“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.
5.
They were there, of course, seated hand in hand, both dressed in gray cashmere coats like a matching set. Ethan’s golden good looks shone in the chandelier’s light as he leaned in and whispered something to Serena. She laughed softly, her hand on his chest. A huge diamond rested on her third finger. The perfect couple.
Jeez. Why not give ’em a sunset and a horse to ride into it while you’re at it?
Now or never, Lawson.
She slapped on a face of polite welcome. “Welcome to Erica Pearce, Mr. Plaitt, Ms. Norwood,” she said as she approached. She toyed with the idea of offering her hand, but rejected it on the basis she might squeeze too hard.
Ethan’s head snapped up. Guilt, then concern, then pity crossed his features. “Hailey.” He shifted, uncomfortable with confrontation as always. He probably thought she was there to throw a scene.
“Ethan.” Like tweezers to a splinter, it hurt too much to stare into his face.
She turned her attention to the leggy brunette he had with him. “Serena. Congratulations on the engagement.” The words croaked like a frog with a ten-year smoking addiction, but she got it out.
Elegant, with an annoyingly beautiful face, Serena stood and smiled. It was as fake as her boobs. “Hailey. I didn’t know you worked here.” And the side look she shot Ethan said he had a big confrontation coming later, whether he liked it or not.
“Five years now.” Hailey held on to the notepad she had like armor as Ethan slowly rose to his feet. “In fact, I’ve been assigned your wedding.”
If Ethan didn’t pick up his jaw, he’d soon be dusting the carpet with his chin.
Serena stiffened slightly. Blue eyes as warm as a polar bear’s cave narrowed. “I assumed we’d be dealing with Ms. Pearce.”
“She’ll observe, but ultimately every detail will go through me.” Hailey dared another glance at Ethan.
He was staring, his poet’s eyes drinking her in. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Hailey,” he said with soft pity.
As in, Hailey-you’re-not-over-me pity.
Like a ruler had been shoved down her back, Hailey’s spine became rigid. “Regardless of our past association,” she said without letting emotion leak into her voice, “you know better than anyone how dedicated I am to my job.” You never make enough time to support me, Hailey. A man has needs.
He had the grace to look sheepish as he pushed a hand through his floppy hair.
“I think we need to talk to Ms. Pearce about this,” Serena said flatly. “No offence, Hailey, I’m sure you’re a great planner.” Adequate, said her eyes. “I’m just not comfortable with trusting my fiancé’s ex to plan my special day.”
As stupid as it might have been, Hailey hadn’t expected Serena to balk. She’d expected the woman to rub her happiness in Hailey’s face, to relish Hailey being forced to attend to every detail.
Seeing her dreams slipping, Hailey gripped the notepad tighter.
“Serena,” she said, steeling herself. “My job is my life. If I ruined even one aspect of your wedding, Erica would fire me without reference. It would be the end of my career.” She exhaled. “Trust me. I love my job more than I—” Hate Ethan. But she couldn’t say that.
Serena studied her with a critical eye as Ethan stood, mute, to the side. Though Serena wore an elegant black sheath under her coat, it was clear who wore the pants.
Hailey’s palms sweated around the Jackie Chan grip she had on her notebook. The only thing worse than having to plan this wedding was having Erica take her off it and never giving her another opportunity. Besides, this was fast becoming her personal Everest.
Speaking of the devil in suede pumps, the Duchess chose that moment to swan up, all apologies for not being there to greet them. Her blond hair was pinned up in a chignon today, all business for important clients.
As if suddenly noticing the undercurrents, Erica stepped back and surveyed everyone with a quizzical look. “I trust everything is okay, Serena? Ethan?”
Serena turned a frosty stare on Erica. “I’ve been informed you’re not planning my wedding.”
“Hailey is one of our brightest stars.” Hailey managed to bury the astounded look as Erica continued. “I’ll oversee everything, naturally, but you’re in safe hands with her.”
As Serena stayed silent and Ethan continued his rendition of Michelangelo’s lesser-known statue, Standing Man, Erica lifted one thin eyebrow. “Unless there’s some other reason you don’t wish to have Hailey handle your wedding?”
The tense silence rivaled the final question on a jackpot game show.
As Hailey broke into a sweat, Serena shook her head and tangled her fingers in Ethan’s.
“If she has your approval, I’m sure we’ll be fine,” she said.
And breathe.
Strange. Was this relief or disappointment?
At least she hadn’t tripped yet.
Serena rubbed Ethan on the arm with her other hand, long fingers possessive. “As long as you’re happy, darling?” she cooed.
Hailey risked meeting Ethan’s gaze. Her breath squeezed out as they connected, his blue eyes gentle as if he knew how she felt.
That’d be a miracle, since even she didn’t know.
“It’s fine.” He easily looked away from Hailey, who felt she’d been pinned to the wall, shaking with the effort to stand tall. “I don’t mind about the wedding. I just want to be married.”
Hailey flinched.
Serena smiled up at him. “Then we’re agreed.” An arch look was aimed at Erica. “However, I want to be honest. If I don’t approve of anything, I won’t be paying your full fee or recommending your services to any of my friends.”
“I’m sure there’ll be no need for that. Now, let’s go sit and chat about how to make your wedding one to talk about for years, shall we?” Erica encouraged Serena and Ethan to follow her, making small talk as she led them down to the informal reception room.
Hailey exchanged a brief look with the receptionist, Mona, who rolled her eyes and grinned, before following.
* * *
Ethan and Serena signed the contract. Their wedding was officially a go, with Hailey as the main planner.
She semicelebrated that night by allowing herself a teeny-tiny bowl of Aunt Mabel’s cookie-chunk ice cream. She deserved it after an afternoon so tense, she’d need a drill to break through the rocks in her muscles.
A bizarre sense of the unreal had cloaked the meeting, beginning to end, while Hailey had pretended she was a professional and not calculating how far the exit
was every time Ethan glanced at her with that soft pity in his eyes.
As Max would say, rat bastard.
Hailey dipped her spoon into the melting ice cream and twirled it. She stared down at the chocolate ribbons falling off the spoon, thinking of the times Ethan had stated that marriage was a big commitment nobody should rush into.
Road Runner was slower than him. Who proposed in six months? Who changed their outlook on marriage in half a year? And not only that, he’d been clear why they were in such a rush to get hitched. Because . . .
Hailey let the spoon clatter into the bowl while her head fell back on the couch.
Because they loved each other so much.
“Damn it.” Furious with herself, she balled her free hand and hit the couch cushion next to her.
She hated that it mattered. It wasn’t like she was still in love with Ethan, or that she missed their relationship, or even that she was still attracted to him. Believe her, the rose-tinted glasses had been shattered when he’d left her kneeling in that restaurant.
But she hated that he’d moved on so fast and to someone who was so much more “together” than Hailey. She hated that she still stared at the ceiling at night and heard his accusations as if he was there beside her.
And she hated that everyone seemed to know that, while she might not want a future with him, she was still stuck in the same place as when he’d left her six months ago.
Her intercom buzzed, pulling her from thoughts so depressing only Norah Jones could write the soundtrack.
The bowl went on the oak coffee table, the throw she’d been moping under on the couch arm. Hailey padded in her slippered feet to the buzzer. “Yes?”
“You never called.”
It was like drinking bourbon; one kick of shock followed by a traitorous warmth that rippled at the sound of Ryder’s voice. Then came dread. She’d forgotten about him and the auction and the question of his so-called “deal.” What did he want from her? What did she want him to want from her?
God, her country for some aspirin.
Hailey pressed her forehead against the door. “Maybe take the hint,” she said after pushing the button.
“It’s funny,” he mused. “A woman’s never not called me before.”
“Hope it’s a growing moment for you.”
“You know, I think it has been. Turns out I’m a persistent kind of guy. And if you don’t buzz me in, I’m gonna stand out here, in full view of the street, and discuss everything, like how you bid on me for almost twenty-two thou—”
Hailey depressed the unlock button. God knew what her neighbors would think if she didn’t.
A flurry of nerves peppered her confidence as she stepped away, glanced down. The sweatpants and sweater she’d thrown on after getting back from the office were cute, but not exactly cool and confident businesswoman. Tough to maintain her armor against the charismatic Genie in her comfort clothes. Not to mention—
God, she’d upended the laundry to fold over the coffee table.
She spent the better half of two minutes flinging her delicates one by one into her bedroom and checking the open-plan apartment to make sure no underwear had escaped.
A Genie with her panties static-stuck to his trouser leg? Yeah, that’d cap off her day, all right.
Soon enough a knock at her door made her heart echo the action against her rib cage.
Hailey smoothed her hair—one last look around the apartment—and slid back the deadbolt.
He would not be as sensual as she remembered, she argued, and opened the door. Her heart knocked at the sight of him leaning against her doorjamb.
Aw, damn it. Call her Hershey’s ’cause she was melting.
He wore those faded jeans, a black tee, and a beaten leather jacket. His longish hair was mussed, his smile warm, and those magical amber-over-brown eyes sparkled as he took in her outfit. Especially her tatty rabbit slippers.
Get a grip.
And not on him.
Hailey firmed her jaw and stepped back. “Come in.”
“Thanks.” He closed the door behind him and stuffed his hands in his pockets. Wandering forward, he swept her tiny apartment with one look. “Nice.”
“So glad you approve.”
“You’re touchy.” He headed for the leather couch, long fingers trailing over the back of it. “Bad day?”
He had such strong hands, neat nails.
Oh. He was talking to her.
Hailey blinked and moved her gaze up to his face. “Bad day? What do you think? It started with Kate telling me you refuse to let a backup bidder pay for your wish.”
“And ended with ice cream.” He clucked his tongue as he saw the half-melting mush. “Can’t have been too bad, though, if you’re not eating straight from the carton.”
She folded her arms. “Maybe I just like ice cream.”
“Maybe you do.” He plopped onto the couch, long legs stretching out as he grabbed her bowl. With no thought to hygiene, he dipped her spoon into the mess and licked it. “My favorite.”
A low burn hummed in Hailey’s stomach at the sight.
“Needs chocolate sauce though,” he said through a mouthful. A bottle appeared on her coffee table, his, she assumed, since the seal was broken. He wasted no time in squeezing on an amount guaranteed to make even the sweetest tooth wince.
Hailey grimaced. “That’s disgusting.”
“You say disgusting, I say delicious.” He licked the spoon again and pointed it at her. “So why the bad day?”
Ethan’s pitying eyes flashed into her mind before she shoved him back out. “I didn’t have one.”
“You said . . .”
“No, you said I had a bad day.”
“And I’m here to make it better.” His grin was annoying.
Especially since it made her focus on his dimples.
Hailey scowled in reflex. “I can’t pay,” she said with teenage truculence. “Look around—does it seem like I have extra thousands of dollars kicking around?”
He chewed thoughtfully. “That seems like one of those female questions where I’m guaranteed to get something thrown at my head either way I answer it.”
Mental note: never buzz a Genie in if you don’t have aspirin on hand.
“You said you have a way to make up the cash?” she said through her teeth.
He nodded. The bowl disappeared from his hands, hopefully to her kitchen. He gestured to the other side of the couch. “Why don’t you sit? Looking up at you makes my neck hurt.”
Since arguing would only make her look immature, Hailey sat instead in the big easy chair positioned at a right angle to the couch and upholstered in a crazy purple that didn’t match anything else in her apartment. The cushions cupped her body as she sank into it.
Ryder threw his arms onto the top line of her couch, getting comfortable. It was strange to see another man besides Ethan make himself at home there. Different apartment, but the couch had been new and it hadn’t made sense to throw it away. Ryder took up more space than Ethan. More of a presence. Less comfortable, more . . . edgy. Just more.
“I don’t want to be the bad guy,” Ryder said, yanking her from comparisons. He was staring, studying, as though every emotion flickered on her face. God. She hoped not. “I’m here to help. That’s why I applied to be a Genie in the first place.”
“Sure it wasn’t about the cool powers and hot babes?”
“Hey. You don’t know how hard that is.” He lifted a shoulder. Let out a sigh. “But it’s my burden to suffer.”
“You brave soul.”
“It’s a tough job, but someone’s got to do it.” He placed one foot on the coffee table. “I talked to my Handler about your . . . situation.”
Read: poverty.
She wasn’t exactly holding out a tin bowl asking for more, but Hailey felt the color creep to her cheeks at the idea her finances had been bandied about Wishes for You HQ.
So, she went on the offensive. “Get your shoe off my furnitur
e.”
His smile was sudden, but he did what he was told. “Luc’s given the green light to my alternative, so hear me out.” He tilted his head, brown eyes warm on her face. “A trade.”
“A trade?” Wary.
“Yep. Your services for my—WFY’s—wish.” He grinned as if expecting the same explosion as last time.
Well, she wouldn’t give him one. She blew out one long breath and counted to ten. A habit of hers when she needed to cool down.
“What’re you doing?”
Six . . . seven . . . eight . . .
“I’m counting,” she said, finishing the numbers in her head and taking an extra beat so she could face him like the professional adult she was.
“Okay.” A magazine appeared in his hands, one with a red sports car on the front. He thumbed through it. “Let me know when you’re done.”
Her hands turned into fists but she sat on them before they could punch him. She cleared her throat. “Services?”
“Mmm.” He didn’t glance up, instead turning the magazine sideways to inspect something. “From what I hear, you’ve got pretty great party-planning skills.”
And she’d accused him last night of wanting to trade money for sex.
Congratulations, Lawson. You’ve not only graduated from idiot school but been made valedictorian.
She dragged her thoughts back into line. “I, ah, plan spectacular weddings, if that’s what you mean.” A thought nudged a frown onto her brow. “Do they need me to plan your wedding?”
Ryder flicked her a look that spoke more than a presidential candidate.
“I’m guessing that means no.” Hailey mentally added another label to her file on him: commitment phobic.
And that flicker of relief? Not an issue at all.
The magazine flashed out of Ryder’s hands. “WFY doesn’t need a wedding planned. Just a large party.”
Hailey shook her head. “I don’t plan parties. I could recommend some great planners.”
“But they don’t owe a charity thousands of dollars.” He shrugged those broad shoulders and sat forward, prepared to deal. “Here’s what I propose: you pony up your seventeen thousand dollars—”
“How do you know how much I . . . ?” A flash of realization. “Kate. You’ve talked to Kate.”
His Command Page 5
