Chapter 4
MANDY
Icouldn’t decide if I was mad, sad, or just a little embarrassed. The only way to figure out what I was feeling was alcohol. At least that’s what I told myself. The man had unsettled me.
Briggs made me feel like I was in seventh grade trying to take a seat at the cool kids’ table in the lunchroom. He humiliated me. I had worked hard to get the respect I felt I’d earned and that asshole tried to make me feel small. Unimportant. Like I wasn’t worthy to be in his presence.
Cleo returned to the table with three shot glasses filled with amber liquid.
“Appetizers are on the way,” she said. “But I figured we could get started early.”
We had checked into our hotel and decided to meet up for dinner. I was prepared to raid the minibar and order Taco Bell to my room. That’s the kind of mood I was in.
“To walking out of meetings,” Cleo said, lifting her glass.
“To walking out of meetings,” Callum agreed.
I clinked mine against theirs and drank. The shot burned all the way down.
“Okay,” I said, setting my glass down. “Can we talk about what happened?”
“We absolutely can,” Cleo said. “Where would you like to start?”
“Your cousin is a jerk,” I said flatly.
“Classic Briggs,” Callum said. “He’s a wrecking ball. The guy is one of the most feared attorneys in New York, which is great for our family. Usually. I don’t know what that was about.”
“Not one wrinkle,” Cleo said with a shake of her head.
I looked at her. “What?”
“His suit,” Cleo clarified. “Did you notice? Not one wrinkle. Not a single crease. Like he walked straight out of a Blackwell ad campaign.”
I laughed despite myself. “Oh my god, you’re right. Does he work standing up?”
“That would explain the soulless stare,” Callum said, flagging down the waiter for another round. “And the complete lack of warmth.”
“No, no, no,” Cleo said, leaning forward conspiratorially. “I’m serious. That suit was pressed within an inch of its life. I think he has someone follow him around with a steamer. Just waiting in the shadows, ready to attack any hint of fabric rebellion.”
“And the hair,” I said, feeling the tequila loosening my tongue. “Not one strand out of place. Does he use cement? Can we knock on it?”
Callum grinned. “I’ve known Briggs my whole life and I have never—not once—seen that man with messy hair. Not at the beach, not in the wind, not after a full day of work. It’s unnatural.”
“He probably has a hair person too,” Cleo said. “Following three steps behind the steamer person. A whole entourage dedicated to maintaining that aggressively perfect appearance.”
“His personal glam squad. That’s how he looks so good.”
“He’s a Blackwell.” Callum laughed. “We look good.”
The appetizers arrived—calamari, bruschetta, and a fancy cheese board. I grabbed a piece of bread and took an aggressive bite.
“Did he really go to Harvard?” I asked.
Callum nodded around a mouthful. “Yep. He’s smart, although maybe not so good with people.”
“Is his eye color natural?” I asked. “Those bad boys are disturbingly blue.”
“They’re real,” Cleo said. “Unfortunately. All the Blackwell men have good eyes. It’s genetic. Adrian has them too, just not as… weaponized.”
“Weaponized,” I repeated. “That’s the perfect word. Those were like two swords cutting through me.”
We all laughed and continued to snack. Another round of drinks was delivered along with the bottle of wine we ordered to go with our meals.
“I just want to understand how a man who works for a fashion house has apparently never heard of those people I worked for,” I said. “Fashion and the world of celebrity kind of go hand in hand.”
“To be fair,” Callum said, “Briggs works adjacent to the fashion house. He’s the attorney. He’s the guy in the office pushing papers. I don’t think he interacts with customers.”
“He’s not really a fashion person,” Cleo agreed. “He’s never been.”
“He looks like he knows a little something about fashion,” I said. “He could be a model.”
Cleo gave me a look. I realized I sounded like a fan girl but I had eyeballs. Anyone could see he was attractive.
“He is hot,” I admitted. “But hot doesn’t make up for that personality.”
Cleo laughed. “That’s Briggs. All the packaging, none of the warmth.”
Callum poured us each a glass of wine from the very expensive bottle. “To Briggs Blackwell and his immovable hair.”
We all drank.
“I hope you’re going to give us a chance to fix this,” Callum said. “The deal is good. We’ll talk to Adrian tomorrow when we go see the baby.”
“Guys, I don’t know if this is going to work,” I said. “I can’t work with a man like that. He sure doesn’t want to work with me.”
“We want to work with you,” Cleo said. “It’s a good plan. A great arrangement. Briggs will get onboard. Don’t take anything he says too seriously.”
“He was a jerk, but I hope you know the rest of the family is not like that,” Callum said. “He’s uptight, but the stick up his ass isn’t usually so obvious.”
“I’ve had a few hours to process,” I said. “The sting has subsided. I’m pissed, but it’s fine. He can think whatever he wants about me.”
The food arrived a few minutes later. We ordered the special, lobster tail with steamed veggies and a pasta dish. It was decadent and exactly what I needed after the shitty afternoon.
We were all a little buzzed and probably not using our best manners. The wine was flowing. The food was good. Almost enough to make up for the horrible afternoon.
“You ever think how funny it is that we’re building a wedding brand and none of us are married?” Callum asked. “None of us have ever had a wedding.”
“Wedding,” I said with a laugh. “None of us have the time to even date. We’re selling love and we don’t know the first thing about it.”
“I read romance novels,” Cleo offered. “I think that counts.”
“Maybe it’s better for the brand,” Callum said thoughtfully. “We have no personal bias.”
“We have no personal experience,” I corrected.
“I’ve been to plenty of weddings,” Cleo said.
“As a guest. And for me, I’m there in a professional capacity, watching other people do the thing.
” I set down my fork. “I love weddings. I have planned a hundred of them. I am always the one making sure everyone else’s day is perfect, and I will go home tonight to a very nice hotel room, alone, and order champagne from room service.
With strawberries because I’m feeling like I need something fruity.
And maybe I’ll take advantage of the jacuzzi tub. ”
“Always the wedding planner, never the bride,” Callum said.
“You’ll get there,” Cleo said. “We all will.”
“I don’t have time to go on a bad date, let alone meet someone worth marrying.” I finished my wine and waved my glass to get Callum to give me a refill.
“I dated someone for four months last year,” Cleo offered.
I wrinkled my nose. “Are you talking about Jared?”
“Jarron,” she corrected.
“Ugh, that’s so much worse,” I said. “Cleo, you had four dates with him in four months. That’s not dating.”
“He was a musician. He was on the road a lot.” She smiled. “We made the most of the time we had together.”
I rolled my eyes. “Do you even remember what he looked like?”
She burst into laughter. “Brown hair? Longish?”
“Exactly. We’re hopeless.”
We finished the bottle. Callum picked up the check before we piled into a taxi to take us to our hotel.
“I think I’m drunk,” I announced when we got out of the cab.
“You are,” Cleo said. “We all are. Nothing wrong with that.”
“Thank you guys for cheering me up,” I said.
“I’m sorry our cousin was such an asshole,” Callum said. “We’ll fix it.”
We said good night and went our separate ways. They promised to call me after their visit with the new parents tomorrow. I planned on sleeping in and sleeping off the hangover I knew would be coming.
As soon as I got to my room, I kicked off my heels and ordered a bottle of champagne from room service. Instead of the bath, I decided to wrap up in the hotel robe and watch TV. Something from the nineties. The best rom-com era.
The champagne arrived. I poured a glass and settled onto the bed and let Julia Roberts’ problems wash over me. It helped. It always helped.
What didn’t help was the persistent uninvited thoughts about a man I disliked. He was a pig. A very handsome pig.
I was kicking my own ass for making the trek out here. I should have been in Vegas working on the Nelson wedding. A big job with lots of publicity. The kind of event that would bolster my reputation. Briggs had no idea what he was missing out on.
And dammit, now I’m thinking about him again.
There was nothing to think about. He’d been rude.
He’d been dismissive. He’d looked at me like I was nobody.
I worked with rich people day in and day out.
When I first got started, I had gotten those looks from rich people interviewing me.
They didn’t know who I was. It took time to establish my name.
Now when I walked into a room, people knew who I was and they respected me.
Or they could find someone else to work with.
I refilled my glass, turned up the volume, and focused very hard on the television.
Briggs Blackwell didn’t matter. I didn’t need his help to be successful. I would do this with or without him.