“Are they?” Heather muttered as she rubbed her temples.
“Absolutely,” Alexis said. “This will work out. How often do we wedding planners get carte blanche to do whatever we want?”
“Never, and for good reason,” Heather muttered. “Everyone knows that an uninvolved bride is the kiss of death. What if I pick chocolate cake, and the groom’s allergic to chocolate? What if I pick a DJ when they wanted a live band? What if—”
“What if we open up a bottle of champagne, toss in some orange juice to make it before-noon appropriate, and have a brainstorming session over mimosas?”
“No, no,” Heather said quickly. “You guys all have your own work to do, and I can handle this. Really.”
“We want to help,” Brooke said quietly.
“I need to do this myself,” Heather said, just a little bit sharply.
She gave Brooke a pleading look to soften the rebuke. Please. I need to prove myself.
Brooke’s eyes narrowed slightly as she studied Heather, but eventually she gave a small nod. “Okay. But if you need anything . . .”
“I’ll ask,” Heather reassured her friend, even though she knew she wouldn’t be asking for anything. She would nail this wedding, all on her own.
She had to. She was so close to achieving her dreams. She had the apartment, the wardrobe, and in three short months, she’d have the job.
And if there was a tiny nagging part in the back of Heather’s mind wondering if she was missing something crucial, Heather ignored it.
Chapter Seven
OKAY, GUYS, THAT WAS good,” Josh said, pulling his guitar strap over his head and setting the guitar aside after the final chord he’d played to end the band’s latest song had faded away. “Really good.”
“Wait. We’re done?” Felix Mendoza asked from behind the drum set, an incredulous look on his face. “It’s only been, what, an hour?”
“Two,” Josh replied, looking at his watch.
“Boss has a date,” the lead singer said, making a lewd hand gesture. Of course, Trevor Cain could get away with just about any gesture and still have any woman he wanted. Such was the perk of being a kick-ass vocalist with one of those low, gravelly rock voices the women lost their panties over.
“I wish it was a date,” Josh said. “More like a curfew.”
“News flash, dude. You’re in your own home. Can’t have a curfew.”
“Yes, thank you for that bit of wisdom, Donny.” Josh clamped a hand on the shoulder of his high-
more-often-than-not bassist as he headed toward the kitchen.
“Seriously though, what gives?” Trevor asked, following Josh into the kitchen.
Josh held up a beer in offering, and Trevor nodded. He was about to shout to the other guys, but Felix and Donny had already started in again on the music, working their way through the trickier part of the chorus.
He opened his mouth to tell them to knock it off, but he figured they probably had another ten minutes before 4C came over and busted their balls.
Today was Friday, which meant tomorrow was Saturday, and as she’d reminded him at least a dozen times, Saturdays were her big show days.
Excuse him, wedding days.
Although as uptight as she got about her job, they sure as hell seemed more like performances than ceremonies.
“Not feeling it tonight?” Trevor asked, taking a sip of the beer.
“Nah, it’s this new neighbor. Not one of our biggest fans.”
“Shit. That sucks. But we knew it was a risk when Mrs. Calvin moved out. Man, I miss that banana bread.”
“Trust me, no banana bread coming from the new resident. I doubt she bakes, and if she did, it’d probably be, like, sour apple cyanide cake or something,” Josh said, leaning against the counter and rubbing at the back of his neck.
“Bitchy neighbor sure got under your skin,” Trevor said, already opening the fridge for another beer.
Josh didn’t have the heart to tell Trevor that it wasn’t Heather who was getting him down. Yeah, his hot neighbor was sort of a pain in the ass, and he’d sell a little piece of his soul to be the one she came to when she finally decided to get rid of all that wound-up energy, but . . . she wasn’t what was bugging him.