Page 25 of How to Ruin Your Ex's Wedding
Liza Littleton is not what I was expecting. The movies always show wedding coordinators as organized, slightly controlling, attractive women, looking for love, which they supplement by helping others with theirs. Funny enough, that’s typically what they are in reality.
Just not Liza.
Liza is big: big speaker, big thinker, big spender, and tall. At least six feet tall if my estimation is correct.
“Matthew Hanhauser?” she calls to me from her office when I enter the reception area.
“That’s me,” I reply, sauntering in, my Matthew disguise in place, dressed in jeans, white t-shirt, and cowboy boots. An ensemble that is surprisingly effective in masking my true identity. Especially since it’s similar to my typical attire as Pax: jeans, random t-shirt, biker boots, and mirrored aviators. Except Pax has no ’stache and keeps his hair cut close to his head.
“Well, you are not at all what I was expecting.” She looks me up and down and back up again, pausing briefly at my groin. “You look like you could be in front of the camera not behind it.” She purses her lips and taps her index finger against them. “I’m undecided on the mustache, though. Tell me, does it tickle?”
“Uh, no. I’m used to it.”
“I meant with the ladies. Does it tickle the ladies?” She winks.
I don’t quite know what to say.
She doesn’t seem to care. “Well, never mind then.” She waves a hand in the air. “I’ve heard a lot about you. I have to say that your reputation definitely precedes you.”
“Thank you.”
“Yes, well, come, come, sit, sit. Let’s get started.” She repeats certain words as she speaks. “Have you got your portfolio?”
I nod and hand it to her as I take a seat across the desk from her.
“Good. Good,” she says, thumbing through it. “I’ll be honest, you’re my top pick. I mean, what’s not to like? Talented, handsome, in demand, tall, mmm-mmm.” She licks her lips. “But I’m supposed to run a few choices by my clients and let them make the final decision. That said, I already know that you are the right man for the job.”
“Remind me again who the client is?” I play dumb.
“Hunter Simpcox, the tech millionaire. Lovely man. Just lovely.”
“And the bride? Or is it a second groom?”
Because with a name like Simpcox . . .
I snicker to myself.
If Liza notices, she doesn’t say anything. “Tabatha Seton, actress, entrepreneur, and creator ofTab it Together,the clothing line for women.”
I look at her, brows raised, as though I’m not familiar, even though I’m more than. I helped Tabs start the company before we divorced. And I let her have the entire thing when we split. I do okay with what I do and live comfortably, but Tabs makes bank with that fucking clothing line.
“It’s the best, absolutely the best. Each article of clothing has a colored tab and as long as you match it with another of the same tab, you know that it goes together. Some tabs are more conservative and others a little crazy with mixed prints. I’m sure I had something similar as a child and loved it. She’s clever, that woman. So clever. I’m wearing one of her outfits now, from the plus-size collection.” She stands and turns, stopping in a pose. I have to admit the outfit works on her. Some kind of tight legging type pant tucked into boots, with a billowy top.
“It’s very nice,” I say.
“I know, right?” she replies. “Anyway, enough of that. Let’s talk price. How much are you going to charge for this. I need a quote for the planning, the rehearsals, and the big day.”
“My hourly rate is three hundred dollars,” I say.
She doesn’t bat an eye. “You understand there could be events happening every day that require your attention? Every day?”
“Yes, I do,” I say.
“And that there is a special in development regarding the courtship and planning, plus parts of the ceremony will be televised. Your pictures will more than likely be used for all of that as well. Will you be charging a licensing fee on top of the hourly fee?”
“No.” I shake my head.
She looks surprised.
