Page 12 of The Wedding Crush

CHAPTER THREE

Avery

My client, Nichelle,whose completely over-the-top Hollywood glamour wedding I’m planning, squeals with delight.

“Girl, I feel like I’m famous!”

She’s been glued to her phone, her long, clacky nails texting and scrolling the interwebs for the past twenty-two minutes—and thirteen seconds if, say, you were dog-tired and counting down until the end of your workday.

Usually, I don’t care.

My appointments are my clients’ time. We can spend it dreaming out loud about venues, linens, photo booths, and flowers. Or we can get full-on velvety, buttercream cake bites and bubbly. At the end of the day, my goal is to bring their biggest celebratory dreams to life in 3-D technicolor. I worry about the logistics, budgets, and suppliers, so they don’t have to.

But today is Tuesday.

Most people live for weekends, but I work hard, Wednesday to Monday, so I can play even harder—sans my little guy, Ace, who spends the night with his granny—on Turn-Up Tuesday with my Sister Circle. It’s our standing weekly time to refuel, recharge, and unwind over wine and whatever we can find to pair with it.

After the past week and a half I’ve had…

Between the tea party, Morgan’s engagement, and the resulting fifteen minutes of fame they’ve sponsored for my little event-planning company, Ellis Events, I’m exhausted. But then throw in a national holiday that condones overpricing five-second sparklers and sleepless, never-ending fireworks, all-nighters.

Bring on all the wine and unwinding.

“Lord, my cousin is on the bird app, telling anyone who’ll listen that THE Avery Ellis is the mastermind behind my upcoming nuptials,” Nichelle says. “I have never in my twenty-five years heard this woman utter a word with more than two syllables, now she’s talking about nuptials?”

I giggle.

She is loving every minute of this.

To Nichelle, the residual fame she’s experiencing because I’mherwedding planner, might as well beEntertainment Tonight,E News, andTMZcoverage combined.

“You were made for the spotlight!” I decree, peeking at the time above all the silenced notifications on my phone.

Four twenty-four.

Our appointment—and my workday—is over at five sharp.

“Yes, indeed. Shine all the light on me.” Nichelle cackles. “I know how to amplify the hype.”

I mumble my agreement.

“When I tell you these people are in my DMs clambering for ceremony details…” She flits a quick disbelieving glance at me. “Meanwhile, I’m just over here, my mouth clamped shut like, I wish I would…” Her face scrunches up with amused and pure, unfiltered nope.

The way every town from Napa to the Bay is talking about Victoria Fortemani’s birthday tea, and how that’s somehow translated into me becoming this ungettable event planner everyone wants, simply amazes me. For me, it was another day working and playing hard. How was I supposed to know planning an elegant affair for a powerful woman with equally powerful guests would be game-changing?

I guess, who needs the philharmonic, or my uninspired last-minute Tea Time playlist continuously shuffling on low volume, when I can bippity-boppity-style turn a gathering into a magical engagement party for entertainment?

“Puh-lease,” Nichelle continues her animated rant, posturing for an invisible crowd. “The last thing Faison and I need is paparazzi staked out for pics of a private Avery Ellis event. No, ma’am. Not on my big day.”

Warmth swells in my chest, copping a squat right between my bone-tired ribs.

“And not on my watch,” I chime in.

Nichelle snaps her fingers, punctuating her agreement.

The flair for dramatics on this one…

I shake my head, laughing softly as we amble through the elegant Julia Morgan Ballroom where her reception will be held this coming winter. It’s one of my most coveted venues. Gorgeous doesn’t even begin to cover how stunning this place is. Timeless luxury, modern amenities, historically and architecturally breathtaking, all located in the heart of San Francisco. And bonus—for me—it easily accommodates large guest lists, which is both rare and perfect for Nichelle’s grand vision.

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