaze shifted to the far corner, where several gifts were already piled high. My attention snagged on one in particular, wrapped in shiny white paper with a huge silver bow. The package rattled ever so slightly. A low moan vibrated from inside and I made a big pretense of clearing my throat to mask the sound.
Where was a yapping Snooki when you really needed her?
“You’re both such wonderful assistants that I want you to have some time to
relax and sightsee while you’re there. Do some shopping. Have a spa day. Kick your feet up.” I beamed. “You both deserve it.”
“We have been working hard,” Andrew pointed out. “I’ve been so busy I can’t even remember my last pedicure.”
I nodded frantically. “Pedicures are so important.”
“What about momzilla?” Burke persisted. “Who’s going to help you pull off her wedding? We’ve only got four days.”
“The details are all taken care of and I’ve got the entire staff at the Bell Tower for everything on-site the day of. Why, I won’t even be working. I’ll just be overseeing things.”
“But I really wanted to see how proud momzilla is going to be when you give her a superspectacular wedding—” Andrew’s words stalled as he glanced around. “What’s that noise?”
“Me,” I blurted, clearing my throat again as I fumbled for my iPod dock. I hit the on button and Rihanna wailed through the speakers, drowning out the otherworldly wailing coming from the gift corner. “Don’t worry about missing anything. I’ll get you a copy of the wedding DVD. Now, here’s your itinerary and hotel info. Your flight leaves in three hours from Hobby Airport.”
Once Andrew and Burke had left to go pack, I pulled out my cell, gathered my courage, and called my mother.
After three hours, twenty-eight minutes, and four seconds spent with my family at the baby shower last Thursday, I was desperate to avoid the bridesmaids’ luncheon—the next detail on my momzilla list—at all costs.
“I know you’re busy,” I told my mother when she finally picked up, “especially now that you’re trying to fit all of this wedding stuff into your schedule. So I was thinking, why clutter up your schedule with one of those stuffy bridesmaids’ luncheons? Besides, a bridesmaids’ luncheon is all about you fussing over the wedding party. A time to say thank you. To pamper them, so I thought we could just lose that and keep things focused on you.”
“I see your point. We should keep things focused on me.”
“Exactly. We can easily hand out thank-you gifts at the rehearsal dinner. Speaking of which, do you have something in mind or would you like me to help pick something?”
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