Confessions of a Wedding Planner (Bliss Series Book 1)

by Michelle Jo Quinn

  "Fine," I answered before I could convince myself otherwise. "Dinner would be great, but I'm not sure about the dancing. We have plenty of things to discuss, now that I finally can get the two of you together."

  "Great. We'll send a car at eight. See you soon, Nica."

  I sighed a goodbye.

  I organized my thoughts, finished sending my email to Sandrine—just for safe measures—and went back to the bar mitzvah planning.

  It didn’t take long before the day was over, and the sun began to set. Chase popped in for a bit, asking me about everything else but Jake and Sandrine's nuptials, to my surprise (and suspicions). Then she asked if Diego had called me yet.

  “No.” I tried not to sound too sad about that. I still wasn’t too sure if I was ready to start a relationship. Not that Diego was thinking of that. Probably not. Maybe. He just asked me for dinner, just dinner. That was all.

  She pursed her lips. “You should call him.”

  “No! Not yet. I’m not ready.”

  “How would you know if you don’t give it a try? You deserve to be happy too, Nica.” Before she could say more, I informed her that I was heading out to meet clients for dinner and that I would be late if I didn’t leave right away. It was a total cop out. Thankfully, she didn't ask with whom.

  We said our goodbyes and our 'see you tomorrow s ', and off we went in separate directions.

  * * *

  Seconds after parking my car in front of a restaurant, my phone buzzed. I fished it out of my purse. Looking at the caller ID and not recognizing the number, I hesitated to answer it, but it could be a possible new client. "You've reached Veronica."

  "I have, haven't I?" Diego's chuckle was even deeper than his voice and much sexier. Closing my eyes, I imagined hearing that chuckle in person, and it gave me goosebumps. "I know I asked you to give me a call, but I don't want to risk not getting a chance." There was a pause on the other end. I gripped my phone tightly, eager to hear more. "Would you have dinner with me tomorrow?" he asked.

  I couldn't imagine any hot-blooded woman turning this man down. But I had baggage. After my break up with Jake, I found it difficult to connect with other people, new people, men. With the swirling confused feelings I was harboring, I wasn’t sure if I was ready for this.

  "Veronica, are you still there?"

  "Yes, I am! Sorry. This is quite a surprise." Chase’s last sage advice entered my mind. I deserved to be happy. This could be my second chance at happiness. "I would love to have dinner with you tomorrow." I didn’t even bother checking my schedule for fear that I would find an excuse to change my mind. I would have to worry about the rest tomorrow. Chase would agree to anything I asked her if I told her the reason was Delicious Diego.

  "Wonderful, then. I shall pick you up at eight." By the way Diego answered, I sensed his smile. He was adorable.

  "How about seven?"

  Diego chuckled again over the phone, and my stomach clenched. Did this man know his effect on women? "I'll pick you up at seven. Text me your address. I will see you tomorrow night. Good night, Nica."

  I looked at the restaurant and wondered what kind of night I would have. "You too, Diego." I ended the call and hugged the phone to my chest.

  When I entered the restaurant, I was shocked to see the group that was waiting for me. I was expecting Jake and Sandrine, naturally, but Isobel and Levi were also there. The more the merrier, but also, too many cooks...I plastered a smile on my face. I'd only brought my iPad, thankfully, and not the bulky binder.

  "There she is!" Isobel said as I neared the table. She jumped up to give me a tight hug. "Remember, I've got your back," she whispered before letting me go. My breath faltered a bit, but the smile remained on my face.

  I received the European two-cheek kiss from Sandrine and surprisingly, also from Jake—which caused a twist in my gut. It was quick, and his lips barely touched my skin, but it still kicked up a sense of nostalgia within me. Not to make my building anxiety obvious, I nodded at the rest of the group. I got an easy salute from Levi before I sat down as far away from him as I possibly could. He was starting to feel like dangerous waters. Dangerous waters in a white button-down shirt and dark jeans, looking all mysterious and deep, with aviators on. I mentally rolled my eyes at him. Seriously, who wore sunglasses indoors at night?

  "The whole party is here," I muttered between clenched teeth. Yeah, me and the impending doom of having to deal with the four of them with the rest of the planning!

  "Oh, not quite yet. Landon and Trent are on their way," Jake said, more to everyone than directly to me. They were Jake's cousins. Also heartbreakingly good-looking guys, but with more respect toward women than Levi showed. "Groomsmen," Jake added as an explanation to me.

  Good. More information. I pulled the iPad from my purse and started typing. "And who are the bridesmaids?" I asked, but when I looked up, three of them had confusion written on their faces. I couldn't tell what Levi was gawking at behind those sunglasses. "What?"

  Sandrine spoke up. "Veronique, we did not ask you to come so you can work. We wanted you to come so you can take a break from all of that." She pointed at my iPad.

  "Oh," I said glancing down, protectively clutching my iPad against my chest.

  Sandrine reached out for my hand. "You've been working so 'ard and everything 'as been flowing very well." Yeah, because I've been working my butt off these past days, no thanks to either one of them. "And the rest are minor details now that we 'ave the date and location figured out, n’est pas? Correct?"

  What did she know about wedding planning? What did any of them? I suppressed a 'but' and sighed.

  "Yeah, Nica, chill out. Everything will work itself out," Isobel added with a wink.

  Jake poured me a glass of wine. "Just relax for tonight, Nica. Put that thing away before I hide it from you." He nodded toward my iPad.

  I hugged it tighter to my chest, protecting all the important dates and details in it. Before anyone else could threaten it again, I slipped it back in my purse. How I wished Jake had been clearer that this was a social visit. I could have made time to change from my work suit to a nicer dress. Honestly, I could have made time for it. The shoes I was wearing were not meant for dancing if that was the plan.

  "Well, I'll just go to the little girl's room to...loosen up." I had no better way to describe it. It did garner a few laughs from the table, even though I wasn't trying to be funny. Levi just appeared amused with that smirk plastered on his face.

  After untying my hair and unsuccessfully using the hand drier to make it voluminous, I re-applied lipstick and a thicker coat of mascara and liner. With my suit jacket off, I didn't look half bad. The satin blouse I wore had ruffles along the neckline, and jewel buttons, which shone when they caught the light. When I returned to the table, Landon and Trent had arrived with, I assumed, their girlfriends, two waif-thin models with perky boobs and professionally done hair and makeup.

  I was suddenly thankful for Isobel's presence. It would have looked like a group date if she wasn't there. Or, maybe right now, I looked like the spare tire, sans partner, underdressed and frumpy, despite my earlier attempts in the bathroom. Compared to all the other women at the table, I looked dowdy and unsophisticated. I made a note to keep a pair of high-heeled pumps and better accessories in my purse for emergencies.

  To drown my sorrows, I started drinking wine...then champagne...then wine again. I think I even took a bite of whatever the waiter served me. Levi started handing me colorful drinks once we all walked into a nearby club, except for a pouting Isobel, who was sent home after the restaurant. Being twenty had its disadvantages at times, even if you had the perfect, youthful skin. My skin had suffered from staying at late night events, not for fun, but for work.

  When somebody suggested shots, we were all in.

  They wanted me to loosen up, and I was doing it expertly. How else could I relax in the presence of my ex and his future wife, his Adonis of a best friend—who was also a slithering playboy—hi
s two gorgeous cousins and their equally gorgeous partners?

  We were all seated in the VIP lounge. The music boomed, colorful lights flickered in all directions, and hordes of people were starting to fill the place up.

  Jake and Sandrine sat across from me, separated by a low oval marble-top table. "Let's go dancing, mon cher!" Sandrine smoothly suggested. I noticed how the men reacted to her—act first, question later. Nod first, then follow through. I never had that kind of power over men.

  She didn't look drunk at all. I followed the line of her fingers caressing Jake's arms and shoulders. My heart took a beating at the sight of Jake exploring her curves with his hands in return. There were full champagne flutes sitting on the table, and I guzzled each down without thinking, and I chased them with more sweet drinks in chilled martini glasses. They kept coming, and I kept drinking.

  My increasingly hazy focus was too much on the happy couple for me to notice whose strong pair of hands led me to the dance floor, where I tried my hardest to move in sync with the music. The operative word being 'tried'. The flow of alcohol rushed through my veins, filling my head with unfettered thoughts. A hand grabbed and squeezed my behind. Dancers bumped me with their butts and jabbed me with their elbows. My contacts had dried up and irritated my half-shut eyes. I couldn't see who was grinding against me. Or, was I grinding against them? I was clearly not in any shape or form to dance, but the alcohol had made everything woozy.

  Was that even a word? Woooooozy...

  The overhead light show created colorful waves on gyrating bodies on the dance floor. I’d lost track of where everyone in my group had gone. At some point, I stopped caring about anything else and danced freely in the rhythm and beat of the blaring music. With my hands wrapped around the person undulating his hips behind me, I turned. Clear blue eyes settled on me. My body moved of its own accord. My fingers played with the ends of his hair, absently noting that it was longer and softer than any man should have, and then my hands moved to stroke the stubble on a chiseled chin, up to a pouty bottom lip. I grazed that lip with two fingers, and the end of his tongue poked out and licked my skin. Electricity flowed from the tips of my fingers down to the soles of my feet.

  The room spun around me, and the bass pounded in my brain. I stopped swaying, stood on my toes and tugged at his collar, which brought his head down to me. I breathed his scent in—a delicious mixture of man and sweet champagne—before I pressed my lips to his. He growled into my mouth before we separated. I panted, dizzy from man, music and champagne.

  My hands gripped his shirt when I pulled him in, playfully bit the outline of his ear and whispered, “Take me home.” I wasn’t sure if he heard me until he intertwined his fingers with mine, and we made our way to the exit.

  We slipped inside a waiting limo parked just outside the club. More champagne flowed. Although I was raised in a part Scottish, part Irish and part Filipino family, and supposedly should have been able to handle my booze, there were still such things as too much alcohol. After all, I stood at five-foot-four and weighed an average amount, according to my doctor.

  With two bites during dinner, one bowl of cereal for breakfast and a skipped lunch, the alcohol surged through me. I could remember flashing lights, bumping and grinding, lots of kissing and groping, and more booze.

  In my twenty-five-year history, an abundance of alcohol in quick succession only equated to a n extreme level of danger. And I didn't know how much danger until the next day.

  Five

  The Blushing Bridesmaid

  The pounding in my head would n’ t stop.

  Whenever I got super drunk, I could never remember to close the blinds. So when the bright sun was up, it would hit me like a battering ram right when I tried to open my eyes. It was punishment. Oh, Universe you are so cruel to me!

  The pounding continued, followed by a wheezing sound. Where was that coming from? I didn't want to open my eyes, knowing full well that leaving my contact lenses on would cause me major issues. But what was up with the wheezing? Maybe I had a nosebleed again. It happened sometimes when I had a bit too much to drink, and I’d certainly had more than enough last night.

  I was about to stuff my head under my pillows when a grunt and a groan, which came from my side, stopped me.

  It also made me open my eyes, which was a huge mistake. Sunlight assaulted my brain. I shut my eyes tight. Bright spots danced under my lids. I tried it again—slowly, the second time around.

  Blurs started to form into shapes, shapes into objects—familiar objects like my dresser, my lamp, my shirt on the floor, my bra hanging over my sleigh bed, and a hand. That last one wasn't so familiar. It was a large hand resting on the blanket on my right hip.

  A man's hand.

  Oh. My. Goodness.

  I assessed my state under the blanket and flinched when I saw nothing but skin. I was naked in my bed with a man! But which man? Panic set in.

  What had happened last night wasn't at all clear. I pinkie-promised myself that I would never touch any type of liquor again. A voice in my head, sounding a little too similar to Chase's, screamed in protest.

  I tested my vertigo as I sat up. Then turned toward this...stranger in my bed. He wasn't facing me; his head was hidden under a pillow. One arm was stretched toward me, keeping a connection between our bodies.

  His back—a sexy, toned back, I noticed—faced me, and the rest was thankfully under the blanket. I hoped that maybe he wasn't naked underneath there. That would be beyond bad. But, I knew better. I stared at what was in front of me, trying to find a familiar marker—a freckle, a scar, a tattoo—that would indicate who this man was.

  I’d never come home drunk with a stranger before. I had a system. I was too organized for spontaneity. Last night, I was ambushed, lured with the possibility that I would be able to continue working with Jake and Sandrine on their wedding plans.

  That's it! I was with Jake and Sandrine. I fought through the haze in my head. We went to a club after dinner. Had I picked up a man from the club? Chase would have been proud! I groaned at the possibility. Moreover, I wondered if Jake had seen me leave with this man.

  Oh, the horror!

  Tugging the blanket up to my neck, I poked him a couple times on his shoulder. He moved his arm that was on my hip, with the fingers precariously placed over the front of my right hip once I sat up, a little too close to my nether regions. But he didn't rouse.

  I gave him another poke, this time with two fingers instead of just one. And again. I heard another groan, so I continued jabbing my fingers with their grapefruit-pink polished nails on said stranger.

  He turned his whole body away from me, the blanket falling off his back and revealing the top of his naked, tanned butt. My mouth dried up. I held tightly to my blanket, reached out, and poked him again.

  He grunted. "Please don't tell me you're a morning person." The pillow muffled the sound of his voice, but it was clear enough for my addled brain to place it.

  That voice, rich, low and gruff. There was no mistaking it.

  "Levi?" I jumped off my bed, tried to take the covers with me, but he tugged them and won. So I grabbed whatever clothing off the floor and used it as armor. "What the hell are you doing in my bed?" I soon as I yelled, I regretted it, fearful that my head was close to exploding. I squeezed my eyes shut to ensure it wouldn't, then opened them.

  Levi sat up, the blanket sliding down his torso and scandalously revealing more naked parts. And it was morning. It was evident that Levi was like any other man, judging by the tenting of the blanket. I gulped and trained my eyes to look elsewhere.

  "Veronica, please don't yell. Oh…my head." He brought his hands up and covered his eyes and half his face then dropped them on his lap. He squinted, taking in the room. My room. My bedroom. "Why is it so bright in here? Don't you believe in curtains?"

  I ignored his question. "Just tell me why you're in my bed," I demanded, stomping a foot on my bedroom floor.

  He leered at me with tired eyes.
Then his amused smile popped up. This moment was going from not-so-good to catastrophic. "You don't remember?"

  "Would I ask if I did?" I snapped at him.

  He looked me over, so I held onto the fabric armor tighter. Why didn't I run to the bathroom to grab my robe? My common sense had abandoned me.

  "Veronica, I'm assuming you're naked by how tightly you're grasping that, and I'm..." he peeked under the blanket. I turned my head away. "Well, I'm also very naked. What do you think happened?" he said, finding amusement in the situation.

  Oh, crap!

  "I... I don't remember," I said sheepishly. "But please get dressed." I snuck a glance back through my curtain of hair.

  "Funny," he started as he maneuvered his legs slowly over the bed, picking up pants off the floor then putting them on, sans underwear. "I don't seem to remember a lot either. It's a shame really."

  When he turned around, his pants were zipped, but he wore the wickedest grin. "Maybe..." He sauntered toward me, rounding my queen-size bed. I moved further away from him, still clutching the clothing over my nakedness. "Maybe you should remind me." Levi waggled his eyebrows and bit down on his lower lip.

  "What?" I asked, astonished.

  He pulled away whatever fabric I was holding onto like it was my lifeline, revealing my naked bits. My hands flew to cover my dignity. He chuckled, the SOB. Turned out, the article of clothing I had used to cover myself up was his white shirt. I noticed this as he put his arms through the sleeves. He kept his bedroom eyes on me, so I pivoted to grab a shirt out of my dresser.

  Just as I was able to pull it over my body, he grabbed my arm, spun me around, and planted his lips on mine. It was a hard kiss, hungry and fervent, yet he had the softest lips. It was the type of kiss that made me forget who I was kissing. All that mattered was the warm sensation flooding my core and the shivers spreading along my spine. He gave the term “French Kiss” another meaning. My intention was to fight him off, but something deeper stirred in me—a desire brewing, a longing—so I closed my eyes, and I let him kiss me. My fingers hovered over the smattering of dark hair on his toned chest. I moaned against his mouth, which caused him to deepen our kiss.