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What the fuck just happened?

Chapter Seventeen

Milly

I’m cueing up another episode of Scandal when my phone rings.

I may be falling apart, but the business of being Milly Beauregard never stops, especially on the weekends. It’s when I receive the most calls and emails from clients, which makes sense, considering most of them work full time during the week. I make sure to keep my phone on and my laptop nearby on Saturdays and Sundays.

I’ve calmed down enough that I feel comfortable answering if I need to. Which, seeing that it’s Reese Noble calling, I definitely need to.

Lifting my phone off the sofa, I’m hit by a wave of panic. Did Nate tell her about our argument? My relationship with him has been above board from the start, but did I cross a line by calling him out? I didn’t mean to open that can of worms. And it’s not like anything is ever going to come of it. Nate made it clear the first time he left that he wasn’t ever going to come back.

But it’s hard not to feel uneasy about this call. Something’s not right.

I slide my thumb across the screen and bring the phone to my ear. “Hey, Reese,” I say, forcing cheerfulness into my voice. “How are you?”

My stomach dips when she replies, “I’ve been better, actually.”

“Oh. Oh, God, I’m sorry to hear that. Is everything okay?”

“Nate and I broke up today,” she blurts. “Just this afternoon. It just happened, and I-I wanted to call you first.”

There’s a sudden, vicious pressure behind my eyes.

“I am so, so sorry, Reese.” I don’t know what I’m apologizing for yet, but I do it anyway.

She sniffles. “It’s off. The wedding. We’re going to have to cancel everything.”

“Oh.” My stomach dips again, harder this time. I’m trying to be professional—this isn’t the first time clients have called off a wedding, and I’ve gotten pretty good at handling even the trickiest of client breakups—but I can’t seem to find my footing. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” she says with a mirthless laugh.

I grasp awkwardly for the right words. “However I can help—we’ll—whatever you need, Reese, we’ll make it happen.”

“Thank you, Milly. I know we’re on the hook for a lot of what we were planning, and I’ll take care of it all. But I thought you should know so you don’t waste any more time on us. I’m sorry to do this, but . . .”

I wait with bated breath for her to finish the thought. Please, please don’t let me be the reason this is happening.

A part of me wants to ask Reese outright what went down between her and Nate. But one, that’s hugely unprofessional, and absolutely none of my business. Two, I don’t know what Nate did or didn’t share with her about what happened this morning. I’m not ashamed of anything I did or said, but I don’t want to cause any more headaches for Nate if he chose not to share the details of our conversation with Reese.

Wouldn’t Reese be confronting me right now if I had been the reason they broke up? At the very least, she’d be mad as hell.

Whatever the case, my face still burns with shame. “It’s all right,” I repeat. “Obviously, it’s not an ideal situation, but we’ll do what we can to minimize the cost to you and your families. I’ll start calling vendors the second we hang up.”

“Okay.” Her voice thins out, like she’s really starting to cry now. “It was going to be such a beautiful wedding, wasn’t it? You were a dream to work with in the short time we had you.”

My panic eases ever so slightly. Surely she wouldn’t be saying these things if she blamed me for ending her relationship, right? “You’ll have another beautiful wedding. But only—I wouldn’t assume—” I take a breath. “You’ll have another beautiful wedding if you want one.”

“Maybe. But I want to thank you for all that you did for us. You exceeded every expectation, and I hope you’re proud of the work you do. It’s truly extraordinary.”

I blink. “Thank you.”

“I’ve learned some pretty brutal lessons at work, one of them being no one praises you for a job well done even though they’ll be the first to call you out when you fuck up. I give praise when praise is due, and it’s certainly due to you.”

For several beats, I don’t know what to say. I just stand there, hand on my chest, and try not to faint. Having experienced plenty of doubt lately about my ability as a creator, I appreciate her words more than she’ll ever know.

She’s not wrong. Isn’t this just what I was talking to my mom about? That women just push and do and get things done but rarely receive gratitude or acknowledgment?

“That means a lot,” I say at last. “Please let us know if there’s anything else we can do in the meantime.”