Page 10 of Fixer for the Billionaire

Freddie's response brings a smile to my face; I’m thankful to have her on my team. She may be snarky and brutally honest, but she's dependable, especially in times like these.

Despite a career as scattered as my dad's financial priorities, Freddie always delivers for me as my go-to PR person.

After sending a quick thank-you, I begin gathering my things.

Ensuring my bra is spaghetti-free this time, I swiftly clean the counters with a sponge nearby.

Leaving the house, I balance my Chanel—now a makeshift kit for child emergencies—over one shoulder.

From my BMW’s passenger seat, parked in the driveway, I hear Gabi shout, "Hey Mina! Forgot my lucky water bottle for practice. Can you?—"

"Got it!" I interrupt, waving it at her.

Next, Val calls, "And my science project checklist!"

"Picked it up from the kitchen table. Remember, Val! EpiPen. Right-hand side pocket of your backpack.” Juggling my Chanel, I mutter, "Your chaos, my command," as I lock up, moving with the elegance of a three-legged giraffe.

Facing the day’s next hurdle, I notice my BMW’s deflated tire.

Dropping my Chanel, I silently beg the fashion gods for mercy before crouching in my business attire for a closer look.

A nail, lodged firmly in the tread, is the culprit.

I groan, already imagining Quentin’s ribbing about my lack of a spare tire versus designer shoes.

Day 2 as Maid of Honor, and it’s no smoother than Day 1.

Pulling out my phone to call insurance, a text from Quentin blinks up.

SANCHEZ?? WHERE ARE YOU??

I stare for a beat then dismiss it with a flick of my finger.

Chapter Four

QUENTIN

8:21AM.

I check my watch again, for what feels like the hundredth time, then back at the two party planners in front of me.

In a boutique store that screams psychedelic dream, I'm waiting for any sign of Carmina's arrival to our early party decor meeting.

My last three texts to her have gone unanswered. I fight the urge to call, turning instead to the engagement party planners we've hired.

"So, as I was saying, Puddle and Glitter—can I call you that? Great names, by the way, rolls right off the tongue—Carmina is never late. I mean, never. She schedules her sneezes. I'm telling you, something's off."

Puddle, with hair the color of an overcast sky hinting at an existential crisis, dismisses with a wave. "Time is but a construct, Mr. Anderson. What truly matters is the essence we bring into this space. The vibe, you know?"

Glitter, who seems to have mistaken a craft store for her closet, sparkles in agreement. "Yes, the ambiance is key. We envision a mix of elegance, whimsy, and a dash of what-the-hell-is-happening-here," they add, eyes gleaming.

"Ambiance. Right. Because nothing says 'elegant wedding' like making an entrance on a unicorn under a disco ball. But seriously, as much as I love discussing the nature of time and the critical importance of vibe, we really need to track down Carmina."

My anxious glance to the entrance doesn't go unnoticed. Puddle, channeling a curious puppy vibe, tilts his head. "You two must be something special, Mr. Anderson. Your energy spikes like a soap opera plot twist at the mere mention of her name."

Glitter, now studying a sparkly tassel as if it's the key to world peace, pipes up. "Oh, is this a story of forbidden love? Star-crossed lovers, tragedy, office politics...or maybe just bad timing?"

I clench my jaw, staring at my phone. "Something like that."

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