Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
IVY
The office of Ever After, Inc. usually smells like vanilla candles, fresh espresso, and expensive peonies. It is a sanctuary of organized joy, a place where disasters are mitigated and dreams are color-coded.
Tonight, however, it smells like takeout Thai food and impending doom.
I sit on the plush velvet sofa in our client consultation area, my hands wrapped around a mug of tea I haven't taken a sip of in twenty minutes. The three people I love most in the world are here, though none of them look happy about it.
Maddy is pacing. She does this when she's stressed, walking a tight loop between the vintage room divider and the sample table, her heels clicking a frantic Morse code on the hardwood.
Savvy is leaning against the desk, arms crossed, looking like she's mentally calculating how to hide a body.
And Mason, dear, sweet, logical Mason, is sitting in the wingback chair, reading the email Brooks Taylor forwarded to my phone ten minutes ago.
"So," Savvy says, her voice cutting through the silence like a serrated knife. "Let me get this straight. The man you tackled into a cherub—"
"I know," I whisper.
"The man you tackled," Savvy continues, glaring at Maddy who is trying to interrupt, "isn't pressing charges for assault. He isn't suing you for medical bills. Instead, he wants to... hire you?"
"Not hire," I say, my voice raspy. "Blackmail. He wants to blackmail me into a performance role."
"To be his fiancée," Maddy says, stopping her pacing to look at me with wide, horrified eyes. "Ivy, this is insanity. It's fraud! It's emotional perjury!"
"It's extortion," Mason says, not looking up from the phone.
We all turn to him. Mason Kincaid is the sort of lawyer who makes juries trust him by adjusting his glasses. He looks reasonable, sturdy, and safe. Right now, however, he looks grim.
"He's leveraging a potential tort claim, negligence and battery, against a business entity to coerce a personal service agreement," Mason explains, sliding the phone across the coffee table back to me.
"It's textbook extortion. If we took this to a judge, Brooks Taylor would be laughed out of court. "
"Great!" Maddy throws her hands up, the tension in her shoulders dropping an inch. "See? Mason says we can fight it. We'll go to a judge. We'll explain that it was an accident, that he's being unreasonable—"
"We can't go to a judge," Mason interrupts.
Maddy freezes. "Why not?"
“Because going to a judge makes it public,” Mason says.
He removes his glasses and rubs the bridge of his nose.
“An extortion claim would force us to acknowledge the threat itself, along with Ivy tackling a guest and lying to hospital staff. Once that’s in the public record, the reputational damage to Ever After is locked in. Brooks knows it.”
"He's ruthless," Savvy spits out. She pushes off the desk, her gold hoop earrings flashing as she moves. "I knew it. He has 'corporate raider' written all over him. I Googled him while you were in the hospital. He's a soulless, calculating, hedge-fund robot."
"Venture capitalist," I correct, though I'm not sure why I'm defending his job title. Maybe because 'robot' implies he doesn't have feelings. I saw him in that hospital bed. I saw the panic in his eyes when he read that email from the board. He has feelings. He treats them like leverage.
"Whatever," Savvy says. "He's threatening us. He's threatening my business. I say we call his bluff. Let him sue. We'll counter-sue for... I don't know. Harassment? Being a dick?"
"Savvy," Mason warns.
"I'm serious!" She gestures to me. "Look at her! She's exhausted. She's traumatized. She can't spend eight weeks in the Hamptons playing house with the enemy. It's a recipe for disaster."
"I agree with Savvy," Maddy says, coming to sit next to me on the sofa.
She wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into her warmth.
She smells like her signature rose perfume, a scent that usually calms me down but right now makes me want to cry.
"Ivy, we can't ask you to do this. We'll take the hit.
We have insurance. We have savings. We'll survive a lawsuit. "
I look at Maddy. I look at the worry lines etched around her eyes, eyes that have been tired lately because she's been working non-stop to cover our expansion costs.
I look at the office around us. The rough-hewn timber beams we refinished ourselves. The custom chandelier Savvy found at an estate sale and re-wired to hang from the vaulted ceiling. The wall of thank-you cards from brides who told us we saved their biggest days.
We built this. We built it from nothing, working out of our cramped apartments on shoestring budgets, hustling separately until Savvy came back and pulled us all together. Ever After, Inc. isn't just a company. It's our freedom. It's the proof that we made it.
If Brooks sues us, the legal fees alone will drain our operating capital in months. The bad PR will kill our bookings for next season. We won't only lose money. We'll lose this.
And I won't be the one who burns it down.
"No."
The word comes out stronger than I expect.
Maddy pulls back to look at me. "No, what?"
"No, we are not calling his bluff." I sit up, setting the cold tea on the table. "And no, we are not letting him sue. Mason is right. If this goes legal, we lose. Even if we win in court, we lose in the court of public opinion. Who's going to hire the wedding planners who tackle the guests?"
"Ivy—" Savvy starts.
"It's eight weeks." I cut her off, forcing that professional detachment into my voice, the same one I use when a caterer tells me they're out of salmon.
"It's two months. I can do anything for two months.
I once planned a destination wedding in Iceland with three days' notice.
I once sewed a bride into her dress while she was having a panic attack in a port-a-potty.
This? This is... a long, really immersive acting gig. "
"With a man who hates you," Savvy points out.
"He doesn't hate me." I shrug. "He finds me useful. There's a difference."
"He blackmailed you in a hospital bed," Maddy whispers. "Ivy, that's not normal behavior. That's villain behavior."
"He's desperate," I say. "I saw the email from his board. His father is benching him. For a guy like Brooks Taylor, a guy whose entire identity is 'The Winner,' being benched is worse than death. He needs a prop. I'm the prop."
I stand up and walk over to the mood board for next week's Cohen-Levine wedding. I start straightening the swatches of fabric, needing something to do with my hands.
"Here's the plan," I say, pivoting into logistics mode.
"I go to the Hamptons on Friday. I play the part.
I charm the mother, Betty, apparently she's a nightmare, which means she's exactly my demographic.
I smile at the father. I keep Brooks stable until Labor Day.
Then, we stage a breakup. He signs the waiver. We walk away."
"And you think you can handle him?" Mason asks. He's watching me closely, his lawyer brain assessing the witness. "He's smart, Ivy. And he's angry. You're going to be living in his house, isolated from your support system."
"I have you guys on speed dial," I say. "And honestly?
I think I can handle him better than anyone else.
I know his secret. I know this whole engagement is a sham to please his daddy.
That gives me leverage, too. If he pushes me too far, I can blow up his deal just as easily as he can blow up ours. "
Savvy lets out a low whistle. "Mutually-assured destruction. Romantic."
"It's not romantic," I snap. "It's business. It's a transaction. 'You broke it. You buy it,' that's what he said to me. Well, fine. If I'm the acquisition, I'm going to be the most expensive, high-maintenance acquisition he's ever made."
Maddy stands up and walks over to me. She takes my hands in hers. Her grip is tight.
"I hate this," she says. "I hate that you're doing this for us. But if you're set on going, Savvy and I will cover your clients. We'll handle the summer bookings."
"I'm doing it for me, too," I lie. "I don't want to go to jail, Mads."
"You wouldn't go to jail," Mason says quietly. "Probation, maybe. Community service."
"I'd look terrible in orange," I joke, but the laugh falls flat.
Maddy doesn't smile. "If he touches you," she says, her voice dropping to a register I rarely hear, "if he hurts you, if he makes you cry even once.
.. I don't care about the company. I don't care about the lawsuit.
You call me, and Mason and I will drive out there and burn that estate to the ground. "
"I'll bring the gasoline," Savvy adds from the desk. She's not joking.
A lump forms in my throat. I swallow it down. This is why I'm doing it. For these people. For this loyalty.
"He won't hurt me," I promise. "The contract says no touching without an audience. It's strictly PG-13. And honestly? He's recovering from a concussion. If he tries anything, I'll just hide his Tylenol."
That gets a small, reluctant smile out of Maddy.
"Okay," she breathes. "Okay. If you're sure."
"I'm sure."
"Then we need to pack," Savvy announces, pushing off the desk.
She claps her hands, switching from 'murderous friend' to 'logistics coordinator.
' "If you're going to be a Taylor, you can't wear your usual 'I'm running a marathon in a blazer' aesthetic.
You need Hamptons camouflage. Linen. Silk.
Hats that serve no purpose other than signaling wealth. "
"I have linen," I protest.
"You have wrinkled cotton blend," Savvy corrects. "Come on. We're raiding my closet. And Maddy's jewelry box."
"And I," Mason says, standing up and buttoning his suit jacket, "am going to draft a counter-agreement."
I look at him. "A what?"
"He wants you to sign his contract?" Mason's eyes glint with a sharp, professional light.
"Fine. But you're not signing it blindly.
We're going to add clauses. Exit strategies.
Penalty fees for bad behavior. If you're going under contract like an employee, Ivy, we're going to make sure you have the best representation in the state. "
Relief hits so hard my knees almost buckle. I'm not alone. I'm going into the lion's den, but I'm bringing my own team.
"Thank you," I whisper.
Mason walks over and kisses Maddy on the forehead, then gives my shoulder a squeeze. "Don't thank me yet. Wait until you see the clause I'm going to add about 'emotional distress compensation.'"
Two hours later, I am standing in the middle of my small apartment, surrounded by open suitcases.
Savvy is holding up a white sundress that looks like it belongs on a runway.
"This says, 'I lunch at the club and don't know what a price tag is.'"
"Pack it," I say.
Maddy is in the bathroom, packing a toiletry bag with the focus of a combat medic. "Sunscreen. Aloe. Migraine meds. Backup migraine meds. Lavender oil for stress. Pepper spray."
"Maddy, I don't think I need pepper spray for the Hamptons."
"You never know," she calls back darkly. "Rich people are unpredictable."
I sit on the edge of my bed, watching them swirl around me. My phone buzzes on the nightstand.
I pick it up. It's a text from an unknown number.
Unknown
Be ready at 8:15 AM Friday. My driver will pick you up. Wear something that doesn't look like you slept in a garden. - B.
I stare at the screen. Even his texts are arrogant. B. Like he owns the letter.
I type back before I can overthink it.
Ivy
I'll be ready. I have the contract ready from my lawyer. And Brooks?
I hesitate, my thumb hovering over the screen. I should be polite. I should be submissive. I should play the role.
But then I remember the way he looked at me from that hospital bed. The cold calculation. The way he called me an asset.
I finish typing.
If you ever threaten my friends again, I won't tackle you into a cherub. I'll aim for the gargoyle.
I hit send.
A moment later, three dots appear. Then a reply.
Brooks
Noted. Get some sleep, darling. You have a big performance ahead of you.
I throw the phone onto the mattress and groan, flopping back onto the pillows.
"What?" Savvy asks, pausing in the act of folding a silk scarf.
"He called me darling," I say, staring at the ceiling.
"Ew," Maddy says from the bathroom.
"Gross," Savvy agrees.
"It's going to be a long summer," I whisper to the empty air.
But as I close my eyes, I realize something strange. My heart is still hammering. Yes, the fear is still there. But beneath it, there's a hum of adrenaline. A spark of friction.
I've spent my whole life managing other people's chaos. I've spent years standing on the sidelines, holding the clipboard, watching the bride and groom take center stage. I'm the fixer. The invisible hand.
But this time?
This time, I step into the spotlight.
And if Brooks Taylor thinks he can direct me? He has another thing coming.