We make our own choices and live the consequences, I thought to myself, kneeling at the front row to measure the chairs.

Lila took charge, ushering the couple toward the door, directing them to the reception hall and bar, excusing herself for one minute, promising she’d be right behind them.

The doors closed, and I made it a point not to look up despite the feel of her eyes drilling me to the floor. Slowly, deliberately, I measured and marked, seemingly absorbed in my work and unaffected by the heat rolling off of her.

“If I need your opinion, I’ll ask for it,” she said.

In my periphery, I could see her visage—white curves, arms akimbo, hands hooked on her hips, hair red as the tip of a match.

I looked over as if I hadn’t known she was standing there. “Just seemed they had a simple problem. Thought I was helping.”

“She’s already indecisive, Kash. Don’t confuse her. I’ll never be able to talk her out of cabbage roses now.”

“Why should you?”

“Because I’ll shift everything, form a new plan, build everything around it, and then she’ll change her mind again. She’s suggestive—”

A snort of a laugh escaped me as I stood, through with her looking down at me like she was. “You can say that again. I didn’t realize you’d be pimping me out, Lila.”

“Pimping you out?” she huffed, color smudging her cheeks and eyes tight. “You weren’t supposed to talk to her.”

I shrugged. “Sorry. Guess I forgot I’m just the help.”

Her eyes rolled hard enough for her to get a good look at Fifth Avenue behind her. “Oh, please. Don’t be dramatic.”

I folded my arms across my chest, tilted smile in place. “Look, if it makes your job easier, by all means, pimp me out. And I’m sorry I opened my mouth about the flowers. I really was trying to help get her off the peonies. If she’d insisted, your life mighta been hell trying to deliver.”

The simmering rage behind her eyes eased to a hot steam. “It’s not your fault,” she admitted shortly.

“Wow, that was almost an apology.”

One brow rose with the corner of her lips. “Take what you can get, Kash.” She turned on her heel and strode away.

“Always do, Lila,” I answered, watching her until the golden doors closed behind her.

LILA

I toured Madison Wendemere and poor Charles Peterson through the venue—the guy couldn’t get a word in. At least he was marrying a Wendemere. With all the money he was about to inherit, he could hide on his yacht or the golf course or the men’s club where she couldn’t nag him.