Home > Forked (Frenched #2)(3)

Forked (Frenched #2)(3)
Author: Melanie Harlow

I gasped. “Really?”

“Really.”

Throwing my arms around her, I squealed. “Thank you! You’re the best friend ever!” With any luck, I’d book a wedding or two in the next week. If they were big enough, I could count on earning at least ten grand. Granted, I wouldn’t see that money for a while, but with it guaranteed to come in, maybe I’d revisit the idea of borrowing from my parents.

Please God, send me a bride. A sweet, lovely angel bride with exquisite taste and deep pockets!

As if on cue, I heard a voice. “Hello?”

I let go of Mia and peered around her to see a short young woman in my office doorway. She had long, impossibly platinum blond hair blown perfectly straight, and she wore skinny black jeans, a zebra-print tank top, and a lot of eye makeup. A tangle of gold necklaces rested between breasts unnaturally large for someone her size, and a tiny white dog peeked out from a Louis Vuitton bag she carried under one arm.

I smiled at her. “Hello. Can I help you?”

“I don’t know. I’m looking for Devine Events.”

For an angel, she had a very shrill voice. And an amazing tan.

“You found us. Please come in.” Mia held out her hand. “I’m Mia Devine, and this is my partner, Coco Thomas. I’m on my way out, but she’ll take good care of you.”

Instead of shaking Mia’s hand, the girl handed her a business card. “Angelina Spackatelli.”

My heart raced. Even her first name was seraphic! But she placed a little extra emphasis on her last name, and my stomach tightened up when I realized why. She had to be the daughter of Tony Spackatelli, sometimes called Tony Whack. Officially he ran a sanitation company, but unofficially he controlled Detroit’s arm of the mafia. Mia must have recognized this too, because she glanced at me behind Angelina’s back, eyebrows raised.

Maybe this wasn’t my angel.

“Nice to meet you.” I took a card as well, gesturing to a chair in front of my desk. “Please have a seat.” Her card was hot pink with white print. On one side was a picture of her and her little dog, both wearing tiaras, and the other side listed her name and social media information. The fancy font was hard to read but under her name I thought her title said Italian American Princess.

Interesting. I didn’t know we had those.

The bottle of Grass Widow beckoned from its place on my desk next to the empty glass, but I quickly tucked them back into the drawer before sitting down.

“What can we do for you, Angelina?”

After lowering herself into the chair, she snapped her gum and set her dog-in-a-purse down by her feet. “Well, first I wanna make sure—are you the ones that did that wedding on TV this year?”

I smiled. “Yes, we are.” Earlier this spring Devine Events had been chosen to design Detroit’s Wedding of the Year, and it had been a huge success. We’d gotten a lot of great press out of it. “Are you looking for someone to plan your wedding?”

“Not yet. But I want you to plan my engagement party.” She flashed her ring at me.

As prompted, I cooed appreciatively at the crab-apple-sized diamond set in gold. “Wow. Congratulations. What kind of party would you like?”

“A blowout.” She made a little exploding motion with both hands. “For five hundred people.”

Five hundred people for an engagement party?

Jesus, how big would her wedding be? And more importantly, if I did a good job planning the party, would she let me do the wedding too? I glanced over at Mia, and she gave me a thumbs-up.

“That sounds like fun.” Lifting my eyes to the ceiling, I said a quick thank-you to God for sending me this miracle and pulled up a blank contract on my laptop. “So when were you thinking? Something later this year?”

“That’s the thing. It’s a little bit short notice.”

“Short notice?” Mia, who was still lingering in the doorway, looked a little panicked. Short notice was her least favorite expression. “How short?”

Personally, I didn’t care how short the notice was—I needed this gig. Flashing Mia my best I Got This grin, I shooed her out of my office. “Go on home, babe. You have lists, remember? I’ll talk to you later.”

“But—“

“I’ll take care of everything here. You be on your way now.” I did everything but put my foot on her butt and shove her out the door.

She smiled. “You’re right. Sorry.” Lifting her hand in farewell, she disappeared into the hallway and might actually have cleared earshot if Angelina spoke at a normal volume.

“It’s next weekend. Saturday, August fourth. It has to be then because of the TV people. I’m gonna be on a reality show.”

I could practically hear brakes screeching in the hallway. Glancing at the door, I expected to see Mia pop back into the frame and brace herself against it, her eyes wild with panic. I held my breath.

No Mia.

But my phone pinged with a text.

NO NO NO NO NO

“Wow.” Swiping my phone off the desk and into my lap so Angelina wouldn’t see it, I turned off the sound and cleared my throat. “That is short notice. And what’s this about TV people? You’re on a reality show?”

“I’m not exactly on it yet. But I’m being considered for this show called Italian-American Princesses. They’re looking for girls to star in the premiere season, see. So I applied, and they think I might be the perfect fit. Some producers are coming to scout the location and meet me and everything, and I figure what better way to show them my star potential than to throw myself a big party? Right?”

   
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