Flowers and Financiers by Alina Jacobs

3

Amy

Morning. Bright sun. Regret.

Bad decisions were the story of my life, and just like I had all the other times I had drunk too much, I vowed never to do it again.

Something warm and wet dragged across my cheek, nibbled my hair, then yanked.

“Ow!” I yelled as I was unceremoniously wrenched out of my dream in which a hot polo player had whisked me off to his mansion in his private plane, and we lived happily ever after with a bunch of kids and horses.

“Baxter!” I shrieked as the pony pulled me off the couch that served as my bed, table, desk, and living room. I tumbled to the floor.

“Oof.” I rubbed my head. “I drank too much.”

I reached out to the mini fridge and fumbled for a can of ginger ale, but the fridge was empty, just like my life. But not like my apartment.

That’s right, my apartment was so small that I could touch both walls at once. My fridge was the size of a small cooler. My floors were cruddy carpet that grew mushrooms when it rained.

Welcome to New York City real estate.

“Tea,” I croaked, dragging myself upright.

The reason I had rented this apartment—the courtyard. The tiny outdoor space was my oasis in the concrete and glass of Manhattan. I was a country girl at heart, happiest on a farm with my flowers and packs of animals and surrounded by nature.

The small courtyard was the closest I would get in the city, though. I had done my best. There was a small pond with fish and a fountain, terraces of plants that didn’t mind the shade, like ferns, and in the sunny little corner, I grew all sorts of flowers and herbs.

While waiting for water to boil, I snipped off some mint, fennel, and rosemary for my hangover while Baxter followed me around the courtyard as I checked on all my plants.

I was planning on having a nice relaxing cup of herbal tea in the garden while reading, until I looked at the time.

“Shit!”

* * *

I tumbledinto the Weddings in the City office fifteen minutes after the meeting was supposed to start.

“I’m shocked you made it here at all,” Elsie remarked.

“I think I drank too much.”

“No shit!” Sophie said with a laugh and took a sip of her mimosa.

“It was really amazing barbeque, though,” I said. “Wish I had some now.”

“Or do you want a different kind of meat?” Brea cackled. “You were dropping mad hints to that polo guy about wanting to sleep with him.”

“Ugh.” I slumped down in my seat. “With everyone here as my witness, I, Amy Reynolds, am going to be making better life decisions.”

Elsie handed me a plate with eggs Benedict and grilled asparagus.

“I need a mimosa with this.”

“What happened to better life decisions?”

“They will start after a mimosa.”

“Drink your water first,” Elsie ordered.

“Hopefully that guy is already married,” Ivy said, “because otherwise we could have lost a potential client.”

“I wasn’t that bad, was I?” Then it came back to me—the arguing, the gratuitous sexual comments, and the spilling of barbeque all over that delicious chest.

“I’ve been stressed lately,” I explained and took a big bite of the eggs Benedict. The creamy hollandaise sent warm, happy feelings through me. “There are rumors that rent in my building is going up. My granddad keeps wanting me to spend more time in Harrogate, and I feel super guilty. Plus, we’re so busy with all our brides.”

Ivy had started Weddings in the City as a collaborative so that brides could have a one-stop shop for a beautiful, high-class wedding. She was the wedding planner. Sophie baked delicious wedding cakes decorated with her signature sculpted sugar flowers. Elsie cooked the tastiest catering ever. Brea designed and sewed one-of-a-kind, ethereal wedding dresses, and Grace was the wedding photographer extraordinaire. I created beautiful, locally grown flower arrangements.

“Speaking of,” Ivy said, pulling up a presentation. “This is a working brunch, ladies. We need to talk about what is probably going to be our biggest wedding this year, Hunter and Meg.” A photo of the tall, blond Svensson and Meg, the mayor of Harrogate, popped up on the presentation screen.

“Meg is a busy woman trying to run a small town. Hunter is a billionaire, and we all know how they are. They are used to paying for top-tier service and expect things to be perfect, on time, and stress-free for them. We need to deliver a classy event, and Hunter has, in no uncertain terms, said that Meg could have whatever she wants. We need to make this event special for them and their families.”

“Big family,” Sophie remarked.

“How many of them are going to be groomsmen?” I asked, the eggs Benedict throwing me into wedding planning gear.

Ivy grimaced. “That is currently under negotiation. We have a meeting tomorrow afternoon in Harrogate to kick off the wedding. Everyone please come prepared and with ideas in your respective fields.”

Unlimited flower budget? Quaint, small-town country setting?I already had ideas spinning in my mind.

The elevator to the office pinged.

“Darlings!” our next bride said, sweeping out.

“You’re early,” Ivy said, professional smile firmly planted in place.

“I’m never early or late. I come when I please.”

Behold, the bridezilla—entitled, difficult, and demanding.

“Mimosa, Tatiana?” Elsie offered.

“I’m on a diet,” the bridezilla said with a sniff.

We hastily cleared the table, and she sat down.

“My wedding is in eighteen months. I feel like we are already behind schedule.”

“This is the first kickoff meeting,” Ivy explained, adopting her pleasant but professional customer service persona.

“I need everything to be perfect,” the bride insisted. “I was just at my parents. My whole family is so jealous of me. They wish they were marrying someone as awesome as Daryl. You should have heard my sister, that fat cow. I don’t want her in my wedding party.”

Lord, help us.

Tatiana slammed her hand on the table. “Are you writing this down?” she shrieked.

Ivy dutifully began writing in her notebook.

“I need you all to draw up a contract for bridesmaids and manage the audition process. I don’t want anyone pregnant or gaining weight. Or losing weight. They can’t be thinner than me. And I don’t want anyone at the wedding making hateful comments about how the groom is my college professor. I didn’t break up his marriage. We are in love.”

Ah, nothing like a second marriage!

The bride tossed her hair.

“He said he never loved his last two wives the way he loves me. And you need to make sure none of the guests and none of the vendors call me a mistress or a homewrecker. He’s had a mistress before. She had a baby, and he didn’t marry her. But he’s marrying me. Because we’re in love.”

I stand corrected. Nothing like a third marriage!

“I will make sure that everyone is aware,” Ivy assured her.

“You’d better,” she scolded her. “I don’t want anything to spoil my perfect wedding.”

“He told me I didn’t even have to get a job after I graduated college. I could just be a homemaker. And he is going to hire servants to take care of me.”

“Don’t you want a fallback plan?” I asked delicately.

“A fallback plan?” Tatiana scoffed. “Didn’t you hear me say we’re in love? Gawd, you sound just like my mom. ‘Don’t rely on a man. He cheated on his wife with you, and he’ll probably cheat on you. He abandoned two other kids, and he’ll probably abandon yours.’ Except that he won’t!” she raged. “He loves me. Me! You need to be on my team.”

“We absolutely are,” Ivy assured her.

“And,” Tatiana said, pointing at me, “I want you to make sure my bouquet is bigger than Princess Diana’s. Speaking of, I want famous people at my wedding.”

“Usually, you have to pay them, unless you’re friends,” Ivy said cautiously.

“So pay them,” she said. “And make them sign a contract stating that they have to pretend we’re old friends.”

“We’ll look into that.” Ivy nodded.

“Good.” The bridezilla stood up. “I expect to see progress by our next meeting.”

After she had swept out, Elsie silently poured another round of cocktails.

“At least Meg and Hunter’s wedding should be fun to plan,” I said after a moment. “Sure won’t be drinking as much after.”