skin was still tingling from the sound of Cole Dalton’s sexy drawl as she waved off Zach and Lydia before her boss got out of her car. Luckily, Estelle was still on the phone with one of their flower vendors when their newest clients drove away, saving Vivienne from an awkward introduction. Unfortunately, she hadn’t been able to save them—or anyone else within a block radius—from hearing exactly what Estelle thought of having centerpieces set in burlap-covered mason jars, because the Cadillac’s speaker volume was always set to Ridiculous.
Behind the windshield, Estelle’s red acrylic fingernail jabbed toward Vivienne, the gesture clearly telling her that her boss wanted her to wait right where she was. After several minutes of threats to never refer another bride to them again, Estelle finally disconnected the call and exited the boatlike sedan like a ninety-pound bleached-blonde tornado, ready to blow through anything that stood in her way.
“Who was that leaving?” Estelle asked, not bothering to take off the giant tortoiseshell-framed sunglasses that hid more than half of her face, as well as the healing scars from her most recent visit to the plastic surgeon.
“Those are our new clients,” Vivienne replied, her shoulders straighter than they had been for the past three months, when Estelle had first started pressuring her to bring in more bookings.
“Gah. More cowboy weddings,” Estelle complained, before lighting up a cigarette. “I hope you told them that flannel isn’t a bridesmaid dress option. We can’t have people thinking we’re running a rodeo over here.”
“They’re from Rust Creek Falls,” Vivienne explained, waiting for the significance to sink in. Surely, the woman would be impressed now that their company was officially branching out into the small town that was becoming well-known for so many recent marriages.
“You got the full deposit from them, right?” The woman was happy only when money was exchanged. At Vivienne’s nod, Estelle continued. “Good. Who was the other cowpoke with them?”
Despite the older woman’s insulting tone, Vivienne’s tummy did a somersault at the mention of Cole. “That’s one of the groom’s four brothers.”
“Four?” Estelle pushed the supersize sunglasses on top of her teased platinum curls. Even the heavy mascara loaded onto her fake lashes couldn’t conceal the gleam in her eye. “Are they all single?”
Vivienne flashed back to an earlier glimpse she’d had of Cole’s strong, tanned fingers and reminded herself that the lack of a wedding ring didn’t mean he wasn’t in a serious relationship. “You know, I didn’t think to ask.”
“Well, find out if they are,” Estelle told her, before reaching into the back seat. “Girl, in this business, you always need to be thinking one step ahead. If the other three are as good-looking as those two, there are bound to be some more weddings in the works. And I want you to book them.”
A feeling of incompetence raced through her. They’d been having a similar conversation for the past year. She knew she was supposed to be bringing in more business, but there was something icky about force selling happily-ever-after. Vivienne was of the opinion that her work should speak for itself and happy couples would be more likely to refer their family and friends her way. But before she could argue as much, Estelle passed her a small plastic cage holding a shivering black-and-white guinea pig.
Their company had done weddings with everything from songbirds to butterfly releases to dogs as flower girls. But they’d never done one with rodents. Vivienne crinkled her nose. “What’s this for?”
“When I went in for my post-op last week, the doctor told me my blood pressure has been through the roof lately. But with my high cholesterol and thyroid problems, I’m on so much stinkin’ medication right now, the last thing I want to do is shove more pills down my throat. Apparently, there’ve been recent studies about pets helping to ease people’s stress levels, so I thought I’d give it a try.” Estelle used the remainder of her cigarette to light up a new one before crushing the butt under her size-four stiletto. Cutting back a pack a day and not constantly yelling at wedding vendors would probably be more beneficial, but Vivienne knew better than to suggest as much. “Since I’m allergic to cats and I can’t stand the stench of dogs, my only choices at the pet shop were this little guy or a turtle. And I don’t do moldy tanks.”
Vivienne held the cage up to eye level and peered inside. There was something achingly familiar about the startled fear reflected in the poor animal’s eyes. “So why did you bring him to the office?”
“The stupid thing is defective. It was up all night long making this weird wheezing sound.” Estelle grabbed two binders off her back seat and hooked her trademark purple tote bag over her bony shoulder. The ash from her cigarette was almost an inch long and hanging on precariously as she headed toward the office door. “I need you to take him back to the pet store. Maybe you can get me the turtle instead.”
Vivienne was pretty sure the guinea pig wasn’t defective; it was just overwhelmed. After all, Estelle’s nose and lungs had had decades to build up a tolerance to her heavy-handed application of dime-store perfume and her chain-smoking. Usually, Estelle never smoked in front of clients, but since those had been scarcer lately, her boss was lighting up at an alarming rate.
Vivienne remained outside in the parking lot, setting the cheap plastic cage on the hood of Estelle’s car. She wanted to unlatch the metal door, but she was afraid the thing would run away.
“What am I going to do with you?” she asked. The guinea pig twitched its nose in response, the whiskers on either side of its face quivering.
Vivienne wasn’t much of an animal person. Growing up, she’d had only one pet, and that had been short-lived. When her parents divorced the first time, not only had they fought for custody of Vivienne, they’d also fought for custody of Filmore, a fluffy Pomeranian who didn’t understand the concept of every-other-week visitation. Vivienne was at school one day when Filmore snuck out of her dad’s sparsely furnished apartment and tried to make his way back to the house he was used to—the split-level home her mom got in the divorce. He never made it.
Her mother accused her father of giving the dog to one of his girlfriends, and her father accused her mother of leaving a trail of bacon the entire two miles between his apartment and her house. At first, Vivienne was heartbroken over her lost pet, but a week later, she was getting off the school bus a block away from her mom’s place and saw Filmore in the window of the Petersons’ house. She knew the Peterson girls from school. They were younger, and their parents never screamed at each other on the front lawn like hers did. So Vivienne decided not to say anything, because at least Filmore would get to live with a happy family even if she couldn’t. Every once in a while, she would go over to their house and pretend she was interested in having make-believe tea parties and playing with their babyish pink palace dream house just so that she could visit her dog.
When her mom and dad eventually got back together, Vivienne asked if they could go over to the Petersons’ and get Filmore. However, her parents were so caught up in each other and making up for lost time that they didn’t want the burden of a pet again.
Vivienne bit her lower lip as she studied the helpless guinea pig. Maybe she should take him back to her apartment for now. She should also call the pet store and tell them that under no circumstances were they to sell that poor turtle to Estelle. But, first, she had a wedding to put together. Balancing her binder in one arm, she carried the cage into the office.
The peanut M&M’s were long gone, so she broke off a piece of the granola bar she’d thrown in her purse this morning when she realized she wouldn’t have time for breakfast, then pushed
