It had been like that since the second the bride walked in the door. She didn’t like the lighting, the music was a touch too loud, and she didn’t appreciate being kept waiting on her busy schedule, when Heather had entered the room literally less than sixty seconds after Danica’s arrival.
Danica’s mother wasn’t much better. Although still an attractive woman, Mariah Robinson hadn’t exactly embraced the concept of aging with grace. While Heather was all for covering one’s grays and stocking up on antiaging serums, Mariah had taken it to a whole other level. Her duck lips, Botoxed forehead, and too-tight clothes were the sad cliché of a woman who thought being attractive only came in one form.
On the plus side, Mama Robinson didn’t seem to have a problem with the champagne. She was on her second glass.
“So you’re the one who put together the Monteith wedding,” Danica said, giving Heather a slow once-over that made her doubt her entire outfit and definitely doubt her decision to let her hair do its naturally curly thing rather than straighten it, as had been her original plan.
Heather was quite sure that Danica had never had a messy hair day in her entire life. Heck, the woman probably hadn’t had so much as a single flyaway hair.
Danica’s hair was long and sleek, falling in a chestnut waterfall down to the middle of her back with just the slightest amount of curl at the end to give it a sort of “I woke up like this” look.
She was wearing a flawless navy-blue silk jumpsuit that at once made Heather feel uncomfortably corporate by comparison.
Truth be told, she’d been uncomfortable the second she’d stepped into the Alexis-esque pencil skirt this morning. She’d expected that dressing like her boss would make her feel accomplished and confident, but mostly she felt like an imposter.
Even more annoying, she had the strangest sense that her annoying neighbor had known it. When he’d given her his usual manwhore up-and-down, she’d seen something akin to pity on his face.
Imagine.
Josh Tanner pitying her. A struggling musician feeling sorry for a successful wedding planner.
No, not a wedding planner. Not yet.
First she needed to nail this meeting.
Heather took a deep breath and gave a confident smile, hoping to reset the tone of the meeting.
Danica didn’t smile back, but somehow the slightly haughty expression made her even more striking. The woman—or whatever team made her look this way each morning—also had her makeup routine down. Heather had been around for enough bridal makeup sessions to know a master when she saw one, and Danica’s eye makeup was definitely the work of a master. She’d done some smoky, smudgy thing that drew attention to her round blue eyes without making it look like she had loaded up on the eyeliner.
The woman was gorgeous, from her shiny brown hair to her Jimmy Choo–clad feet.
The jury was still out, however, on what was on the inside.
“I was happy with the way the Monteith wedding turned out,” Heather said in a smooth, no-big-deal voice she’d heard Alexis use.
“Huh,” Danica said, taking a sip of the champagne she didn’t like.
“I’d love if you could tell me a little bit about what you liked about it,” Heather said, opening up her notebook.
They were in the Belles’ consultation room, a bright, airy conference room complete with a built-in champagne bar, all-white furniture, and gorgeous prints of some of the Belles’ biggest weddings over the years.
It was Heather’s secret wish that one of her weddings would end up among the oversized canvas prints one day.
Maybe this wedding.
“I liked that it was different, but not different for different’s sake,” Danica said, sitting forward in her chair and fixing Heather with an intense stare.
“Was that the one with all the green?” Mrs. Robinson (bet that made for some fun jokes) asked. “I didn’t like the green.”
“No, that was the Swafton wedding,” Danica said with a dismissive wave. “That wasn’t you, was it?”
“No, the Belles didn’t work that wedding,” Heather replied.
“Good. The green totally didn’t work. It made Hannah look sallow.”
“Not something you’ll ever have to worry about, dear,” Danica’s mother said, patting her daughter’s hand.