Engaged in Trouble (Enchanted Events Book 1) Page 3

  “Of a jerk?”

  “When I’m a bit insensitive. Ready to get started?”

  “Do I have any other choice?”

  “No.” Henry was not in the mood to be my crying shoulder. “This morning you’ll start by walking yourself down the street to Sugar Creek Formals. It opened about a year ago and is already quite renowned in the South for its bridal wear. Our client, Sasha Chandler, is selecting bridesmaid dresses today, and I want you there to advise.” He handed me an iPad. “Here’s a file with her wedding details. Read it before you go and be fully knowledgeable on the event.”

  Great. I already had homework.

  “Oh, and beware,” Henry said. “This bride has claws.”

  “Bad manicure?”

  “What I mean is she’s a holy tyrant.”

  “I have absolutely no idea how to run a wedding business.” I surged to my feet, suddenly craving another cup of coffee. “But I was in the hottest girl band of this decade, and I’ve met divas that would make you cry.” I gave a confident smile. “Compared to pop stars, this bride will be an angel.”

  Chapter Four

  The bride was a demon.

  Sasha Chandler sat in a Tiffany blue chair in Sugar Creek Formals like a queen on her throne and watched her bridesmaids step from the dressing rooms. “I said blush taffeta, ladies. Raven, you’ve erroneously selected a pink one.”

  “The blush makes me look washed-out.”

  Sasha looked up from her cell phone. “Is this about you?”

  No. Clearly it was all about the bride. The vapid, tiny-waisted, shrill-talking bride.

  “Hi.” I pulled myself from the shadows and walked fully into the room. “I’m Paisley Sutton from Enchanted Events.” I’d practiced that at least ten times. “I’ll be helping you today.”

  Sasha’s flawlessly lined eyes traveled from my pink spike heels to the humidity-flattened hair I was ready to throw in a topknot. “I wanted Henry to handle this,” she snipped.

  “I did too.” Believe me, sister. “But you’ll have to settle for me.” My lips pulled into a thin smile. “The new owner.”

  At that, Demon Bride’s scowl lessened, and some of that judgmental scorn dimmed. “I see. And do you know what you’re doing?”

  I was a washed-up pop star who couldn’t even get a gig to sing on the county fair circuit. If I knew what I was doing, I’d have an accounting degree instead of two dusty Grammys packed away in a storage unit and a twenty-two-year-old agent who wouldn’t call me back. “I think I can manage.”

  I consulted the file on the tablet Henry had shoved into my hands. Sasha was twenty-four, a local, and getting married in six months. There was also a note that she was WBE, but I had no idea what that meant. “So today we’re picking out dresses and shoes for your bridesmaids, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sounds easy enough,” I said more to myself.

  “It should be.” Sasha tossed her wavy blonde hair and regarded her bridesmaids as peasants. “This is my sister Zoey. She’s my maid of honor.”

  “Stepsister,” Zoey corrected.

  “And Raven and Phoebe are my bridesmaids and best friends from college.”

  I glanced at her attendants and noticed no one looked too enthused to be there.

  “Do you have your dress picked out?” I asked Sasha.

  “Of course I do.”

  “I designed it,” said Zoey. “I’m still working on it.”

  “Do you have a picture so I can get an idea of the style you’re going for?” I asked.

  “It’s not relevant right now.” Sasha whipped her attention back to her ladies-in-waiting. “Today is about the bridesmaids’ dresses, and so far no one is cooperating. Phoebe, quit tugging on that bodice. Stand up straight.”

  Phoebe, a short girl with inky black hair, dropped her hands to her sides, her flushed cheeks as pink as her glossy lipstick. “I don’t look good in strapless.” She turned and surveyed herself in the mirror, her face as mournful as a funeral hymn. “The girls need straps.” She did a slight shimmy. “Asking them to hold up an entire dress and stay put is asking too much.”

  Sasha’s tone was pure saccharine. “That’s what duct tape is for.”

  Raven shuffled out, holding the back of her dress together. “Mine won’t zip.” She looked to Sasha. “I need the next size up.”

  “No.” Sasha’s lip curled. “That’s the size we’re ordering. You have six months—lose some weight.”

  Raven’s eyes teared up as she exchanged a look with Phoebe.

  Five minutes later Zoey eased out of her dressing room looking like a vision in her gown. She was tall, something I envied since I was barely five foot five with my best heels. Zoey’s willowy figure and model’s cheekbones would make her a stunner in any dress. Surely Bridezilla wouldn’t have a problem with her.

  “Zoey,” Sasha said from her command post, “take your glasses off. This isn’t a hipster wedding.”

  “But I can’t see without them.”

  “Can’t you get some contacts?”

  “I’m allergic to them.”

  “It’s one day.”

  “My eyes will be swollen for a week afterward.”

  Sasha shrugged. “Consider it your wedding present to me. Along with a setting of my china.”

  Zoey straightened her red-framed glasses. “You’re being unreasonable.”

  “Oh, am I really?” Sasha stalked to her posse of bridesmaids. “Does anyone else have something to say?”

  From there the scene deteriorated into a cacophony of yelling, insults, and tears.

  “You’re so demanding!”

  “This is my wedding!”

  “I am not wearing feathers!”

  “Don’t you even care that I’ll get conjunctivitis?”

  “I’m not going on some cabbage soup diet!”

  “My boobs deserve better than this!”

  I knew I should intercede, but conflict resolution was so not my strong suit. Conflict avoidance? I pretty much had a PhD in that.

  I had dealt with countless diva tantrums from our lead singer Jaz, and I’d come back the loser in every instance I’d spoken up. The Electric Femmes had been a girl band of three, but from the beginning Jaz was the sun the other singer and I were expected to orbit around.

  Okay, I could do this.

  But before I could take action, Henry walked into the shop like an avenging angel, wearing a knowing, smug grin. “How’s every little thing?”

  “I have a feeling you know perfectly well how it’s going,” I whispered. “You sent me in here on purpose.”

  He shrugged his shoulders and lifted one dark brow. “These are your clients.”

  “So you just throw me to the wolves on my first day?”

  “If you can handle Sasha Chandler, you can handle anything.”

  “What does WBE stand for?”

  “Worst bride ever.” He ignored my silent outrage. “What do you want to do about her?”

  “Let’s throw her out.” I took a step forward, but Henry’s hand on my arm stopped me.

  “Not so fast. These are paying customers. And besides, if we threw out every difficult bride, we’d be bankrupt by the end of the month. Enchanted Events has never lost a bride.”

  Bankruptcy was definitely not what I wanted. The volume of the fighting swelled around us, and I rubbed my temples. Think, think, think. What were some of the demands on Jaz’s rider for her concerts? Truffles imported from Sweden, water from a spring in France, green juice freshly squeezed with zero froth, and—

  “Champagne,” I said. “We need to serve them champagne.”

  “It’s ten a.m.”

  “Mimosas, then.”

  He frowned. “We don’t have any champagne.”

  “That needs to change.” I could use a bottle it myself right now. “Ladies!” I yelled above the din. “Girls!” I put my fingers to my teeth and whistled, finally gaining their attention. “I’m seeing a lot of beautiful dresses.�
�� Truly, the store’s selection was incredible. It was like something out of an upscale Manhattan boutique.

  Plucking a tissue from a box on the floor, I handed it to a teary Phoebe before continuing. “Sasha has some excellent ideas and lovely taste.” As I watched the bride preen like a pageant contestant, I knew I was on the right track. Sasha was like Jaz—and the way to get through to a diva was not with logic and reason, but by appealing to her ego. “I think the color she’s chosen is very on trend and flattering to everyone. You’ve done a great job, Sasha.” Even if she was a total witch.

  “Thank you.” Sasha’s voice was a prideful singsong.

  “But perhaps we can try on some others just to be certain we have the ones.”

  “What I picked out for each one is exactly what I want.”

  “And you have excellent taste.” I unclenched my teeth and slipped my arm around Henry, giving him a squeeze for good measure. “But Henry here has been dying to tell you about some brand-new dresses the store’s had in mind just for your wedding, Sasha.” It was important to make the diva feel as if she was the most important person in the room. “He said they haven’t let anyone else even try them on.”

  “What are you talking about?” Henry hissed.

  “Oh.” The hand bearing Sasha’s megawatt diamond fluttered to her chest. “Well, I guess we could take a peek.”

  The bridesmaids all nodded their agreement.

  “Wonderful,” I said. “Henry, show them the new dresses while I go get everyone a coffee from next door.”

  Henry’s voice dipped venomously low as the ladies walked away. “If you don’t come back, Paisley, I will call your grandmother and have her hunt you down and bring you back. I know she has all sorts of contraband weapons and can make it painful.”

  “The girls need caffeine. I’m just being hospitable.” I gave his shoulder a friendly pat. “I’ll bring you something back, boss.”

  “You’re the boss,” he called out after me.

  “And don’t you forget it!”

  * * *

  It was already a scorcher in Sugar Creek, and the sun seared right through my T-shirt as I stepped onto the sidewalk and hoofed it three doors down to Perky’s Coffee Shop. I passed two antique stores and one new restaurant before opening the doors of the shop and inhaling the magical aroma. Surely heaven would smell like a double-shot latte.

  “What’ll it be?” the man at the counter asked. “Hey, aren’t you Sylvie Sutton’s granddaughter?”

  “I am.”

  “The one who inherited the wedding business?”

  “Yes.” I eyed the artsy chalkboard menu behind him. “I’d like to order two—”

  “Word on the street is you’re probably gonna run it into the ground.”

  The town was talking about me? “Definitely not my intention.”

  “What do you know about running a business?”

  “Not much.” Though apparently I could handle crazy brides. “So I’d like to order a macchiato and—”

  “Enchanted Events provides jobs for quite a few folks. I’d hate to see them out of work.”

  My desire for coffee was dwindling by the second. “Can I just place my order, sir?”

  “Are you gonna sell it and leave? Let it die like that band you were in?”

  The words delivered an unexpected bolt of pain.

  I had to get out of here before the tears came.

  “The lady would like to order some coffee, Frankie,” came a deep twang behind me.

  I turned and found my nose planted right in the chest of Beau Hudson.

  “Hello, neighbor,” he said.

  I looked up to see him smiling down, his gaze narrowing at my watery eyes. “Beau.”

  One of his strong hands squeezed my upper arm. “Skipping out on work already?”

  “I’m . . .” I cleared my throat and shook off the barista’s barb. “I’m doing a little coffee intervention. Ordering for a wedding party.” My gosh, Beau smelled wonderful. He wore a mint green T-shirt with a retro advertisement for Beaver Lake, a navy baseball cap, and a total disregard for a clean shave. “We’re dealing with a barracuda of a bride right now.”

  “Something tells me you can take her.” His smile was slow, full of the same kind of arrogance and mischief that I remembered from when he was the town’s high school football legend. “Frankie, Paisley’s in a hurry to get back to all that wedding crap. Why don’t you take her order real quick like and put it on my tab?”

  “You got it, Beau,” the man said, as if Beau still possessed the ability to take the team to state.

  “Thank you.” I pulled my eyes from Beau’s and rattled off my lengthy order. I had no idea what anyone would actually want, but espresso shots seemed a necessity.

  “How was your first night back in Sugar Creek?” Beau asked as we waited, still standing closer than a casual conversation required.

  “Best sleep of my life,” I lied. “Sweet dreams and all of that.”

  “You were probably dreaming about me.” He shrugged. “It happens. I think there’s a support group that meets on Wednesday nights.”

  “For people who dream of you nightly? Probably lots of pretty men and regular drug users.”

  “Nothing wrong with a diverse fan base.” That wicked gleam in his eye was enough to disrupt any girl’s heart rhythms. “Don’t let Frankie get to you. He insults everyone. It’s how he shows love.”

  “I’d rather have it in the form of extra whipped cream.”

  “Order up for the pop princess!” Frankie yelled a few minutes later.

  When my order appeared on the counter, I questioned the logic of a drink run. Seven coffees. Two hands. “I don’t suppose you have a delivery service, sweet Frankie?”

  “I’ll help you.” Beau picked up four of the steaming cups and jerked his chin toward the door. “Lead the way to Ladyville.”

  As he held the door open, I balanced the coffee ever so precariously and stepped onto the sidewalk.

  And plowed right into someone.

  Mochas, lattes, and Americanos went airborne. Hot liquid splattered on me, on my skin, and on—

  “Hey, watch out!” cried a man.

  After I looked up, I ignored my burning skin, my dripping shirt, my stained shoes, the litter of now-empty cups around me.

  “Evan Holbrook.” The name slipped from my lips like a hot curse.

  The man swiped his hands over his blue button-down shirt, his frown severe. Until his eyes locked on mine.

  “Paisley?”

  “You.” A fury filled my vision, made my blood go hot as a tin roof at straight-up noon. “What are you doing in this town?”

  Beau’s arm brushed mine as he stood closer. “You know this guy?”

  “He’s my former fiancé.” My gaze remained locked on Evan like one of Sylvie’s Beretta pistols. “Surely you know the story. Everyone does. Evan’s version, that is. Because he left me standing at the altar to go running to the tabloids.”

  “Can’t say I’ve heard this tale.” Beau gave an easy shrug. “Fighting wars and all that.”

  Evan held up his hands as if in surrender. “That was two years ago. It’s time to let this go. Move on with your life.”

  “Evan here broke our engagement during the ceremony, then sold the story to three different tabloids. Except the story he told wasn’t the true version of a man leaving an embarrassed and humiliated woman in the Sugar Creek Chapel. It was some fabricated delusion about a man victimized by a mentally unstable pop star who needed medication to handle her tanking career and who verbally abused him. Is that about right, Evan? Did I miss anything?”

  Evan pulled off his sunglasses, his eyes blinking rapidly. “Things got out of hand. Those tabloids are vultures.”

  “Oh, really? Do explain. Did someone tell your entire hometown that you’re certifiable?” I took a menacing step forward, my pointer finger jabbing Evan’s chest with each sentence. “Did your own mother call you daily for three months to ask
if you needed to borrow money for a treatment facility? Did you lose a German recording contract you had just signed? Did you?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “I’m sorry you’re still hurting,” Evan said quietly.

  “Hurting?” I took another step, my nose nearly touching his. “Oh, I’m so far past that. Don’t even kid yourself.”

  Beau nudged me with an elbow. “Coffee’s getting cold, Paisley. Why don’t we get you back to the shop?”

  “I heard you inherited Enchanted Events,” Evan said.

  “Yeah, turns out I’m back in town for a while. And if you feel the need to call the press with that, trust me: They no longer care.”

  “Okay, good talk,” Beau said. “But we need to get Paisley back to work before she pulls out her nunchuks. We don’t want her arrested on her first day.” He held his carton of coffees in one arm and wrapped his other around my shoulders.

  But I wasn’t done.

  “You really have no idea what you cost me, do you, Evan?” I watched this weak man in front of me and wondered how I could’ve ever loved him. “Here’s some advice for you.” I stuck a finger in his pretty face. “Sleep lightly. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking of how I’d repay you, how I’d get you back for all the damage you caused. Pretty soon I won’t be the only one who regrets you ever opened your mouth to all those tabloids.” I had waited forever for this moment, and this small victory soared through my veins. “You won’t know the day or the hour, but do know this—I’m coming for you. I’ll make the Bridezilla I’m dealing with today seem like a saint in comparison.”

  “Sasha!”

  I stilled. How did Evan know? “Is her behavior that renowned?”

  “Um, Paisley?”

  I turned at Beau’s tap on my shoulder.

  And found a small army of very interested townsfolk standing behind us.

  Including a wide-eyed Sasha Chandler.