Not the Marrying Kind(5)
First request that came in? She’d bust her ass making it the best damned divorce party ever.
No problemo.
Chapter Two
Divorce Diva Daily recommends:
Playlist: “Kissing a Fool” by Michael Bublé
Movie: 10 Things I Hate About You
Cocktail: Rusty Nail
“We have a major problemo.” Poppy read the email for the tenth time, wondering if she needed glasses.
She could’ve sworn some Vegas hotshot had demanded her presence in his office at eight p.m. today. With the promise of an impressive five-figure sum if she threw the divorce party of the year.
Like hell.
She’d grown up surrounded by rich pricks who expected everyone around them to dance to the “Money, Money, Money” tune. Lucky for her, she’d quit listening to Abba a long time ago.
Having über-rich parents who were plastic surgeons to the stars had been cool when she’d wanted a pony and a jumping castle, but the gloss had worn off as she grew older, surrounded by fake schmoozing, air-kisses, and selfishness. Their complete disregard for Sara’s situation, with minimal financial and emotional aid? Not surprising. If it didn’t benefit them, they weren’t interested.
She couldn’t stand the phonies who assumed money bought class. Wayne, Sara’s ex, had been a classic example: flinging his cash around to impress her sister, reeling her in, then tiring of her and moving on to the next plaything.
While Poppy hated seeing Sara so devastated, a small part of her had secretly been glad when the jerk left. Sara could do so much better than The Pain.
Thoughts of Sara brought her back to the email and Mr. Megabucks’ arrogant summons.
Poppy yearned to tell him where he could stick his cash, but that kind of money would go a long way to saving Sara’s ailing business. And a mega cash injection from a bigwig could launch Divorce Diva.
But was this guy for real? Eight today? On his private jet? With twenty-grand on the table?
Damn, he was seriously testing her vow to stay anonymous to protect Sara from anything remotely associated with divorce.
“What’s the problem?” Ashlee squinted at the email over her shoulder. “Sounds perfectly legit to me.” She rolled her eyes. “If you believe in the Tooth Fairy.”
“Gave up on fairy tales a long time ago, Ash, which is why this sounds fishy. Not to mention the anonymity factor to protect Sara.” She jabbed at the computer screen. “Email only? No one-on-one consultations? Any of this ringing a bell?”
“Told you this diva business would come back to bite you on the butt.” Ashlee smirked.
“Yeah, that’s you, a regular glass-half-full kinda gal.”
Ashlee ignored her sarcasm as Poppy’s gaze returned to that twenty grand. Maybe she could make an exception this one time and get Mr. Megabucks to sign a confidentiality agreement to keep her identity secret? That way she’d score the cash and protect Sara. Bonus.
“Did you Google him?”
“Just about to.” Poppy typed “Beck Blackwood” into the search engine and almost flipped when an image of the guy popped up on her screen.
“Holy hotties, Batman,” Ashlee muttered, shouldering her aside to take a closer look. “You’re getting on that plane, right?”
“It’s a jet,” Poppy said, amazed she managed to string three words together without drooling all over her keyboard.
“Jet, schmet, you’re going.”
The longer Poppy stared at the Gerard Butler–lookalike, the harder it was to come up with a valid reason why she shouldn’t.
Unruly caramel curls. Cut-glass jaw. Intense green eyes. Rugged and raw and potent.
Holy hottie, indeed.
“It’s twenty big ones. You can’t not go.”
Good point. But the longer Poppy stared at Beck Blackwood’s picture, the harder it was to ignore the squirm of butterflies unfolding their wings and getting ready to hold a rave in her belly.
“I hate when hotshots snap their fingers and expect everyone around them to jump.”
Ashlee snorted. “For him, I’d jump to the moon and back if he asked.”
“Shouldn’t you be blinded to hot guys? Engaged bliss and all that crap?” Poppy smiled and pointed at Ashlee’s glittering one-and-a-half carat pear-shaped yellow diamond.
“I’m engaged, not dead.” Ashlee hid her hand behind her back and pointed at the screen with her other. “And that guy’s hot enough to make any woman forget her name, let alone impending marital status.”
Poppy had to agree. Didn’t mean it changed a thing. She needed to maintain anonymity for Sara’s sake, and despite the substantial cash temptation, she had to decline.