Page 5 of When Sinners Fall
“So, colours. Do you want a signature colour for your wedding? Are you thinking of a traditional white for the dress?” I skim over some of the questions I’d usually go over with all my brides.
“Those things aren’t important until I see what I want. Then I’ll know.”
Helpful.
“So, picture a local paper covering your wedding.” Her eyes snap to mine, and I realise I’ve insulted her. Of course, she’s one of those who thinks she can buy herself into a celebrity magazine. I scribble that thought down. This woman’s ego will dictate this wedding. “Or, magazine.” I shrug. “What would the cover shot look like?”
“Well, something outlandish that screams money.”
“Fountains, a destination wedding, a theme?”
“Not gimmicky. Class.”
“What about a night-time wedding? Black dress, candles, romance.”
“Black? Seriously? I say class, and you say black?”
My eyes blink, and I take a moment to centre myself. “Ms Addison, if we’re to work together for the next… year,” I guess at a minimum. “Then I will need to understand what you like and don’t like; what you’re open to and what you’re not. This is part of the process to deliver the wedding of your dreams. We all have a different vision of our dream wedding, so if you could find it within yourself to work with me, rather than bringing your prejudgement and entitlement into the room, we’ll get a much better outcome. For you.” I remain calm and composed as I spell it out for her.
It doesn’t matter if she’s a blank-cheque customer or not, she has to work with me. She came to me, and she needs to respect that.
She looks at me, stunned, I’m sure, at my dressing down. But I’m a professional, and I won’t tolerate a drama queen. At least not at the start of the planning. There are far too many opportunities to unleash a neurotic and panicked bride-to-be as we get further along.
“Great, so, shall we start again.”
For the rest of the meeting, Ms Addison is much more accommodating. We’re focusing on a venue in San Antonio. She’d like to be married by June next year. And she doesn’t want any non-traditional colours and concepts. Florals, fountains, birds, candles, outside or inside – it’s all on the table.
She leaves with my Louisa Sage business card, meaning she has a direct line to my work mobile number until we close on the wedding.
My notes are complete, and I send the customer form to admin to log on the system. The level of service required for each job will dictate our roster of clients. Ms Addison is at the top of my list, but I’ll need to fill my books, and fast, to ensure I meet the hiring conditions for Louisa Sage.
But that’s for another day. Because tonight I have to put on my grateful-daughter act for my mother and make amends for wanting to live my life independent of my parents at thirty-four.
CHAPTER THREE
DRAGON
Knox is over there talking his talk like the poet he is with words.
He’s not affected by this. As usual. Educated speaking, straight talking. If I wasn’t as pent up as I am, I might even give this conversation he’s trying for a little more time, but I am.
My left foot moves, body ready to break someone’s face or light something up.
“Cool it,” he says to me, barely turning his head.
I sneer and pull out another fucking smoke, forcing my own shoulders back onto the door. He levels himself back to discussing manners and obligations with Tyrone Cassetti, ramping up the threat in his own style. Won’t work. Tyrone just decided he didn’t want to meet his payment, which means one of two things: he thinks he’s got something on us, or he’s trying to run his own business whether we allow it or not. Both things deserve one thing only – damage.
“Your girls hold our brands, Tyrone,” Knox says. “Nothing changes on the cut.”
Tyrone starts up again with his own crap, then tries telling us about that balance being paid up. Something about time limits that Elias imposed. We don’t do time limits. You get in our bed, and you stay there. Elias probably just said something to get whatever he needed when one of us wasn't there to back him up.
“Elias isn’t here anymore, Tyrone, and unless you have some kind of contract that states your case, nothing changes from the original deal. I need the usual thirty thousand. Now.”
Elias isn’t here anymore.
I try taking myself back to Boston a week ago and my last calm moments, trying to let the smell of that room and those girls screaming soothe some part of me that isn’t for soothing lately. Doesn’t work. No amount of breathing in this back room’s stale air is reminding me of calm. It’s reminding me of pain, and of Elias' dead body in the rubble when I eventually woke up from whatever hit me. His neck didn't snap in that explosion. Someone broke it for him.
Knox’s hand goes up in the air before I even move, his own calm trying to stop me again. “Tyrone, I’m gonna let him loose in a minute if you don’t get the goddamn money. My own patience is wearing thin.”
