Page 33 of In Love With Mr. Wrong

"Depends," Grayson says with a grin. "Are you emotionally available and capable of keeping a houseplant alive?"

The guy laughs. "Barely. But I’ve got a good Spotify algorithm. That count?"

"We’ll take it under advisement," I chime in, grinning. "But Olivia’s tougher than me. She made one guy take a love languages quiz before we even let him past the intake form."

A woman in a sleek red jumpsuit leans in. "So, real talk. Is it true you match based on conflict resolution styles?"

"Absolutely," I say. "Because attraction is great, but if you throw a tantrum every time someone leaves a wet towel on the floor, that chemistry evaporates real quick."

Grayson chuckles beside me. "Also, Margot once built an entire compatibility model based on whether someone could tolerate airport delays without snapping."

"Still one of our most predictive features," I deadpan.

Someone hands me a business card with a hopeful smile. "In case you're accepting new clients. I’ve already dumped the crypto bro."

"Good start," I say with a wink.

We keep moving through the room, answering questions, sharing laughs, and feeling, for the first time in a long while, like the faces of something worth believing in again. The crowd doesn’t swarm, they connect. And this time, it’s not about fixing a narrative. It’s about building something stronger. Connection, after all, is our business. And business is starting to feel personal again.

***

Later that night, as I kick off my heels and scroll through my contacts, Grayson raises an eyebrow from across the room.

“Who are you texting?”

“Madeline.”

He grins. “Ah, the infamous Madeline. Queen of floral budgets and champagne sabotage.”

“She’s also the best wedding planner on the East Coast,” I say, tapping out a message. “And she owes me for not leaking that disaster of a rehearsal dinner she coordinated last year.”

“Was that the one with the swan that bit the groom?”

“That swan was a menace. But yes.”

My phone buzzes almost instantly.

Madeline:Tell me it’s time. I already have three Pinterest boards named after you.

“She’s in,” I say, holding up the screen.

Grayson smirks. “Should I be worried?”

“Only if you have strong opinions about peonies or string quartets named after cocktails.”

He walks over, takes my phone, and types back:We want elegant. We want intimate. And we want you to terrify the caterers into submission.

My phone buzzes again. Madeline:I’ve never been more aroused by a client brief.

We both laugh. Madeline calls thirty seconds later, her voice already dripping with excitement and chaos. "Okay, full disclosure, I’ve been emotionally preparing for this day since you two fake-eloped. I already have a vendor list, mood boards, and a curated list of signature cocktails based entirely on your star charts."

Grayson raises an eyebrow. "Wait. There are cocktails based on our astrology signs?"

"Please," Madeline scoffs. "Grayson’s a Virgo. He’s a 'Bourbon Discipline.' You’re a Sagittarius rising, so you get something with bubbles and just a little danger."

"Danger sounds about right," I say, flopping back onto the couch with a grin.

"I need venue preferences, floral allergies, a guest list cap, and confirmation that you’ll allow at least one moment of tasteful drama."

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