Page 7 of The Revenge Plan

“You’re late,” he announced as soon as I met them in the lobby. Shelly, the wedding planner, looked a little frazzled, probably from being interrogated by him, Caiden looked as well put together as ever. “Only by five minutes,” I said. He muttered something under his breath.

“I was able to secure this ballroom,” Shelly said, opening the doors to a large room decorated in a white and gold trimming. It had gilded age look that made it perfect for weddings, “It’s the biggest ballroom in town,” she glanced at Caiden who had a frozen looked on his face, “I checked,” she added.

Caiden observed the room with his hands behind him, “It’s too dull.”

“Please,” I said to him, “Let’s make it as ostentatious as a Russian mobster’s wedding.”

“Is there a way you could make it better?”

Shelly jumped in, “I was thinking of a hanging gardens theme. Something ethereal. Have flowers drooping down the ceiling,” her eyes darted again to him for approval. He nodded, “and we could have a stream of white roses along the walls. Five thousand flowers should cover it.”

I couldn’t help but raise my eyebrows. The flowers alone would cost more than the average wedding.

“For all the flowers?” Caiden asked.

“No, just the roses.”

So, double the cost of the average wedding then.

Caiden simply nodded, “Fine. Next.”

With more confidence, Shelly described all the ideas she had for the wedding with enough fervor for the three of us. Without the bride or groom injecting their own ideas, she was like a child given the opportunity to create her dream wedding. All Caiden required was that it would be big and was agreeing to all of her ideas, and from the sound of it, it was going to cost a few million dollars. When she mentioned hiring a fleet of Rolls Royce cars to chauffeur the guests, I thought he would bristle at the idea. He simply nodded when it was mentioned, as if he was agreeing to the confirmation of a takeout order.

After the venue and other items were agreed on, there were very few meet-ups except for the big ones like the cake and the dress. He called me up early in the morning on dress day.

“What’s your apartment number?”

“What do you need that for,” I croaked into my phone. His impersonal voice was like a distant siren through my sleepy head. I had hardly slept and was feeling the deprivation in the form of a headache.

“It’s eleven o’clock. Was the partying that hard on a Tuesday?”

I lifted my phone away from my ear to check the time. I groaned. He was right about the time, but he was wrong about what had kept me up. If working all night to make sure a shipment of goods stuck in a port halfway across the world would reach its destination, can be called partying, then yes, I guess I was partying.

I let my head fall back onto the pillow. “I don’t remember working for you. What’s it to you what I do with my time.”

“I care because you keep coming to our meetings on your own time.”

“Suck a dick Caiden,” I groaned when I felt the sun streaming into the room hit my face.

“I’m at your apartment complex and the doorman won’t let me in.”

I woke up with a start. “What are you doing here?” My apartment did not have a doorman, unless he had mistaken Larry the local homeless guy as one.

“Cake selection day, remember. I don’t have all day. Some of us have to work.”

I rolled my eyes. My mind was focused on the whole, “I’m at your apartment thing” to note his casual jab. How had he found me? “Who gave you my address?” No one he would know knew where I lived.

“Your father. Who cares about the details?”

Of course, that’s where he got it. I took a deep sigh of relief. I don’t know why it was important to me that Caiden didn’t know where I was staying, but it mattered. He would laugh so hard if he sees me coming out of a studio apartment the size of his bathroom.

“I no longer live there. Let’s meet at the place. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” He muttered something, and the line went dead. Rude.

I checked the time. Getting there from where I was currently living would take about twenty minutes if I take the subway—that’s if I was lucky to get there as the train arrived—or I could use a ride-sharing app which would take half the time and treble the fee. I checked my bank balance. There was a few hundred dollars in my account. Damn, this whole ‘doing it myself’ business wasn’t paying off. The charity I worked for paid little money, we hardly had any considering it wasn’t as popular as some other charities and it was somewhat new. I turned out to be a shitty fundraiser since most of my contacts had either cut me out or ignored me. My boss had me working as something of an intern, doing most of the odd jobs, after my dismal showing Seems like scandals don’t do so well for an heiress who wants to be taken seriously and doesn’t want to be the lead in a reality show.

I made quick work of bathing, getting into a fresh pair of clothes, and rushing out of my apartment. “Hi Larry,” I said to the man who opened the door for me.

“Good morning, Miss Hailey,” he said, smiling and saluting. I made a mental note to bring him some cake when I return.

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