Page 30 of Click of Fate

I narrow my eyes.

In front of one of the chairs sits my coffee order—from my favorite place…Sweet Wave.

“You’re laying it on a little thick, Cass,” I tell the woman as she sets down a bright pink folder next to the coffee cup.

She doesn’t even flinch. She just grins—all teeth and innocent sparkle—like I didn’t just catch her red-handed in a soft-baked setup.

“Thick? Never. Can’t a best friend welcome another best friend properly?” she asks.

Just to be difficult, I take a seat on the wingback next to her coffee table. Cassie’s office, much like Layla’s, is designed for maximum comfort. There’s a desk area, a small round conference table in front of the windows, and a couch, two wingbacks, and a coffee table in the other corner.

I suppose if you’re spending hours in your office, it should be comfortable. This is why I’m not down with having an office. I would feel couped up and claustrophobic.

Crossing my arms and shooting her anI’m-on-to-youlook, I say, “Okay, what do you want?”

She sighs, giving up the pretense.

“I need you to shoot a wedding for me.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Stella.” Her bottom lip pops out, and oh my gosh, the pouting is on an all-time high today.

I shake my head. “Nope. I hate weddings. You know this.”

Cassie groans and drops dramatically into a chair at the table.

“I know! But this isn’t my fault. The mother of the bride insisted on hiring this random photographer, and she bailed. I thought I had a backup, but they bailed. The wedding is next week, and I have no one.” She buries her face in her hands with a groan.

I glance at my coffee and consider escape routes that include grabbing it on the way out.

“And why, exactly, is this my problem?”

Lifting her head, deadly serious, she says, “Because I will owe you forever. And I will never ask you for anything again.”

I let out a sigh, leaning back into the chair.

“Cass, I haven’t shot a wedding in years. You know why.”

Cassie’s expression softens. “Because of your dad. And all his weddings.”

I nod. It’s not just about disliking weddings—it’s about what they represent. False promises. Fleeting happiness. My father’s long string of failures.

“But Stella, this isn’t about all that. It’s about helping a friend.”

Groaning, I rub my temples. “You’re the worst.”

Her face brightens instantly. “That sounds like ayes!”

Cassie motions me toward the table, luring me over as she talks about how she got my favorite cookies and cream latte.

The coffee is delicious. Of course it is. Cassie remembered my usual—down to the drizzle of dark chocolate.

I lean back in my chair, eyeing the pink folder sitting just to the left of the cup, like it ended up there by accident. Spoiler alert: it didn’t. That folder is stuffed to the brim with client notes, timelines, shot lists, location details, and a blank contract already paper-clipped to a printed check.

It looks suspiciously like formal employment.

Cassie talks a mile a minute, sweet, hopeful bribes falling from her mouth like confetti. And against my better judgment, I finally give in. Not because I want to, but because I love her—and because I’m not totally heartless. There’s no use in being grumpy about my agreement to do this wedding. I’m not a grumpy person, but weddings bring it out of me.

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