Chapter 3
Caffeinated Sabotage
MARI
“You have to work with whom?” Anica’s perfectly shaped eyebrows disappeared into her hairline. Even through the pixelated video call, her shock was unmistakable.
“The wedding expo asshole,” I repeated, pacing around our Chicago office like a caged animal. “Hudson Gable. The one who rearranged our display, called our vintage aesthetic ‘outdated,’ and whose backdrop I accidentally set on fire.”
“Accidentally?”
“Mostly accidentally,” I amended, shoving a chunk of emergency stress donut into my mouth. “It’s not like I woke up that morning and thought, ‘Hey, let’s commit arson today!’”
Not that morning, anyway. That morning I’d woken up in a different heat altogether.
The kind that came from spending the night with a stranger whose name I hadn’t bothered to learn.
A stranger who turned out to be my professional nemesis.
But Anica didn’t need to know that particular detail.
Some things were better left buried in the vault of bad decisions, right next to the time I’d gotten the dolphin tattoo on my thigh at one in the morning from a friend who was just learning the practice, or when I had an entire bottle of tequila right before college graduation.
“And now you have to work with him for two months,” Anica summarized. “In the same workspace.”
“Like I’m being punished for crimes in a past life,” I confirmed, flinging myself into my office chair with enough force to send it rolling backward.
“And get this, the clients think our mutual hatred is a selling point. They’re practically giddy about watching us tear each other apart.
I mean, I’m a little excited to spill his guts on the floor, but I don’t really think I’d look good in a prison uniform.
It’d do nothing for my ass, and my tits would be invisible, not to mention—”
“Mari.” Anica’s voice took on that tone she used when she thought I was about to do something reckless. It was a tone I heard frequently. “This contract is—”
“—our best shot at securing the Chicago expansion. I know.” I spun in the chair, staring up at the ceiling. “The bank put our loan on hold. They said we need to ‘demonstrate market viability’ before they’ll reconsider.”
“When were you going to tell me?”
“I was handling it,” I said, avoiding her gaze. “And now I’m handling it by working with the human equivalent of a paper cut soaked in lemon juice.”
“Is he really that bad? He was polite to me.”
“He’s worse than bad,” I insisted, trying not to remember how green his eyes were when he got angry. “He’s smug, condescending, and thinks his way is the only way. He’s a control freak with the personality of a brick wall and the emotional range of a teaspoon.”
“You seem to have a lot of feelings about someone you’ve only met twice,” Anica observed.
Heat crept up my neck. “Because he’s infuriating. You should have seen him yesterday, sitting there in his perfect suit with his perfect hair, acting like working with me was some kind of charitable act.”
“Mmm,” Anica hummed noncommittally. “And yet the clients want both of you.”
“Only because we went viral.” I pulled up the video on my phone and held it to my laptop camera. “Twelve million views of us trying to kill each other at the expo. Apparently, nothing says ‘hire us for your wedding’ like attempted homicide.”
Anica squinted at the screen. “Is that when you were trying to bite him?”
“He had me in a headlock, remember?”
“Mar,” Anica said, her voice softening. “I know this isn’t ideal, but we need this contract. The Chicago expansion—”
“I know.” I cut her off, suddenly not wanting to hear how much was riding on this. How much she’d trusted me with. How spectacularly I could mess it all up if I let my temper or other inconvenient feelings get the better of me. “Can’t you just get a loan from your billionaire ex-playboy husband?”
“I heard that.” Callan’s voice sounded distant in the video call.
“You were meant to,” I called back. “If you just gave us a loan, we—”
“Would be getting handouts.” Anica finished, rolling her eyes. “I don’t want help.”
“Believe me, I offered,” Callan shouted from somewhere in their swanky penthouse. “Multiple times.”
“Give her some dick and offer again.”
“I like that idea. Hey, darling, why don’t you come over here and—”
“Shut up, both of you.” Anica rubbed her temples. “Mari, you can do this. Remember? I have complete trust in your abilities.”
“You’re the only one,” I muttered, slumping forward with my chin on my hand.
“Am not. Cal believes in you too.”
“I do,” Callan shouted again. “You can do it because you’re a badass woman, and badass women don’t take shit from perfectionist assholes with magnificent hair, Landry.”
“Don’t compliment my rival’s hair.”
“Sorry.”
Anica looked about ready to strangle her husband for derailing the conversation. Either that, or she was ready to take him up on my previous suggestion. It was hard to tell through the computer screen.
“Point is, this is important, and you can handle it.” Anica glanced down at her phone, rolling her eyes. She shot a glare over her shoulder at her husband. “Really? I’m in the middle of a business call. Not the best time to send me a dick pic.”
“Oh, can I see?” I asked, sitting straight in my chair.
“No,” they spoke in unison.
“Buzzkills,” I muttered under my breath. It was good to talk to Anica, and even Callan, though it made me a bit homesick. “I’ll take care of this, Ani, I promise. I won’t blow it.”
“Just try to be—”
“Professional? Mature? Restrained?”
“I was going to say ‘strategic,’” Anica corrected. “This isn’t just about beating him. It’s about showcasing what makes us special.”
“The emotional storytelling approach,” I nodded. “Speaking of which, I need to head out. I’m meeting Manny and Lia at the Royal Gardens Venue in an hour. Time to dazzle them with the Mari Landry experience.”
“Full charm offensive?”
“Is there any other kind?” I grinned.
“Just promise me there won’t be any fires. Or property damage. Or lawsuits.”
“Scout’s honor,” I said, holding up three fingers.
“You got kicked out of Girl Scouts,” Anica reminded me.
“For putting a frog in some bitch’s sleeping bag. She deserved it. She stole my cookies.”
“Just be careful,” Anica said, her expression turning serious. “Remember what we talked about when you took this expansion. No impulsive decisions. Think before you act.”
“When have I ever been impulsive?” I asked with exaggerated innocence. If only she knew that the last impulsive decision I made had led to numerous orgasms and minor arson.
Anica’s withering look was the last thing I saw before the call ended.
I spent the next hour perfecting my presentation for the Royal Gardens.
This venue was the crown jewel of Chicago event spaces.
It was a converted historic building with soaring ceilings, massive windows, and an actual indoor garden complete with a glass roof.
The perfect canvas for the immersive, emotional storytelling that was Knot Your Average Wedding’s hallmark.
My phone pinged with a message from Lia.
Running late. Meet at venue at 2:30 instead of 2?
No problem!
I replied, grateful for the extra time to finalize my ideas.
I arrived at the Royal Gardens at 2:15, portfolio and tablet in hand, ready to blow their minds with my vision for their wedding. The venue coordinator, a willowy woman named Penelope, greeted me at the entrance, and I introduced myself.
“Ms. Landry, welcome to the Royal Gardens. I have you down for a 2:30 tour with the Kussikov-Martin party.”
“That’s right. I’m a bit early, but I’d love to get set up before they arrive.”
“Of course.” She smiled. “Though I should mention that the other planner is already here.”
My smile froze. “The other planner?”
“Yes, Mr. Gable arrived about twenty minutes ago. He’s in the main hall with the florist.”
The florist? The same florist who was supposed to be across town right now? The florist appointment Hudson was supposed to be at, leaving me free to show the venue to Manny and Lia alone?
I kept my voice eerily calm, which anyone who knew me would recognize as the eye of a hurricane. “Oh, I thought Mr. Gable had a separate appointment.”
Penelope consulted her tablet. “It seems they’ve combined the appointments. The florist is here to discuss how arrangements might work in the space.”
Of course. Of fucking course.
I followed Penelope into the main hall, a breathtaking space with thirty-foot ceilings and wall-to-wall windows.
Under different circumstances, I would have been mentally designing the entire event, placing tables and lighting and decor.
Instead, all I could focus on was Hudson Gable, standing in the center of the room with a tall man carrying an overflowing portfolio of botanical photographs.
Hudson looked up as I entered, a smirk crossing his face before his expression settled into its usual mask of cool professionalism.
“Ms. Landry,” he said with a nod that was just a fraction too stiff. “I didn’t expect you so soon.”
“Clearly,” I replied through gritted teeth. “I thought you had a florist appointment across town.”
“Plans change. I thought it would be more efficient to have Criss see the space while we discussed options.” He gestured to the tall man beside him. “Criss is the premier floral designer in Chicago.”
“Actually, I’m the premier floral designer in the Midwest,” Criss corrected, extending a hand to me. “And any friend of Mr. Gable’s is a friend of mine.”
“We’re not friends,” I said automatically, shaking his hand.
“Colleagues, then.”
“Competitors,” Hudson and I said in unison.
Criss glanced between us, amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Fascinating. Well, as I was telling Mr. Gable, I envision cascading installations from these support beams, perhaps wisteria or trailing jasmine...”