Chapter 10
MANDY
Iloved how shocked he was by the ballroom. His eyes went wide, and for a moment, that carefully controlled expression cracked just enough for me to see genuine awe underneath. It was satisfying in a way I hadn’t expected.
My work had knocked his socks off. If I could impress a guy like Briggs Blackwell, the celebrity guests and billionaire tech gods were going to have their minds blown.
“This is impressive,” he said.
“I know,” I said, unable to keep the pride out of my voice.
Because yeah, it was spectacular. The string lights I’d worried about earlier had turned out perfectly, creating the illusion of a starlit sky.
The centerpieces glowed softly, each one a small work of art.
The cake stood in its spotlight like a religious artifact. Everything was perfect.
“Now, the real work begins,” I said. “I hope you’re prepared to move.”
“What?”
I was already moving, my heels clicking against the polished floor as I made my way to the kitchen entrance. I pulled the earpiece from my clutch and put it in. The little mic was in my hand.
“Testing,” I said.
“Got you,” Zoey’s voice came through.
Zoey had been holding down the fort here while I managed the wedding ceremony. Another reason I didn’t care for the Vegas weddings were the two separate venues. Unfortunately, until some mad scientist developed teleportation, I could not be in two places at once.
“I’m headed to the kitchen,” I said. “Where are you?”
“With the DJ and the band.”
The next ten minutes were a blur of final checks. I confirmed with the catering manager that the appetizers were ready to go. Checked with the DJ that he had the couple’s entrance song queued up correctly. The band would play after.
I made sure the bartenders were all set.
Verified with the photographer that he had the shot list I’d sent him three times.
The videographer was an actual Hollywood director.
We had cameras on tripods in three different locations.
He was using software on his tablet to control the shots. It was all a very elaborate production.
And through it all, I was acutely aware of Briggs following me. My sexy shadow, I thought, then immediately chided myself for the thought. Professional, Mandy. This is professional.
But damn, the man looked good in that suit.
The navy brought out his eyes, and without a tie, with the top button of his shirt undone, he looked almost human.
Approachable. Still gorgeous enough to make my brain stutter occasionally, but less like a marble statue and more like an actual person.
He was still a little uptight, but I had a feeling that was his baseline.
I caught him watching me as I directed two servers to adjust the placement of the champagne tower. He was taking mental notes. Probably looking for a reason not to let me join his little party. Joke’s on him, I was the party.
“The champagne tower seems precarious,” he said as I walked past him.
“It’s supposed to look precarious,” I replied without stopping.
“Creates drama for the photos. But it’s actually very stable.
I’ve done this a hundred times. It’s a very popular feature.
Thank God I talked the bride out an ice sculpture.
You want to talk precarious? That will give a girl nightmares. ”
I checked my watch. Ten minutes until the guests would start arriving.
I did one final walkthrough of the ballroom, Briggs trailing behind me.
I adjusted a napkin here, straightened a place card there.
I stepped back and surveyed the room as a whole.
I wanted to see what the guests would see when they stepped through the doors.
I noticed a centerpiece looked off kilter and quickly rushed over to fix it.
“I have a question,” he said.
“What?”
“Do you honestly think anyone would notice that little detail?”
I turned to look at him. “The people who pay for them do. And the people who’ll post photos on Instagram definitely will.”
My earpiece crackled. “First shuttle just pulled up,” Zoey said.
“Copy. We’re ready.” I looked at Briggs. “Showtime. Stay out of the way, and for the love of God, don’t talk to the bride’s mother. She’s had four glasses of champagne already and she’s feeling chatty.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I had someone watching her at the chapel.” I started toward the entrance. “I know everything, Briggs. That’s my job.”
The next two hours were what I lived for.
Guests arrived in waves. I greeted the important ones personally, directed the others to their tables.
The bride and groom made their entrance to thunderous applause.
The first mashup song started with Beyonce’s Crazy in Love with The Weeknd’s Worth It.
It wasn’t the typical song choice, but the bride wasn’t typical.
Dinner was served in perfectly timed courses. The toasts were heartfelt and, mercifully, brief. I had insisted. I was even able to review the best man’s speech because the bride was nervous. It was all very tasteful.
Through it all, I moved through the ballroom like a ghost. Invisible to the guests but constantly present.
I cued the band for the first dance. Signaled the servers when to clear plates.
Caught a groomsman before he could knock over a flower arrangement.
Fucking Vegas. He was always going to be a problem.
I caught him taking shots before the wedding.
And Briggs watched it all.
I could feel his eyes on me even when I wasn’t looking at him.
He’d found a spot along the wall where he could observe without being in the way.
He stayed there, taking it all in. Occasionally I’d glance over and find him watching me direct a server or coordinate with the photographers.
Having his full attention was unnerving.
It felt like fingertips tracing down my spine—in a good way. Not in a horror film kind of way.
Professional, I reminded myself again. This is a professional arrangement.
But my traitorous brain kept supplying unhelpful thoughts about how good he looked when he was focused like that. How his shoulders filled out his suit jacket.
Once things are well underway, I made my way to the bar. I only had another thirty minutes and I could declare myself off duty. The crowd had already dispersed quite a bit.
“What are you doing?” Briggs asked.
“Getting a drink.”
“Aren’t you on the job?”
“My job is finished. Have a drink with me.”
He shook his head. “No thanks.”
I sipped my vodka soda and watched as he pulled the contract out of his inside jacket pocket. I frowned.
“What’s that?”
“The contract. I fulfilled my part of the agreement,” he said. “Let’s get this deal signed and we can get the ball rolling on our new partnership.”
“That’s all you’re here for,” I said. “Did you even pay attention to my skills?”
“Of course. You’re very competent. The wedding and reception were perfect. I’m not sure how that translates to you starting a lifestyle brand with my family, but it doesn’t matter whether I understand it or not.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. He was dismissing me again.
“It absolutely matters,” I said. “You don’t understand what I bring to this deal? That matters a lot, actually. I don’t want to work with someone who thinks I’m dead weight being carried by the Blackwell name.”
“Lucky you,” he said, and there was an edge to his voice now. “We won’t be working together. Once this is signed, I’m no longer involved. Adrian will handle most of it.”
“Right,” I said. “So you can just silently judge me from the sidelines. That’s so much better.”
“I’m not judging you.”
“You literally just judged me for ordering a drink.” I gestured at him with my glass.
“I’ve been working for sixteen hours straight.
I coordinated a three-hundred-person wedding without a single thing going wrong.
And the second I get myself a drink to celebrate, you’re looking at me like I committed a crime. ”
“I was simply pointing out that you were still on the job.”
“I’m not on the job anymore. The bride and groom are happy.
The guests are happy. My work here is done.
” I had to take a second before I lost my shit in front of the remaining guests.
“You know what? I can’t work with a man who can’t relax.
If you’re this uptight at a party, then no thank you. I don’t care how good the deal is.”
“I know how to relax,” he said, and now he sounded defensive. Good. Let him be defensive for once.
“Really? When’s the last time you let loose?”
“I used to drink like a Viking back in my younger days,” he said. I almost laughed at how ridiculous that sounded coming from Mr. Perfectly Pressed Suit.
“Used to,” I repeated. “Past tense. What happened?”
“I grew up. Got responsibilities.”
“You got boring,” I corrected. I picked up my drink again. “Fine. Prove to me you can have fun tonight and I’ll sign the contract.”
He stared at me like I’d just suggested he strip naked and dance on the tables. “What?”
“You heard me. Show me you’re capable of being a human being for one night. Show me you can let your guard down and actually enjoy yourself. Do that, and I’ll sign your contract. If not, have a nice life.”
“How exactly am I supposed to prove that?”
I smiled. “Have a drink with me.”
I could practically see the internal debate happening behind those blue eyes.
“Fine. Whatever. I thought I was too old for peer pressure.”
I turned to the bartender. “Two whiskeys. Neat.”
“I can order my own drink,” Briggs said.
“Too late. I already did.” I handed him the glass when the bartender set them down. “To proving you’re human.”
He hesitated for just a moment before raising his glass to mine. The crystal clinked together. I watched him take a sip.
“Happy?” he asked.
I grinned. “Oh, honey, we’re just getting started.”
“What does that even mean? Are you trying to get me drunk?”
“No. I’m trying to see if it’s possible for you to loosen up.”
“Whatever. Let’s just get this done.”
“That’s the spirit,” I said with a laugh. “You really are a bucketful of joy.”