Square Deal (The Beaufort Poker Club #3)

1. Hannah Jane

1

HANNAH JANE

E very wedding planner has their rules. I have five. Some are obvious precautions, while others came from the lived experience of several nuptial clusterfucks .

Never again.

My five rules for weddings are simple but effective. They ensure every event goes off according to plan. Most of all, they’re one-hundred percent non-negotiable.

I didn’t need any more lived experiences, thank you very much

Rule #1 - Do not let the bride or groom get drunk.

I’m not the fun police. It’s their big day, after all. They can drink if they want. But I’ve been around the block. There’s a reason I vet every vendor before my clients hire them. One of those reasons is to chat with the bartenders to ensure that they make the drinks at the reception only half as strong. Everyone gets buzzed enough to loosen up on the dance floor, and Grandma doesn’t end up headfirst and ass-up in the courtyard fountain. Everybody wins.

Rule #2 - Stay out of family drama.

Not my zoo, not my monkeys. If the mother of the bride and mother of the groom want to go at each other, be my guest. I’ll show them to a quiet corner of the inn where they can have their brawl out of sight. My clients shouldn’t have to pay a surcharge because the rental company can’t get bloodstains out of the linens.

Rule #3 - Stay sober until the event ends.

There will be no alcoholic drinks for me until the happy couple runs through a line of sparklers and drives off in the getaway car. I keep a bottle of sparkling apple cider behind the bar so I can blend in with the festivities. I don’t want my clients thinking I’m a killjoy or that I will judge them for tossing back glass after glass of champagne, but I have to keep my head on straight. Their party is my high-priority mission, and I execute each one with military precision.

Rule #4 - Have a head-to-toe back-up outfit dry-cleaned and ready to go in my office.

Try flipping an outdoor ceremony space into a reception space during cocktail hour in the blistering July heat and tell me you don’t sweat. And I do it in heels.

Rule #5 - Do not—I repeat—DO NOT have sex with anyone in the wedding party.

This one speaks for itself.

Weddings have a way of turning even the most relationship-averse, cynical person into a total sap. And the biggest problem with that?

I’m not a cynic.

I’m a hopeless romantic. I believe in love at first sight. I believe that Allie and Noah were soulmates. I believe in grand gestures and happily ever afters. I believe in Matthew McConaughey chasing down Kate Hudson with their dead, shriveled up love fern before she could leave New York City.

Every morning when I open my eyes, I remind myself that today could be the day I meet the Jim Halpert to my Pam Beesly. The Princess Amelia Mignonette Thermopolis Renaldi to my Lord Nicholas Devereaux. The Ryan Reynolds to my Blake Lively .

But today was not that day.

Because I was stuck dealing with the best man from hell.

Isaac Lawson—playboy real estate mogul, best friend of my best friend’s brand-new husband, and perpetual pain in my ass.

I tossed back the rest of my sparkling cider and slid the empty glass to the bartender. I wish that had been vodka.

If it were any other wedding, I would grab that insufferable prick by his four-figure necktie, drag him across the room, and politely tell him to get his act together or else I would murder him and have the body disposed of before it was time to cut the wedding cake.

But it was Maddie and Luca’s wedding, and I didn’t want to cause a rift between them and their best man.

At this point in the wedding reception, my single motivation was the bottle of champagne in my office I was going to treat myself to when the night ended.

“Look who I found,” Isaac smirked as he strutted over to the bar in that stupidly good-looking suit. “Hell Yes Ma’am, you look like you could use a drink.”

I wanted to claw his eyes out for using that damn nickname again.

This morning I had popped into the men’s suite at the inn to ensure that Luca and his boys had finished getting dressed. When I asked if they were ready to go outside for photos, Isaac responded with a bourbon-fueled, “Hell yeah, baby!”

Of course, being the control freak I am, I corrected him, saying he could either respond with, “Yes, Miss Hayes ” or “Yes, ma’am.”

Instead of heeding my request, he called me Hell Yes Ma’am .

And it stuck.

That was nearly twelve hours ago, and every tick of the clock that brought me closer to Maddie and Luca’s send-off was another minute I wanted to strangle the world’s most insufferable best man.

Why couldn’t Luca have chosen Steve or Chase? They were both part of the wedding party, and they were both a hell of a lot easier to wrangle.

My staff called me the bride whisperer for a reason. I could tame wild wedding parties with one exacting look and a raised eyebrow. There were no shenanigans on my watch. Everyone was to be on their best behavior.

Which brought me back to Lucifer.

“Excuse me,” I said sweetly to the bartender, who gave me his undivided attention. I pointed at Isaac. “He’s cut off. No more drinks.”

The bartender nodded. “Yes, Miss Hayes.”

Isaac flashed a grin that could convince a nun to take off her panties and hand them to him in the middle of dinner.

“What’s the fun in that?” he teased with a twinkle in his blue eyes. “Tell you what, why don’t you stand here with me and have a drink? Then you can get off on making sure I stay out of trouble.”

“Is that what you think I get off on? Babysitting you?” I countered.

A wicked smile worked at the corner of his mouth. Sandy stubble covered his jaw. Usually, I would have made sure all the groomsmen were cleanly shaved, but Steve and Luca had laid down the law with Maddie and me. They told us—verbatim—that they were not shaving.

Luca could shave in the morning and have a thick shadow by lunch. Asking him to shave would have been useless unless I planned on following him around all day with a razor.

Steve was rather fond of the mountain man look he adopted after Heather passed. Apparently, Erica—his girlfriend—liked it too. So the beard stayed.

On Isaac, though, the stubble gave him just enough of an edge that he didn’t just look suave and debonair. He looked dangerous. Hazardous to every person of the female persuasion.

Isaac’s tongue darted out and wet his lower lip. He gave me a slow look up and down. I tipped my chin up, not at all intimidated by his gaze or his net worth.

He chuckled and lifted a finger, flagging down the bartender, who immediately brought him a rocks glass filled with something that looked a lot like bourbon. The bartender gave me an apologetic glance and walked away. That traitor.

Apparently, Isaac approved of the two-timing bartender’s choice of liquor because he slid the kid a Benjamin.

“Don’t feel bad, doll. Money buys more than fear does.” He took a sip from the glass before leaning down until his mouth brushed against the shell of my ear. “And if I had to guess, I’d say that it’s been a long time since you’ve gotten off at all.” He stood up straight and bit down on his lip. “So, if you need some help with that dry spell, you know where to find me.”

If I didn’t have a cake cutting to get underway and a tipsy grandmother to wrangle, I would shove my Louboutin so high up Isaac Lawson’s ass he would taste the red sole.

Or maybe I would just rip that stupid douchebag ring off his finger and throw it at his head. It was big enough to give him a concussion if he took a clean shot to the skull.

Only billionaires, dicks, and playboys wore rings like that. He was all three.

I glanced at the clock. I loved Maddie and Luca, and would literally do anything for them, but God—I couldn’t wait for this wedding to be over. My feet were killing me, and I— oh, no.

Three seconds ago, I had eyes on Maddie while she was on the dance floor with Luca. Now she was nowhere to be found. I silently cursed Isaac for distracting me and made a beeline for Luca.

“Where the hell did Maddie go?” I hissed as I grabbed the sleeve of his tux and pulled him into a corner by the DJ.

Luca waved politely at a guest and chuckled through gritted teeth. “You think I know where that woman went?”

“Well, it’s almost time to cut the cake,” I clipped. “Do not move from this spot until I find your wife. You two are like herding cats. Don’t even get me started on your best man.”

Speak of the devil .

Isaac strutted across the dance floor, bourbon in hand. “Well, well, well. We meet again, Hell Yes Ma’am.”

I rolled my eyes and left to search for Maddie.

Isaac’s head spun like he needed an exorcism. I knew he was watching me walk away and checking me out.

I had an extra swing in my hips just because I knew he was staring. He could look, but he couldn’t touch.

The bartender flagged me down and pointed at the cloud of white tulle seated at the bar. Thank goodness. I had sixty seconds until the cake needed to be cut .

I plastered on a smile. “Mrs. DeRossi, time to cut the cake! Your hubby’s waiting for you.”

Maddie threw her arms in the air and pulled me into a death grip hug. “Oh my God! Where have you been? Nonna and I have been having the best time.”

Yep. She was one drink away from being totally plastered. I would have killed the bartender, but that would require a massive clean-up. Given that Steve and Chase were three feet away, they would have to arrest me, which would just delay my post-wedding champagne. It wasn’t worth it.

I looked at the little old lady in a pale pink dress seated beside Maddie. She had Luca’s eyes and the alcohol tolerance of a linebacker. She said something to Maddie in Italian, and Maddie laughed.

“She said you need to relax,” Maddie hiccuped. “Oooh! I know! Let’s do more shots!”

“Nope!” I said firmly. “How about you go cut your cake and dance with your man, and then we’ll see about shots.”

She pouted, then perked up when the idea of carbs and sugar hit her. “Cake! Yes! I want cake. ”

“Okay,” I laughed as I helped her off her chair and guided her across the dance floor. We were nearly at the cake table when Shania Twain filtered through the speakers with her sultry, Let’s go, girls .

Maddie cheered. “It’s my song! Come on, Han! One dance with you, Bee, Kris, and Mel, and then we can do the cake.”

“Nope,” I snapped. “Mad, I love you, but you’ll thank me for this when you sober up. Time to cut the cake with your hubby.”

Luca left Isaac and jogged over to help me guide a very tipsy Maddie over to the cake table. “Where was she?” he asked.

I blew a stray piece of hair out of my face and huffed, “Drinking with your grandma at the bar. Fun fact: the lady with one foot in the grave can hold her liquor better than this one.” I stabbed a finger toward Maddie, who was all too eagerly looking at the cake.

It had taken Maddie longer to pick a cake designer than it took for her to choose a wedding dress or hell—anything else about the wedding. Finally, I got her in with a kick-ass pastry chef whose cakes were just as legendary as Maddie’s.

“Nonna’s so much fun,” Maddie giggled, swaying back and forth. She hiccuped and covered her mouth. “She may have convinced me to do a few shots,” she stage-whispered before putting her finger over her lips. “Don’t tell the wedding planner! She’ll be sooooo mad!”

I covered my mouth and bit back a laugh. I loved drunk Maddie. “Don’t worry, babe. Your secret’s safe with me.”

Luca led Maddie over to the cake table. He had enough experience handling her that I wasn’t worried about them. Besides, two professional chefs could figure out how to cut one slice of cake to feed each other.

I looked around the room and surveyed my handiwork. Chase was waltzing around with Nonna like she was the Queen of England. Next to Chase and Nonna, Bridget and Kyle were swaying back and forth with hearts in their eyes. No wonder Chase was hanging out with Luca’s grandma.

Still, everyone looked like they were having a hell of a time.

Steve and Erica sat at the poker club’s table. They were adorable. I had never seen him so happy.

There was a slight smile on Steve’s face as he spoke softly into her ear. His hand rested on top of her baby bump, gently caressing it. Erica was due in a week, and I knew they just couldn’t wait to be parents.

The baby wasn’t Steve’s, but there never seemed to be a question in his mind whether he would love that little girl. They deserved happiness, especially after everything they had been through.

I suppressed the hopeless romantic in me and turned my attention to the cake table. I watched adoringly as Maddie and Luca cut the first piece and immediately smashed it into each other’s faces.

Most brides would have been furious that their makeup got messed up and frosting was smeared all over their gown— all of which I had emergency supplies for in my office —but not Maddie. Instead, she laughed and kissed him hard.

The little she-devil on my shoulder jabbed her pitchfork at my biological clock.

Tsk, tsk, I heard her say. Always the wedding planner, never the bride.