In the seven months Olivia Grant had worked at Emerald City Events as an assistant event coordinator, she had encountered her fair share of odd demands. But the Roberts’ stipulation that their wedding menu be lacto-ovo-pescatarian-vegetarian and Keto-friendly was a new one.
“OTP? What the hell is that?”
“The dating app? One True Pairing? What rock have you been living under?”
Olivia drained the dregs of her tea, which had long gone cold, and tried to tune out her coworkers’ chitchat.
“Uh, I’ve been married for twenty-five years?” Naomi said.
“That’s no excuse. Their ads are everywhere. Come on. I bet even Olivia knows what I’m talking about.”
“Hmm?” Olivia finished skimming the email from the caterer for the Roberts’ wedding—which mostly amounted to confusion and consternation about what the hell he was supposed to serve—before lowering the screen of her laptop. She’d commiserate with him later. “Sorry, even I know what?”
Kira, marketing director at Emerald City Events, leaned her chin on her hand. “OTP. Please tell me you’ve heard of it.”
Olivia shrugged. “Sure. Hasn’t everyone?”
Kira shot Naomi a pointed look and smirked. “See?”
“And like I said”—Naomi wiggled her left hand, the platinum wedding band gleaming against her deep brown skin—“married.”
“So was Liv.”
The tan line on Olivia’s ring finger had faded months ago, unlike the habit she had of running her thumb along the space where her wedding ring had once rested. She tucked her hand under her thigh and smiled. “I thought you were seeing that barista. What’s her name? Blake?”
“Oh, totally. Strictly secondhand knowledge of the app on my part. I’ve got a cousin who met their boyfriend on the app, but that’s it.” Kira grinned at Naomi. “But at least I know about it.”
“OOC, OTP, AO3, PWP, you kids and your abbreviations.” Naomi tutted. “You wanna know the only three-letter acronym I give a damn about?” She tapped the pin on her lapel and grinned. “COO, thank you very much.”
Kira crowed in delight. “PWP? Naomi, you naughty girl, what have you been reading?”
Olivia hid her smile behind her fingers.
Utterly unabashed, Naomi shrugged one shoulder. “I like what I like.”
“I’ve got another three-letter acronym for you.” Kira swiveled her chair from side to side, in time with each letter she listed. “VIP.”
She waited for the punch line, for Kira or Naomi to expound on what those three letters meant in the context of their conversation. “Who’s a VIP?”
Emerald City Events, Seattle’s premier events management company, catered to a variety of clientele, from street festivals to nonprofits to Fortune 500 tech companies. Olivia had yet to help with an event for any of their higher-profile clients, but she knew they existed.
“Brendon Lowell,” Kira said. “Owner and creator of OTP.”
That explained why Kira and Naomi were discussing the dating app.
“Does he want to hire us for an event?”
“Mm-hmm. His wedding.” Kira leaned her elbows on her desk. “Lori’s upstairs having kittens.”
Olivia frowned. “Shouldn’t Lori be thrilled?”
“She would be,” Naomi said. “If he hadn’t called her last-minute.”
Oh. “Shotgun wedding?” She wrinkled her nose. “Do people still call them that? I mean, do people even care?”
“You’re the one who grew up in BFE, Liv. You tell me.” Kira snickered, sobering quickly. “Sorry, it’s really not funny. Brendon Lowell had plans to get married over on the Olympic Peninsula. The venue was all-inclusive—event planner, catering, DJ, decorations, cake, the whole shebang offered in-house. Sounds great, right?”
Call it a hunch, but Olivia was going to go with no.
“Apparently there was a fire at the venue yesterday. Extensive damage to the rental house and ceremony space. They’ve canceled all events through the end of the year.” Kira grimaced. “Lowell got a full refund on his deposit, obviously, but they’re starting from scratch with three weeks until the big day. Guests have already booked flights, so they’re pretty adamant about not changing the date.”
Three weeks was less than ideal, but it was doable. With the right budget, Olivia could probably plan a wedding in half that time. Money talked, and it opened doors. Facts of life. “Lori could pull it off.”
“Lori could pull it off if she weren’t already booked that day,” Naomi said, brows rising. “Hell, she’ll still pull it off, even if it kills her. She’s upstairs, trying to figure out how to break it to her other client that she’s going to miss their big day.”
“Lori’s had me step in before.”
Kira’s lips drew to the side. “Yeah, except the other client? It’s her daughter.”
Olivia’s jaw dropped. “Lori’s going to skip her own daughter’s wedding?”
“Mm-hmm.” Naomi pursed her lips. “VIP.”
“The Seattle Times is covering the Lowell wedding for the Vows section,” Kira explained. “It could be huge for ECE. Lori doesn’t want to miss out on that.”
And she didn’t have to.
“I can do it.”
Kira and Naomi stared.
“What? I can.” Olivia stood and smoothed down the front of her skirt. “I’m going to go talk to Lori.”
This was her chance to prove herself, the break she had been waiting for, hoping for since she’d packed up her Subaru and left Enumclaw eight months ago.
A look passed between Kira and Naomi before Naomi dropped her eyes. “Good luck.”
Despite her blustering, Olivia had a feeling she was going to need all the luck she could get.
Emerald City Events was located out of a charming two-story Craftsman in the Ballard neighborhood of Seattle. Lori’s office encompassed most of the sprawling upstairs, the whole place extensively renovated and open concept.
Lori’s desk was visible from the top of the stairs, but she wasn’t seated behind it. Instead, she stood in front of the window, forehead pressed to the rain-splattered glass, shoulders hunched. Usually, Lori was the pinnacle of calm, cool collectedness, unflappable under pressure. For her, this was practically a breakdown.
Olivia rapped her knuckles against the wall. “Knock, knock. I, uh, heard there’s a bit of a scheduling fiasco?”
Lori’s spine straightened as she lifted her head, stepping away from the window. She turned and smiled, all teeth and faux brightness, her eyes hardly creasing at the corners. “No fiasco. I trust you completely.”
Olivia’s heart tripped over the next beat.
“Sasha will be in great hands on the day of her wedding.”
Sasha. Lori’s daughter, Sasha. Olivia wasn’t sure whether to take that as the world’s highest compliment or greatest insult, Lori entrusting Olivia with her daughter’s wedding when there was another solution, right there, staring her straight in the face.
Olivia clasped her hands together loosely and crossed the room, stopping beside Lori. “Or.”
Lori’s expression barely budged, save for the gentle rise of her left brow. “Or?”
Olivia took a deep breath. “Or you could go to your daughter’s wedding and let me plan the Lowell wedding.”
Lori dropped her eyes and sighed. “Olivia—”
“I’m good at this, Lori.”
“Of course you are.” Lori crossed her arms and sniffed. “I hired you, after all.”
Olivia held her breath.
“But I feel like the Lowell wedding might be a tad ambitious for your first solo gig.”
Every event since Olivia had started working at ECE had been a tad ambitious according to Lori.
Olivia deflated. “Oh.”
Lori turned, staring out the window, where outside, a fine mist fell from the gray sky. She drummed her fingers against her arm and sighed sharply through her nose. “I’ve worked with Brendon Lowell on several events in the past—company parties, corporate retreats, that sort of thing. He’s easy to work with, knows what he likes, and he’s local to the area. Best part of all, he loves weddings.”
“Sounds like a dream,” Olivia murmured, trying to tuck away her disappointment.
“If not for the poor timing, I’d have been over the moon, having a wedding like this land in my lap.” Lori’s scowl reflected in the glass. “It’s the sort of wedding that practically plans itself. With a budget like his, how could it not?”
Olivia frowned. If Lori was trying to make her feel better, it wasn’t working. “I’m sorry?”
Lori clicked her tongue against the back of her teeth. “And the Seattle Times coverage? That has the propensity to be huge for business. Granted, the wedding would have to go off without a hitch . . .” Lori looked at her askance. “What I’m saying is, don’t fuck this up.”
Her jaw dropped. “Wait. What? Are you—Lori.”
Olivia’s eyes stung from all of this emotional whiplash.
The thin gold bangles on Lori’s wrist jangled when she batted at the air. “I beg you, please don’t get mushy on me. My nerves are shot. If you start to cry, I’ll cry, and I loathe crying.”
Olivia pressed her lips together, stifling a laugh.
Lori rolled her head to the side and smiled. “You’re right. You are good at this. Which is why I’m going to give you the Lowell wedding.”
Lips still pressed tight together, her squeal escaped as a high-pitched meep. “Thank you, thank you, thank you—”
Lori lifted a hand, cutting off Olivia’s effusive thanks. “You pull this off, and consider the word assistant scratched from your position, okay?” Lori rounded her desk and reached for her glasses, sliding them up the bridge of her nose. “We can discuss a raise in your salary later.” Lori lifted her head and smiled. “Sound good?”
It sounded freaking fantastic. “Perfect.”
“Great.” Lori tore a sheet of paper from her notebook and held it out for Olivia to take. “Monday. Six p.m. sharp. Brendon and his fiancée, Annie, would like to tour The Ruins. Fabulous hidden gem in Queen Anne? You remember it, right? We had an event there a few months ago. It was for—”
“The Martins’ golden anniversary.” Olivia nodded. “I remember.”
Lori arched a single brow, one corner of her mouth rising simultaneously, looking pleased. Olivia warmed faintly at the unspoken praise. She had a sharp memory, necessary in a profession like this.
“Good.” Lori pointed at the paper in Olivia’s hand. “Brendon’s and Annie’s cells are listed at the top. Backup numbers for the Maid of Honor and Best Woman are below those. Just in case.”
Listed on the paper beneath B. Lowell and A. Kyriakos was D. Lowell and M. Cooper.
M. Cooper.
Olivia traced the inked name with the tip of her finger. In a city of nearly four million people, what were the chances of this M. Cooper being the same M. Cooper Olivia knew from high school? Her face warmed; the rest of her, too. Slim. The chances were slim.
“I’ll forward you his email with details on budget and guest list. Lucky for us, we already have a head count.”
Lucky was right.
“Well, go on.” Lori shooed Olivia out of the office. “You’ve got a lot work ahead of you.”
* * *
“I’m just saying, maybe it’s time to put some feelers out, start the hunt for a new roommate. It’s been six months since the last one moved out.”
As if Margot Cooper needed the reminder of how long it had been. It was the longest she’d lived alone, a fact of which she was painfully aware. “I know, Elle.”
“Doesn’t the quiet bother you?” Margot’s best friend frowned and leaned her shoulder against the crosswalk pole. “It would bother me.”
Elle didn’t have to worry about coming home to an empty apartment. A little over a year ago, she’d moved out of the place she and Margot had shared and in with her girlfriend, Darcy, at the same time Annie—Darcy’s best friend—had moved in with Margot. That arrangement had lasted a brief two months before Annie had moved in with her now-fiancé, Brendon, Darcy’s brother.
None of it would’ve happened had Margot and Elle, the voices behind the astronomically successful social media–based astrology business Oh My Stars, not partnered with Brendon’s dating app, One True Pairing, to incorporate astrological compatibility to the app’s matching algorithm two years ago. Not only had it been a smart career move, beneficial for both OTP and Oh My Stars, but Margot had also lucked out, finding a close friend in Brendon. And thanks to Brendon, Elle had met Darcy. Wins all around.
Except for the part where Margot was down a roommate and now came home to an empty apartment, ate dinner alone more nights than not, and had started saying good night to her plants. An admission she could kick herself over confessing to Elle, the reason behind this whole conversation.
“Maybe I’ll get a cat,” she mused, stepping out into the street when the light turned green.
Elle snorted. “Except for the part where you hate cats.”
“I do not hate cats.” She sniffed. “I have a . . . healthy respect for anything that could rip my face off.”
It was common sense. Self-preservation. Survival skills.
Elle bumped Margot with her hip. “Healthy fear, more like.”
“Call it what you want.” Margot shrugged. “I’m strongly considering adopting a cat.”
Elle whipped out her phone, eyes flitting between the screen and the building up ahead. “And I think you should strongly consider getting a human roommate. You know, someone you can actually talk to.”
Margot opened her mouth.
“Someone who can actually talk back.” Elle nibbled on her bottom lip, footsteps slowing to a stop in front of the entrance to the venue. “I know you’re a little gun-shy after your last roommate.”
More like last string of roommates.
Margot snorted at Elle’s tact. “I’m not gun-shy. I’m being selective, and for good reason. I’ve already put feelers out, Elle. I’ve got my ear to the ground. I know I need a new roommate.” She huffed. “Preferably one who doesn’t have a habit of taking Ambien, sleepwalking into my closet, and popping a squat over my shoes at three in the morning.”
Elle cringed.
That wasn’t even taking into consideration the roommate who’d stolen Margot’s credit card or the one who’d owned an ant farm. An ant farm Margot had known nothing about until she’d woken up to the floor moving on one memorable Sunday morning.
Margot’s recent luck with roommates wasn’t just bad, it was abysmal.
Elle stared, eyes wide and full of sympathy, and it made Margot’s skin itch. The perks and pitfalls of having a best friend who knew her so well that she could hear what Margot wasn’t saying.
“Look, can we just . . . put a pin in it and circle back around?” Margot flipped her wrist over, checking the time on her Fitbit. Five ’til. Now wasn’t the time or the place for Margot to throw herself a pity party. “It’s almost six.”
Elle stole another peek at her phone and smiled. “Darcy texted. They’re already inside.”
Stepping through the door, Elle led the way down a winding hall lined with doors on each side, the sound of Brendon’s boisterous laugh growing louder as they approached. Margot ducked her head inside an open door and cringed at the decor. Between the heart-shaped, glitter-filled balloons floating aimlessly along the perimeter of the room and the pink confetti littering the floor, it looked like Cupid had jizzed all over the reception space.
At the end of the hall, Elle drew to an abrupt stop and gasped. “Wow.”
Margot hurried to catch up before following Elle’s gaze up to the ceiling. “Holy shit.”
The ceiling of the ballroom was stunning, painted in shades of lilac and lavender, bleeding down into periwinkle and pink, all the softest shades of dusk, when twilight descended into night and the stars came out to play. Little pinpricks of silver and champagne dotted the ceiling, and the glow of the chandeliers made everything ethereal and dreamy. Perfect for Brendon and Annie.
Across the room, Brendon beamed. “It’s great, isn’t it?”
Tucked into his side, Annie smiled up at him. “I like what I see.”
Elle greeted Darcy with a quick kiss before lacing their fingers together. “It’s like something straight out of a fairy tale. If you guys don’t get married here, I will.”
Darcy stared at Elle as if she were the source of all the light in the room.
A bittersweet pang struck Margot in the chest, stealing her breath.
She didn’t always feel like a fifth wheel—her friends were good about keeping the PDA to a minimum, and even then, a little PDA didn’t bother her—but it was happening more often lately.
A wedding was a party, marriage a piece of paper and permission to file your taxes jointly; Brendon and Annie, Darcy and Elle, they were already coupled up, wholly committed, and madly in love. It was silly to let an event that was, more than anything, symbolic mess with her head, but Margot couldn’t help but feel like her friends were all forming a club and she wasn’t invited.
Not unless she brought a plus-one.
“Elle’s right,” Margot said, trying to echo her enthusiasm. “I think this place might be it.”
Brendon laughed. “You’re just saying that so you don’t have to tour another venue.”
Is that what he thought? Jesus. “I know I’m not always sunshine and rainbows, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care.”
Of course she cared. Flowers and first-dance songs weren’t her favorite topics, but Brendon and Annie cared about it all, so she cared about it. She was the Best Woman. Caring about Brendon was pretty much what the role dictated. But even if she weren’t the Best Woman, she’d have still cared because he was her friend. He was stuck with her.
“Trust me,” he said, eyes still crinkled with laughter. “No one expects you to be sunshine and rainbows.”
Her brows knit. What was that supposed to mean?
“It’s not an indictment,” Brendon tacked on, eyes widening in alarm as if he’d realized he’d said the wrong thing. “We like you exactly as you are.”
Annie nodded briskly in agreement, but Margot couldn’t help but feel like maybe it wasn’t true. That maybe her friends would like her better if she were a little more sunshine and rainbows.
Margot dug inside her bag for her lip balm. She’d just have to try harder, lay it on thicker. “Who are we waiting on?”
Brendon fished around inside his pocket. “The facility manager had to step out to make a call, and the wedding planner texted a couple minutes ago and said she’s trying to find a place to park. She should be here—”
“I’m so sorry I’m late.” Breathless laughter came from behind their group. “Parking was a pain.”
The lid to Margot’s ChapStick slipped out of her fingers and bounced against the floor before rolling a foot away. Great. She crouched, shuffling forward to snag it from beside Darcy’s foot.
Brendon grinned. “No worries. Olivia, right? I’m Brendon.”
“It’s so nice to meet you.”
“Likewise. This is my fiancée, Annie; my sister, Darcy; her girlfriend, Elle.”
“Hi,” Elle chirped.
Margot stood, dusting off her knees.
“This is my friend and Best Woman—”
“Margot?”
All the air left Margot’s lungs in a punched-out exhale as soon as she locked eyes with the statuesque blond across the room.
Olivia Grant. Holy shit.
Olivia’s pouty, lush lips parted, mirroring Margot’s shock. An abundance of tawny hair spilled out from beneath her dark red beanie, tumbling down her back in soft waves, longer than Margot remembered. For a moment, Margot was too tongue-tied to speak.
Elle’s forehead furrowed, and Margot coughed.
“Olivia.” Her voice actually cracked. Kill her now. “Right. I thought you looked . . . familiar.” Familiar. Ha. Familiar was for acquaintances. Not whatever the hell they once were. “It’s, um, Olivia Taylor now, right?
Not that Margot had looked Olivia up online or anything. Not that she’d specifically not looked, either. Maybe she’d taken a peek at her Facebook profile, but only because it had popped up under suggested friends. Margot hadn’t sent her a friend request or anything like that. They weren’t friends. Not anymore. Olivia whatever-her-last-name-was was just someone Margot used to know.
Someone Margot had once spent the better part of a week with naked, tangled up in the sheets of Olivia’s childhood bed, wringing multiple orgasms out of, until Margot’s jaw had ached and Olivia’s voice had grown hoarse. Five days that were, arguably, the best of Margot’s life, full of toe-curling sex and laughter that made her stomach hurt. The start of something, a new chapter between them, one where Margot didn’t have to spend another second secretly pining for her best friend because all her feelings were returned.
Or so she’d thought.
“It was.” Olivia coughed and clasped her hands in front of her for a brief moment before dropping them back to her sides where they dangled loosely, like she didn’t know what to do with them. “It’s Grant again.”
Margot’s eyes dropped to Olivia’s left hand, her ring finger bare.
Huh.
Interesting.
“Wait.” Brendon pointed between the both of them, looking confused. “You two know each other?”
Color rose in Olivia’s cheeks, and Margot remembered tracing the southward spread of that blush with her fingertips, tasting it with her tongue, Olivia’s skin soft as satin and hot beneath Margot’s lips. For a split second, Margot went dizzy, blood rising to the surface of her skin, mimicking Olivia’s flush.
Know each other. Margot swallowed hard. You could say that.
“Olivia and I go way back.” Back to Girl Scouts and slumber parties and double-dog dares and pinky promises made beneath the stars. Promises that had been long since forgotten, broken. “It’s been, what, eleven years?”
Olivia’s hazel eyes rounded as she met Margot’s stare across the room. “Give or take. We, um, we went to school together,” she said, words rushing out of her in a jumble. “In Enumclaw.”
“Damn.” Brendon’s eyes darted between them. “Talk about serendipity, right?”
Margot forced out a chuckle.
The universe was playing a cosmic joke on her, that was for sure.
