Page 104 of Heat Clinic

“Lovely. We’ll dine à la russe, and from the guest list your mate gave me… you’ll need twenty tables. Each rectangular table seats twenty-four. Unless you’d prefer round tables?” She looks up at me expectantly.

“Uh… rectangular is fine.”

That crease is back between her brow and I break out in a sweat. Did I pick wrong? Are round tables better than rectangular ones? Does it matter as long as people have somewhere to sit so they can eat? She clicks her pen and presses the clipboard to her chest.

Shit. I definitely chose wrong.

“Either option is fine, Mrs. Orello. We have eight-foot round tables that can seat ten guests, so we’d simply need to sacrifice the dance floor if you’d prefer round tables.”

Dancing. Oh, God.I don’t know how to dance unless looping your arms around your partner’s neck and swaying counts, which I have a feeling it won’t. “You know, maybe round tables would be best.” If the room is jam packed with tables, surely nobody can expect me to know how to waltz.

She clicks her pen again and scribbles on her clipboard. “Very good. Your mates asked me to make sure you have anything and everything you want.” She sighs, her look dreamy, and then she snaps back into her professional face. “Shall we go over floral arrangement options? I have some preserved samples for you to look at unless you have something specific in mind.”

“Yes, flowers. Good.” I follow her out, and she makes me sit, then wheels in a cart loaded with different floral arrangements of varying heights and styles. There are short, round ones stuffed with white roses, and dramatic sprays of greenery and pastel blooms. There’s a bright one with tropical flowers in hot pink and yellow, and a dark one with blood red flowers and stabby-looking thistles. I point to the pastel one set in the gold vase. “These?”

“Those are my favorite.”

I sigh with relief.

“Do you like it as is, or would you like to substitute any of the flowers?”

God, why are there fifty choices within a single choice? I’ve never been the omega who thought about her dream mating celebration. Many don’t even have one. I don’t enjoy being the center of attention. And I definitely don’t find party planning exciting or fun. It’s exhausting. Tom dragged us to over thirty venues all over the five boroughs and a few upstate before I made him pick one.

“Now for the tablecloths.” She reaches under the floral arrangements and pulls out a swatch ring and flips through them. “We have bright white, soft white, champagne, blush, silver, ecru, eggshell…”

My eyes glaze over, and I pick one called candlelight. She recommends antique gold sashes to complement them, confiding in me she thinks they look better than the standard gold. I didn’t know white and gold came in so many shades.

“Now, have you chosen your own bakery, or will you be using our kitchen for the cake?”

My phone chirps, and I latch onto the excuse to walk away.

Sam

How’s it going?

Emily

Save me

That bad?

You have no idea

I’m not kidding

Please come save me. I can’t take it anymore. Do you have any idea how many shades of white there are?

I’m outside

I head back over to the coordinator and grab my bag off the chair, slinging it onto my shoulder. “I’m so sorry, but my mate is outside, and he needs me. Can you forward any other questions you have to my mate, Tom?”

Her eye twitches, but she gives me her customer service smile and offers me her card. “Of course. I’ll have my secretary type up a list of the remaining details that need to be settled and have her send it to Mr. Orello.”

I run out of there, my shoes clicking against the tile as I button up my coat and step out into the cold, avoiding a pile of dirty slush as I spot Sam and throw myself into his arms. He hugs me, squeezing me tight underneath my jacket.

“Where’s Tom?” he asks.

“He got a call about picking someone up from the airport. I guess a few of his people flew in early from England and forgot to tell anyone, and they didn’t know how to get to their hotel.”

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