by Aven Ellis
In short, it’s a perfect day.
And who knows, maybe Landon might even tell me he loves me tonight.
I grin as I trot down the cement steps. I’m dying for him to say it. I mean, right now his words and actions are enough, but I can’t think of a greater gift than hearing Landon say those words to me. To really know, once and for all, that I have his heart in the way he has mine.
My cell rings, and I know it’s probably Landon. I pause on the steps and fish my phone out of my tote. I retrieve it and see it’s actually not Landon but Collins calling me.
“Hello?” I say, resuming my walk to my Jeep.
“Livy,” Collins says, her voice weak and ragged. “I need your help.”
I immediately stop walking. “What’s wrong?” I ask quickly.
“I have that stomach virus,” Collins says.
Shit. I wince, knowing first-hand how hideous this stomach bug is after having suffered through it last week.
“Oh, honey, I’m sorry,” I say. “Can I bring you anything?”
“No, it’s worse,” Collins says. “Um, I have a huge favor to ask. I’ll owe you forever if you can do this for me.”
“Anything,” I say, not even needing to know what it is.
“My aunt and her team are working a big society wedding today at the Museum of Contemporary Art,” Collins croaks. “They are with the bride all day. I was supposed to run the Prince George party at the Jourdin this afternoon by myself.”
I wrinkle my nose. “So there isn’t another person for Alessandra’s event?”
“No. But you know Alessandra.”
Wait. I realize what Collins is getting at.
Oh, no.
“Collins, are you serious?” I ask, “I don’t know a single thing about party planning!”
“You don’t have to,” Collins says. She pauses for a moment and coughs. “Sorry. You’re simply there to reassure Alessandra that everything is being taken care of. If any issues come up, you work with the hotel rep. Bree Chelten is her name and she’s really good, she’ll handle everything. You are simply representing me and Suzanne’s Soirees by being there.”
“I’m a jewelry designer!” I protest, panic taking over. “Alessandra will be furious that I’m playing party planner!”
Collins is silent for a moment.
“Livy, please. I’m begging you. I feel like I’m going to die. And if I make Alessandra sick she’ll flog me, and Suzanne’s Soirees, on her blog.”
Damn it.
I sigh heavily. “So what time do I need to be there?”
“I think you need help carrying those downstairs to the ballroom,” Landon says, watching me as I put the finishing touches on the Prince George gift bags I picked up from Collins earlier. “I can act as staff. That should make Alessandra happy.”
“Ugh,” I groan as I finish tying a ribbon on the last one. Since the party is located in the same building, I’m using Landon’s condo as my get ready station. “You are coming nowhere near this party from hell.”
Landon flashes me a wicked grin as he scoops up GiGi from the floor. “I could bring GiGi. She could use some friends.”
I suddenly have an image of Prince George and all his puppy pals chasing GiGi through a ballroom, destroying all the food tables, and tearing through the lobby and me running after them with Alessandra following hot on my heels with her lawyer, screaming she will sue for me hosting a socially shameful party.
“Oh, yes, that’s just what I need,” I say, “a cat added to the mix.”
My phone goes off again.
“Your client is calling,” Landon teases.
Actually, he’s not teasing. I have received no less than ten phone calls from Princess Alessandra and the party doesn’t start until 2 o’clock.
Which is two hours from now.
“I need Nana’s whiskey,” I quip before hitting the answer button. Landon laughs, and I put my hand over his mouth to silence him.
“Hello, this is Livy,” I say, trying to sound cheerful and confident.
“LIVY,” Alessandra says sharply. “STATUS REPORT. NOW.”
Status report? What the hell is she talking about?
“Um, I—”
“Um? UM? NO. There are no um’s here, Livy. I expect you to white glove that ballroom right now. I want every linen hand inspected, do you UNDERSTAND? No smudges on the votive holders. NOT ONE.”
Ooooooh, I hate this job. If I were Collins, I’d be mental.
“Yes, I will get with Bree Chelten and make sure everything is perfect.”
“She’s pregnant,” Alessandra spits. “She can’t climb down on the floor to inspect the bottom edges of the tablecloths. You need to handle this.”
I resist the urge to tell her to call me Cinderella. And I’ll be on the floor with a needle and thread and helpful mice who can talk just in case the Jourdin threw on crappy table linens.
“I bet Collins isn’t sick,” Alessandra rants. “She’s probably off somewhere eating cake with her feet up for all I know.”
Eating cake?
Oh my God. She’s Marie Antoinette.
“White-glove inspection, of course,” I say, as if I had planned this all along. “And I assure you, Collins is devastated to miss your event. Only her fear of making your guests sick is keeping her away.”
I glance at Landon, who cocks an eyebrow at my bullshit comments.
“Whatever. I don’t have time for nonsense,” Alessandra says dismissively. “I will be there exactly fifteen minutes before the event starts. And I better not see one THREAD out of place.”
Then she hangs up on me in a huff.
I put my phone down on the breakfast counter and put my head in my hands.
“This is going to be the worst afternoon ever,” I declare. I lift my head and study Landon. “She wants me on my hands and knees inspecting the edges of table linens!”
“Screw that,” Landon says, setting GiGi on the barstool chair. “Don’t do it. She’ll never know. Like this five-star hotel is going to put on stained cloths?”
“Oh no, I’m doing it,” I declare. “Because my luck is, if I don’t, she’ll find a thread and trash Suzanne’s Soirees on her blog. Which is read by thousands of people.”
“Mystifying,” Landon says seriously.
“I know,” I say.
“I think I need to come down and crash this party,” he says.
I put my hand on his chest. “Oh no. No, no, no. You aren’t on the schedule. Unless you want to be the puppuccino server.”
Landon furrows his brow. “The what?”
“Remember? We have a barista for the dogs,” I explain. “He will be serving the dogs whipped cream puppuccinos in custom Prince George paper coffee cups.”
Landon is silent for a moment. “I’m so crashing this.”
“No!” I declare, laughing. “Alessandra will accuse me of not being serious if my boyfriend shows up.”
“Buzzkill.”
I crease my nose. “Nana uses that word.”
Landon grins. “I got it from Nana. She used it when we were rolling out noodles. I asked too many questions.”
I love him. I love him, I love him.
I keep my thoughts to myself and clear my throat.
“I need to go downstairs,” I say. “The concierge will send someone up to get these boxes. Now I’m off to crawl on the floor in my skirt.”
Landon slides his arms around me, drawing me into his chest. “You tease. I’d like to see that.”
I see nothing but desire flickering in those blue eyes.
“Oh, so for your anniversary gift tonight I just need to crawl around on the floor for you?”
“For starters,” Landon says. Then he
winks at me.
Ohhhhhhhh, I’m so, so in love with him.
He drops a slow, sensual kiss on my lips, and my body immediately grows warm from feeling his mouth on mine.
“Mmmm,” I murmur.
“Go on, Kale Chip,” Landon says. “You have linens to inspect.”
I smile at him, happiness filling me. I know I’m about to be crawling on my knees looking at stupid tablecloths. Inspecting votives. Probably serving puppuccinos to dogs that can fit in tiny purses.
But I don’t care.
Because I have Landon and that’s all that matters.
I’m in love with the greatest man in the world. But even Landon can’t save me from the seventh dimension of hell I exist in right now.
Sweat prickles the back of my neck. I’ve been running around non-stop ever since the party started an hour ago.
Chaos fills the ballroom. Dogs are barking and running all over the place. Alessandra, dressed in an open-back Kate Spade dress in red, is alternately fawning over her guests and Prince George or in this corner, ripping my head off for being a faux party planner and worse than owning a fake Louis Vuitton purse.
“I’m so sorry,” Bree says, walking back up to me. “Baby Benjamin moves all the time, and I have to pee like every five minutes.” Then she lowers her head toward mine so she can speak privately to me. “What concerns did the client have while I was in the restroom?”
It’s all I can do not to laugh. Bree and I have developed a survival language for today. Instead of saying, “What did the crazy bitch want now?” we say “client concerns.”
“We obviously didn’t anticipate the needs of her guests properly,” I say tactfully. “There should be more calamari salad.”
Bree glances over at the buffet table. “But . . . there’s plenty of calamari salad,” she says, turning back to me in confusion.
“No. It’s moving faster than the other salads. We should have expected that,” I explain. “It’s unsightly.”
Which sounds much better than, “This is RIDICULOUS. You should have KNOWN people would eat more calamari it needs to be FULL for proper presentation. But since you work on TRINKETS, how would you know?”
I hate her.
Not as much as I hate Kayla, but it’s getting close.
“Okay.” Bree picks up the walkie-talkie she has and radios the kitchen. “Hi, it’s Bree . . . Yes. More calamari salad to the Wilson party . . .”
Dogs go flying past me, with Prince George leading the way. There are no less than twenty dogs in the ballroom and insanity should be the theme of the event. I see a guest open the door to the hallway, and Prince George takes off, flying toward it and bounding out of the room.
Shit! Alessandra doesn’t even notice, as she’s showing off her diamond bracelet to her equally fabulous friends.
I race toward the door, as I don’t want Prince George to get lost in the hotel. I sprint in my heels, past the idiot who let him out, a twenty-something preppy guy in a chambray button-down Ralph Lauren shirt and khakis. Who is simply standing still, swirling a cocktail in his hand as he watches me.
“Oops,” he says, shrugging and taking a drink.
Asshole.
I leave the moron and hurry out of the ballroom. I spot Prince George at the end of the hallway, the one that leads to the busy hotel lobby. He stands still, staring at me.
Okay, being a cat person is really not helpful at the moment.
I kneel down. “Princey Georgie,” I say in a childlike voice. “Come here, Georgie! Come here, boy!”
He stares at me, his tail wagging. Prince George takes a few steps toward me. But then the ballroom door bangs open and Sebastian, Alessandra’s boyfriend, starts yelling.
“Catch him, she’ll kill me if we lose him!” he cries, his arms flailing.
Prince George sees him and shoots straight into the lobby.
Gah! I take off after him, with Sebastian running after me.
I barely see his brown fur as he turns the corner. Oh no! My heart is pounding inside my chest. I’m sick. What if he somehow escapes on to Michigan Avenue?
Prince George begins barking and weaving through people and luggage carts and all of the sudden, I see Landon cutting through the lobby.
“Landon! Get the dog!” I yell, not caring who I’m disturbing.
Landon’s head jerks up at the sound of my voice. I frantically point to Prince George, who is headed his way.
In a few quick moves—lord, never has his hockey background been more handy as far as speed and agility go—Landon cuts the dog off in the lobby and scoops him up with one hand.
“Oh thank God,” I gasp in relief.
I pause to catch my breath. Sebastian catches up behind me, and as soon as he sees Landon walking across the posh art deco lobby with Prince George, he gasps.
“Wait. Is that . . . Landy Holder?” Sebastian asks as he sucks in air.
I nod. “Yes. He lives here,” I say.
“No way. Landy Holder rescued my dog?”
Landon strolls up to us, with Prince George tucked securely in his strong tattooed arms.
“Looking for this?” Landon quips, lifting an eyebrow at me.
“You’re Landy Holder,” Sebastian says.
“I am,” he says.
“Landon, this is Sebastian,” I say. “He owns Prince George.”
“Oh, hey, good to meet you, man,” Landon says, passing the Yorkie over to him.
“Dude, I’m such a fan,” Sebastian says. “My father has a suite for the Buffaloes.”
“Great,” Landon says, smiling at him. “We appreciate your support.”
Sebastian blinks. “Hey, how do you know him?” he says, suddenly remembering I exist.
“Livy’s my girlfriend,” Landon says.
I smile when I see the look of pride on Landon’s face when he says the word “girlfriend.”
“Oh, man, then I have to ask you a huge favor,” Sebastian declares. “Can you come inside and meet my friends? Maybe sign some autographs?”
Argh! No, not this, I panic. Alessandra will be livid that someone else is stealing her spotlight! And this is Landon’s off day. I don’t want him to spend it at this freaking puppy party.
“No, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I immediately say.
“I’ll do it,” Landon says easily.
Then he winks at me.
Oh crap. Landon is totally going to make good on his idea to crash this party.
“But Alessandra wants the focus to be on Prince George,” I counter.
Sebastian’s face falls. But then I see a sparkle in Landon’s eyes.
“What if I pose for selfies with the guests and dogs?” he says. “I can get my jersey and Sebastian, you can act like you planned this as a surprise for the party.”
I have to admit, his idea is pretty damn good.
“Genius,” Sebastian says. “I’m going to take Prince George back in and tell her I took him out to pee. Then when you come in I’ll announce the surprise, cool?”
“Epic,” Landon says, nodding at him.
Epic. I’m doing everything I can not to laugh.
Sebastian takes off with Prince George, and I turn to Landon, who is grinning at me.
“Oh, get the Cheshire Cat smile off your face,” I say, laughing.
“Alice in Wonderland reference for the win,” Landon counters.
Happiness surges in my veins. I love that Landon remembers my favorite book.
“Somehow I don’t think when you were walking through the lobby you planned on being the celebrity guest of a puppy party,” I say.
Landon laughs. “Um, no. I was actually going to pick up a package the concierge has for me. But don’t worry. I’m the
Selfie King of the Buffaloes. I’ve got this.”
I know you do, I think, staring up at his handsome face. And you have me, too.
“Well, thank you. Thank you for catching Prince George. And thank you for agreeing to do this.”
“Well, as a potential client, I need to see your party planning skills at work. There could be a cat party in your future if you play your cards right.”
I groan. “Oh no. No. I’ll never do this for a living. If you want a party for GiGi, you can call Collins.” Then I exhale. “Speaking of which, I need to go back. So I’ll see you in a few minutes?”
“Only if I can get a real coffee, and not from the puppuccino bar,” Landon says, nodding at me. “Otherwise, the deal is off.”
I giggle. “I’ll make that happen.”
“See ya in a few,” Landon says, dropping a kiss on my lips before he heads toward the elevator.
I head back to the ballroom with the biggest smile spreading across my face. Alessandra can yell at me all she wants for the next hour, I don’t care.
I have Landon.
And an anniversary to celebrate later tonight.
Chapter 30
TriviaPlayOrPass!
True or False: American Designer Lily Pulitzer was called the “Queen of Prep.”
“I can’t even begin to tell you how happy I am right now,” I say truthfully.
The puppy party is finally over. I’ve showered and changed into a feminine, pink, flower-patterned Lily Pulitzer dress. I’m with Landon in his kitchen, listening to music. I have a glass of red wine in my hand, and my boyfriend is making me dinner to celebrate our one-month anniversary.
