Page 1 of Knocked Up by My Fake Fiancé
CHAPTER 1
Jenna
Today is the perfect day for my plans to go to shit.
For one thing, the weather's crappy. Clouds gather overhead, threatening rain for the third time this week, and it's still only Wednesday.
I narrowly avoid getting splashed crossing the street, only to get almost knocked over by the oncoming tide of pedestrians when I reach the opposite sidewalk. In one hand I'm juggling coffee, my notepad, and my journal. In the other, I've got my work phone pressed to my ear, listening gloomily while my assistant unloads the latest crisis.
I can feel the last scraps of my patience melting away as she talks. No point in just reacting, that won't help anyone. I take a deep breath and count to ten.
Okay, I've got this.
"Iris, slow down," I say. "Let me get this straight. One of the food vendors showed up today, a couple of days ahead of time, just to take a look in the kitchens, so they could forward-plan how they were going to operate on the day, and security wouldn't let her in, even after you confirmed who she was?"
"Exactly," she huffs. "Not only did they refuse to let the Maison Levant person in, they told me I wasn't authorized toeven talk to them about it. Can you believe that? I explained I was the event organizer, and I argued until I was blue in the face. They wouldn't budge. ‘Caterers are only allowed into the kitchens on the actual day of the event,' they said, and they just repeated it, no matter what I told them. After that, I had to call and apologize to the owner of Maison Levant, who chewed me out for ten minutes about wasting her company's time and told me the invoice for their member of staff's wasted day will be in the post. She's Lebanese, by the way. Did you know that? Do you know what it feels like to get chewed out in French, English, and Arabic? Because I do."
"Yeah, I get it. Sorry, Iris. Did you try Kane or any of the managers?"
"Yup. Total brick wall. No one knows who gave the order, and I've been stuck in phone-tag hell for the past thirty minutes."
"Alright. I'm close to the hotel anyway, so I'll stop by and check it out." I was supposed to be heading to the talent agency handling recruitment for the event, but today's schedule apparently comes with a detour. A necessary evil, and all par for the course in event management for the ultra-rich.
It's just what I don't need today, of all days. I already have three other fires to put out: a seating conflict, incomplete security background checks, and last-minute limo rentals for the attendees. Oh, and selecting the accommodation for one of our extremely fussy VVIP guests, flying in from the UAE.
Technically, that last one isn't even my job, but I like to go above and beyond for my clients when I can. It's not like I mind chaos—that's part of the deal when you're an event planner. I usually thrive on it. What I hate is when chaos is avoidable, but still ends up dumped in my lap.
Like this ridiculous issue with Maison Levant. They're one of the best halal restaurants in NYC. They even have a Michelin star for God's sake. With attendees flying in from all over theworld, including a large contingent from the Middle East, I thought they'd make the a perfect choice to provide the catering. It took a lot to get them on board, and of course now they're furious because we've wasted their time. Thanks to someone else's incompetence, I'm the one left looking stupid. If I'm not careful, I'll also be the one left paying extra bills for wasting their time.
So now I have to figure out what went wrong and fix it myself. Somehow, I already suspect the misunderstanding traces back to my client, the man at the center of this circus: Grayson Wolfe, CEO of Wolfe Group LLC, Chairperson of the Wolfe Foundation, and New York's "Sexiest Bachelor of the Year" for the last three years.
I'll admit, he's gorgeous—one of those men who undress you with their eyes, and who know how to make a woman wet just by the way they carry themselves—but he's also the single biggest pain in the ass I've ever met.
Don't get me wrong; I'm used to difficult clients, and indeed I expect them. Grayson, though, is a whole different beast.
I work for the New York elite. People who've had every privilege since birth and expect the world to bow at their feet. I met plenty of them back when I was the only scholarship kid in a very expensive fee-paying private school, and those connections are what helped me launch my own event-planning business.
It's gone well so far. I've learned to be accommodating, and to steer clients toward my vision in a way that makes them think it was their idea all along. Most of all, I've learned to remain cheerful, friendly and positive, but politely firm where necessary, no matter what shit they bring to the table.
With the ultra-rich it's a razor-thin line: let them walk over you and they never respect you; push back and you're fired. I've been perfecting that balancing act for three years now, and I'm proud to say I've never had anything but a five-star review fromall my clients. Not even when I had to plan a bachelorette party for the woman the tabloids dubbed the Beverly Hills Brat.
I thought about quitting that one, more than once. In the end, though, I pulled off a stellar event, the Brat was thrilled, and the positive publicity landed several lucrative contracts. Thank goodness the place didn't get raided, though. From what I could see, there was enough white powder at that event to line a ski slope. Nothing to do with me, of course, and naturally, I can't be held responsible for the proclivities of my clients and their rich kid "friends". Still, I sighed a deep sigh of relief when the party was finally over, and we could start on the cleanup.
Now, three years in, I've a solid record of success, and my own mid-rise office in SoHo to show for it.
This Wolfe Foundation event, though? This is the big one. My magnum opus that will catapult me and my business to the next level…ifwe can pull it off okay.
If all goes well, this event is going to put my company on the map and in the mouths of every elite in New York. It'll make all the years of grind worth it and establish us as one of the leading event management organizations on the East Coast. Finally, I'll be in the position to choose my clients, instead of being grateful for whatever business comes my way.
The event I am managing is the Wolfe Foundation Charity Showcase. This isn't just one party—it's a whole series of them, leading up to a final blowout that's expected to rival the Met Gala this year.
Even with my solid résumé, landing this gig wasn't easy. After an aggressive bidding war and a marathon interview process, I'd still had to cash in nearly every high-value contact in my book and call in more than a few favors before I finally snagged it.
Now, despite the hiccups, I'm proud of the work we've done. Excited, even.
That said, it would be a hell of a lot easier if I weren't working for a man I'm convinced was put on this earth just to aggravate the fuck out of me.
Grayson Wolfe.
