Chi was right on many points, but especially one—Axel avoided me.

Even before, when we were trying not to be around each other, we still spoke via text or email, but not anymore. He quit communicating with me altogether, and used his corrupt personal assistant to send me any correspondence regarding the wedding.

It didn't surprise me, and yet it stung. Axel didn't even want to deal with me on a professional level and preferred to use the assistant who'd spied on us. If that wasn't a clear message of screw you, Vivienne, I'm not into you anymore, then I'd be damned.

Axel Levine was done with me.

Somehow, he allowed me to keep my job. Either out of pity, because he knew I needed the money, and knew Brent would decimate me if he found out I'd made a single faux pas; or because, like Chi said, it was too late to bring someone else in.

I wanted to be grateful, but every night as I tumbled into bed, I cried. Yes, I had my job, my prestigious gig—but I'd lost the man I'd been falling for, and it was all my fault.

I carried on with my tasks, trying my hardest to remain positive. If anything, this gig would grant me more recognition, and maybe the opportunity to upstage Brent, ditch the company for somewhere better. L.A. Love Wedding Planners was the highest rated firm in Los Angeles, but...I could leave town. Without Axel to tether me here, did I need to stay? Chi wouldn't mind moving, if I asked them to, and they were the only other person I cared about here.

And if it meant getting farther and farther away from Olivia...it might be the best option for me.

I considered this as I met with Estelle, two weeks before the wedding. I didn't tell her, of course, because it wasn't any of her business, but I sat with her with conflicted feelings brewing inside, and unsure how to not fidget in my chair.

"You okay?" She was cozy in her seat, nursing an afternoon cocktail with a name I couldn't pronounce. I'd settled for a spiked iced tea, though technically I wasn't supposed to be drinking. This was a work outing, and if Brent knew I'd been having liquor on the job, he'd murder me.

Was I okay? Absolutely not. But that wasn't something I could confess to Estelle, since she was part of the reason for my discomfort.

I'd ogled her at her bachelorette party. I'd watched her making out with her fiancée, fondling her fiancée, fingering her fiancée. I'd seen her breasts, Mollie's breasts, too, and fantasized over them.

Fuck, I'd stood there letting Olivia touch me as they touched each other, and I still had erotic dreams about it all.

"I'm...good enough," I lied, sipping on my drink, wincing at the strength of the alcohol. I'd asked the waiter to ask the bartender to make it light, but this was too spiked for my taste.

"I don't believe you." Estelle studied me as she plucked a cracker from our charcuterie and cheese board. "Something's up, and I'm worried."

"If anything is wrong," I gritted my teeth, "it's personal, and has nothing to do with the wedding. Everything is going according to plan for that."

"Good." Estelle deflated in relief, dipping the cracker in the parmesan sauce before bringing it to her mouth. "Mollie is stressed, which is stressing me, and I'm already stressed, so..."

"So, a lot of stress." I nodded and reached for a piece of Swiss. "Which is understandable since there are only two weeks left."

"How's the rehearsal dinner coming along?" Estelle swirled her straw in her drink, not once removing her gaze from me. "Did Axel give you the details we discussed?"

I gulped. Estelle had no clue Axel wasn't speaking to me, and that his assistant was my only contact since the bachelorette party. And if Axel hadn't told her, I didn't think it was my place to do so. Whatever his reasons—surely because he worried she'd worry more than she already was—I had to respect them.

"Yes, and we've secured the location you asked for." I offered a shy smile and took a morsel of salami.

"That sounds like some spy movie," Estelle giggled, "but I'm glad to hear it. That restaurant is the only one Mollie would fully bless without tasting the menu ahead of time." She sighed, a soft smile over her lips. "And though I run the business, Mollie is the heart of it all."

To see the admiration on her face—the flushing of her cheeks, the sparkling eyes, the whiff of romance all around her—gave me hope. Not so much for myself, but for love, in general.

I adored these last-minute conversations with brides and grooms, where they showed not reluctance to get married, but excitement. When they proved to me they'd made the right choice.

I only wished I'd made the right choice, too.

"I wanted you to know," Estelle swallowed a bite of meat and cheese, "that I called off the P.I., recently."

I nearly spat out my drink. "Recently?" The spiced beverage soared down my throat, burning me on the inside on its way down. "Ah, I, uh...thank you?"

I thought she'd called off the P.I. weeks ago. What did this mean? Had the guy been at the bachelorette party? Had he caught me lusting after Estelle, then being fondled by Olivia, then my argument with Axel?

From Estelle's relaxed stance, I assumed he hadn't been around. Or if he had, he hadn't picked up on anything unusual from me. She'd have said something by now.

Axel had kept most of our disagreements to himself. I wouldn't complain about that, but I wished he'd talk to me, at least, give me a chance to explain, and to promise him Olivia was out of my life, for good. Once the wedding was over, I would block her number and never, never speak to her again. She'd ruined my existence one time too many by now, and no matter how succulent she tasted or how skilled her fingers were, we were done.

"You really do seem elsewhere today, Vivienne," said Estelle, cocking her head, eyes narrowed on me in a scrutinizing way. "Not that you're normally bubbly and shit, but you're...quiet."

"Stress," I said, on instinct, and it wasn't a lie. "It's a lot of stuff crammed into a short amount of time, and I'll admit it's getting to me, but...we're at the finish line." I offered a genuine grin; I, too, was excited for this wedding. It was set up to be the event of the season, of the town, of the state, even. And my name was attached to it.

"Understandable." Estelle leaned forward to pluck a cornichon from the edge of the platter, her gaze directed at me. "I want to thank you for all your efforts and hard work. I know this time," she smirked, "you were at the helm of it."

"This time?" My pitch elevated, and I cleared my throat. "What do you mean?"

"St. Tropez," Estelle waved at me, "I know it was mostly Axel, but I also know that wasn't your fault. It was his hotel, and the storm fucked stuff up, and it put you in a position to not have a choice. He had to take over most of it. And of course, he wouldn't leave you without credit. He didn't want the credit. Damn my generous brother." She lifted her cup for a toast. "To Axel."

I bit the insides of my cheeks. "To...Axel."

I hoped she didn't catch my flinch at saying his name. Though I thought of it, doodled it in my notebooks like a lovesick teenager, I rarely said it. He was Mr. Levine, and as far as I was concerned, after what I'd pulled, he'd stay as such.

To hear Estelle remind me of how wonderful he was only rubbed salt in the wound.

"Okay, and about the—" Estelle was cut off by my phone ringing loudly, startling us both.

"Oh, um," I glanced at the screen, "I actually have to take this. It's the boss."

She quirked an eyebrow. "Axel?"

"No." I sat up straight, as if the person on the other line would know I'd been slouching. "Brent Bowers."

Estelle wrinkled her nostrils and gestured at me to pick up the call.

"This is Vivienne," I answered, putting on my most professional voice. We were in a bistro-style restaurant, and there were many voices in the background which I was sure would get me in trouble. Brent would think it was a bar, and he'd lose it.

"Vivienne," said Julie, her voice pinched. "You have to get over here, ASAP."

I clutched the phone so tight to my face, I felt the screen sticking to my skin. "The office? Now? I'm kind of in a meeting with the bride."

"Trust me," she sounded hurried, her timbre laced with fear, "this is important. Urgent."

"Brent wants me there?" I peeked at Estelle, who was watching me, confused. I pulled the phone away and grimaced. "The office, telling me I need to go in."

"I wouldn't say want. Needs. Demands. He threw his phone at me." Julie's voice deepened to a pitch I'd never heard it in before. "And he insisted I call you and summon you at once."

"And," my throat grew dry, and my stomach upset, "do you know what it's about?"

"I don't. But he's...well," her swallow was loud on the speaker, "I've never seen him this pissed. Hurry."

"Fuck," I said, as Julie hung up on me. I lowered the screen and stared at it as it flashed the end of the call. "I mean," I looked up at Estelle, aghast at my language, "crap, I..."

"Please." Estelle flicked her wrist. "Don't apologize to me about language. Especially towards shitty bosses." She batted her lashes, holding a cracker close to her mouth. "Is there a problem?"

"I don't know." I scrolled through my apps, searching for my Uber one. "But I need to get over there quickly."

Estelle stood up, shaking her head. "Use my car service."

My jaw dropped. "You have one of those too?"

She chuckled. "A wedding gift from Levine Luxury Group, believe it or not." She grabbed her phone and typed on the keyboard. "I'm having them come around right now."

We'd arrived separately, and me taking her vehicle would leave her stranded here. "And you?" I couldn't take her offer. "Listen, Estelle, I appreciate it, but—"

"—nope, they're already pulling up at the curb." She motioned at the door. "I plan on having a few more cocktails, so once they drop you off downtown, they'll come back for me." I shook my head, intent on refusing, but she came around the table and grabbed my wrist. "I insist. Calling an Uber? That's gonna take a while, and even longer to get across town, which I'm assuming will enrage your boss, hm? My driver knows his shit. He'll be quicker. You're stressed, you said; let me remove some of that."

My skin tingled at the contact, but I decided against declining any further. She was, like her brother, stubbornly generous, and wouldn't allow me to leave unless it was under her terms.

"Fine." I took a deep breath. "Thank you."

"Go," she pointed at the door again, "and let me know if that prick says anything to upset you."

Axel must have warned her about Brent; that, or she already knew of his reputation. I thanked her again and rushed out to the black sedan awaiting me. Destination: Brent Bowers' office.

***

The atmosphere at L.A. Love Wedding Planners was...morose. More so than usual.

The looks I received from everyone, receptionists and other planners and even the damn janitor were...creepy.

Some snarled—nothing too unhabitual there—and some winced. Some shrugged and moved out of my way as if I were carrying some fast-spreading virus. Others mouthed, "so sorry" and hurried to shut their doors as I passed them.

It was like a walk to hell, the passage leading to Death itself.

Julie, seated near Brent's office, hopped to her feet at the sight of me. She cleared her throat, and peered down as she pressed on her skirt, as if to remove wrinkles that weren't there.

"He's inside," she said, signaling at the closed door.

Closed door—that was uncommon, for Brent. He liked the door open, so everyone could hear him boasting about his successes, strutting about his enormous office to show off his newest luxury suit.

Last time he'd sealed it shut was when Axel was here.

I hesitated. This was bad, real bad. I anticipated that I'd be leaving the building within a few minutes, my tail between my legs, and a tiny box of my meager office things clutched to my chest.

"Vivienne," hissed Julie, wildly gesturing at the door, "go in. Hurry. Or he'll wring my neck, too."

Wring my neck?

Julie knew. She knew what was going on, and she knew I was about to be fired.

I gathered my bearings, prepared myself for the worst, and almost said nice knowing you as I set my hand on the knob and twisted.

If the mood outside Brent's lair was bad, it was worse in here. Blinds were shut, few lights turned on, and instead of sitting at his desk, leering at me, Brent was pacing.

Pacing. Brent never paced.

His steps were mismatched and thundering, and he grumbled every few paces, coming off as someone who'd lost his mind and was hearing voices.

"Um," I coughed to signal my arrival, "Mr. Bowers?"

"Sit," he said, shooting his pointer finger towards a chair, not even looking at me. "Now."

"Uh, okay, I—" As I turned to close the door, I noticed someone else was in the office with us. Someone leaning against the wall, arms folded, a stern, cold gaze fixed not on me, but on Brent.

A stern, cold gaze that had been fixed on me while on the terrace at the bachelorette party.

"Axel?" I whispered, taking in his work suit, his ruffled hair, his bushy, lowered eyebrows.

"Vivienne," he said, without emotion, not offering me a glance, a nod, or anything to truly acknowledge my arrival.

"Vivienne," howled Brent, again motioning at the chair he wanted me to sit in.

I walked backwards, unable to detach my gaze from Axel. Why was he there? Why did he look so...perturbed? And why was Brent perturbed?

I worried they'd had an argument. Or perhaps their disturbance was towards me, and that was why I'd been summoned. Perhaps they were both about to berate me. A double firing.

I sat, wringing my hands and reeling from my heartbeat racing out of control. "So...what's going on?"

Axel stormed over, surprising me as he fell into the chair beside mine with a grunt of annoyance. He angled against the cushion, arms still folded, scowling at Brent as he returned behind the desk.

Brent didn't sit. He remained standing, towering over us, glaring at us in turn. He slammed both palms to the desk and slanted over it, his demeanor that of an animal about to leap over and chew our heads off.

Fuck.

"So, is it true?" His words were twisted with poison. In all my time working for him, he'd never spoken with such distaste and disgust. I recoiled though the entire desk separated us; I sensed the heat wafting off him in noxious waves, about to scorch my skin.

I couldn't speak, couldn't move.

Axel, on the other hand, hadn't lost the usage of his voice. "Is what true, Mr. Bowers? I have to say, you summoning me like this was bad enough, but if you plan to play cryptic games with us—"

"—is it true," Brent's voice rose over Axel's, deeper and darker and tinted with malice, "that the two of you are fucking?"

☼☼☼