Chapter 8 Send Out Save-the-Dates
? Send Out Save-the-Dates
He didn’t sleep well last night. Surprisingly, it’s not because of wedding stress.
In fact, the perpetual hustle from one checkbox to the next helps him pass out every evening after dinner.
It’s not what happened at the bakery either.
Jamie’s fingers between his lips hasn’t crossed his mind at all … ish.
No, his sudden fit of insomnia stems from a nightmare. A very specific recurring one from his childhood:
He’s ten or eleven, waking up alone in a big house that resembles Uncle Kenny and Auntie Leena’s home. But this one is empty. No Mom or Tevin or any of his other family members. Only him and the shadows and endless quiet. On the kitchen island is a note written in an unfamiliar script.
They left you. Everyone. Because you’re just like me. Neither one of us is good enough for them. Prepare yourself. We’ll always be alone.
—Your dad
Jordan never told anyone about those dreams as a kid.
He didn’t want to believe they were true.
No matter how many times he had them. No matter how many nights he’d wake in a cold sweat, tears clinging to his eyelashes, throat raw.
Because each time he’d creep down the dark hallway and find his mom and Tevin asleep in their bed.
Still there.
They hadn’t left him. But he knew they would, one day. For work or a couple’s vacation or whatever.
So he followed the note’s instructions. He prepared himself.
Jordan got used to doing everything for himself. Learned to love accomplishing things on his own. He found comfort in being with himself.
Alone.
Eventually, the nightmares stopped. Sometime around high school. When he was so busy with basketball and academics. When he learned overachieving, being great at everything, meant no one could ever reject you. He’s certain there’s no correlation there, though.
Last night, for the first time in a decade, the nightmare came back. In full force. He wasn’t a tween in this version. He was an adult, no longer searching for his mom or Tevin. Jordan didn’t know who he was looking for, but they weren’t there.
Just like his bio dad promised.
Jordan woke shivering and gasping and lost. Why was he dreaming about that again? He’s not alone. He has his family and a promising career and …
Well, he doesn’t need another “and.”
Because he’s fine. Better than fine.
Jordan’s fucking great.
Except now he’s running on four hours’ sleep. A dull ache thuds against the front of his skull. And it’s way too early to be hearing Javi’s rich, full-bellied laugh from across the lobby.
He’s surrounded by a legion of interns. They hang on his every word. Stars in their wide, newborn eyes. Like he’s incredible. Some kind of mythical king with lightly bronzed skin and a cartoon villain’s mustache.
Jordan plunks the doughnut box on the reception desk. “What’s wrong with everyone?”
Kim swoops in, opening the lid. “What do you mean?”
“It’s like”—Jordan glares in Javi’s direction—“he has them under some kind of spell.”
Kim bites into a Butter Toffee doughnut. “Who? Javi?”
Jordan can only grunt, too fixated on the way Javi’s got one hand on Sydney’s shoulder. His other hand cups a mug of steaming coffee. He leans into Matilda’s side and grins at Jason like they’re old friends.
It’s disgusting.
“I don’t know, J,” Kim says around a mouthful of doughnut. “He is kind of suave.”
“He’s a joke. A poseur.”
“I’d date him,” Connor says when he walks up. “If I wasn’t straight. And already locked down.”
“The question is,” Kim says to Connor, “would he date you?”
“Of course! I’m hot for a white guy from Alabama.”
“No offense to your partner, Heather, who I adore,” Kim starts, sizing Connor up, “but that’s not a very high bar to cross, Con. I’ve seen your hometown.”
Connor’s offense comes out in a mock gasp as he reaches for a Nutella doughnut. They continue to trade insults, none of which Jordan hears. He’s too preoccupied seething over how two more interns have joined the Cult of Javi.
“Honestly, he’s pretty cool,” Connor’s saying. “We had drinks with him—”
That catches Jordan’s attention.
He whips around. “You had drinks with him?”
Kim answers by shoving the rest of her doughnut in her mouth, lowering her eyes.
Connor’s cheeks flush. His shoulders hunch guiltily. “Yeah?”
“When?” Jordan asks. Demands.
“The other week?” Connor winces. “After work. He invited us.”
Funny, Jordan didn’t get an invitation. It’s not like he would’ve gone. Not unless he was zip-tied, gagged, and thrown in the back of somebody’s trunk.
“You were busy. Venue browsing with the happy couple,” Kim finally says after swallowing. “It was very casual. No big deal.”
“I never said it was,” Jordan retorts.
“No, but that weird little twitch your left eye is doing said it for you,” Connor notes. He ducks behind Kim. It’s like a skyscraper trying to hide behind a shrub.
“Seriously, I don’t care,” Jordan says. “We’re all coworkers. You’re allowed to go for drinks.”
Whatever, he’s not territorial. Who cares if Javi spent time outside of work with Kim and Connor? Jordan’s known them longer. And has met their respective partners. And remembers their birthdays every single year.
Jordan learned how to share in kindergarten. Besides, this isn’t a competition.
(At least not one Javi could win.)
Jordan beams. “I’m sure he’s great.”
“Mm-hmm.” Kim studies him before grabbing a second Butter Toffee doughnut. “He’s still no you, J. Nice job with the McClintocks, by the way.”
Connor nods. “Tons of coverage coming in on social media.”
Jordan hasn’t noticed. He mainly uses social media for client research.
Fine, and the occasional curious scroll through model-like strangers who just happen to have gone on dates with someone he knows in, like, the platonic sense.
Jordan’s own accounts are rarely updated. He doesn’t even check his tags.
If something’s happening online around the wedding, he doesn’t know about it. That doesn’t stop him from flashing them a shit-eating grin. “Just doing my part to keep the company relevant,” he boasts.
And advance my career, he doesn’t add.
Speaking of …
Jordan leans past Kim. He retrieves an Orange Dream Star doughnut from the box. With a wave, he says, “Off to meet with the boss.”
Jordan doesn’t creep down the hall to Kami’s office. But he doesn’t stroll either. It’s more of a quick shuffle that might look as if he doesn’t want to be seen by a certain someone.
Operation Avoid Mom is going amazingly, thanks for asking.
He doesn’t have the energy to explain—or give a half-assed excuse—to his mom for why he hasn’t gone on a date with Josie or whomever she’s desperate to set him up with. Kami’s expecting a recap of wedding plans.
Jordan slips into her office, pretending he’s not looking over his shoulder like the fucking National Guard is tracking him for updates on his dating life.
“Morning,” he singsongs.
Kami’s head snaps up. Her face looks as tired as he feels.
“Let me guess.…” He carefully deposits the Orange Dream Star in front of her before flopping onto the lavender love seat. “Mikah’s moved on to the Marvel Black Panther LEGO film?”
“I wish.” Kami sits back in her chair, doughnut in hand. Her other hand waves toward the computer monitor. “It’s my dad’s birthday party. Even after retiring, he still needs to be in control.”
“Sounds like Uncle Kenny.”
“Why can’t he be like other retired dads? Golf. Paint the house. Learn a completely useless hobby that forces you down a YouTube rabbit hole about the history of crocheting.”
Jordan blinks. “That was … very specific.”
“See what happens when I don’t get sleep?” Kami chews off a star point. “Also, Eric’s out. One of the twins is sick. I’m doing my best to cover for him.”
Jordan sits taller. “Maybe it’s time to fill that open events manager spot you vacated last year?” he says sweetly.
Her eyes narrow suspiciously. “Let me guess. You already have somebody in mind?”
“Possibly.”
“Possibly”—Kami pauses for another bite—“you should fill me in on your current position before planning for future ones?”
“It’s never too early to start,” Jordan chimes.
“Have you seen the news?”
“What, like, CNN?”
“No. The Final Word? By Invitation Only? BuzzFeed?” When Jordan shrugs one shoulder, she gapes at him. “Are you serious?”
“I’ve been busy. Planning a wedding.”
And having strange nightmares. Trying not to think about that funny backflip my stomach does whenever I think about citrus-flavored cake. Or overanalyze whatever happened down there when Jamie fed it to me.
All completely normal adult thoughts.
Kami trades her doughnut for her keyboard. A few clacks later, she turns the screen for Jordan to view. It’s tab after tab of lower-level entertainment sites reporting on “the wedding of prized Hollywood director’s youngest son!”
“Okay,” he says slowly. This is what they wanted. What he wanted. The company in every headline. “This is good, right?”
“It’s great,” Kami confirms. But the skin between her eyebrows is pinched. Her worried face. “Tom’s publicist is emailing me nonstop. We’re getting calls from Variety, Deadline, Us Weekly.”
Jordan forces himself not to frown. It’s not Entertainment Weekly or People, but close.
“That’s also good, right?”
She bites her bottom lip. “This is big. Bigger than I expected, to be honest.”
“I’m not following.”
“Jordan, it’s our first dip back into weddings,” she starts. “It needs to be done right. I want you to have the necessary support.”
Oh. Is that all?
The tension leaves Jordan’s spine. “Kami, you’re an incredible leader. I know you have my back through every step. You won’t let me fail.”
She nods earnestly. “Exactly. We’re on the same page, then?”
“Of course.”
“Whew.” Kami wipes her brow. “I knew you’d be okay with me partnering you two for the rest of the wedding.”
Jordan blinks twice. “I’m sorry, what?”