Bridezillas and Billionaires

by Alina Jacobs

  “Very nice? It’s a box of pasta!”

  “You like pasta,” I reminded her.

  “Nice gifts are jewelry,” Ivy countered.

  I raised an eyebrow. “Really? You’d rather have jewelry than lasagna with locally grown tomatoes, cheese imported from Italy, and pasta handmade by Cameli’s grandmother?”

  Ivy glared at me. “Yes, of course.”

  “Liar.”

  “Go suck on a lemon!” she shrieked. “I can’t believe I ever wasted my time helping you!”

  Ivy turned in a huff to head toward the subway. Then she stopped, backtracked, grabbed two trays of lasagna out of the box, and stomped off again.

  “I knew it!” I crowed.

  “If my hands weren’t full, I’d make a very rude gesture!” she shot back.

  I had a courier take the lasagna to my penthouse. It was good pasta; there was no way I was going to let it go to waste. Plus I was going to need it and a good half bottle of Scotch to decompress from my next meeting.

  The Svensson Investment tower loomed against the sea of other glass structures in downtown. I forced myself to adopt the bored professional demeanor that helped when you had to deal with the Svensson brothers. The Svenssons were all arranged in the conference room when I entered—all with the same blond hair and flat grey eyes. They were like evil clones poised to make my already rocky life even worse.

  “You have not delivered the land as you promised,” Greg said from his spot at the head of the conference table. He was arguably the worst of the bunch—cold, sociopathic, interested only in money and keeping his brothers in line.

  “Sebastian really talked you up,” he continued, watching me like a hyena as I took a seat. “We didn’t have to let you in on this deal, but we did.”

  His half brother Archer let out a dramatic sigh. “Seriously, Greg? This is like The Godfather or some shit. Evan has just had the worst day of his life.”

  “Thank you, Archer,” I said.

  “He’s demoralized, deballed!”

  “Thanks, Archer.”

  “It’s like someone took his manhood, put it in a Vitamix with some organic strawberries and coconut milk, and drank it.”

  “Thank you, Archer,” I said through gritted teeth.

  “Namaste,” he replied, giving me a little bow.

  I turned to Greg. “I’m working on the land acquisition.”

  “Are you? Because the daughter of the owner is not your wife, which was, if I am not mistaken, a stipulation of your receiving the land.”

  “We’re in talks.”

  Greg sneered. “Talks? Is this why Camilla cheated on you—because you’re all talk and no action?”

  I jumped up.

  “Fuck you, Greg.”

  “Whoa!” his brother Walker said. “Sorry, Evan, Greg’s in a bad mood. Crawford’s back in town, there’s rumors that Harrogate isn’t going to serve alcohol at town meetings anymore—”

  “Why would they…”

  “Don’t ask. Small town.” Beck shook his head. “They’re heathens over there. Nothing like Manhattan.”

  “Which is why we really need this deal to go through,” Carl Svensson added. “That property was a key piece because it linked the assemblage to the HighLine trail.”

  “Yes, I know. I’m working on it,” I assured him.

  “Really?” Greg asked. “Are you going to get back together with Camilla?”

  “Hell no!”

  “You should. That’s the only way her father is going to give you that property. Honestly, Evan,” he said in disgust, “we didn’t go into business with you because you’re special, we did so because of your connections to the Sutherlands. And now you have lost those connections. Orson Sutherland is not going to just hand over the property because you two shook hands. So I suggest you get back together with his daughter and give me my property.”

  “Fuck you.” I stood up and buttoned my jacket. “I’ll secure the property, but I’m not getting back together with Camilla to do so. So you’ll just have to wait.”

  Greg’s brother Mike, Archer’s cofounder, was coming off the elevator when I walked out of the conference room.

  “Meeting over already?” he asked me.

  “Your brother is a piece of shit.”

  “Which one?”

  “All of them.”

  “Yeah, sounds about right.” Mike patted me on the shoulder. “Greg’s just in a bad mood.”

  “That’s what I keep hearing.”

  “If it wasn’t you, he was going to chew me out about not being able to sell that penthouse at the top of the Brookview hotel that we just built.”

  He pointed to a familiar picture on the wall in the waiting area. It was the same one that was on Ivy’s mood board.

  “It cost us millions to fit out that penthouse,” Mike told me. “Each one of those clock windows was like a hundred fifty thousand dollars. I don’t suppose you want to buy it?” He grinned at me.

  “After I close out this deal with your brother, I never want to touch real estate ever again,” I told him.

  Mike laughed. “That’s what I said after my first deal. But you’ll see. It will all work out and be amazing. You’re going to turn into a real estate shark!”

  I’m not going to be anything, I thought as I rode in the town car to my penthouse uptown, if I don’t find a way to make Orson Sutherland give me that land.

  Then I remembered Imogen. My half sister was marrying Sutherland’s nephew. I’d heard Teddy talk about his uncle on occasion. They seemed fairly close. Maybe being in the wedding party would help me score the land without having to deal with Camilla. I could put in a good word with Teddy and have him talk to Sutherland on my behalf.

  As much as I didn’t want to go near another wedding, it couldn’t be that bad, right? I mean, the wedding planner did all the work. I just had to show up.

  9

  Ivy

  “Another day, another wedding,” I told Fergus the next morning. I was trying to psych myself up for my meeting with Imogen. She’d been texting me all night about the dress, about how she was worried that the signature cocktails weren’t going to be any good, and how the flowers had to be better than the ones at her friend Serena’s wedding. I had tried to be as reassuring as possible, but I was still seething about Evan. It felt like a slap in the face, him sending the lasagna. Like, “Oh no, I won’t pay you the money you’re owed, or even ask someone else to pay the invoice. Instead I’m going to gift you all this lasagna even when I know good and well you have nowhere to store it.”

  I angrily heated up a piece of it and ate it for breakfast. I needed the cheese and carbs to take the edge off. Imogen had taken a brief break from texting at around two in the morning then started back up again at five.

  I gave Fergus the lasagna plate to lick. You weren’t supposed to feed cats lasagna, but that was probably nice, well-bred indoor cats, not cats that had lived outside for years, were half-feral, and ate garbage. Besides, the only time the Maine Coon let me pet him was when he was occupied with food.

  After gingerly running my fingers through the fat cat’s fur, I steeled myself for my first bridal appointment of the day.

  “Today is going to be a good day,” I assured myself as I wrapped my scarf around my neck. “Any day is a good day if you don’t have to deal with Evan Harrington.”

  I arrived at Imogen’s luxury condo ten minutes early.

  “There you are,” she barked when her half sister Mika opened the door.

  I had been to Imogen’s condo before, and I always had serious envy. The biggest positive was you couldn’t see the bed from the kitchen. Beyond that, it was a beautiful space—floor-to-ceiling windows, a large chef’s kitchen that had never been used, a floating curved staircase up to the second floor, and a long reclaimed-wood dining table.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” she told me dramatically. On the table before her were headshots of her bridesmaids. Several girls who had originally b
een in the wedding party were conspicuously missing.

  “Can you believe Kaitlyn?” Imogen huffed. “What kind of sorority sister gets pregnant when she knows her friend is getting married. Honestly.”

  I counted the headshots. There were only four women left in the bridal party, down from eight.

  “This will be a small, intimate group. There’s still enough for pictures,” I assured her.

  Imogen bared her teeth at me. “I can’t only have four bridesmaids. Serena had seven bridesmaids in her party. Now I look like I don’t have any friends.” She crossed her arms and pouted.

  “Maybe you have some cousins or coworkers?” I suggested.

  “I already have Mika,” Imogen said in disgust, pointing to her half sister, who was bringing a platter of snacks and drinks to the table.

  “Take those away, Mika. You’re trying to make me as big as you are. I have to look like a model on my wedding day. Speaking of—Ivy, did you get my messages about the dress? I cannot have my dress look dirty. The off-white dress is going to look like I’m a D-list celebrity on the red carpet, not a bride on the most important day of her life.”

  “You did like the fabric when you originally picked the dress,” I gently reminded her.

  “Yes, but I don’t think I like it now.”

  “Sometimes brides are concerned when they’ve been away from the dress for a while,” I told her. “But once they see the dress, they fall in love with it all over again!”

  “Except I’m not like other brides,” Imogen insisted.

  I can think of a certain bridezilla you remind me of.

  “Mika, are you ready to start the meeting?” Imogen asked her half sister.

  Mika had just shoved a mini quiche into her mouth. She chewed, nodding. The mini quiches smelled buttery, cheesy, and delicious, and I wanted to eat five of them. Imogen was stressing me out. I took out my notepad.

  “Does this mean Mika is taking over the maid-of-honor duties?” I asked delicately. “Since Kaitlyn is no longer going to be participating?”

  “Ugh, no! Mika doesn’t look like a maid of honor. She’s the matron of honor,” Imogen retorted.

  Mika swallowed. “We have a man of honor.”

  No.

  “Sorry I’m late,” a familiar deep voice called out from the foyer. Then Evan Harrington sauntered into the room. He saw me, and a slow smile spread across his face as he removed his sunglasses.

  I clenched my jaw. I was not going to give that man the satisfaction of seeing me flustered.

  “Are you sure you want a man in your wedding party?” I asked Imogen. “It’s rather nontraditional.”

  She threw up her hands. “This wedding is already a disaster! But I simply must have a large wedding party, and I’m scraping the bottom of the barrel.”

  Evan pulled out a chair right across from me and sat in it. Actually, it was more like he posed in it.

  “It will be nice, Immie!” Mika cajoled. “Weddings are about family. Evan’s your brother.”

  “And Evan is paying for this shindig, since Dad is a piece of shit,” Evan added, still giving me that sexy, come-hither look that I was totally capable of ignoring.

  “I will not have this conversation with you again, Evan,” Imogen warned her half brother. “I’m the bride, it’s my special day, and I want Dad to walk me down the aisle. Don’t you agree, Ivy?”

  I was too busy glaring at Evan to register that Imogen had asked me a question.

  How dare he show up here?

  “Ivy?” Evan prompted with a smirk.

  “You could always walk yourself down the aisle,” I suggested. “Several of my brides are doing that.”

  “Brides whose fathers don’t love them, maybe,” Imogen sneered.

  “He’s not even paying for your wedding,” Evan retorted. “So I’m not sure how much he really loves you!”

  I muttered something about needing to use the restroom and left the siblings to squabble. In the powder room with its imported wallpaper and handmade brass faucet, I leaned against the marble sink.

  Ivy: Help! Evan is here!

  Grace: At your apartment?

  Amy: You didn’t invite him did you?

  Ivy: No, he’s here with Imogen. He’s in the wedding party. He’s the man of honor.

  Brea: How progressive. Maybe you can use your feminine wiles to convince him to tell Imogen to NOT BLEACH THIS WEDDING DRESS!!!!

  I took a few deep breaths to try and steel myself before returning to the viper’s nest.

  You’re a professional. You can handle a good-looking ex-groom. I was still so furious at him though! Weddings were my happy place, bridezillas notwithstanding, and now I had to deal with Evan and his cockiness and male entitlement imposing themselves on this beautiful wedding.

  Calm and professional, I pep-talked myself as I opened the bathroom door.

  “Ivy.”

  Evan clapped a hand over my mouth before I could scream. I swiped at him. He grabbed my wrist.

  “I should have known you would be difficult to deal with,” he said in that deep voice.

  “Me?” I hissed at him. “I’m not the one showing up to your work and slapping the dicks out of your mouth!”

  His nostrils flared. “For someone who’s supposed to be putting on a high-class wedding, you sure do have a filthy mouth.”

  “And for someone who’s supposed to be the best hedge fund manager in the twenty-first century, you sure are stupid.”

  Evan smirked. “Heh. You were researching me.”

  “Opposition research,” I spat back.

  “You like me,” he said.

  “I hate you.”

  “Please,” he snorted. “All women want me.”

  “Not this one,” I said, crossing my arms. “Let’s get one thing straight. I’m not impressed by your money. I get a parade of billionaires and their bridezillas through my wedding sketchbook every month. You’re not special.”

  “I’m the man of honor,” he said in a mocking tone that made me want to punch him. “So you’re going to have to deal with me and cater to my every whim.”

  “As if! It’s the bride’s day and the bride’s rules,” I countered.

  “And that’s the problem, isn’t it?” he said, leaning against the wall, one hand on either side of my head.

  Refusing to be intimidated, I put my hand on my hips and glared back at him.

  “The bride gets whatever she wants—even if it’s sleeping with half the wedding party. I’m wondering if Camilla wasn’t right and you did know she was cheating.”

  “I would never! I hate cheaters. Camilla is a horrible person, and you shouldn’t ever forgive her,” I said to him. “Marriage is a sacred institution, and I love a wedding more than Christmas!”

  “That’s too bad because I hate weddings. I didn’t want to be in this wedding party, yet I am forced to because Camilla is trying to nuke my entire life!” He shook his head. “You’re such a naïve little girl if you still believe in the magic of weddings after last weekend.”

  “I do still believe,” I said stubbornly. “Weddings are special; they bring together two people in love and create a new family.”

  “Bullshit! They are an excuse for sociopathic women to exert control over the people around them.”

  “If that’s your philosophy, then I don’t want you anywhere close to this wedding,” I snapped, not caring if I hurt Evan’s feelings.

  His lip curled back as he pushed off the wall.

  “I guess this is going to be a miserable experience for both of us then.”

  10

  Evan

  “That’s just my luck,” I fumed as Ivy brushed past me to return to the dining room. I watched her, her curvy ass bouncing as she walked in her ankle boots. I shook my head. I couldn’t be attracted to her. She was my half sister’s wedding planner. Besides, I wasn’t here for Ivy. I needed to make nice with Teddy so he would put in a good word with his Uncle Orson.

  Ivy studiously ignore
d me when I sat back down.

  “Ivy,” Imogen said. “I must insist that you do something about the bridal tea this Friday afternoon.”

  “We have a very nice event planned,” Ivy assured her. “We’re having it at one of the Greyson Hotel Group’s historic hotels. There’s going to be flower arranging and a woman giving lessons on tea ceremonies.”

  “Yes,” Imogen said, sounding disinterested, “but is it going to photograph well?”

  “Grace will be there early to scope out the best angles,” Ivy assured my half sister.

  “Immie!” Teddy called, coming into their apartment. He bent down to kiss her. “How is my beautiful fiancée?”

  “Don’t!” She pushed him away. “You’ll ruin my makeup. I have a ladies’ nonprofit lunch in a bit, and we’re having pictures taken to put up on Instagram.”

  Teddy shrugged and grabbed a quiche from the platter.

  “Don’t you want to watch your weight for the wedding?” Imogen said, mouth turning down disapprovingly.

  “Grooms aren’t supposed to diet,” he said, patting his round belly.

  I resolved in that moment to up my exercise routine. Teddy considered himself to be an entrepreneur, which meant he just went to parties and lunches and basically didn’t do much of anything except periodically spend his uncle’s money on some inane concept. Still, he was my ticket to getting the Svenssons off my case.

  “Teddy.” I shook his hand. “Just the man I wanted to see.”

  “Sucks about your wedding, dude,” he told me, grabbing another quiche. “Cammie’s real tore up about it. Give her a call, eh?”

  My jaw tensed. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Oh, Evan,” Imogen cried, “she didn’t mean it!”

  Ivy was sitting with her back straight, making notes in a sparkly gold and pink notebook. I could feel the disapproval wafting off of her. Maybe she had been telling the truth after all. She wasn’t jumping on the “forgive Camilla” bandwagon.