Page 124 of Champagne Fizz

“I really owe you,” I concede, putting on my turn signal to get on the highway.

“Oh, in more ways than one,” he scoffs, meaning this morning. “I’m going to cash in on that favor later, Kendall. I don’t know how exactly, but when the time comes, be ready.”

I don’t want to know what that means, but right now, I don’t care. “I promise,” I say, before hanging up. Then I see the note in Mrs. Voss’s email that instructs me to set up her accommodations for the weekend.

Seriously? Did she impulsively decide to fly out today without making any plans other than arriving at the airport and buying a ticket?

It doesn’t matter, I just have to get it done. I pull onto the highway and voice-instruct my phone to call the Atlantis Resort. Hopefully the fact that Connor works at Flambé will help me convince the resort to give his mother a room last minute.

I speed up, zooming past cars while trying to keep an eye on my miles-per-hour. I don’t want to give Arie too much time to witch-talk Connor’s mother, but getting pulled over or evading an officer would be worse. I just hope that five minutes with Arie doesn’t turn this into an even bigger disaster.

* * *

I’m driving past terminal one with my eyes peeled for Mrs. Voss when I catch sight of Arie’s dragon-red hair. She’s standing with a well-groomed older woman that I can only assume is Mrs. Voss, a mountain of suitcases between them. Talk about high maintenance. I pull up to the curb and pop the trunk, hoping I have room for all that luggage.

When I step out, I notice a lavender-haired woman the same size and build as Arie, only more artsy and bohemian in her style. That must be Arie’s sister. And next to her is a tall gentleman in a ballcap and glasses who—oh wait, that’s Desmond Pike (as in themovie starDesmond Pike)!

Holy bananas, he’s gorgeous. I don’t watch his TV showBillionaire Heatbecause I’ve been warned it’s fifty-shades of too sexy for my condition, but dang! Even incognito in generic I’m-an-everyday-person t-shirt and jeans, he haspresence.

You better keep it in check,I warn Lady Lada who would be happy to sabotage the powder keg I’m about to walk into because—Hey, sexy movie star!

None of your shenanigans, Lada!

I grit my teeth and throw on a smile, not excited to simultaneously face Arie, meet Mrs. Voss, and pretend I’m not starstruck by Hollywood’s power couple.

“Helloooo, I’m Kendall Hart,” I announce, walking up to the group. To my surprise, Mrs. Voss has a smile on her face as she chats up Desmond. I guess beauty and fame can charm even the most grumpy of mothers. Only, Mrs. Voss’s face turns to a scowl as I approach, making me realize I’ve interrupted hermomentwith Mr. Famous.

“You’re the wedding planner,” purple-haired Arie says excitedly, holding out a hand for me to shake. “I’m Esme! I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Have you?” I ask tentatively, sneaking a glance in Arie’s direction as I take Esme’s hand. Whatever Arie’s told her sister, it can’t be favorable.

“It’s all good, I swear,” the lavender-vixen laughs. “At least when it’s coming from Simon.”

“Simon?” I squeak out, feeling the daggers in Arie’s eyes without having to look at her. I keep my focus on Esme, who I’m realizing is Arie’s twin—the nice Disney-princess version of Arie if kindness were her main virtue and not arson. “You and Simon … talk?”

“All the time,” Esme laughs. “He’s quite—” she pauses to look at her sister’s sour face “—impressed with your design talents.” Esme gives me a wink before turning to Mrs. Voss and expounding upon how incredible the wedding is going to be. I have to admit, I like this good-twin version of Arie. She and I could definitely be friends, though I’m a little nervous what exactly that wink meant and what Simon’s told her about us.

Not that there’s an us.

I turn my attention to Desmond. “Mr. Pike,” I say, offering a hand. “It’s a pleasure.”

“Oh please, call me Desmond,” he insists, shaking my hand firmly. “If you call me Mr. Pike, I’ll feel like I’m on set, and this is a vacation!” He snags Esme by the waist and pulls her against him, planting a kiss on her neck that makes her squirm.

“I haven’t seen your show,” I admit, feeling a full-force Lady Lada blush coming on with the way the two of them are canoodling. “I hear it’s—”

“A little risqué for yourtemperaments?” Arie interrupts, giving me a knowing look.

I want to point out that virgins have desires, and I’m sure there are plenty of virgins who’ve watched Desmond’s show without a problem. But I don’t take her bait.

“You wouldn’t be the first,” Desmond says, squeezing Esme even closer. “This one hadn’t seen a single episode when we met. She was more of a rakish pirate with big swords, romance novel gal than TVMA red rooms and BDSM.”

“Desmond!” Esme chides, slapping him on the wrist. “Ned’s mom is present.” She motions to Mrs. Voss who’s watching us all with a tight lip. Surprisingly, she doesn’t seem insulted, and knowing her desire to boss people around I wouldn’t put it past her to have a leather whip hidden in her suitcase.

“Let me help you with your luggage,” I say, stepping forward to pick up one of Mrs. Voss’s bags. “Your suite at the Atlantis has been booked. I’d be happy to take you there now.”

“We’ll take her to the resort,” Arie steps in, giving me a deadly frown.

“No, no,” I insist. “You guys are on vacation.” I motion to the couple. “This is my responsibility. Mrs. Voss, this way please.”

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