Chapter 6 #2
“My . . . ?” Meredith repeated, then smirked. “Oh, no, I’m sorry I was so cryptic in my email. It’s all pretty hush-hush, you understand.”
Brooke didn’t just yet, but she gestured to the couch. “Why don’t we sit down, and you can tell me all about it?”
Meredith took a seat, perching on the very edge of the couch. “Before we get started, I’m going to need you to sign this.” She produced a sheaf of papers from her file and handed it to Brooke. “Standard non-disclosure contract, guaranteeing confidentiality for everything we discuss.”
Brooke blinked. “Umm . . .” She scanned the page, and the dense legal writing. “I can assure you, I treat all our events with discretion?—”
“I’m sure you do.” Meredith produced a pen. “But I’m under orders.”
Brooke paused another moment. What was this about? She was too curious to resist. She scribbled her name, and passed the pages back.
Meredith seemed to relax. “Now we can get down to business. I work for a client out in Los Angeles,” she explained. “We’re scouting for the perfect Cape Cod location to use for her upcoming wedding.”
“Great.” Brooke flipped open her planner. “When were you thinking?”
“We’re looking at the weekend after Labor Day.”
“Next year?”
“No. This summer.”
Brooke burst out laughing. “You’re kidding, right?” she spluttered.
Meredith stared back, totally serious.
“But . . . that’s four weeks away!” Brooke tried to stop her giggles. Was she serious?
“I’m sorry,” she said, trying to collect herself.
“But that’s impossible. Summer weddings on the Cape are booked years in advance.
I could do my best to try to squeeze you in around .
. .” She flipped through her calendar. “February, at the earliest, but even then, that’s just the venue rental here.
We’d still need to find the decorations, catering staff, flowers .
. .” Brooke trailed off. “I hate to break it to you, but four weeks to arrange a wedding from scratch is a tall ask at the best of times, let alone during summer season here.”
“Very well.” Meredith snapped her folder shut. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time. I’ll move on to my next appointment.”
She got to her feet, and Brooke followed, but something was still pricking at her. “Just out of curiosity, who’s the client?” she asked. “Since I’ve signed the forms already.”
Meredith glanced around, checking the room. They were alone. She leaned in, and dropped her voice. “Lila Moore.”
Brooke froze. “Lila Moore, the actress?”
The it-girl, famous reformed partier, style icon, heading-for-her-first-Oscar-nomination actress. She had broken out in a big trilogy, adapted from a bestselling young adult series, and gone on to deliver star-making performances in big-budget blockbusters and small indie movies alike.
Meredith nodded. “She’s marrying Justin Cartwright. You know, the Cartwright heir,” she said, naming a political dynasty that rivaled the Kennedys for their ambition and style.
“I didn’t even know they were dating!” Brooke gasped. She hadn’t kept up with her guilty-pleasure gossip magazines since her move, but even she wouldn’t have missed that.
“It’s all highly confidential.” Meredith fixed her with a warning look. “That’s why we’re on such a tight schedule. We want to have the whole event planned and executed before anything leaks.”
“Good luck with that. If I were them, I’d just elope,” Brooke said wryly. Hollywood royalty plus political prestige? “It’ll be a circus once the press gets hold of it.”
“I agree.” For the first time, Meredith looked tired. “But the Cartwrights are insisting on a traditional ceremony, here in Massachusetts. So, we’re going to need something small and intimate, but without cutting corners on style.”
Brooke felt torn. Lila Moore? This was the opportunity of a lifetime.
Sure, the happy couple was keeping things under wraps for now, but once the news was out, then there would be magazine spreads and photos everywhere.
Front page news around the world. A single social media post from Lila would get a million likes—and hundreds of copy-cat brides wanting exactly the same royal treatment.
It would be foolish to turn this down.
She opened her calendar again, looking over the schedule.
Luckily things were a little quieter after Labor Day, when the bulk of the summer tourists started dropping off.
“I guess I could move some things around . . .” she said, already thinking of the champagne and discounts she’d have to send everyone as an apology.
“Perfect. You can pitch next week.”
“Pitch?” Brooke repeated, confused.
Meredith looked at her. “This is just the first round,” she explained. “You and the other venues will all present your plans, and then Lila and Justin will pick. The winner gets the contract.”
“And three weeks to host the biggest wedding of the season,” Brooke finished slowly.
Meredith smiled. “It’ll be worth your while, believe me. There’s an unlimited budget for the event, and me and my team will use our contacts to help get whatever you need.”
She pulled a card from her folder and offered it to Brooke. “Here are my details, I’ll be in touch to confirm the pitch. We can’t wait to see what you come up with!”
Brooke studied the card as Meredith whisked away. Hollywood plus Washington plus an impossible deadline? Something told her she was signing up for a world of trouble—but Brooke didn’t mind. She loved a challenge, and this was about as big as they came.
If she could win the pitch and actually pull this off . . .
She looked around, just imagining the event. It was her chance to put the hotel on the map—and prove to everyone back in Chicago that she hadn’t just fled in shame.
She tucked the card away into her organizer and a slip of loose paper fell to the ground. She reached to pick it up. It was the party details that Riley had left, an address scribbled in confident cursive.
Brooke paused. She needed to give Summer a call anyway now, and line up some cake samples for the pitch to Lila. After all, what better way to entice them to pick the hotel than with a plate of delicious treats?
She could drop by tonight to talk about it in person, and meet some of the other locals in Sweetbriar Cove.
It was only polite, as a new neighbor. And good business sense too. Nothing to do with Riley and that tempting smile of his, or the memories of his mouth pressed hungrily against hers.
Nothing at all.