Three Months Later
“Idon’t care how you do it,” Lacey says into the receiver, her chipper voice a clipped, no-nonsense rattle that wards off any arguments. “I need the cake changed.”
She lets out a sigh of frustration, listening to the harried protest on the other end of the line. Her eyes do double duty as she glances at her computer screen, clicking through the link for alpacas. She squints. Or is it llamas? Either way, she bristles at the thought of getting them into a trailer. She turns her attention back to the phone call. “Yes, I am aware it is four days before the party. I understand we’ll be fully charged for this cake. And yes, I understand squid ink–pomegranate is a combination that should only exist in the seventh circle of hell, but my client has had a change of heart and demands that the cake be changed.”
Once again, she listens, adjusting a cuff on her gray blazer. “Right. That’s what I thought.” She smiles. “I’ll send you the order over email. Remember, we want the cake to look like it’s bleeding. Yes. Thank you.”
Ending the call, Lacey swivels in her chair. Her eyes brush to the smog-filled skyline of LA. At least she has a view. Her cramped cubicle chafes her, but if she has her way, it won’t be for long. She opens her desk drawer, finding it empty. Her stomach rumbles, disgruntled. A missed breakfast, a missed lunch, doesn’t have it happy.
“Lacey.”
Lacey lifts her eyes to Autumn, her boss’s personal assistant and an associate event planner. Autumn’s a pain in her ass, usually acting as Prentiss Scott’s watchdog. Always on the hunt for mistakes. Lacey’s mistakes especially.
She can never tell if Autumn wants to support or sabotage her. So, she keeps her distance. An icy distance.
She stares at Autumn. “What?”
Autumn’s over-plucked brows nearly hit the ceiling. “Prentiss wants you in his office. Now.”
Keeping her sigh inside, her face placid, Lacey pulls herself up and struts down the hall.
Prentiss Scott is the owner of Shock and Awe Events, a luxury event-planning firm that plans parties and weddings for Hollywood society and celebrities like Oprah, Taylor Swift, and Snoop Dog. They’re the crème de la crème of Los Angeles event planners, always in demand, always on-call.
When she gets to Prentiss’s obscenely large office, he’s scrolling through Pandora, Beats draped around his neck like he wants them to catch him DJing.
She raps the door and enters. “Prentiss, hi. You wanted to see me?”
Prentiss’s eye twitches behind his dark-framed glasses. The way his fingers dance across his phone tells her he’s ready for his afternoon coffee and Xanax. “Give me a rundown on the Cane account.”
She’s ready, has it nailed by now. “Run of show is nearly done. Cake is being changed. Flowers will be picked up and arranged on Friday. Caterers are scheduled for noon on Saturday.”
Autumn raises a hand. “What about the alpacas?”
Lacey shoots her a withering glare. “They are llamas, Autumn. And they are fabulous. And they’re being delivered Saturday.”
“Fantastic.” Prentiss glances at Lacey, his slicked-back black hair so greasy he needs blotting papers. “It has to go off without a hitch, Sutton. I need you there. On the ground. In the shit. Anything Colin Cane needs, you do it.”
Lacey blows out a breath, knowing she’s expected to work nonstop this week until the party’s over. Only then can she collapse in an exhausted heap. “Where else would I be?”
“Nowhere but here, I’d hope.” He checks his watch, closes his laptop. “Off with you, Sutton. I have a tee time at four.”
His dismissive tone has Lacey wanting to set herself, or better yet him, on fire. But she plasters a sweet smile on her face. No pushback. All yes, sir. She reminds herself it will all be worth it. She’s this close to a promotion. After five years of interning, five years of ordering coffees with obnoxious names like Smaug Fog and Dirty Chais and Red Eyes, five years of schlepping event decor down Hollywood Boulevard and sweating through her silk shirts, she’s finally on top.
She has the Colin Cane account.
The man’s a legend in Los Angeles high society. Socialite. Handsome. Rich. It’s her only account, and she loves everything about it. She had better. Because she’s a slave to it. For the last six months, she’s been working twelve-hour days, six days a week, to get this holiday party off the ground. If it all comes together like it should, if Saturday’s event is a success, she’ll get that corner office next to Prentiss. Not Autumn. Not a woman who wears head-to-toe leopard print.
She flashes a frosty smile. “I’m out too.”
Back in her cubicle, Lacey shuts down her computer and grabs the duffel bag she keeps stashed under her desk. When she glances over her shoulder, she sees Autumn hovering behind her, eyes narrowed. “Hot date?”
Lacey tosses her hair and straightens up. Anticipation curls her stomach. “Something like that.”
The crash of the waves stops Lacey at the lip of the beach. Brushing wet hair from her eyes, she glances over her shoulder at the thrashing ocean. She’s battered and bruised, but today the surf was perfect.
She needed this. Her heart, her soul, feel lighter than they have in days. She doesn’t have time for much—friends, men, family—but she’ll make time for the ocean.
Getting a grip on her surfboard, she lugs it back to where her things are.