“I know, but what if you found the right woman? I mean, Grace and I, we work well together.”
My father grabbed me by the collar of my tux, shaking me roughly.
“I have spent every waking moment since your mother threw you and a child-support notice on my desk,” he snarled. “I will not have you spit on my sacrifices because you’re too stupid to know when you’re being used.”
“Grace isn’t like that!” I protested.
“All women are like that. All women are manipulative,” my father insisted. “All women are out to ruin you. Grace is no different.”
“She is.” I was stubborn.
My dad released me.
“No,” he said slowly. “She’s not.”
He grabbed me by the back of my neck, forcing me to look back inside through the windows. There was Grace, laughing it up with my ex, the woman who had broken my heart and almost ruined my business, Addison.
23
Grace
“I really wasn’t planning on staying long,” I said to Ivy.
“Please, you have to!” she begged. “I hate being at these big events by myself. It’s so much more fun with a friend! Besides, I’m sure Chris wants to show you off!”
I made a face. “Doubtful. He ran off as soon as he could.”
“He’s probably rubbing one out in the bathroom because you look so freaking hot in that dress!” Ivy bumped me with her hip.
“Uh-huh.” She suddenly grabbed me and turned me around.
“What?”
Ivy hissed, “Just make your way to the bar.”
“Ivy, Grace,” a high-society voice said.
Ivy muttered a curse then turned around, a bright smile on her face.
“Addison,” she exclaimed. “How lovely to see you here.”
“Why are you two at a party instead of working on my wedding?”
If it had been any other bride, she would have just been joking, but Addison was dead serious.
“We are here supporting our significant others, but we will be working on your wedding tonight,” Ivy assured her.
“You better,” Addison said sourly. “Nothing you have shown me so far has lived up to my expectations. I am paying for quality and good service. Now I don’t know what significant others two wedding planners have. I assume you’re here as a plus-one for the catering staff.”
“Nothing wrong with caterers,” I said. “Anyone who makes the food is okay in my book.”
Addison made a face. “Just don’t eat over my wedding photos.”
She looked past me, her eyes lighting up.
“And look who came to congratulate me on my upcoming wedding,” she boasted.
I looked over my shoulder in time to see Chris approaching.
Addison crossed her arms.
“Did you come to apologize and tell me how much you regret breaking up with me?” she asked haughtily.
Wait, what?
I looked between Addison and Chris. She was his ex? I felt dumpy and round in my dress compared to Addison with her ballerina stature and perfect makeup.
No wonder Chris seems put out by having you in his house, if Addison is what he’s used to.
I expected a lot of bedroom eyes and mild flirting from Chris. But instead my fake husband gave her an assessing look.
“No,” he said after a moment. “I didn’t. I came to ask how you knew my wife.”
Addison’s mouth flopped open, and she clutched her bag.
Chris wrapped an arm around me, tucking me under his arm. Then he leaned down to press a kiss to my cheek.
“I thought it was a rumor. You can’t marry my wedding planner!” she sputtered.
What was Chris doing?
Ivy had her professional smile plastered on. We could not afford to lose a client.
“I hear they’re the best in the business,” Chris said mildly.
“You don’t even love her!” Addison insisted, nostrils flaring.
“Wrong,” Chris said. “I never loved you.”
Addison tucked her clutch under her arm.
“We understand that in light of this potential conflict of interest—” Ivy began in a rush.
Addison bared her teeth, white against her dark-pink lipstick.
“You’re not weaseling out of planning my wedding this easily,” she said. “We will discuss this at the meeting in a few days.”
I reeled after she left.
“I need a drink and a snack.”
“You cannot have her as a client,” Chris said darkly.
“Too bad,” I said. “It’s my business, and you can’t dictate who we take on as clients. Unless you want me to show up at one of your hedge fund investment meetings?”
We glared at each other.
“Guess you really aren’t wife material. If you were, you’d be supportive and on my side,” Chris said mulishly.
“And if you were husband material,” I shot back, “you would be supportive of my business and not try