The Worst Best Man Read online

  We nod and Rebecca dashes out of the room.

  The wheels in my brain are turning so quickly they might pop off. This situation couldn’t be more perfect. My goal is to convince Rebecca that I’m the better person to manage the hotel’s account, and she’s devised a hiring process that necessarily puts Andrew and me on different sides. How can I not shine under these circumstances?

  Lina relaxes into her seat, her expression unreadable. “Let’s get a few things straight before we hash out the details. First, this is an unpleasant development, but I’m committed to making the best of the situation. Second, if I had a choice, I wouldn’t work with either of you, but I don’t have a choice, so Max, we’ll”—she makes air quotes—“work together for the duration of this project. Third, I don’t intend on taking your advice, Max, so don’t bother offering it. Rebecca doesn’t need to know the extent of our collaboration, and I’m more than willing to take full responsibility for the pitch. Your safest bet is to simply stay out of my way and let me do the heavy lifting. Are we clear?”

  Well, damn. How can I not shine under these circumstances? The pessimistic voice in my head makes a rare appearance and whispers, That’s how.

  Andrew clears his throat and leans forward. “Hang on. This is getting out of hand. Maybe we should take a step back and consider coming clean to Rebecca. We can explain that—”

  Lina and I shake our heads, and he clamps his mouth shut.

  “How would you go about doing that, Andrew?” Lina asks. “Are we going to tell her that we got flustered and decided to pretend not to know each other?”

  “It’s the truth, isn’t it?” he asks.

  “The truth makes us look like fools,” I point out.

  “We are fools,” Lina adds. “Look, I don’t know what I was thinking in the moment. I panicked. And I’m not proud of myself. But telling Rebecca that we do know each other is going to open a can of worms that isn’t going to endear her to any of us. And I really, really want a shot at this job, okay?”

  I catch the slight tremor in her voice, and a part of me warms to her cause. Despite the absurdity of the situation, she’s trying to maintain control over it, and I find that admirable.

  Lina taps her lips with two fingers, the wrinkling between her brows suggesting she’s deciding how much to share with us. Then, after sighing in resignation, she speaks. “I don’t expect either of you to care, but this opportunity would solve a huge problem for me, not to mention it’s the type of position that will take my career to the next level. If my and Andrew’s prior relationship had any true bearing on whether Rebecca should hire me, I’d be the first to say we need to confess what we did. It shouldn’t matter, though, not in a fair world. So let’s just do what we need to do and hope everyone gets what they want. It’s five weeks, not a lifetime.” She stares at Andrew, unapologetic determination apparent in her unflinching gaze. “You owe me this.”

  He does owe her this—and so do I.

  My brother puffs out his cheeks as he rubs the back of his neck and contemplates Lina’s scheme. “You’ll work with Max?” he asks her.

  “Ostensibly,” she says with a shrug.

  Andrew looks between us, until his lips curve into a smug grin. “That’s fine, then. I’ll work with the other planner. We’ll coordinate our schedules so that we don’t run into each other to the extent that we’re here.” He puckers his mouth as he considers her. “Seems odd, don’t you think? I’ll be helping your competition.”

  “I’m not too worried about that,” she says, her face a blank, uninterested canvas.

  Man, this woman’s something else. A minute ago, she admitted she was in a panic; now she’s driving this conversation, and Andrew and I are just along for the ride. I wish I could say I’m partly responsible for her confidence, but she’s already announced that she intends to ignore anything I tell her. How did this day go off the rails so quickly?

  Lina pulls out her phone. “What’s your number, Max? I’ll give you a call so we can discuss the bare minimum we need to do together.”

  On autopilot, I recite my number and repeat it for her.

  “I’ll call you soon,” she says, and then she strides out of the conference room without a backward glance, her hips swiveling to match the brisk pace of her steps.

  After shaking out my arms and massaging a kink in my neck, I turn back to my brother. I’m itching to wipe the self-satisfied expression off his face, but there’s nothing I can say that would accomplish that objective.

  “So it looks like we’ll be competing on behalf of our wedding planners,” he says.

  “I guess so. I think it’s safe to say I’m working at a disadvantage.”

  Andrew snorts.

  I’ve never heard him make a sound like that. It startles me. Kind of reminds me of the first time I heard my mother fart. “What’s funny?”

  “Nothing.” He raises an imaginary glass to simulate a toast. “May the best man win.”

  “May the best wedding planner win, you mean.”

  “Yeah,” he says with a wink. “That, too.”

  Someone’s acting cockier than he was just yesterday. That’s fine. Because this is what we do best: try to one-up each other. I just need to come out on top. And once I remind Lina that cooperating with me will help her hit Andrew where it’ll hurt him the most, she’ll reconsider her stance toward me.

  Damn, what a day. I bet most brothers would be having a different kind of debriefing right now, one that focused on the bizarre coincidence of seeing your former fiancée under these circumstances. But that isn’t and has never been us. The one time Andrew opened up to me, he ended up bailing on his wedding. It’s probably better for everyone if we limit our conversations to work topics.

  “What do we tell Mom?” I ask.

  Andrew grimaces. “Only what she needs to know. The basics of the assignment. If we’re committed to treating Lina as though she’s just another wedding planner, then there really is no point in disclosing details that’ll put Mom under unnecessary stress.”

  Andrew’s not fooling me. He doesn’t want to remind our mother of the one time he disappointed her. For weeks after his wedding was canceled, my mother tried to convince Andrew he was making the biggest mistake of his life. No woman he’s dated since Lina has met my mother’s approval, and unfortunately, Andrew’s the type of man who needs it.

  “Okay, we won’t tell her,” I say.

  He sags against his seat. “Good. So what’s your plan where Lina’s concerned?”

  I wave a finger back and forth in front of my face. “Uh-uh-uh. There will be no sharing of information, or brainstorming, or joint strategy sessions. I’ll work on Lina’s pitch, and you’ll work with your person on his. Otherwise it wouldn’t be fair.”

  Andrew’s gaze bounces around the room as he considers the change in our usual state of play. “Fine. Good luck, then.”

  Remembering the way Lina skewered us in less than thirty seconds, I think it’s safe to say I’m going to need it.

  Chapter Six

  Lina

  “This is a disaster,” Natalia whines as she inspects herself in the mirror. “I look like I’m starring in a Disney on Ice production. Or competing in the World Figure Skating Championships.”

  We’re tucked away in one of the dressing areas of Marcelo’s shop. He’s up front speaking with a woman second-guessing her veil selection. Yesterday, whenever I wasn’t meeting clients or working on proposals, I was thinking about Andrew and Max’s untimely reappearance in my life. Focusing on Natalia’s wardrobe crisis—which, because it involves Natalia, requires nothing less than an “all brain cells on deck” mentality—is a welcome distraction.

  Jaslene, who’s kneeling at Natalia’s feet, shakes out the bottom of my cousin’s dress and looks up at her. “Not true. You look like a princess.”

  Natalia pins Jaslene with a dubious stare. “Yes. A Disney princess. Wearing ice skates and doing figure eights. Besides, you’re just saying it looks nice becau
se I’m paying you both to help plan this wedding.”

  “No, Grumpy Bear,” Jaslene counters. “I’m saying you look nice because it’s true.”

  “Anyway,” Natalia says, a hand on her hip, “even if it’s true, this dress is going to give me nightmares. I can already picture one.” She drops her voice to a stage whisper. “I’m walking down the aisle and both Tim Gunn and Christian Siriano pop out from behind potted plants and tell me my gown needs editing.”

  Now that’s a fair point. Because, whoo boy, there’s a lot going on here: tulle, lace, taffeta, and a scalloped bodice with intricate crystal appliqué. So. Many. Crystals. I’m tempted to sing Frozen’s “Let It Go” at the top of my lungs, but I don’t think Natalia would appreciate it. “May I make a suggestion?”

  “If it’s a good one, yes,” Natalia says.

  I ignore her sarcasm; it’s a survival mechanism where my cousin’s concerned. “What about a jumpsuit? It’s simple yet elegant. You’d be comfortable, too. And if you want a showstopping element, you can choose a design with a train.” I lean forward to make my final point. “Best of all, you could add P-O-C-K-E-T-S.”

  “Don’t spell shit out this early in the morning, Lina. I can’t deal.”

  I purse my lips at her. It’s eleven o’clock. “Pockets, bitch. Pockets.”

  “Ooh, ooh,” Jaslene says, waving her hand. “I need that on a dress. With. Pockets.”

  Natalia rolls her eyes and spins to face the mirror. Letting out a long-suffering sigh, she cocks her head to the side and studies her reflection. “Marcelo will be crushed, and I’d hate to hurt his feelings. He’s offering this to me for free. Just a slight alteration here and there and we’d be done.”

  I stand and rest my chin on her shoulder. “This is your and Paolo’s wedding, not Marcelo’s. Do you love it?”

  “No,” Natalia admits, returning my gaze through the mirror. “I actually dislike it very much.”

  “And is that how you want to remember your wedding day?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “No, you’re right. And a jumpsuit would look badass. Totally in keeping with my personality. Plus, this might be the only time when a jumpsuit would be easier than a wedding dress to manage during a bathroom break.” She widens her eyes, and I see the first glimmer of excitement in them. “I’d be able to dance at the reception with no problem. Oh, I could use the Rainha da Bateria outfits at Carnaval as inspiration.”

  “Let’s not get carried away,” I tell her. “You cannot have your ass out at the wedding.”

  Thanks to the Dominican stylist who presses it each week, Jaslene’s shoulder-length hair swings through the air as she claps excitedly. “Purple assless chaps and a humongous headpiece would be perfect. You’d be channeling Prince and Carnaval.”

  “Yes,” Natalia says, pumping her fists. She looks at me. “See? Jaslene gets it. That way, I could pay homage to my dual citizenship.”

  “No,” I say. “I’m pretty sure that would violate the wedding venue’s health code.”

  Natalia scoffs at me. “Whatever. My ass would get an A grade from any health inspector.”

  Lord. If any bride needs to be reined in, it’s this one. Left to her own devices, she’d hire an entire samba school to precede her down the aisle—drummers, dancers, floats, and all. Now that I think about it, I wouldn’t put it past her to plan something like that as a surprise. I need to keep her on task. “Take a look online in the next day or two and see if anything catches your eye. I can make some inquiries at other bridal shops around town. There’s a reason you’re five weeks away from your wedding and you haven’t committed to a dress. It’s time to think outside the box.”

  She nods thoughtfully. “Okay, you’ve persuaded me. I’ll look first thing when I get home tonight.” As Jaslene and I gather the accessories Natalia tried on, my cousin deals with the delicate task of removing the dress.

  “Need help in there?” I ask.

  “I think I got it,” she says through the louvered double door. “The zipper stitched in underneath the row of buttons is genius. I’d stab someone with a stiletto if I had to wrestle with these tiny buttons the morning of my wedding.”

  Jaslene and I shake our heads, knowing Natalia’s only slightly exaggerating.

  “Natalia, you can’t use your wedding as an excuse for everything,” I say. “Everyone knows you’d stab someone with a stiletto simply for existing.”

  “Exactly,” she says from the changing room. “That’s why I’ve always hated the term bridezilla. For one thing, it’s sexist. Women under immense pressure who speak up for what they want? Monsters. But also, it erases part of my identity. My true friends know I’m like this all the time.”

  Even though Natalia can’t see her, Jaslene hides her mouth and whispers to me, “It’s true.”

  “So, your mom told my mom that you’re interviewing for a major position,” Natalia says. “What’s that about? And why didn’t you tell me?”

  To be honest, I didn’t tell Natalia because she’s going to flip and I don’t want her to try to dissuade me. Not until it’s too late to be dissuaded, at least. I’m not sure what she’d do if she ever saw Andrew or Max again, but I suspect at some point the cops would be called.

  “You still there?” Natalia asks.

  “Yeah, I’m here. So the position could be a stellar opportunity. I’d be the wedding coordinator for the Cartwright Hotel Group.”

  “Holy shit, Lina,” she says, opening the door and sticking her head out. “That’s fantastic. Congratulations.”

  “I don’t have the job yet,” I say as I stack several shoeboxes on an accent table. “The interview process is involved.”

  She pulls an arm through the sleeve of her top and pauses. “How hard could it be, though?”

  I make the mistake of letting her question go unanswered a few seconds too long.

  She glances at Jaslene’s face, then scans me from head to toe. “What aren’t you telling me, prima? There’s a catch, isn’t there?”

  When she retreats inside the dressing room, I exhale and silently thank the Lord for the breather. It’ll be easier to disclose this if she’s not staring me down. My explanation comes out in a rush, Andrew’s and Max’s names dropped into the narrative like tiny breadcrumbs I’m hoping she doesn’t pick up. And when I’m done, the silence that follows surprises me. I look at Jaslene, who shakes out her hand as though I’m in trouble.

  Before I can prod Natalia for a reaction, she bursts out of the dressing room like an Old West gunslinger making her presence known in the local saloon. “Tell me you’re going to make their lives a living hell.”

  If the way people emoted were reflected on a scale of one to ten, most days, I’d be a three—four, tops. Jaslene’s a solid seven with level ten potential when she’s tipsy, an altered state that’s a thing to behold if you’re lucky enough to catch her in it. Natalia’s a ten—seven days a week, twenty-four hours a day. And the easiest way to defuse my cousin’s outbursts is to speak in soft tones. It’s like calming a skittish horse. Just call me the Natalia Whisperer. “I hadn’t planned on exacting any retribution, no. I told Andrew he needs to steer clear of me, and even though Max and I are supposed to work together, I intend to handle the pitch myself. I mean, isn’t that what I already do for my own business?”

  Natalia reaches behind her to grab the dress, which is now safely back in its garment bag, and hands it to me. “The universe is giving you the chance to right a few wrongs. Why on earth won’t you take it?”

  Because I’m above such pettiness, that’s why. Or, more accurately, because I’m not well-versed in the art of pettiness and would never be able to do the discipline the justice it deserves. Plus, harping on old news suggests it has power over me, and it doesn’t. I don’t like Andrew and Max. I don’t want to work with them, either. But that doesn’t give me license to torture them. “Ladies, don’t think I haven’t imagined ways of luring Andrew into my very own Red Room of Unpleasant Pain, but when all is
said and done, I’m a professional facing a threat to her business. Either I get this job or find an alternative location. And I only have five weeks. That must be my priority. Anything else is a distraction I don’t need.”

  “Speaking as someone who stands to benefit from your mature take on the situation,” Jaslene says, “I should support this plan, but now I’m wondering if you need closure.”

  I draw back and tilt my head. “Closure? With Andrew?”

  Jaslene shakes her head. “No, you got that already. You need closure with Max.”

  “And I think those resale designer shoes you insist on wearing even though they’re a size too small are cutting off the supply of oxygen to your brain.”

  She playfully purses her lips at me. “Cute. Anyway, all I’m saying is, Max isn’t just some person you need to collaborate with. You have history. Unresolved feelings. Closure will help you address them. I suspect you’re going to need it if you want to work with him successfully.”

  Jaslene’s so wrong about this, it’s cringeworthy. How could I possibly benefit from talking to Max about a day I’d prefer to forget? “Do you even know me at all, Jaslene? I’m not interested in rehashing what Max did and how it affected me.”

  Jaslene grabs one of my hands and shakes it. “Silly goose, when I mentioned closure, I didn’t necessarily mean that you and Max needed to have some big cathartic talk about what happened.” She blows a raspberry. “I’m shocked to admit this, but I actually think Natalia’s on to something. Maybe the universe is giving you the chance to right some wrongs.” When I simply stare at her in silence, she adds, “Listen, there are different ways of getting closure, and one of those ways might be to make someone miserable for the sake of satisfying your petty soul.” She shrugs. “Just a thought.”

  “Noted and dismissed,” I grumble. “I have a job to land and a business to run. Playing games is a luxury I can’t afford.”

  Natalia rolls her eyes and neck as though she’s doing her best impression of a bobblehead. “I’m disappointed in you, Lina. Especially given what you do for a living. Haven’t you ever heard of multitasking? You can impress this Rebecca person and make the Brothers Karafuckoff suffer.”