Chapter 49
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
To Do:
- Check in with a capella group
- Touch base with helicopter and limo company
- Remember to take meds
“Can you move that just like half an inch to the left?” Claire stood ten feet back from the table at Solar Flare. She squinted and craned her neck.
It was here. After five days of frantically re-confirming all the details and a dozen run-throughs, it was finally happening. The biggest proposal day of their entire career. In just half an hour, Brad and Karen would sit down at the restaurant and set into motion the biggest project Happily Ever Afters had ever undertaken. All they could do was wait. And fuss with details, of course.
“Here?” Mindy moved the vase of peonies.
“Yes. Now sit at the table.” Claire ordered. She squeezed her side. Running back and forth had given her a side stitch. California had played havoc with her cardio schedule.
Mindy sat obediently.
“Coli?” Claire glanced over her shoulder. Nicole was checking something on her camera. “What do you think, two inches off the stems? I want to be sure we don’t cover her face.”
Nicole, who had arrived the night before and was finally starting to feel better, checked it through the viewfinder of her camera. “Definitely. Maybe even two-and-a-half inches.”
“Two and a half,” Luke called from the corner of the restaurant despite the fact that no one had asked him. His tripod was somewhat successfully disguised behind a large topiary on the back deck. He swiveled his camera and peered into it.
Luke would film at the restaurant and then head straight for the Getty Gardens. Carlos, a friend Luke knew from the studio, was going to meet Claire at the Santa Monica Pier to film the second stop. They would then both meet up at the ranch to get different angles on the proposal. Luke had insisted two cameras was plenty. If he was wrong, she might murder him.
The door opened, and Sawyer stepped inside. “All clear,” he reported. Every five minutes, he left the building and swept the perimeter. He had spent the last five days tailing them from proposal stop to proposal stop and fussing over the security system Luke had installed.
ESA had once again been suspiciously quiet in the wake of her abduction. A detective from the LAPD had called yesterday to say that her abductor had been driving a stolen car. Another dead end.
Were they intimidated now that there were two men in the house, or were they closing ranks to plan something even more heinous? The convention was tomorrow. But she couldn’t think about that yet. Not until Karen got her perfect moment.
“This is so exciting,” Heather whispered to Claire. She had shown up that morning to volunteer her time and hadn’t made any comments about the other organization offering her a position. If nothing else, she would be an extra pair of hands for the day. “So many moving parts. How do you keep track of it all?”
“Lots and lots of practice,” Claire said with a smile. “And, of course, the master timeline,” she said, flipping open her Day-Of binder to show Heather a color-coded and time-stamped sheet.
“Isn’t that them?” Heather gestured out the window to a middle-aged couple getting out of a limo.
Brad didn’t look nervous at all. Against all odds, he had mostly respected Claire’s new business hours. Although a flood of emails had come in after hours, he had never once called. He was beaming as Karen took his arm. She was resplendent in a red cocktail dress and matching lipstick. A confident stride in kitten heels showed off her shapely legs. A jeweled comb gathered her hair to one side. The camera was going to love her.
“Shit, hide!” Claire said. “They’re here,” she whisper-shouted to the rest of the crew. There was a minor stampede as they all triple-checked everything was perfect before ducking into the restaurant. Luke remained outside, concealed by the topiary. The rest of the party hid behind the wall that separated the bathrooms from the restaurant as Karen and Brad made their way to the table. The restaurant wasn’t busy yet since it was early, but the handful of patrons who were there shot confused looks at the mass of people hiding.
As soon as the couple sat down, Nicole jumped into action. She pulled out a telescopic lens and leaned into the window with one leg resting on the booth. She clicked away as Claire noted the start time on her master timeline. Karen and Brad had arrived five minutes early. He was many things, but at least he was punctual.
Her phone vibrated with a text from Carlos—he was set up at Santa Monica Pier and ready for their arrival. The a cappella group had also arrived and was running through their warm-ups. Things were exactly on track so far. Perfect. It was going to be the most beautiful day. Claire danced on the spot and bent to scratch Rosie behind the ears before remembering that she and Winston were at doggy daycare. Unless ESA and/or Olivia had broken in and stolen them. Maybe she should take a quick peek on the daycare app.
Olivia had been quiet since the roof incident. As far as she knew, anyway. Claire had made it a policy to never go through a boyfriend’s phone. If he left her for that sports bra full of pissed off bees, that was on him.
Satisfied that the dogs had not been kidnapped, Claire fired off a message to Carlos to ask about the lighting and leafed through her binder. Appetizers and wine had arrived at the table. They were still well within the time limit.
“Videography, how are we doing?” Claire asked into her headset.
“Fine,” Luke’s voice muttered. “I wish I had free range over the angle, but it could be worse. She looks stunning in this light.”
“Doesn’t she?” Nicole said dreamily over her headset. She had moved to another corner of the restaurant for more pictures. Had Claire not sternly forbade her from scaling the roof in her condition, Nicole certainly would have ambled up there for a better angle.
Thirty minutes passed, and the last of the entrées were disappearing from their plates. It was time to move on to the second stop. Claire made a note on the master timeline and flipped her binder shut. She was about to step out from behind the wall when a nervous-looking man in a chauffeur’s hat appeared.
“Yes?” She asked.
“Miss Hartley. I have some bad news.”
Fuck . A stone settled in Claire’s gut. Everything had been going so well. What would it be—flat tire? Bird poop? Some idiot had parked them in? Their crew was definitely big enough to roll a car away if needed.
“What is it?” She gripped the clipboard so tight that a bone cracked in her wrist. It sounded like a gunshot.
“We can’t take the planned route to Santa Monica.”
A jolt of panic clenched her stomach. “Why not?” There weren’t any mudslides in the forecast. It hadn’t even rained for six weeks. As far as she knew, there weren’t any wildfires either.
“There’s been a bomb threat on the 1. We’ll have to take the long way around, and that will add a considerable amount of time to the trip depending on traffic.”
“No can do,” Heather said. A live traffic map of Los Angeles was pulled up on her phone. “Topanga Canyon’s gridlocked. Everyone must be diverting to Route 27.”
Claire’s heart hammered in her ears. Okay, this was bad. But it could be worse. She had planned for this. She pulled out her phone and dialed the number for the helicopter company.
After a brief, frazzled conversation, Claire flung her phone into her bag and took a deep, steadying breath. The helicopter company wasn’t allowed to fly over bomb threat zones. They were shit out of luck.
What was she going to do? Bargain with the police to let them through? Find whoever issued the bomb threat and take a baseball bat to their testicles?
She couldn’t think in this dimly lit restaurant. She needed the sunshine, the sea breeze. There was a solution. There had to be, or Brad would probably dismember her piece by piece.
Claire walked out the front door. The chauffeur followed lamely behind her. Her eyes swept over the highway behind the restaurant as she tried to fight the molten wave of panic that threatened to suffocate her. There must have been a roadblock set up down the highway. Cars were already pulling to a stop just a few hundred yards from the restaurant. Soon they would be backed all the way up to Solar Flare. They needed to get out now.
She pulled out her phone and searched the route between Solar Flare and the pier. The bomb threat was located on a small state beach exactly halfway. Who called a bomb threat on a beach, anyway?
There was a route that wound up into the hillside and bypassed the affected section of highway. If she could find a way to slip onto that road, she just might save the whole thing.
Then she saw it. A bright red bicycle rickshaw. The owner was standing at the edge of the road, dawdling and staring at his phone. In a second, her decision was made.
“Excuse me, sir,” Claire said, striding across the parking lot. “I’ll give you five hundred dollars if you let me drive your rickshaw to Santa Monica.”
The owner swung around and stared at her, open-mouthed.
She pulled an envelope out of her purse and leafed out five hundred-dollar bills from an envelope marked “Emergency Bribes.” Today would mark the first time she had ever needed to use the envelope.
“You got it, bro.” The man swung his dreadlocks over his shoulder and climbed off the bike. “You know it’s like eight miles to Santa Monica though, right?”
She handed him a business card. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll leave it chained to one of the bike racks right by the pier, okay? You call me if you can’t find it later. Thank you so much. You—” she barked at the chauffeur. “You stand right by this and make sure no one steals it until I come back with the couple. When I leave, you are going to take whatever alternate route you can find to Santa Monica. Understood?”
“Yes ma’am,” the chauffeur said. He stared at the bike as if expecting it to disappear on its own.
Claire stormed back toward the restaurant. They hadn’t even made it through the first stop of the proposal before disaster struck. This wasn’t a sign, was it? Maybe she should have stayed in West Haven.
She stepped back inside to relay instructions to Mindy and the rest of the crew.
“You’re going to pedal two people eight miles? Are you sure?”
“Remember that spin class we used to take? We did like fifteen miles in a forty-five-minute class. I can do this.” She hadn’t been tugging two extra people during said spin class, but this was practically a matter of life and death.
“I need you, Heather, Sawyer, and Coli to get in the car and take the alternate route. The second photographer is already down at the pier, so we’ll have something even if it doesn’t have Coli’s magic touch. I need you to leave now because traffic is almost backed up to the restaurant.”
“Got it.” Heather threw her backpack over her shoulder. “Good luck, Claire.”
“That goes for you too, Luke,” Claire called over the headset. “Get out now.”
Claire glanced out the window. Brad had finished and was standing to put his jacket on. It was go time.
“Mr. Lux,” she said, bustling out the backdoor with a smile that she hoped looked natural.
Brad’s eyes bugged out. Claire wasn’t supposed to interact directly with the couple until everything was over. “There’s been a small change of plans. Hi, you must be Karen. I’m with the event planning company,” Claire said, reaching out to shake Karen’s offered hand. “There’s been a road closure between here and your next stop. We’ve had to arrange alternate transportation. If you’re ready, you can follow me.”
Brad’s smile looked rather strained as he put his hand on the small of Karen’s back. The couple followed Claire through the restaurant to the parking lot.
She nodded at the chauffeur, and he took off to the limo. Luke waved as he pulled out of the parking lot and turned left. With any luck, he’d find a way to the Getty. Mindy’s car was already gone. That left the rickshaw.
“Please forgive the informality,” Claire said, “but you’ll be taking an open-air rickshaw down the coast with beautiful views.”
Brad’s face immediately reddened. He looked ready to protest, but Karen spoke up.
“Oh, I’ve always wanted to do one of these rickshaws! Did you plan this?” Karen nudged Brad. Her voice was throaty and a little raspier than Claire expected.
“Gotta have a Plan C,” Brad said with a strained smile.
“Climb on in,” Claire said, gesturing to the two seats at the back. She settled at the wheel. She could do this. It would be just like one super intense spin class, that was all. When this was all over and they were back at Luke’s tonight, she’d celebrate with a massive burger and fries from that place down the street.
The couple sat, and suddenly the pedicab felt much weightier. She pushed her feet on the pedals. It was startlingly heavy, but it did move.
She pulled a romantic playlist up on her phone and chucked it into the cup holder so the sound would amplify behind her. Straining with all her might, she inched the rickshaw forward. As it gained momentum, it became slightly less terrible.
She set her GPS on her watch to keep track of the miles so she could monitor their progress as she pedaled with everything she had, dragging them ever closer to Santa Monica. Despite the views Claire had promised, they had to get past a long stretch of small homes and businesses. They passed tiny parking lot after tiny parking lot. They hit the traffic jam and rolled onto the shoulder. One of the wheels slipped off into the gravel, but she persisted.
One mile went by. The sun seemed to be laughing at her from its lofty position. Sweat formed behind her neck. Her lungs burned. Her side stitch had gotten worse. Had someone stabbed her with a chef’s knife while she wasn’t looking?
“This is so romantic,” Karen said behind them.
In spite of the sweat dribbling into her eye, Claire smiled. Things weren’t ruined. Not yet, anyway.
The line of cars stretched and wound over the serpentine highway. Two miles. Not that much time had passed. They were barely behind schedule at all. Finally, the long row of homes and businesses ended. The shoulder was even more narrow here, but at least the cars weren’t moving. The sun sparkled off the ocean. It was almost blinding.
Claire pedaled on, ignoring the intermittent honks from other drivers.
Three miles. They passed more homes, more businesses. Her thighs were screaming. Four miles. A public beach crawled by on their right. The road they needed to deviate onto would be coming up soon.
“Inceville,” Claire muttered under her breath as she finally took a left turn onto Sunset Boulevard. Thank god it was still open. Just a hundred yards or so down the highway, the traffic ended and the blockade began.
Sunset Boulevard was obnoxiously windy and far hillier than the highway had been. Nevertheless, she pushed on. Her legs wept. By the time she made it back to the highway, every part of her was drenched in sweat. The bridge of her nose was dry and tight. She was definitely sunburned. She needed electrolytes. Or a hospital.
It had been forty-five minutes since they had left the restaurant. The detour had wasted a big chunk of time, but the quartet was still booked for another hour and fifteen minutes. It was still possible. There was no way in hell she was going to be outdone by a stupid bomb threat and an unscheduled pedicab. All she had to do was get them there.
Breath burned in her lungs like fire as she slammed her legs against the pedals, urging it forward ever faster. Her side stitch was getting worse, but they were getting close now. They passed another beach, then a park. Finally, just ahead, the top of the Ferris Wheel rose majestically from the ocean. Thank friggen goodness.
Ten painful minutes later, they pulled up at the pier.
“Mr. Lux, would you like to take it from here?” There wasn’t a response. She glanced behind her. Both of them were sound asleep, mouths hanging open. He couldn’t have been too mad, then.
Claire stood and got off the bike. Her knees nearly buckled as she gently shook him awake. “We’re here. Sorry about the cart, there was a bomb threat.”
“I heard. Thanks for getting us here.” He blinked and wiped the sleep from his eyes.
“Head for the wheel,” she whispered as he gently shook his soon-to-be bride. They were going to have to skip the Skee-Ball portion if they wanted to get to the Getty in any kind of reasonable timeframe.
Once Brad and Karen had exited the rickshaw, Claire nearly cried in relief. She had done it. Nothing could stop true love—not a bomb threat, not a roadblock, not even a town with a stupid number of people in it. Surely the rest of the proposal would go smoothly.