Gwen swallowed. “You did.”
“Great, my job is done. Good luck, my darling. I fear you’ll need it.”
Mrs. Delmont clicked off the line. My God, Gwen was wearing pajama bottoms with penguins in red scarves. The remnants of breakfast still littered the kitchen table. She hadn’t showered and hadn’t made her bed…she didn’t meet with clients at her place, ever. In fact, she’d recently been looking for a new office and hadn’t yet—
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Was this happening? How was this really happening? Gwen scrambled toward the front door, wiping the back of her hand over her mouth and patting her hair. Deep breath. Well, this client was here, unannounced, and she could do this, she absolutely could. She straightened her spine and clutched the door knob for a moment before she pulled the door open.
In front of Gwen stood a blonde-haired near-skeleton in all her Chanel and Birkin glory.
“Gwen?” Milan asked with a lilt in her voice, as though they were long-lost sorority sisters.
“You must be Milan.” Gwen leaned forward and reached out her hand, and Milan, who was shockingly strong for a creature who couldn’t weigh more than a hundred pounds, yanked her in for a hug. God, please let her have gotten the entire splotch of oatmeal off her shirt. What kind of cleaning bill would it take to get an oatmeal stain out of a Chanel blouse?
Milan pulled back and placed a hand on each of Gwen’s shoulders. “Thank goodness you said yes. I don’t know what I would have done if you’d told Binky no.”
“Binky?”
“Oh, my godmother, Mrs. Delmont, silly! She loves the nickname really, I’ve called her that for years.” Milan sauntered past Gwen as though she owned the apartment. Her gaze traveled up and down the walls and the hall, toward the kitchen and into the tiny living room.
“So quaint,” she said, cocking her head to glance at the prints on the wall. She ran her hand over the sofa, dusting away any unseen crumbs, before she perched on the edge of the couch. Perhaps if Gwen wore Chanel suits, she’d do the same.
“So, I wanted to tell you there is absolutely no other planner I can trust. Mother isn’t here today, she’s still in Saint Barts, but she knows we’re meeting and she is absolutely on board. My wedding simply must be the wedding of the season. I have a file and a PowerPoint prepared that will give you an overall feel for the concept and look I’m after.”
“A PowerPoint?” Gwen’s eyes widened. Usually she was the one creating slides to try and capture the aesthetic for the bride. Yes, indeedy, Milan was thorough.
“I’ll email all the information as well as the budget. Daddy is being very generous, although I wish he’d loosen up a bit on the amount for the gown. I do believe six figures is the minimum for getting the right kind of dress.” Milan leaned forward and smiled. “I’ll simply have to keep working on him.”
Gwen nodded and reached out to take the file folder Milan had liberated from her Birkin. Yes, oh my, exceptionally thorough. Milan passed Gwen her cell phone so Gwen could type in her email address.
“Excellent.” Milan tossed her phone back into her bag. “Now, of course we’ll need to meet—” She took a short, quick breath and her eyes began to water. She pressed a finger beneath her nose. “Aaaa-choo! Excuse me. Weekly and—aaaaa-choo—and—aaa, aaa, aaa, aaa-choo! You don’t have a—”
Mr. Mouse jumped onto the couch beside Milan and placed a paw on her Chanel skirt.
“Cat!” Milan jumped to her feet. Mr. Mouse scrambled over the back of the couch and raced down the hall toward the bedroom. “A cat, oh no.” Milan slipped her hand into her bag and pulled out a compact mirror. “And I have lunch in an hour.” She tilted her head back and forth, examining her eyes. “Some of us dress for lunch,” Gwen thought she heard Milan mumble. “My eyes, my nose.” Fury lodged in Milan’s eyes, at odds with the smile she kept pasted on her face. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a cat?”
Why didn’t you tell me you were coming to my home? Gwen wanted to volley back, but she didn’t. The party-planning business was also the people-pleasing business. Gwen didn’t say any of the snarky comments that flashed through her mind.
“I’m sorry.” Gwen stood. She grabbed a box of tissues from the end table and held them out to Milan.
“I have to…to…to…” Milan blinked rapidly as another sneeze built up. “Aaa-choo! Go! We’ll meet at my place next Monday at three. Mother will be back by then.” Without waiting for a response from Gwen, she darted down the hall with the tissue pressed to her nose. “My God, how many cats do you have? The entire place is infested.”