Mrs. Dennings chews me out for a good five minutes, embarrassing me in front of at least fifteen people. I could tell Mrs. Dennings that Veronica is the one who did all of this, but now isn’t the time to point fingers. What little time there is left, I know I have to use trying to fix what Veronica broke.
Paige is nowhere to be found, having no idea what’s going on and still thinking she doesn’t have to be down here for another half hour. But I can’t even will myself to call her to help me because I know Paige, and she might make things worse by saying something to get us both fired. Paige’s fuse is much shorter than mine.
“This is a disaster,” Mrs. Dennings tells me with an angry pinched mouth. Her arms come uncrossed and she gestures her hands out in front of her angrily. A muscle begins to twitch rapidly at one corner of her mouth. “I hired Harrington Planners because I thought they were the best. And I will not accept anything less than the best for my daughter. Did I make a mistake?” Her glare pierces me like a hot poker to the face.
My mouth is incredibly dry. I can’t think straight, much less answer her straight. I need to buy some time, although I know that time is both expensive and elusive this close to the wedding tonight, and I’ve got to think of something quick.
If I can’t buy time, I’ll have to manipulate it.
“I’m on this right now,” I say, putting up a hand as a sign of assurance. “I don’t know how any of this happened”—a total lie—“but I’ll fix it.” I start to walk away, putting my phone to my ear as the caterer’s number begins to ring. “Ten minutes!” I call out to Mrs. Dennings as I get farther away. “Don’t worry about anything!”
I’ve never lied so much in my life in such a short time.
Four minutes on the phone with the caterer and after some begging and convincing and an offer to pay a convenience fee, they were able to rework their schedule to squeeze us in for today. I’m assuming Veronica told them the wrong day by accident when she called to verify—I don’t even want to know.
One disaster down, one to go.
Wiping beads of sweat from my forehead caused mostly by the stress and not the heat, I scan the contacts in my phone—ignoring the stream of text messages from Paige—for the number for the band when Paige walks up briskly.
“I’ve been looking all over for you,” Paige says, a scowl etched in her face.
“What is it now?” I ask, exhausted, afraid of the answer.
Paige stops and motions her hands up and down in front of her, indicating her clothes.
“Does this look ‘suitable’ to you?” She makes quotation marks with her fingers. “These shoes cost more than Mrs. Dennings’s facelift,” she snaps. “Yet it’s still not good enough for her. I think she just has it out for me.”
I put up my hand to stop her, not looking her in the eyes, but at the ground instead.
She hushes in an instant.
“I can’t deal with this right now,” I say, throwing my hands in the air, surprising not only her, but myself. “Paige,” I say more calmly, “just stay as far away from Mrs. Dennings, Veronica, and the wedding as you can, OK?”
Paige blinks, stunned.
“Please,” I say before she has a chance to start with the questions—in addition to everything else that’s gone wrong, I feel like the worst best friend in the world. “Just go to your suite, or hang out with the bartender—whatever you want to do. I don’t care right now. All right?”
Baffled by my reaction, she stands there with deepening creases around her blue eyes.
“But what about—”
I turn my back to her and walk away, leaving her standing in her statuesque form, and with the rest of her words on her tongue.