Chapter 25
brIGGS
We went through the typical getting-to-know-you stuff and then the young woman just went balls to the wall. It was a little scary. She knew everything. And I meant everything.
She knew Mandy’s client history. She knew the Blackwell sublabel structure and how it had worked with Elizabeth’s line. She knew the broad strokes of the partnership and had smart questions about how the pieces fit together.
I had prepared for this the way I prepared for everything.
I knew the talking points. I knew which questions were likely to come up and how to answer them in ways that served the announcement without overcommitting on details we hadn’t finalized.
I had done media before. I was competent at it in the way I was competent at most things.
But this was CIA-level shit. My eyes went to the stack—and I did absolutely mean stack—of papers on the little table that would be off camera. It was every bit of information Riley had on Mandy and me. The CIA, FBI, and MI6 had nothing on this woman’s investigative skills.
“You really did your homework,” I joked.
Riley smiled. “I always do. My viewers want the real story. All the nitty-gritty details. I cover all the bases.”
“Apparently.”
I didn’t want to be nervous, but it felt like I was sitting down for an interrogation. Like I was trying to get cleared for a top security clearance. I was pretty sure I was very literally hot around the collar. Mandy was chill. All smiles and friendly conversation.
We got right down to business.
Riley leaned forward, her energy almost palpable. “So let’s talk about the new line. Blackwell Couture has been a powerhouse in luxury fashion for decades. What made this the right time to launch a lifestyle brand focused on weddings?”
I’d rehearsed this answer. “The wedding industry has always been adjacent to what we do. We’ve dressed countless wedding parties over the years.
But we saw an opportunity to create something more comprehensive—not just the clothes, but the entire aesthetic experience.
From invitations to table settings to the overall vision. ”
I almost gagged on the words. It was the company line. The words that had gone through legal, AKA me, and would be the statement we would all issue. It was good. It was definitive. It summed it all up in a neat little package.
And I could memorize it.
“And that’s where Mandy comes in,” Riley said, turning to her.
Mandy nodded, settling more comfortably into her seat.
“Exactly. I’ve been planning weddings for years, and one thing I’ve learned is that couples want cohesion.
They want every element to feel intentional, to tell their story.
But achieving that often means working with dozens of different vendors.
Fifty shades of pink, I like to say. What one vendor calls blush, another might call champagne.
It gets messy and chaotic. This partnership allows us to create that cohesion from the ground up.
I’m so excited to put together events that are seamless from colors to every element of the design. ”
“Your work has been making serious waves,” Riley said, pulling up something on her tablet.
“I was looking at your portfolio. The Morrison wedding last year? That went viral. The aesthetic you created influenced at least a dozen major weddings I covered after that. How does it feel to be a trendsetter?”
I watched Mandy’s cheeks flush slightly. She was genuinely uncomfortable with the praise, which somehow made her even more endearing.
“That’s very kind, but I have to say I’m standing on the shoulders of giants,” Mandy said.
“There are so many incredible planners and designers who came before me. I’m just trying to take what they’ve taught me and put my own spin on it.
And honestly, I think what resonates with people isn’t necessarily that I’m doing something revolutionary—it’s that I’m listening.
My goal is to listen to what couples want and then help them articulate their vision.
Our first couple of sessions are chaos.” She laughed and shook her head.
“There are hundreds of fabric swatches and pictures of flowers and centerpieces. I give them a smorgasbord and we narrow it down. It’s controlled chaos and so much fun. Weddings should be fun.”
Riley smiled. “That does sound fun. But let’s be real—you’re not just following trends. You’re creating them. The soft romantic aesthetic with modern touches? That’s all you.”
Mandy laughed. “Well, when you put it that way…”
“And now you’re bringing that vision to Blackwell Couture,” Riley continued. “What can we expect from this line?”
I jumped in. “We’re calling it Blackwell Occasions.
It’s going to encompass everything from the wedding party attire to bridesmaid dresses, suits, tuxedos, and beyond.
But we’re also expanding into the full experience—linens, invitations, even partnering with select venues.
The idea is to create a one-stop shop for couples who want that elevated, cohesive look without the stress of coordinating between multiple vendors. ”
“That’s ambitious,” Riley said.
“It is,” Mandy agreed. “But I think the market is ready for it. Couples are overwhelmed. They’re drowning in Pinterest boards and Instagram inspiration. They want someone to help them pull it all together. That’s what we’re offering. We’re putting everything in one place.”
Riley nodded enthusiastically. “I love it. And obviously, you two are the perfect faces for this campaign.”
I felt Mandy’s eyes on me. I turned to look at her, and she was smiling, prompting me. We were ready for the question.
“I’m honored to be part of it,” I said, then looked at Mandy and smiled. I felt that smile in my toes. It was genuine. It felt like I had swallowed the sun and was now glowing. Or radioactive. Either way, it was an amazing feeling.
“Oh my God,” Riley groaned. “You two are so in love I can’t stand it. Like, I’m going to need insulin after this interview.”
We both laughed, breaking eye contact. But I could feel the heat still lingering between us.
Riley wrapped up with a few more questions about the launch timeline and where people could follow for updates. She thanked us profusely, gushing about how great the interview had been and how her audience was going to eat it up.
“Seriously, you two are gold,” she said as we stood to leave. “I’m calling it now—you’re going to be America’s sweethearts.”
I glanced at Mandy, who was gathering her things. America’s sweethearts. If only Riley knew the truth.
We walked out to the parking lot together.
“That went well,” Mandy said.
“You were incredible in there,” I said. “Completely natural. You handled every question perfectly.”
“Thanks. You weren’t so bad yourself.” She bumped my shoulder with hers. “Very smooth with that whole ‘I’m here because of her’ thing.”
“I meant it.”
She looked up at me, her expression unreadable. “I know you did.”
We reached her car. She unlocked it but didn’t get in right away.
“Riley was right, you know,” she said. “About us looking in love.”
“We’re selling it well.”
My phone was blowing up. Text after text from Dash, Sebastian, even Adrian.
Dash: Dude. That interview. You looked at her like she hung the moon.
Sebastian: Well done. You two sold it perfectly. The internet is losing their minds.
Adrian: Good work. The engagement numbers are through the roof. Keep doing whatever you’re doing.
I opened Instagram out of curiosity and immediately regretted it. Riley had already posted clips from the interview, and they were everywhere. Thousands of comments. People dissecting every look, every word, every gesture between Mandy and me.
“They’re perfect together.”
“I want someone to look at me the way he looks at her.”
“Wedding planner finds her own happily ever after. I’m crying.”
“What’s up?” Mandy asked.
“My brothers. They all watched.” I pocketed my phone. “They’re all happy with how it went. Adrian says the engagement numbers are already climbing.”
“That’s good,” Mandy said. She looked genuinely pleased, not just relieved. “So we did our job.”
“We did. We should celebrate.”
“Celebrate?”
“Yeah. You know, do something fun. We just nailed our first major media appearance together. That deserves acknowledgment.”
She laughed. “What did you have in mind?”
“I don’t know. That’s the problem.” I gestured vaguely at the city around us. “I’ve been to LA dozens of times for work, but I’ve never really experienced it. Not the way someone who lives here would. So show me.”
“Show you what?”
“Why you love it here. Take me somewhere special to you.” I realized how that sounded and quickly added, “I mean, I can’t see the appeal of living out here. It’s all earthquakes and smog and palm trees. Help me understand what you see in it.”
She looked thoughtful. “Okay. Yeah, I can do that.”
She drove us toward the coast. The traffic was predictably terrible, but she navigated it with the ease of someone who’d done this a thousand times.
I rarely drove in Manhattan. Our traffic wasn’t any better, but I never had to actually navigate it.
I had a driver, and if it was too bad, I walked.
Everyone walked. It was different in LA. So many fucking cars.
“People really bought it,” I said, scrolling through my phone.
“They did.” She glanced over at me. “Does that bother you?”
“No. Should it?”
“I don’t know. It’s just… they think we’re something we’re not.”
“People have thought stuff about me forever,” I said. “I’ve learned to ignore all of it.”
I had to admit, when we turned onto the Pacific Coast Highway, I found myself staring out at the gorgeous blue water. The Pacific Ocean was a different beast than the Atlantic. I’d been to the Hamptons countless times. But it felt different here.
Mandy pulled into a parking lot near a restaurant perched on a bluff overlooking the water. The place looked low-key, nothing fancy. Interesting.
“This is it,” she said, killing the engine.
“This is what?”
“One of my favorite places. The food is incredible, the view is even better, and it’s where I come when I want to eat a good meal.”
We got out and walked inside. The hostess greeted Mandy by name and led us to a table right by the windows. The view was spectacular, nothing but ocean and sky, the waves rolling in steady and hypnotic.
“Okay,” I admitted, settling into my seat. “I can see the appeal of this.”
She smiled. “Just wait until you taste the food.”
We ordered grilled fish for both of us and a bottle of wine that Mandy insisted on. The server brought it over, poured two glasses, and disappeared.
I raised my glass. “To a successful interview.”
“To not completely embarrassing ourselves,” she countered.
We clinked glasses and drank. The wine was good. I imagined it came from up north. We were in the right place for the good stuff.
“So,” Mandy said, setting her glass down. “Tell me something.”
“Tell you what?”
“Why did you become a lawyer? Like, really. What made you choose that path while your brothers are more about the fashion side of things.”
I groaned. “That’s a boring story.”
“I want to hear it anyway.”
I looked at her, at the genuine interest in her eyes. She actually wanted to know.
“Alright,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you. If you fall asleep, I’ll drive us home.”
Shit. Home. I just called her house home.
I took another sip of wine, gathering my thoughts.
“I was sixteen,” I started. “The company was doing well, Dad was in his prime, everything seemed solid. And then this guy came out of nowhere with a lawsuit. He claimed Dad had stolen his designs and Blackwell Couture had built its success on his work.”
Mandy’s eyes widened. “Was it true?”
“No. Not even close. The guy was a failed designer who sent Dad some sketches years earlier. Dad had politely passed. My father designed every inch of the early stuff. It wasn’t until years later he put together a team.
Anyway, this asshole twisted it, made it sound like Dad had taken his ideas and run with them.
He had a whole narrative built up, complete with fake documentation and witnesses who were willing to lie for a cut of whatever settlement he could squeeze out of us. ”
“That’s awful.”
“It was terrifying. I was just a kid, but I understood enough to know we could lose everything. The media was having a field day. Every headline made Dad sound like a thief. My dad was so stressed. He didn’t always keep his rough sketches because he was always improving them.
He thought he was done. The guy was going to get away with stealing everything. ”
I paused, remembering those months. The way my father had aged seemingly overnight, the weight of it crushing him.
“What happened?” Mandy asked softly.
“Dad found a good attorney. She was ruthless. She tore apart every claim, exposed every lie, tracked down the real documentation that proved Dad had never even seen most of the designs this guy was claiming were stolen. By the time she was done, the plaintiff didn’t just lose—he was facing a countersuit and fraud charges of his own. ”
“So she saved the company.”
“She saved everything.” I met Mandy’s eyes. “And I remember sitting in that courtroom, watching her work, thinking that’s what I want to do. I want to be the person who stands between my family and people who want to destroy them. I want to be the one who protects what matters.”
Mandy was quiet for a moment, her fingers tracing the rim of her wine glass. “You make it sound like you’re a modern-day knight going to battle for your family.”
I laughed, but there was some truth to it. “You know, sometimes it feels that way. Maybe that’s why I get so caught up in it. It’s one thing working for a client, but this is my family. Obviously it means more.”
“That makes sense,” she said. “It’s not just business for you. It’s personal.”
“Exactly.” I took another drink. “Everyone hates attorneys until they need one. And when you need one, you want someone who’s going to fight like hell for you. That’s what I try to be.”
Our food arrived, perfectly grilled fish with roasted vegetables and some kind of citrus sauce that was incredible.
“This is fantastic, Mandy,” I said.
“I told you.” She speared a piece of asparagus. “There’s something about eating fresh seafood while looking at the ocean. It just tastes better.”
“I can’t argue with that.”
We talked more as we ate. I settled. Truly settled. With my wife.