My job description was very clear—I was to be a resource, liaison, and director for the Felixes. I was not to stop them or interfere with their show. I was not to do anything that might be taken as untoward, opinionated, or unhelpful. And I certainly wasn’t allowed to throttle Natasha Felix on the checkered floor of the bakery. It took every iota of willpower that I possessed to endure the shitshow, and though it felt like half of my life, the cake slinging only lasted a few minutes. By the end, all four sisters were laughing, taking final potshots, giggling and swiping fondly at each other’s faces.

The last cameraman standing got it all on film. The baker watched on, her face wide with terror and shock but lips in a grim line—she’d known what she signed up for. We all had.

With the glory came the train wreck. And the Felix train had just exploded in a fireball.

Sorina demanded they get up, and Angelika rose first, looking cowed. No one noticed the wad of cake in her hand until it was on a path for Sorina’s mouth, then smeared to the chorus of laughter of her sisters and Jordan, who’d been pulled into the fray.

I made my way over to the baker, taking her by the shoulders to steer her away from the carnage. The producer followed, promising damages and a crew to clean it up, and I told her I’d call to reschedule before turning to the Felixes once more.

Sorina was laughing and apologizing, rescheduling our meeting to decide the fate of this cursed wedding while the girls stood and tried to right themselves. I endured it all with that liar’s smile on my face, a hundred percent sure I didn’t get paid enough for this. At least they got to slide into private cars and go to their penthouses. I had to endure what was sure to be a humiliating cab ride, followed by a humiliating walk through a hotel lobby, and then a humiliating entrance into the hotel room where Kash was waiting for me.

But somehow, I did endure the Felix Femmes’ exit, along with their crew and several bodyguards who were smattered comically with cake and seemingly unaffected by the fact. Just another day at the office, I supposed.

I wagered they got paid enough for this. They probably made three times my very generous salary just to get slapped with cake and hang around, looking menacing.

The producer hung back, still trying to assuage the baker, who was squeaking her way through her shop, not listening to a word said. And with nothing left to be done, I gathered my things from the back and ventured onto the sidewalk.