Page 96 of Say Yes to the Death

“And now she’s suing you.” His eyes narrowed, and Claire followed his gaze.

Speaking of Satan’s bride. Clearly already drunk, Wendy stumbled into the room in a purple sequin evening gown. She looked as though she had just walked the red carpet at an adult film festival instead of the short flight of steps in front of a venue that didn’t even crack the top fifty in Claire’s list of favorite West Haven event spaces. Wendy squinted at the seating chart like it was written in another language.

Claire shrank down in her seat, attempting to hide behind Sawyer. It wasn’t a difficult task.

“Is that her?” he asked.

“Yep, that’s Wendy. Oh good, and there’s my ex-fiancé,” she added as Jason stumbled into the room and grabbed Wendy’s hips, miming a thrusting motion against her behind. They both banged into the easel that held the seating chart. It fell to the floor with a muffled thump, and a white-gloved waiter set it upright.

“I don’t like to judge a book by its cover,” Sawyer said with narrowed eyes. “But she might have done you a favor.”

“They deserve each other.” Claire took a sip from her water glass. There was usually an open bar at the awards ceremony, but she needed to stay sharp tonight. Plus, Rachel easily could have spies here ready to report on her public drinking. What she would give for just one glass of chardonnay for these nerves.

The intoxicated couple seemed to have found their table at last. Fortunately, it was at the opposite end of the ballroom. Instead of settling in her seat, Wendy surveyed the room before sprawling into Jason’s lap and kissing him full on the mouth. Her leg popped up, and she kicked the owner of a local cat café in the ribcage.

Claire turned her chair toward the stage so she wouldn’t have to watch. A white-haired couple settled into seats next to them.

“Bert! Good to see you,” she said. “How are the renovations coming on the restaurant?”

Bert, the owner of the West Haven Country Club, reached over to shake her hand. “Just fine, Claire. Should be done early next month. Have you met my wife, Eunice?”

They exchanged pleasantries before another elderly couple arrived and monopolized the conversation with talk of golf. Claire joined in momentarily. She knew nothing about golf, but there was always a chance for a golf course proposal.

“Incoming,” Sawyer whispered in her ear.

“Hmm?” She turned and nearly got a face full of sequined boobs.

“Oh, hello, Claire,” a sickly sweet voice said from a cloud of tequila.

“Wendy. Here to sue me for something?”

She was mercifully alone. Claire wasn’t sure she could handle her ex and her nemesis in her personal space at the same time without stabbing one of them with her butter knife.

“Maybe later,” Wendy said, tossing her long brown hair over one shoulder. Her boobs were dangerously close to popping out of the sweetheart neckline. “That’s a nice outfit—where did you find it, the grandma section of the thrift store?”

“Yes, that’s exactly where I found it. And while I was there, I could have sworn I saw your dress in the D-List Celebrity on Her Seventh Trip to Rehab aisle.”

“Cute. Where’s your fiancé? Oops, I mean your boyfriend. Your fiancé is with me, obviously.” Wendy laughed. “I’ll have to take Jason on a little trip down memory lane to the men’s bathroom. It’s our one-year anniversary, you know.”

Claire pushed her chair back, but Sawyer laid a firm hand on her shoulder.

“You can leave now,” he said, glaring at Wendy.

Wendy seemed to size Sawyer up for a moment before walking off in a huff and immediately crashing into a chair.

“What a psycho,” Sawyer said as she picked herself up and walked away. “And as the child of a psychologist, I shouldn’t even be using that word.”

Claire shrugged. “That was actually pretty mild for her. She barely mentioned the lawsuit, and only one jab at my love life. Maybe she’s growing up.”

“Doubt it,” he said, scanning the room. “I don’t trust her. She’s up to something.”

Claire glanced up. The she-devil was now sitting smugly on Jason’s lap with a dirty martini, clearly making a couple Claire recognized from a small business seminar uncomfortable.

An emcee came onstage and welcomed everyone, but she barely heard a word. She pulled notecards out of her clutch and went over her brief acceptance speech. Rubbing her win in the drunken harlot’s face was going to feel better than a week-long spa trip. Or a seven-day sex bender with Luke. Not that she was thinking about him right now. Even though their post-pizza phone chat had been the most productive conversation they’d had since Paris. Some things took time to forgive, and while she had softened, she wasn’t there yet.

Several awards were passed out to thunderous applause. Best Customer Service had been awarded to a local, independently owned pharmacy. They certainly deserved it—Claire had witnessed one of their pharmacy techs snowshoeing down Beaumont Street in a blizzard to deliver medication to a shut-in. Start-Up of the Year was given to De-Stress, a BYOB rage room, despite an alarming number of reported patron injuries.

Claire’s gut lurched when Event Planner of the Year appeared on the projector screen. She rubbed her hands over the wrinkle in her dress. “And now, before the presentation of the Event Planner of the Year award, we’ll see submissions from two of our best and brightest—three-time award winner Claire Hartley from Happily Ever Afters, and Wendy Flutter of The Yes Makers.”

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