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I did the math. The engagement party was in July. That was almost nine months ago. There wasno wayhe hadn’t been with anyone in that long. That was … unheard of for the Playboy Prince of Manhattan.
“I know his reputation precedes him, as does yours,” she said pointedly. “But maybe he’s growing up.”
“I doubt it.”
English laughed. “Fine. Have it your way. Just come save my life, would you?”
“My pleasure.”
We strode into the tearoom. I recognized Leslie Kensington from the campaign advertisements and the news. She was currently campaigning for her third term, which would be voted on this November. Some part of me wondered how much of the fancy wedding was related to her campaign and how much was a mother wanting what was best for her son. A large part of me thought it was the former more than the latter.
Leslie was too composed to make a face at my appearance, but the wedding planner blanched as I was escorted over.
Leslie rose to her feet and shook my hand. “You must be Whitley. We’ve heard so much about you,” she said.
“Mayor Kensington,” I said with a grin. “I’ve only ever seen you on the news.”
“Leslie, please, why don’t you take a seat?”
“Whit, this is Fanny McEwan,” English said, gesturing to the wedding planner, who was makingno secretof her distaste for me.
“Hello,” Fanny said without extending a hand. “Perhaps next time, we can arrive on time.” She looked around the place. People were definitely looking at me, but she was the only one who cared. Well, maybe the mayor cared, but she was too good at her job to show it. “And maybe in more appropriate attire.”
I gestured to myself. “What? This old thing? Don’t you recognize Elizabeth Taylor’s old furs?”
I was lying through my teeth but betting a lot of money that she wouldn’t know that.
Fanny looked way out of her depth. “I’m certain you know precisely what I’m talking about.”
“Let’s get back to the menu,” English said, deftly changing the subject.
The wedding planner looked ready to skewer me, but I smiled brightly, as if I had no idea. The next hour continued in much the same fashion. Despite my extreme attire, I was a good maid of honor. I’d attended a ton of weddings for clients back in LA and had opinions about the sort of grand-scale wedding that the Kensingtons wanted.
English looked relieved by my input. She was a publicist. Handling events was her thing, but she hated weddings. I was one of the only people who knew that fact. Her last wedding to a cheating douchebag movie star had been a huge Hollywood affair with all the pomp that LA could throw at it. She would have happily married Court barefoot in the sand with just her friends and family in attendance. But she loved him enough to endure this whole thing a second time.
And I loved her enough to endure the likes of Leslie Kensington.
By the time we finished the meeting, I was on edge from all the parrying back and forth. English pulled me close, and we exited The Plaza together.
“Thanks for enduring that.”
“Anything for you, bestie.”
“You’re still coming out with us tonight, right? I have that work thing for Fallon, and then I want to get a drink with my girl.”
“Yes, yes, I’ll be there.”
“It probably ruined the surprise now that you saw Gavin though.”
“Surprise?”
“We were going to invite everyone for your return to the Big Apple.”
I groaned. “Seriously?”
“Well, it won’t be much of a surprise.”
“Thank god.”
