Chapter 2 #3
At least they figured it out. Eventually.
Kami yawns again.
“Should I order you a coffee?” On instinct, Jordan unlocks his phone. He starts swiping through his apps.
“Stop,” Kami demands, smiling. “You’re not my assistant anymore.”
“Sorry.” He grins back. “Force of habit. I brought you a doughnut.”
“Bless you, Jordan.” She tears off one of the star’s points with her teeth. “I was so tired this morning, I forgot breakfast.”
“Same old Kami.”
“I’d say you’re the same old Jordan, but…” Her eyes trace over him. “This outfit is interesting.”
Jordan peers down at himself. He’s wearing a mustard-yellow linen button-up. His hunter-green blazer matches his slim-fit Boss trousers.
“I look great,” he says.
“Denz certainly would approve.”
His eyes narrow. “I can’t tell if that’s a compliment or an insult.”
“Good.” She rips off another piece of doughnut with a smirk.
Undeterred by her sarcasm, Jordan stands. He does a slow turn for her. “I’m going for a very specific style today, Kami.”
“What’s that? Black Austin Powers?”
“A young, modern Sidney Poitier, you monster!”
She squints at him, reassessing. “Hmm. All I see is Random Black Guy in a John Travolta dance movie.”
Jordan flops back onto the love seat. He thought Auntie Eva, who is an actual stylist, was overly critical of their wardrobe choices. But Kami’s comment makes him feel like he’s wearing the vomit from the bathroom floor after a night of drinking too many happy-hour appletinis.
Kami finishes her doughnut, then wipes her fingers on the napkin. She stands. “Are you ready?”
Jordan grabs his iPad. “As I’ll ever be.”
In the office doorway, Kami pauses. She grabs his forearm. Jordan half pivots to face her. Something familiar creeps into her brown eyes.
He doesn’t like it.
“I want you to know,” she starts, her tone part boss, part sisterly. There’s a five-year age gap between them. Since Jordan’s an only child, Kami has always instinctively slid into this role, whether he asks for it or not.
This is one of those latter times.
“Oh God, now, Kami?” Jordan groans incredulously. “Out of all possible moments, you pick right now to give me a pep talk?”
A month ago, when Kami first presented her idea during the Monday staff meeting, Jordan wasn’t sure how it would go.
It was a bold move. Unexpected, especially for her.
Eric, their sole events manager, almost choked on his water.
Cheryl, Kami’s executive assistant, did choke, spitting her coffee across the walnut table.
Coughing, she said, “Kamila, you’re not serious.”
“I am,” Kami confirmed. She stood tall, her shoulders confidently squared. “It’s time we elevate the company above our competitors. We’re returning to what put our name on the map.”
No one could believe her next words.
Not even Jordan.
“We’re getting back into wedding planning!”
24 Carter Gold hasn’t been in the wedding industry for over a decade.
It had been a tough decision for Uncle Kenny.
He grew tired of the focus being on the extravagant, cover-worthy ceremonies rather than those quiet, intimate moments the couples would remember forever.
He wanted something more personal. Not just for the people who hired them, but for the company he had built.
The premature gray hairs from nightmarish clients probably contributed to his choice too.
Initially, Kami opposed the proposition of reentering the wedding circuit. She fought against the idea anytime someone suggested it. But something changed. Jordan doesn’t know what. All that matters is she chose him to spearhead their reintroduction.
“You know vendors. Flowers and decorations. The best venues,” she ticked off on her fingers. “You know people, Jordan. Clients love you.”
He tried to conceal his prideful grin.
“Most of all,” Kami said, beaming, “you never let anything— or anyone—stop you from achieving a goal. I believe in you.”
Now, he’s starting to question whether she really meant that last part.
“There’s nothing to worry about,” Jordan tells her.
“I’m not worried.”
“Your face says otherwise.”
Kami blinks twice, her expression shifting. She slips back into boss mode. “You’re right. Nothing to worry about. Let’s do this.”
He follows her toward the lobby.
“Remind me again,” Jordan says, doing a final read-through of the fact sheet he created on his iPad, “how’d you find this couple?”
The search for the ideal pair for the company’s first foray back into weddings was a secretive, cutthroat process.
Kami took her time making the decision, which isn’t even public yet.
She refused to go with whatever rich family threw money at them for the extra spotlight time. She wanted to do this right.
She needed her very own Audrey Hudson.
“It’s a favor for an old friend,” she answers.
“An old friend,” Jordan repeats.
Kami doesn’t elaborate. It’s fine. That’s a small, unimportant detail. What matters is that he makes them fall head over heels for 24 Carter Gold’s vision.
For his vision.
They round into the lobby just as the elevator doors slide open.
From his research, Jordan knows exactly what to expect when the happy couple steps off.
Sam McClintock, twenty-five. A classically handsome white man. Tousled dark blond hair, big rock-candy-blue eyes, boyish cheeks. Son of BAFTA award–winning director Tom McClintock.
Then there’s Amy Welch, twenty-four. Half Korean, half white. Sweet-faced with caramel highlights in her dark, blunt bob. An infectious, dimpled smile. Jordan doesn’t have as much intel on her, but he knows she’s Atlanta-raised.
Sam and Amy are college sweethearts who graduated from Emory together.
They walk toward him, hands clasped.
Not far behind are Sam’s parents, Tom and Lydia. They fell in love over taxes. Lydia was Tom’s accountant. It’s not the sexiest love story. But who is Jordan to judge?
No matter how long he showered, he still reeks of last night’s failure.
Kami’s smile sparkles. “Sam, Amy. Mr. and Mrs. McClintock. Welcome to the 24 Carter Gold offices. We’re so excited to have you here!”
Jordan steps forward, his iPad under one arm. He flashes a practiced, electric grin. As he reaches to shake hands, Amy blurts, “Oh, wait! There’s one more.”
He pauses, eyebrows raised.
Their meeting was scheduled for four people.
“Of course,” Kami says. “I figured he’d show up.”
“Sorry,” Amy says to Jordan, no doubt noticing his confused expression. “He’s parking the car.”
Jordan forces his smile not to slip. “Um, right. He, as in—”
A second later, the elevator doors open again.
Jordan prepares himself for Amy’s dad. Maybe another family member.
But that’s not who steps off the elevator.
Instead, Jordan’s met with wavy brown hair.
Broad shoulders. Tan skin and a pair of not-just-brown eyes.
The man’s posture is easy, relaxed as he advances in their direction.
His crooked grin stretches the left side of his mouth higher than the right, his lips soft in a way Jordan shouldn’t know about.
But he does.
Jordan knows exactly how soft—and dangerous—those damn lips are.
It’s him, in the flesh. Standing right in front of Jordan.
Jamie fucking Peters.