Page 66 of Sex, Lies, and Margarita Mixes

And for the first time in a long time… I actually believe it.

CHAPTER 12

BRIDAL SHOW BLITZ

ROXY

* * *

The bridal expo smells like overpriced roses, cheap champagne, and existential dread.

Honestly, I fit right in.

I’m wearing a navy pantsuit so tailored it’s practically second skin, with flared legs, a plunging neckline, and red heels sharp enough to stab anyone who tries me today. My earrings sparkle with petty intent. My lipstick perfectly matches my shoes and says, “I dare you.”

Next to me, Chase is carrying a box of brochures, looking edible in a tight black tee that hugs his chest like a love letter and tailored slate gray pants that make his ass a national treasure.

Take that, Captain America!

He’s calm. Collected. Sexy as hell. Meanwhile, I’m vibrating with equal parts anxiety, rage, and too much caffeine.

“You good?” he asks quietly as we check in and get our badges.

I force a smile. “I’m great. Really great. Amazing. Fabulous. Perfect.”

He watches me a beat longer. “Totally believe you, babe.”

“Uh huh.” Blowing out a breath, I scan the ballroom. “But thanks for asking.”

Inside, the convention center, the booths are chaos. There’s a floral arch big enough to block air traffic. A four-tier cake shaped like a swan. And three brides in the main aisle screaming at each other over color swatches.

“Ah,” Chase murmurs. “The sweet smell of estrogen and credit card debt.”

“Home sweet home,” I mutter, already checking off to-do lists in my brain.

Mari Lynn couldn’t be here—she’s shooting the next season of their show in LA—but she sent Melody armed with backup in the form of a tote bag labeled “In Case of Emergency, Slay” with a tiara, glitter business cards, four mini tequila bottles, and a sticky note that reads,

“Don’t burn it down. Or do. I trust your judgment.”

I love her.

We’ve been given a prime booth location and—because of the viral wedding fiasco—a prime-time slot on the main stage. The organizers knew what they were doing. Publicity is publicity.

Our company is literally trending under “Hot Mess Wedding Planner Gets Her Groove Back.”

As I reach our booth, I plaster on my best PR smile and check in with Melody, who has already set up our booth and is currently directing the rest of the team I’ve hired to assist us for the day.

“You call that a flower wall? I’ve seen better foliage at a dollar store.” Melody quips. Smiling at her, I nod.

She’s the best assistant ever.

“Gold chargers go on the left of the tablescape. Are we heathens?” I mutter.

“I’m about to throat punch the DJ if he tests the bass one more time. I swear—” I growl as the speakers boom so loudly that the ice sculpture next to us shakes and almost tumbles into our backdrop.

Chase stands beside me, sipping a cold brew, unfazed. “You’re kinda hot when you’re terrifying.”

I raise a perfect brow. “Kinda?”

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