Page 4 of Unmanageable

Ivy exhales, her shoulders dropping from around her ears. “Scottie, I love you. I actually think I’m going to make it to the cake without a sedative.”

She’s smiling, but I clock the slight wobble in her expression—the mix of sheer terror and the kind of excitement that makes you forget to breathe.

“You’re going to be the most beautiful bride Boston has ever seen,” I say. “And if anyone messes it up, I have a binder heavy enough to cause blunt force trauma.”

“I believe you,” Ivy laughs.

“Speaking of trauma,” Jenna interjects again, “are you and Cash-the-human-wall going to behave at the reception? Or am I going to have to bail you out of jail for assault?”

“I make no promises,” I mutter. “He’s still convinced he’s the next great American explorer.”

Ivy and Jenna exchange a knowing look that I decide to ignore.

“You know you’re going to agree anyway,” Ivy says, leaning against the table. “You live for this kind of stuff. You love a challenge.”

“Yeah, but not with him,” I groan. “I would have loved to climb that tree a few years ago, but now that he’s my client, it’s off-limits. I don’t bang my clients. It’s rule number one.”

Jenna shrugs, looking entirely unbothered. “Well, I’m the PR Director. I, for one, think I could help you both conceal the banging. It’s basically my job description.”

“Jenna!”

“Whaaat? If I can’t get some action this off-season, someone in this circle may as well.”

“Anyway,” I say, regaining control. “Tomorrow, 8 AM. We meet here for the final seating touches, then the tasting. I want everyone sharp. No mimosas until the linens are chosen.”

“Killjoy,” Jenna chirps.

“Professional,” I correct her.

As I walk back to my car, the quiet of the night settles over me, but the peace is short-lived. My phone buzzes against my palm.

10:21 PM

Cash: found a van. it’s orange. like, “safety cone” orange. you’re gonna love it

Me: Please tell me it’s a rental.

Cash: it has cup holders

Me: That wasn’t my question.

Cash: heated seats

Me: FINN.

Cash: i’m sensing negativity

I stare at the screen, a laugh bubbling up in my throat despite my best efforts to keep it contained. I type back: If you buy an orange van, I’m firing myself.

Cash: you couldn’t quit me if you tried, Sharky.

I lock the screen, leaning my head against the steering wheel.

For the record, I’m not worried about spending two months with Cash.

Okay, no.

I’m lying.