Page 89 of Sugar Baby Mine

“Especially not hors d’oeuvres.” I laugh, because the memory of her mispronouncing that at the last wedding we set up for lives rent free in my head.

“You’re going to catch a cold one day, going around like that. Don’t let me catch you without a coat when it’s snowing out, or you’ll get hell from me.” Angela looks at me skeptically, turning back to the road and traffic as we shuttle toward the venue. In another life, she was definitely a mother.

I slide my phone into the glovebox for safekeeping, not wantingto be motion sick if I start doom scrolling. I’ve been so good about cutting down on my social media consumption, but car rides really tempt me. My knee bounces in place and even with my palm pressing down on it, it doesn’t stop.

We arrive at The View at Battery Park just shy of 1 p.m., and I’m in awe of the building, the gardens, the view of the harbor—I never get tired of witnessing these places all decked out for weddings and events. I’m still holding out hope we’ll get booked for a wedding at The Rainbow Room or The Plaza Hotel one day—talk about lavish. Just stepping foot in there to do my job is more than enough for me.

Angela makes a phone call to the wedding planner we’re working with today to let her know we’re here. Several people come out to help us load the flowers inside the building.

Everything is decorated immaculately, with silver and baby blue threaded through the space effortlessly. I get giddy, clutching a box of blue ranunculus even tighter as we head through to the reception space.

My brain switches to work mode, and I can finally focus on the flowers and how they’re supposed to look. What works well between me and Angela is that we don’t even have to speak when we get into the thick of it, we’ve done this so many times. We bounce off each other well, moving in sync as we prepare the centerpieces the way the bride approved several weeks ago—I can only hope she hasn’t changed her mind, because that happens more than I’d like to acknowledge.

“Emme, are you able to drop the boutonnieres and bouquets off to the dressing rooms? Nikki just texted me and said she’s tied up, but wants to make sure that the flowers are ready for the pictures the wedding party is planning to take shortly.” Angela glances up from her phone as she’s punching in a reply, one letter at a time with her index finger.

It’s always a fifty/fifty on whether the bride is nice or a totalbitch. I get the nerves, but some people are straight up nasty even when I’m just doing my job with something they approved.

“Yeah, of course.”

Leaving Angela to finish the sweetheart table, its flower spread grander than the rest, I grab the box with the wedding party’s flowers in it and head toward the side of the ballroom to the short hallway.

Thankfully, I handed the flowers off to the bridal party without incident. Unless you call the bride tearing up when she holds the flowers and nearly having to get her makeup redone an incident. She looks gorgeous though, with silvery blue eyeshadow and matching highlight on her cheek bones that makes her look like a faerie.

Very apt. She was definitely cooking with the ethereal overgrown theme in regard to the flowers and decorations.

But everything in my brain comes to a screeching halt when I knock on the groomsmen’s changing room door. In fact, I nearly drop the box of boutonnieres when Benjamin fucking Reed opens the door.

My stomach plummets so hard that I’m surprised the floor doesn’t greet me like an old friend.

“Emmeline?”

He calls my name, a look of confusion passing over his features, which are tailored flawlessly. Not to mention the three-piece suit that has my mouth running dry. Between now and the gala—God, it’s a wonder I’m not pregnant. My IUD is really putting in the work.

I ache to run my fingers down the cut of his jaw and yank on his tie until the pressed fabric rumples beneath my touch. The thought of unraveling him almost makes me forget why I’m so shocked in the first place.

“Are you getting married?” I blurt out, unable to reign in my thoughts even as I see the other groomsmen in the background.

Ben gives me a slow grin, one that makes my stomach flutter even when I’m worried he might have an entire secret life and I’m ready to stitch a scarlet letter A on all my clothes.

“No, I’m not getting married, Emmeline.”

The tension banding my shoulders lessens, and I chew my lip as I glance around him to the other men in the room.

“Whose wedding are you in?”

“My cousin—Alec and his bride, Jenessa.”

I blink. Because I’m still wondering if he’s here with anyone else. This is clearly a family event, and I wasn’t invited to accompany him. It’s not like I’mactuallyhis girlfriend. I’m just his sugar baby.

“Oh, um. The flowers. Boutonnieres. Here.”

He takes the box from me as I hold it out, gaze never leaving my face as I begin to shift one step back.

“Well, I’ve gotta be getting back to—”

“Emmeline.”

My eyes fall shut for a quick second, not enough to compose myself, certainly not long enough before facing the intensity of his gaze as he sets the box of flowers inside the room and closes the door behind him to stand in the hallway with me.

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