Wrong Question, Right Answer (The Bourbon Street Boys #3) - Elle Casey Page 0,44
generate ideas about how to extricate ourselves from this mess, but it’s coming up empty.
I clear my throat before speaking. “Uhhh, Allison . . . I was just chatting with . . .” I stop myself just in time from saying his name, thank God, “. . . uh . . . this guy here, so maybe you could wait in the car . . .”
“Marc,” he says, winking at me.
“Marc,” I repeat. “I was chatting with Marc.” My pulse is thumping hard in my neck. My fight-or-flight instinct is kicking, too. I use all my willpower to tamp it down, like I always do. No one looking at me would know I’m sweating this.
“I heard you guys,” she says brightly, “and it didn’t seem like you were getting to the point, so that’s why I decided to get out and help you along.” She gives me a giant smile before turning her attention to our target. “We’re here scoping out the area for my wedding. And I don’t mean to offend you when I say this, but can I just say that your neighborhood would be amazing for it. Ah-may-zing.”
His face is screwed up as he tries to figure out what she’s actually saying. “A wedding? For who?”
“For me, of course.” She gives him another brilliant, ridiculous smile. “It’s the newest thing, haven’t you heard?” She looks around, breathing in deeply and letting out a long, satisfied sigh. “The urban wedding. Staged in the most raw of neighborhoods. It’s amazing. The photographs I’ve seen would just blow your mind.” She throws her arm out straight and moves it sideways, doing a slow, horizontal pan of the houses across the street. “Could you imagine? Tents on the front lawn. Old jalopies fixed up and painted gold.” She stops and looks at Marc, her arm still raised. “You know those cars that go up and down with hydraulics? I’d want some of those. Maybe one that’s purple and one that’s blue, too, because those are my colors.” She looks at me and nods. “Can you see it? It would be perfect.” She goes back to Marc, putting her hands on her hips. “Do you have friends with those kinds of cars? Do you think they would let me rent them for the day?”
Marc shakes his head, looking her up and down. “Bitch, you crazy.”
May looks offended. I can’t tell if she’s faking it or if she really feels that way. “Did you just call me the b-word?” For a second she seems frozen in time. Then she smiles and laughs, rushing over to throw her arms around Marc’s shoulders. “That is so perfect! You are so in character. I would love for you to come to the wedding. I’m going to need your contact information.” She releases him from her chokehold and pulls her cell phone out of her back pocket, standing poised and ready. “Give me your number. I’m totally inviting you to my wedding.”
He points at her and looks at me. “Is she serious?”
All I can do is shrug. The only explanation for what’s happening here is I’ve accidentally eaten a poisonous mushroom and fallen down into a giant, mystical rabbit hole. It explains everything, including Alice Inwonderland’s cover name.
May waves in my general direction, her eyes never leaving her phone. “Don’t worry about Gigi,” she says, apparently referring to me. “She started out as just my neighborhood consultant, but we’ve become really good friends. She’s totally coming to the wedding too.” She looks at me and then Marc, winking. “You guys could maybe hook up. You know that’s how the best relationships start . . . at other people’s weddings.” She turns her attention fully on Marc. “What was your phone number?”
It’s like the guy’s in a trance. He fires off some digits and May quickly types them into her phone.
“Perfect. Perfect, perfect, perfect. I am so going to invite you. Maybe I could call you if I have other questions? I need to rent several things and maybe you can help me source them.”
He’s smiling now. “Things like what?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Where do you guys have your gatherings? Like your quinceañeras and stuff like that? I think I’d like to incorporate some of that stuff into my wedding, too. Make it more urban authentic.”
He doesn’t say anything, his expression slowly going stormy.
She smiles, but she’s not looking quite as confident as she was a minute earlier. “Well, don’t worry about it. You think on it, and