Bridezillas and Billionaires

by Alina Jacobs

  “You dated someone named Camilla, and she treated you like shit. Quelle surprise. You’re kind of a sociopath, but you don’t deserve someone who cheats on you with your own father.”

  “I didn’t see it coming,” I said, releasing her.

  Ivy raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure the women in your life did.”

  “No they didn’t, and you never said anything to me either,” I lied. My sister, Mika, had never liked Camilla, and she hadn’t been shy about telling me. I glared at Ivy. “What do you know anyway?”

  “Oh, you know, I’ve only just organized hundreds of weddings,” she said. “Trust me, I know when two people are in love. Camilla didn’t love you.”

  “I loved her,” I said softly.

  Ivy looked at me in pity then scowled.

  “God, stop making that face. You’re making me feel sorry for you.”

  “Have a drink with me,” I cajoled.

  “I don’t have drinks with clients,” she said, turning around in her seat.

  I tilted my head down slightly and did my best rakishly handsome look with the bedroom eyes. I caught her glance in the rearview mirror.

  “It’s futile to resist,” I told her. “Women swoon when I turn on the charm.”

  “I have no issues resisting,” she said, crossing her arms and turning to glare back at me. “Stop trying to manipulate me.”

  “I’m sad and heartbroken and just need someone to talk to,” I told her, parting my lips slightly in what I had been told was an irresistible gesture. Ivy was wavering.

  Ivy huffed, “Fine. I will take you to grab a drink, then I’m calling your friends.”

  There were no bars out in the country, so we stopped at a gas station, and Ivy picked out a bottle of wine.

  “I want beer,” I said.

  Ivy gestured grandly. “Then have a beer.”

  I patted my pockets. Crap. My friend Sebastian had my wallet too.

  “That’s what I thought,” Ivy said.

  “I’ll let you touch my chest if you buy these for me,” I said, picking up a case of a local craft beer.

  Ivy regarded me thoughtfully. “That depends. Are those man titties covered in cash?”

  “They could be.” I waggled my eyebrows at her.

  “You’re disgusting,” she retorted, going to the cashier at the front of the store and swiping her card.

  After she paid, we sat out in the parking lot on a curb. Ivy twisted off the cap and handed the bottle to me.

  “Really keeping it classy out here in rural New York,” I said and took a swig of the wine. “This is disgusting.”

  “I paid for it, so drink up,” Ivy ordered.

  “I just can’t believe Camilla would cheat on me,” I complained as I took another swig of the wine. Though it was cheap, the alcohol was welcomingly numbing.

  “It happens to a lot of people,” Ivy said.

  “Yes, but not to people like me,” I said bitterly. “I mean, look at me! I’m incredibly good-looking, I’m a billionaire, for fuck’s sake, I bought Camilla everything she wanted, and she cheats on me with fucking Arnold. I mean seriously. Arnold’s spent the last seven years pissing away his trust fund, and he’s losing his hair.”

  “Yeah, I’m shocked that she would give up such a great catch,” Ivy said dryly.

  “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I asked, taking another swig of the wine.

  “Your hedge fund has been acquiring magazines and laying people off, buying up housing and kicking people out, and aren’t you in business with the Svenssons now?”

  “What’s wrong with the Svenssons?”

  “They’re crazy and grew up in a polygamist cult,” she said flatly.

  “Well, look at Ms. Judgmental with her nineties Toyota,” I said meanly.

  “Gee, and he’s shocked that karma just up and punched him in the face,” she said to the night sky.

  “That’s cruel,” I told her. “I’m the victim.”

  “You’re a whiny little man,” she snapped.

  “I’m not little,” I purred, leaning into her. The cheap wine had gone straight to my dick. Along with being generally unpleasant, Camilla had subjected me to a serious case of dead bedroom. In the wine-fueled haze, Ivy was starting to look not so bad. She was cute in a curvy way.

  I could definitely hit that.

  The wedding planner glared at me. “How much did you have to drink?” She snatched the bottle out of my hand and shook it. The remaining dregs sloshed in the empty bottle.

  “For someone who complained about the quality of the wine, you sure drank that entire bottle quickly.”

  “I needed some gas in the tank of my love machine,” I told her.

  “Your breath smells like alcoholic grape juice. You’re like an adult toddler.”

  “And you smell like fish, but you don’t see me throwing that around, because it’s rude, and weird smells are between a woman and her doctor.”

  “Welp.” She stood up and dusted herself off. “Thanks for the terrible evening. I’ll be calling your friends now.”

  “Wait.” I grabbed her hand.

  Ivy pinched one of my fingers between her nails.

  “Ow!”

  “A number,” she said impatiently.

  I tipped my head back and watched the bugs bounce off the streetlights.

  “I can’t deal with them right now,” I said quietly. “I can’t deal with my friends and their pity. I can’t deal with my sister, who’s just going to say ‘I told you so.’ I can’t deal with my stepmom, who is going to want me to give Camilla another chance because she’s a sorority sister of Camilla's mom’s. And I definitely cannot deal with my fucking father, who all through my life could never resist screwing over his only son and now has literally screwed me over.” I looked up at Ivy. “I just I need a break.”

  She glared at me then rolled her eyes. “I’m not paying for a hotel. My credit card is already on life support as it is. So you can sleep outside, or you can call a friend. But me and my phone are leaving in the next two minutes.”

  “Or,” I said, smiling slowly, “there’s a third option.”

  She curled her lip. “No.”

  “I’m the cutest stray you will ever take home!” I cajoled.

  “I already picked up a stray cat, and it was an epic disaster.”

  “Please?”

  “You’re going to make my apartment smell.”

  I did my best Baby Yoda impression.

  “Gah! Why do you have to be so attractive? Don’t say anything. Your ego is already ginormous.”

  I smirked.

  “Fine,” she huffed, “I will take you home. But if my cat hates you, and he will, you cannot stay!”

  3

  Ivy

  Evan sat in the passenger seat, one arm lying casually on the armrest of the door, as I drove back into Manhattan.

  He is so not staying at my apartment. I should have set a firm boundary, but thanks to my mother and her awful parenting, I had absolutely no boundaries, as evidenced by the fact that I had not insisted on payment before the wedding, and Weddings in the City was now twenty thousand dollars in the hole.

  It’s fine. Fergus will hate him. Then bye-bye Evan.

  The feral cat that I had so graciously invited into my micro NYC condo hated people. He regularly attacked me and my friends. The only thing he liked was food. That was our bonding thing, and as such, he had grown enormous. Fergus the Magnificent was a Maine Coon. A member of a huge cat breed already, Fergus was now as fat as an English king.

  He hissed audibly as we approached the door.

  “Sorry,” I told Evan as I stuck the key in the lock. “Fergus is probably going to attack you. He’s very sensitive, so if he gets too riled up, you cannot stay here.”

  And in three, two, one, Evan is out of here, and you will be eating the last of the Cameli’s lasagna.

  I opened the door. Fergus sprang out into the hallway, and I jumped back from habit. My cat was an ankle
biter. Evan bent down and extended a hand. I winced. Fergus was going to take out an eye.

  “Hey there, kitty cat! Oh, look at you, you’re such a big kitty! What a good boy!”

  Fergus sniffed Evan then rubbed his head against Evan's hand.

  “What a good cat!” Evan picked him up and snuggled Fergus to his chest.

  What. The. Fuck. That fucking traitorous cat!

  “I cannot believe it!” I fumed. “I feed him, I give him a warm place to sleep, and he repays me by biting and clawing me!”

  “Fergus?” Evan kissed each of the cat’s toes, and Fergus purred as loudly as a vacuum in his arms.

  “Not my precious Fergus! No he doesn’t. He’s such a good cat!” Evan, cuddling Fergus, waltzed past me into my tiny condo.

  I had scrimped and saved to buy this condo. It wasn’t my first choice of residences, or even my second or twenty-fifth, but it was mine, from the outdated tiny kitchen to the bathroom with the leaky faucet to the fire escape and the single window with its struggling plants that looked out onto a dim alley.

  “Fergus, are you going to give me the grand tour?” Evan asked the cat, bouncing him.

  “You better be careful,” I warned Evan. “Fergus is going to chew your nose off.” But I knew as I said it that Fergus was instantly in love with Evan. I had never even heard Fergus purr, and now he was like a jet engine.

  “So grand tour… well, here,” I pointed to a little galley kitchen, “is where I heat up food. That door at the end leads to the bathroom.”

  “You have a bathroom off of your kitchen?” Evan made a face.

  “Yes, Mr. Privileged Billionaire, because those of us who actually work take what we can get.”

  Fergus glared at me and hissed. Evan smirked.

  “And here,” I blew out a breath, “is the bedroom slash living room slash my office slash the guest room. And that’s it. That’s the tour.”

  “Oh,” Evan said.

  “You are free to go elsewhere,” I reminded him.

  “No, this is cool,” he replied.

  The double bed took up the majority of the room. A fold-down Murphy bed would have been more practical, but after the condo fees, the broker fees, and just generally trying to survive as an adult in New York City fees, I didn’t have money left for a Disney+ subscription, let alone a whole new furniture set. No, my college bed with the lumpy mattress would have to do for the next thirty years while I tried to pay off not one but two mortgages. No, don’t ask. No, really, please don’t. Remember, people pleaser here with no boundaries.

  It didn’t seem as if Evan had any boundaries either. He had set Fergus on the bedspread and was in the process of removing his clothes.

  “What in the world!” I yelled and clapped a hand over my eyes.

  “I need a shower,” Evan retorted. “The smell of rotten fish that is all over you is now all over me.” There was the soft wumpf of his pants being dumped on my bed then a puff of air as he moved past me to the bathroom.

  The door creaked shut, and I uncovered my eyes. My condo had never felt particularly large, but with Evan in the bathroom and his clothes around the small space, it felt oppressive. I wasn’t a small woman by any means, but Evan was huge. His shoes took up a chunk of the usable floor space all on their own. I hastily put them on the shelf by the door then begged Fergus to please get off of Evan’s nice suit so I could hang it up. Whatever cat magic Evan had exuded earlier had disappeared with him into the bathroom, and the large Maine Coon hissed at me as I snatched the jacket and pants off of the bed.

  I refused to acknowledge how good they smelled as I hung them up. Instead, I was antsy and shaky about having not just a man but an unfairly attractive one in my home.

  “You need food,” I told myself, trying to calm down.

  Normally after a wedding, I went home and held my own little party with Netflix and the leftover catering—especially the cake. But Evan had ruined my plans, and now there was no cake, no shrimp cocktail, and no fresh pasta. Well, I did have some pasta. Cameli’s made the best lasagna in New York. I kept some in the tiny under-counter fridge for emergencies. There was one square left. I stared at it then flicked my eyes to the bathroom. Evan and I could share it.

  The bathroom door was frosted glass. The water stopped running, and I heard the shower curtain move, because the condo had paper-thin walls. Through the frosted glass, Evan’s shadowy silhouette was visible. Even through the wavy glass, I could tell he was cut.

  I was wanting a little something more than lasagna.

  Down, girl. This morning, he was a soon-to-be-married man. And he is also still an asshole.

  I turned on the oven and slid the lasagna in its metal tray inside to heat up. The smell of garlic and cheese filled the small space. Baking and food were my happy places. I was standing at the oven, inhaling, when the bathroom door opened.

  “That smells really good,” Evan announced. “I’m starving.”

  Fergus scampered toward Evan’s feet. To be honest, it was more of a lumber—that cat seriously needed to be on a diet. I cringed. I had been on the receiving end of a Fergus ankle attack. I hissed and winced, but Fergus just gently licked the water droplets on Evan’s skin.

  Jealousy rose in me.

  “I rescued that cat from a dumpster,” I complained, glaring at the traitor. “And he has never showed me the amount of gratitude that he’s shown you, and he doesn’t even know you!”

  “What can I say?” Evan asked smugly. “Everyone loves me.”

  He posed, so tall his head almost brushed the top of the ceiling. It was good that I was thinking about his height; otherwise I would be thinking about the tiny towel that Evan had around his waist.

  “Not everyone loves you,” I said snidely. “Camilla sure doesn’t.”

  “Ouch, Ivy,” Evan said, giving me that kicked-puppy look.

  I immediately felt like a bitch. “I’m going to shower,” I muttered. “Lasagna will be done soon.”

  I hid in the bathroom and texted my friends. Now that I knew things were visible through that door, I was not undressing while Evan was outside it. I sat on the toilet, texting my friends, while Evan puttered round in the kitchen, making Fergus a snack.

  Ivy: Help there’s a man in my apartment!

  Grace: Call the police.

  Amy: Only if he’s not cute!

  Grace: She shouldn’t be obligated to sleep with a strange man just because he’s handsome!

  Sophie: It’s not obligation, it’s taking advantage of an opportunity that has presented itself. Besides when was the last time you got laid, Ivy?

  Ivy: Too long.

  Sophie: See, an opportunity has presented itself.

  Ivy: I don’t think I should take advantage of it.

  Ivy: It’s Evan, the groom from today.

  Elsie: Evan, the obnoxious billionaire whose match made in heaven was one of the worst bridezillas in the history of wedding planning?

  Brea: And he’s just in your condo?

  Ivy: He’s hiding.

  Grace: He’s there to get laid. Men like that think with their dick.

  Ivy: I felt bad for him.

  Elsie: You need to set boundaries.

  Sophie: The only boundary she needs is a condom!

  Ivy: I don’t have any.

  Ivy: Wait what am I saying, I’m not sleeping with him. I just insulted him and he got mad.

  Sophie: Men like that are intrigued by women who are domineering because they’re so used to being catered to.

  Sophie: Also I hid condoms under your mattress. You’re welcome!

  Grace: She cannot sleep with a client.

  Sophie: Former client.

  Elsie: Agreed, bad idea.

  Ivy: I am not sleeping with Evan Harrington.

  I can’t believe my friends, I fumed as I showered. As if I want anything to do with Evan.

  I dressed in the tiny bathroom then padded out into the kitchen. The oven was off.

  “You just need some food
. Everything is more positive with lasagna.”

  I peeked into the bedroom.

  “This lasagna is good,” Evan told me, shoving another bite into his mouth. He was sprawled on my bed in nothing but a pair of the SpongeBob boxers that I used for sleepwear. They were baggy on me but a little tight on him, giving me a very nice view that I could not fully appreciate because of the almost-empty lasagna pan taking up all of my attention.

  “You ate all that?” I shrieked at him.

  Evan paused, the fork almost to his mouth. “You said it was for me.”

  “That was for us!” I yelled, marching over to him. Actually, it was more scooting around the foot of floor space between the bed and the wall.

  Evan stared at me as I shimmied, got stuck, and then tripped on one of the containers I had shoved under the bed and half flopped onto the mattress. Fergus swiped at me with a paw. I ignore the cat and snatched the lasagna away from Evan.

  “You can’t just come into someone’s house and eat all their lasagna.”

  “You said I could have it!” he shouted. “Besides, this is barely enough for one person!”

  “You’re so entitled! The lasagna was to share!”

  “Then have the rest of it,” he said angrily.

  “There’s barely any left.”

  “I cannot believe we’re fighting about food!” he scoffed. “I’ll buy you some more.”

  “With what money?” I retorted, glaring at the container. There were only two bites left. I rage-ate them. “This is the worst day ever,” I complained.

  “You’re telling me,” Evan said, crossing his muscular arms over his ripped bare chest. “I don’t even see HBO Go on your laptop.”

  4

  Evan

  “So no streaming then?”

  Ivy’s gaze was ice. I felt slightly bad about eating her food.

  “We’ll make it up to her, won’t we, Fergus?” I said to the cat as Ivy shuffled back around the bed to the kitchen.

  She was wearing a long T-shirt and yoga pants. I suddenly wondered what we were going to do about the sleeping arrangements. I would have slept on the floor, but there literally wasn’t any room. My office at my company headquarters was bigger than this place.