Love Like Her (Against All Odds #3) - Claudia Y. Burgoa Page 0,53

love you forever.”

I’m not in love with the guy. It’s just the feelings he stirs when he’s around that got to me, like a high from some aphrodisiac or a drug. For one reason or another, I can’t seem to meet the perfect guy.

Needless to say, I’m thirty-one, single, and considering a mail-order groom from England. Someone like Benedict Cumberbatch, Tom Hardy, or even Jude Law (but with hair).

Love is real.

I know it. I’ve witnessed it for the past three months.

I live vicariously through my clients.

One of my favorite moments during the ceremony is when the groom watches the bride walk toward him. There’s no one and nothing else more important in the world for him but the woman who’s about to promise him forever.

My least favorite part is the father and daughter dance. I even try to pick the song I’ll play for us when it’s time for Dad and me to dance. Who knows… at this pace, I’ll never get a wedding of my own. This is why I enjoy doing what I do, the moments when I help the groom and the bride create the event of their dreams.

Sighing, I walk back toward the table where the bride and groom taste the different cakes, fillings, and frostings that we recommend according to what they like.

I look at the trays George, the baker and owner of the place, set on the table. The one marked as Loved is empty.

“Do we have any favorites so far?”

“This is it. Don’t you think, Pablo?” Laura Moy asks her fiancé. She points at one that is placed on the Don’t Like tray.

Okay, I’m guessing they didn’t understand the instructions. Is the Maybe tray the one that holds the flavors they disliked? Yikes, why is it so hard for people to follow simple instructions?

Pablo nods. He grabs another piece of the cake.

I look at the tag under the small cake. Pulling my tablet, I scribble all the details. Then I read it out loud to confirm I got everything right. “We’re ordering a cake for two hundred and fifty guests. Pink champagne cake with white chocolate mousse filling and raspberry buttercream frosting?”

“Can you add two hundred and fifty cupcakes to go?” Laura requests. “It’d be a fabulous party favor, don’t you think, Pablo?”

No, but it’s your wedding.

My job is to guide, suggest, and find what they need. I can’t tell them what not to do.

Am I on the verge of telling them that their lavish wedding could feed an entire town in Africa? Eros could use that money to back up some small businesses in Ecuador. I shut up because we can’t lose this client. Also, Eros isn’t part of my life anymore. He cut me off without any explanation—the asshole.

“Whatever the lady orders,” Pablo answers.

I smile and hand them the tablet. “Initial here, here, and here. Sign at the bottom that the information is correct. Sign next to the total price for the cake. We will send you the bill this Monday. I don’t need to remind you that food, flowers, and printing material invoices are due upon receipt. None of the items are refundable. The price tag for today also includes the bridal shower cake, the delivery fee to the event, and the groom’s cake.”

I take a deep breath after I finish my speech. As I told Holly, this disclaimer sounds like I’m reading the small font of a shady contract. Not that I’ve ever hired a wedding planner before, but I’m sure that everyone requires a fifty percent deposit, and they ask for the final payment at the end of the event.

Laura claps, giving me a coy look. I smile back. Pablo’s groom’s cake is a lot better than the wedding cake. Maybe it’s just my geeky personality thinking that a Lord of the Rings themed cake for a wedding is fantastic.

“Our next appointment is on Friday,” I confirm with them.

“You’re a lifesaver, Olivia,” Laura says as they leave the bakery.

Her compliment is good enough but not fulfilling. I’d rather work for Dad.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Olivia

After I place the cake order with George, I drive back to the office for my one o’clock appointment. This job isn’t what I ambitioned when Holly asked me to help her for six months or so. Coordinating lavish parties for wealthy people sounded enticing. Not that I would’ve turned her down. Our friendship has endured time, tragedy, and distance. She’s the closest thing I have to a sister. Three months after I arrived, I’m ready to