by Maggie Way
The gig was up, and Alan knew it. He clenched his jaw and stepped to the side, his neck craning for a view of Brooke. Mitch stepped in front of him. No way was he going to let this guy ruin the night—or publish his shots in the paper. Maybe he could pay Alan off.
“I didn’t know you were dating anyone,” Alan said.
“Oh, that’s sooo typical.” Zoey flung out an arm. “And I suppose you didn’t know it was stalking to climb in my window at three a.m. either. You didn’t know it was stalking to keep track of a girl’s location through the GPS on her phone.”
The crowd gasped and broke out in whispers.
“I’m not stalking you!” Alan exclaimed.
Zoey let out a loud, hysterical laugh. “I haven’t slept in weeks because of you. Do you even care? I can’t go anywhere without seeing your face. Restraining orders mean nothing to you.”
A woman in a horned Maleficent hat scowled from her spot in the crowd and called Alan a foul name. Mitch had to agree with her, even if Zoey’s story was complete crap. He had to give Zoey credit for thinking fast. He almost believed the tale himself, she told it with so much conviction.
“She’s making this up,” Alan said. He lunged to get around Zoey, but Mitch blocked him once again.
“I’ve moved on.” Zoey wrapped an arm around Mitch, snuggling up against his side. Mitch swallowed hard, suddenly not loving this plan, or maybe loving it too much—he wasn’t sure which. “Mitch is a hundred times the man you can ever hope to be.”
“You tell him, lady!” Maleficent shouted.
“You’re crazy,” Alan said. He raised his voice. “She’s crazy! I barely know her. We haven’t even gone on a date.”
“Oh, so now—after terrorizing me for months—you’ve decided to accept the fact that we’ve never dated?” Zoey said. “It’s too little, too late. Don’t make me throw your butt back in jail.”
Okay, this had gone far enough. It was time to end this charade and let the crowd disperse. Camera phones were everywhere, and Zoey was still present enough in the media that someone might recognize her and make the connection to Brooke. The maid of honor sash definitely didn’t help matters.
Mitch tugged on Zoey, trying to pull her away. “I think you’ve made your point. Let’s go, dear.” If only he could figure out how to take Alan’s camera with them. Buying him off was out of the question, now that they’d attracted so much attention.
It was like Zoey read his mind. An overweight and balding man edged his way through the middle of the crowd, unconcerned with the argument going on. Clutched in his hand was an oversized drink.
Zoey reached out and grabbed the cup from the man’s hand.
“Hey!” he shouted.
Quick as lightning, Zoey had the lid off. The dark cola hit Alan’s camera right in the lens and soaked the front of his shirt. Ice dropped to the floor like breaking glass. Someone in the crowd shrieked, and a flash went off from a camera.
“You don’t deserve a woman like me,” Zoey told Alan.
Maleficent clapped, and a few others joined in.
Alan cursed, calling Zoey a name that had Mitch wanting to punch him in the throat. “That was a two-thousand-dollar camera! I don’t have the money to replace that.”
“Try selling the photos to the tabloids now,” Zoey said. Then she grabbed Mitch’s hand, and they disappeared into the crowd.
Chapter Six
Last night had to be some sort of awful dream.
Zoey burrowed deeper into the fluffy blankets on her bed, fighting to return to the warm comfort of sleep. But sunlight streamed through the open curtains in her bedroom, making her squint.
Surely Alan hadn’t shown up at the bridal shower and taken photos. At least she had ruined his camera so he couldn’t post them.
Mitch hadn’t seemed especially thrilled with her solution to The Alan Problem, if his huffy departure last night was any indication. At least Brooke was happy. She’d laughed when Zoey related the story, and they’d spent the rest of the night enjoying Disneyland. Mitch and Alan aside, Zoey was confident last night had been the best bridal shower any of the guests had ever attended.
Zoey stretched, raising her arms above her head and letting out a loud yawn. Another two and a half weeks, and she could stop worrying so much about the dang press. And when Brooke got back from her honeymoon, Zoey would turn in her two weeks’ notice. Probably. Maybe she’d just tell Brooke about her side business and see if she could cut back on her hours until it really took off. Brooke was counting on Zoey to help train the new matchmakers, and she didn’t want to disappoint her.
Zoey exhaled, puffing her teal-streaked bangs out of her eyes. “Stop being a wimp,” she said aloud. Why was she so worried about what Brooke would think? This wasn’t about Brooke—it was about Zoey wanting to lie down and die every time a client cried over another failed date.
But makeup...Just last week, Zoey had done the makeup for a bride who’d been burned in a grease fire. The bride had barely held back tears at the finished product. She told Zoey it was the first time she felt beautiful since the accident. Toujour was all computer databases and guesswork. But Zoey’s talent had helped give that bride confidence.
Zoey just needed to tell Brooke the truth and quit. Brooke would understand. Hopefully. Worst case scenario, Brooke would hate her, the business would tank, and Zoey would end up unemployed and homeless.
Yeah. Easy, peasy.
Zoey grabbed her phone and swiped a finger across the screen, bringing it to life. She’d received at least a half-dozen emails from prospective makeup clients while at the shower yesterday that she needed to respond to. Hopefully she wouldn’t have to turn anyone away. Her schedule had been packed lately, and she was starting to run out of excuses to explain away her absences to Brooke. If not for Brooke’s preoccupation with the press and the wedding, Zoey knew her secret would’ve been blown long ago.
A message icon blinked. She opened the text, surprised to see Mitch’s name and two cryptic words: call me.
Zoey’s nail clicked against the screen before she swiped the message away without a response. If Mitch wanted to continue harassing her about last night, she could do without talking to him. Anything important, and he would’ve called. No, scratch that—he would be banging on her door, demanding answers.
She checked the views on her latest makeup tutorial video—nearly five thousand in less than forty-eight hours, not too shabby—then flipped over to her emails, deleting the spammy ones and leaving the Toujour-related messages for Monday. She responded to a few emails from makeup clients and added their appointments to her calendar, relieved she could fit them all in. Then she checked Instagram before moving on to Facebook.
It only took three seconds of scrolling for the first trending news topic to appear. Zoey yelped, sitting bolt upright in bed. How had a photo of Brooke, her tiara and sash glittering in the street lamps of Disneyland, found its way to Zoey’s newsfeed? The photo also showed Zoey at Brooke’s side. The other party guests were partially hidden due to the angle of the picture, the Haunted House clearly visible in the background. They all looked tipsy.
Bachelorettes Gone Wild. What a headline.
“No no no no no.” Zoey clicked on the article and rapidly scanned through it. Well, those wedding date predictions were all wild speculation. Still, the article was right about one thing—the wedding date was sooner than Brooke and Luke were letting on to the press.
Wait. Was that a picture of Zoey? She zoomed in, muttering curses under her breath. The photo was grainy—definitely of the cell phone variety—but still worth at least a thousand words.
Someone had caught the moment she threw soda on Alan, then sold it to the press. Alan had probably been the one to buy it. The article didn’t have a byline, but she’d bet money he’d written it.
Zoey closed her eyes. The phone loosened in her hands, then fell forward and hit her on the brow before tumbling into her lap. Zoey growled, rubbing at her forehead.
&
nbsp; Brooke was going to freak.
How had Alan gotten the photos off his camera? There was no way it had survived that soda explosion. Had there been another photographer she hadn’t noticed? Had Alan had another camera? The photo quality of everything but the soda picture was too high quality to come from a cell phone.
How had Zoey gotten them into this mess?
Zoey clicked over the trending topic. The story had already been picked up by nearly a dozen different magazines.
Brooke’s wild night on the town was a result of a big fight between her and Luke. No, it was a bachelorette party, and the wedding must be in L.A. this weekend. Or maybe Brooke’s unstable maid of honor had hosted such a raucous party that they’d been kicked out by security an hour before the park closed. Each article gave a different spin on the night’s events, and all claimed to have insider information.
“I’ll show you unstable,” Zoey muttered. The story by itself wasn’t that awful. The speculations about the wedding date were. Now every paparazzi in the city would tail Brooke and Luke, hoping to be the first to leak photos of the most anticipated wedding of the year. No wonder Mitch wanted to talk to her.
A cry of outrage echoed down the hallway. Looked like Brooke was awake and had seen the story, too.
Zoey’s bedroom door burst open, revealing Brooke in a camisole and pajama shorts, her brown hair disheveled. She brandished the phone at Zoey. “He got pictures. It’s everywhere!”
And it was all Zoey’s fault. “I know. I am so sorry. I thought I had taken care of it.”
Brooke’s eyes brimmed with tears. “All I want is to marry Luke without the world watching. But they’re never going to give me that, are they?”
They might’ve, if she hadn’t flirted with the wrong wolf.
A softball wedged in Zoey’s throat. She pulled Brooke in for a tight hug. “Not willingly. But we’re smarter than them. We can make this wedding happen—without the press.”
“Luke wants us to meet at his apartment in an hour to do damage control.”
Which was probably why Mitch had texted her. “Are you sure Luke asked me to come?”
“Yes, he specifically said both of us. Can you be ready in a half hour? He’s sending a driver over in case the paparazzi tries to follow us. I bet they’re already camping outside the building.”
“I’ll be ready.”
They managed to sneak out a side entrance and escape into the town car without the paparazzi’s notice. Brooke clutched her pink Birkin bag in her lap with white knuckles. The words of the articles ran through Zoey’s mind over and over again while a rock lodged itself in her stomach. What could she have done differently? Alan had seemed so nice. Was she supposed to assume anyone interested in her was after a story?
“Shall I take the side entrance, Miss Pierce?” the driver asked, snapping Zoey out of her thoughts.
Zoey peered out the window and sucked in a breath. There had to be close to two dozen reporters waiting outside the front entrance of the building.
“Yes, please,” Brooke squeaked.
Zoey grabbed her friend’s hand. “They aren’t going to ruin your wedding.”
“I’m not so sure anymore.”
The driver circled the block before using the gated service entrance. Zoey got out of the car, her neck craning to see the top of the building, all sleek lines and different shades of gray. Once inside, the doorman immediately called the elevator. An attendant inserted the access key and selected the penthouse.
How mad was Mitch going to be? Would he rake her over the coals? Berate her for her poor choices? Be stoic and silent? Zoey never knew what to expect from him. For a straight-forward guy, he was somewhat of an enigma.
The elevator door slid open, and the cool voice of Talia, the home automation system that had made Luke’s company billions, said, “Welcome. Please come in.”
Zoey’s hands turned clammy. She looked down at the skinny jeans and fitted v-neck tee she had thrown on last minute and wondered if she should’ve worn something different. What would Mitch think of her casual attire? He already thought she didn’t take life seriously—would he take one look at her wardrobe and assume she didn’t take these articles seriously, either?
She would fix this. Somehow.
Luke walked into the foyer with long, purposeful strides. Brooke fell into his arms, burying her face against his chest. “I don’t know how this happened,” she said, her words tripping over themselves. “Now they’re going to know the wedding is close and they’re going to monitor our every move, and they’re going to find out and ruin everything.”
“Hey.” Luke took Brooke’s face between his hands. His look was so intimate that Zoey had to glance away.
“I’m so scared this is all going to fall apart,” Brooke whispered.
“We’re not going to let it.”
“There’s no way we can go to France now without arousing suspicion. I really wanted to take care of the last wedding details in person.” Her voice was thick with emotion. Zoey wanted to crawl into a hole and die.
“Mitch is doing damage control with the press,” Luke said. “And I’ve worked out a plan that I think will lessen the risk and still give you a dream wedding. Let’s go sit down, and we can talk about everything. Mitch is in the living room.” Luke gave Zoey a fleeting smile. “Thanks for coming.”
“Of course,” Zoey said. The rock in her stomach broke apart, and tiny pebbles danced around with sharp pangs.
In the living room, Mitch sat on a rich leather couch, laptop resting on his knees as he furiously typed away. He wore slacks and a button-down shirt—even on a Saturday he couldn’t relax.
See? He’s all wrong for you. Who wore a suit on a weekend unless they had to? Suddenly, Zoey felt silly in her jeans and tee, even though Mitch was the one overdressed.
Luke pulled Brooke onto the love seat, the two of them cuddling close, leaving the spot next to Mitch open. Zoey gingerly sat down, making sure to stay as close to the armrest—and as far away from Mitch—as possible.
“Okay, let’s start with a status report,” Luke said, nodding at Mitch.
Mitch looked up from his laptop, his eyes avoiding Zoey. “The photos have gone viral, so there’s nothing we can do to try and cover up the story. The photographer—Alan—has been on Twitter, threatening to sue you for his ruined camera. But he couldn’t sue you, only Zoey, and he’s getting enough publicity from that particular stunt to make the loss worth his time and money. The tabloids aren’t used to playing the victim, and it must be a nice change.”
The pebbles were pinging around in her stomach, angry ricochets that made Zoey want to throw up. She’d been so sure at the time that causing a scene—and ruining the camera—was the way to keep this quiet. But all she’d succeeded in doing was making everything worse.
Maybe Mitch was right, and she was too much of a free spirit.
“So the paparazzi didn’t do anything illegal, the stories will still be printed, and Brooke and I will still be hounded,” Luke said.
“Most likely.” Mitch swallowed, and for the first time, Zoey saw a hint of discomfort. “We can increase security measures around you and Brooke to try and keep the wedding secret. And we can increase security at the actual wedding—that way if the paparazzi find it, at least they won’t be able to get in.”
“We’re supposed to leave for Paris tomorrow,” Brooke said. “Speculation is already rampant that France is a possible wedding location. This is going to fuel the fire.”
“Disguises have worked before,” Zoey said.
Brooke shook her head. “Too many people are watching now. Everyone with a cell phone wants a photo they can sell.”
“We can’t go to Paris tomorrow,” Luke agreed. “It’ll be a dead giveaway. There’s no way we’re getting from here to the airport without being followed.”
Brooke’s foot tapped against the ground rapidly, and her hands were tight fists in her lap. “So we’re supposed to leave the final preparations
and approvals up to a wedding planner we barely know? I’ve worked too hard on this wedding to throw it all away.”
“You can video conference with Juliette,” Mitch said. “At least then you can see things visually and make the decisions yourself.”
“It’s not the same,” Brooke said.
“I know, but it might be the next best thing,” Mitch said.
“Yeah, that’s what I want for my wedding—the next best thing.”
Luke’s hand landed on Brooke’s knee. “The most important thing is that the wedding remains a secret so we have one day free from the paparazzi. That’s what you want most, right, Brooke?”
Brooke wiped her nose with a tissue and nodded.
“I’ve been dropping hints for months about potentially opening an international office of Ryder Communications,” Luke said. “So Mitch will go to France without me under that pretense, and I doubt anyone will follow him.”
Brooke barked out a laugh. “No offense, Mitch, but I don’t trust you with the wedding. I know you’re good with details, but you aren’t a woman.”
Luke nodded. “I knew you’d say that. That’s why I thought Zoey could go with him.”
Zoey’s mouth dropped. “You want me and Mitch to go to France tomorrow?”
“Yes. Mitch has taken a lot of precautions to keep the flight plans secret, and no one will follow you or Mitch to the airport. I doubt anyone will realize you’re even in France. But if they do, you can stop in at Toujour, and Mitch can scout out locations for our international office. It’ll look like you’re both there for work. Brooke and I will fly in a few days before the wedding. Hopefully by then the fervor will have died down enough that the press won’t be camping on our doorsteps. By the time they figure out what’s happened, we’ll be on our honeymoon.”
Brooke nodded slowly, her eyes glowing. “Zoey knows me better than almost anyone. We’ll stay in L.A. and pretend to still have not set a date. It’s perfect.”
“But...what about work?” Zoey asked. At least she didn’t have any makeup clients scheduled for the next two weeks. She had known that with running Toujour, she wouldn’t have time.