Page 1 of Happily Never After

CHAPTER ONE

To Do:

- Call caterer

- Groomer appointment for Rosie

- Email city of Los Angeles

“Absolutely not.I said buffalo plaid, not tartan plaid. Yes, there is a difference. I was very clear when I spoke to Janice. Is she available?”

On hold, Claire Hartley tapped her foot against the Italian floor tiles in her kitchen. The sun was beginning to set on the cool April evening, sending long shadows across the acres of impeccably manicured yard that had been freshly mulched in near-freezing temperatures the week before. She straightened the Jell-O shot Battleship station at the breakfast nook.

The line picked back up. Claire took a deep breath and collected her thoughts. She was letting the stress of the day get to her. Being shouty and rude was unprofessional and unkind.

“Listen, I know you’re just trying to do your job. I respect you as a caterer, and I know you’re capable of wonderful service. But if the waiters don’t show up in the agreed-upon buffalo plaid bow ties, it’s going to compromise the entire party aesthetic. They won’t match the napkins.”

Maybe she was being a little extra. But this was the first of Luke’s birthdays they would celebrate as a couple. He deserved a perfect day.

Janice muttered something apologetic on the other end.

Movement in the foyer drew Claire’s gaze. “Oh, Mindy, can you put those on the back table in the ballroom, next to the whiskey fountain? Thank you.”

Mindy, Claire’s assistant and one of her best friends, plucked a case of snifters from the island and disappeared down the hallway. The smell of hibiscus and spearmint gum lingered in her wake.

The hold music resumed. Apparently being polite wasn’t going to work either.

“Caterer not cooperating?” Nicole Collins asked, new diamond wedding band sparkling on her ring finger. An expensive camera was slung around her neck, partially obscured by her waterfall of chestnut-colored hair. Kyle, her husband as of two months ago, seemed to be attached to her hip. He was dressed for the occasion in a sport jacket and loafers. Nicole glowed next to him in her strappy, amethyst cocktail dress. They were both tan, fresh off a plane from their two-week Caribbean honeymoon.

“I told you not to use them again. Not after the McCaffery proposal.” Nicole paused to bring her camera to eye level and capture the plaid-and-burlap birthday banner Claire had just finished hanging in the foyer.

“Caviar at a vegan proposal,” Claire muttered, shaking her head. “I stretched the party budget too thin. They were the onlyoption left. If they don’t show up in buffalo plaid, they’re going to get a less than enthusiastic review on Yelp.”

The hold music ended. “Hello, yes? Oh, hi, Janice. I understand. Thank you so much for taking care of it. I appreciate the discount. The chefs will still be here within the hour? Wonderful. Bye.”

With a sigh, she crammed her cell phone into the sweetheart neckline of her emerald-green, floor-length dress. It was a crime that formal dresses didn’t include pockets. She left Nicole and Kyle in the kitchen, where they had huddled into the breakfast nook to canoodle in that extra smug newlywed way.

She started down the wainscoted hallway, eyeballing the floor for stray hair. Spotting several clumps undoubtedly left there recently by her absent corgi Rosie, she swore and twisted the knob on her office door. It was locked, but she hadn’t been the one to lock it. A flutter stirred in her belly, and she rubbed at the scar on her wrist. Surely they wouldn’t sneak into her house during a party. They’d been silent for months.

It took standing on her tiptoes to reach above the doorframe. Her pinky brushed against the tiny silver key. She crammed it into the small hole in the knob.Pop.The door swung open.

Something crashed to the floor. Her heart leapt into her throat. She flipped the light switch on and stormed into the room, grabbing the nearest weapon—a wrought iron lamp.

“Oh, hey, Claire,” came a voice from the floor.

She glanced down. Mindy lay flat on her back on the rug. The cap of a pen seemed to be stuck in her mane of raven hair, and the neckline on her black cocktail dress was crooked. Her green eyes sparkled in amusement. As disheveled as she was, she looked like a portrait that belonged in a museum.

“Seriously, Mindy? There are five bedrooms upstairs. Sawyer, you might as well come out,” Claire called into the room. Where could the mammoth-sized man possibly be hiding?

A pair of chocolate-colored eyes peeked over the edge of her scrubby, shabby-chic desk. It had been a hand-me-down from her mother. And now it was soiled. A moment later, six feet and seven inches of steel and sinew appeared.

“Hey, Claire. Great party.”

“It hasn’t even started yet.” She crossed her arms. The man may have saved her from a serial killer last spring, but that didn’t mean he got to exchange bodily fluids on her desk. “Can you take this party upstairs before you give someone else a heart attack? And Mindy, I could use your help with coordinating the—is that yours?”

A hot pink, lacy thong that she had most certainly not left there dangled from the picture frame that housed her business degree.

“I don’t know how that got there. I’ll dispose of it for you.” Mindy stood and stuffed it into her clutch.

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