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Our office, a converted loft in Chelsea with exposed brick walls and windows that leaked both air and street noise, was the perfect metaphor for our business: stylish on the surface with structural issues we pretended not to notice. Kind of like my dating history, but with better furniture.

“We’re not that bad off,” Mari argued, feet propped on my desk as she scrolled through Instagram, posting carefully selected shots from today’s wedding. “The Fisher-Lu wedding next month is a big one.”

“And after that, we’ve got nothing but small ceremonies until next year.” I rubbed my temples. “We need a whale, Mari. A client big enough to float us through the rest of the winter slump.”

“What about the couple who wanted their dogs as ring bearers?” Devonna suggested, looking up from her meticulous organization of our emergency supplies. She was restocking my thigh holster with extra bobby pins and what appeared to be mini bottles of tequila.

“The Great Danes with anxiety issues? Hard pass. I still have nightmares about what happened during the consultation. That, and there’s still a giant brown stain on the rug by your foot.”

“Ew,” Devonna wrinkled her nose and stepped to the side. “How do I keep forgetting about that? Anyways, what about that socialite who called yesterday? The one planning the Christmas wedding for next year? A deposit from her might help.”

“She’s a bridezilla with a budget too small for her expectations,” I sighed. “She wants ice sculptures of herself and the groom riding matching unicorns. The unicorns need to cry actual tears that fill champagne glasses.”

“Classy,” Mari snorted.

“I told her we were booked. Right after I checked whether our insurance covers ‘death by falling mythical ice creature.’”

“You turned down business?” Mari dropped her feet to the floor. “Since when do we turn down paying clients?”

“Since this one would cost us more in therapy bills than we’d make on the contract.” I began packing up my laptop. After fourteen hours in four-inch heels, my body was screaming for a hot bath and the leftover pad thai waiting in my fridge. “What about the politician’s daughter?”

“Wants to get married on a glacier to make a statement about climate change,” Mari said. “I told her nothing says ‘environmental consciousness’ like flying two hundred guests to the Arctic Circle.”

“The Pekchov-Winstein wedding?”

“Groom’s mother called six times today,” Devonna reported. “She’s now requesting we provide emotional support alpacas for guests who find the ceremony overwhelming.”

“What the hell? That’s... creative,” I admitted.

“She also wants them in tuxedos that match the groomsmen.”

“Of course she does.” I sighed. “Anyone else promising actual money instead of exotic livestock and therapy bills?”

The office phone rang, and we all stared at it.

“Nobody answer that,” I warned. “It’s after nine. Whoever it is can leave a voicemail like a normal person.”

Mari’s eyes gleamed. Her rebellious streak had both created and nearly destroyed our friendship multiple times since college. “Could be a whale,” she sang, reaching for the phone.

“If it’s the unicorn bride, I will end you,” I threatened. “And I know how to make it look like an accident. I’ve worked with enough murder mystery themed weddings.”

“Knot Your Average Wedding,” Mari chirped into the receiver. She listened for a moment, then frowned. “Yes, she’s here, but we generally don’t do consultations this late?—”

She paused, eyes widening. “I see. May I ask what this is regarding?” Another pause. “Of course. One moment.”

She held the phone out to me, covering the mouthpiece. “This guy’s assistant says he’ll only speak to you personally. Mentioned triple our normal consultation rate if you meet him tonight.”

“Tonight? It’s almost ten.” I narrowed my eyes. “What’s the catch?”

“No idea. But the assistant says he’s got the cash. And she made him sound desperate. My favorite combination in a client.” She wiggled the phone at me. “Plus, he apparently asked for you specifically. Said he’s heard you’re the best.”

“Flattery and money. A dangerous combination.” But I was already reaching for the phone. “This is Anica Marcel.”

A woman’s voice responded. “Hello Ms. Marcel. My name is Erika, and I’m calling because I’ve been told you’re the best wedding planner in the city.”

“I am.” No point in false modesty when it was simply true.

“Good. My boss is in need of the best. He’s currently at the Apex Building, penthouse office. I’ll meet you in the lobby in half an hour.”

I blinked. “Ma’am, we don’t typically do same-day consultations, especially after business hours?—”

“Triple your rate, as I already mentioned to your colleague. Plus a five-thousand-dollar consultation fee just for showing up tonight. Cash.”

My eyebrows shot up, and Mari, who could practically smell money through phone lines, leaned closer.

“May I ask what the emergency is?” I tried to keep my voice professional despite the absurdity of the situation.

“My boss is in need of a wedding. A perfect wedding. In three months.”

That was possible, though it would be challenging. We’d pulled off miracles in less time.

“And the catch?”

She chuckled. “Smart woman. I’m sure he’ll discuss it when we meet in person. See you soon.”

“Wait, what are you–”

The woman hung up on me before I could respond. How smug did her boss have to be to assume I’d just show up after getting so little information?

Mari and Devonna were watching me with expressions ranging from glee (Mari) to quiet horror (Devonna).

“I bet her boss is a serial killer.” I tossed the phone back to Mari.

“Potentially,” Mari nodded cheerfully. “But a rich one. The fancy ones at least kill you in penthouses with good views.”

“That’s comforting.”

“Who was it?” Devonna asked.

“Her name was Erika, but she didn’t say who her boss was. Just that he’s at the Apex Building. He wants me to show up tonight. I don’t trust it.”

“Fair enough,” Mari said, picking at her perfect nails. “But he did offer a lot of money just to meet with him tonight.”

“I’m not a sex worker.”

“You’d make a great sex worker. What with the long tan legs and the tits for days and the ass that–” Mari ducked when I chucked a bouquet of fake flowers at her. “My point is, meet with the guy, take his money, and then decide if you want to work with him.”

“I know what you mean when you say that, but anyone else would think you’re a cheat.” I rolled my eyes as I grabbed my bag.

“The Apex Building,” Devonna frowned. “As in the Burkhardt Building?”

“I guess?” I shrugged. “Why?”

Devonna spun her laptop around, displaying a business magazine cover featuring a man with dark hair, annoyingly perfect bone structure, and eyes that somehow managed to look both amused and calculating. The headline read: “Callan Burkhardt: The Billionaire Bachelor.”

“That’s why,” Devonna said. “Callan Burkhardt. Tech billionaire. Manhattan’s most eligible eternal bachelor. And apparently, your next client.”

I stared at the image, an uneasy feeling settling in my stomach. “A billionaire playboy wants to plan a wedding?”

“Maybe he’s turning over a new leaf,” Mari suggested.

“Or maybe he’s a serial killer,” I countered. “I bet billionaires get away with murder all the time. They just throw money at their problems.”

“Well, we need money. Let’s be the one he throws it at.” Mari grinned.

“Now you’re making us sound like strippers.” I wrinkled my nose at her.

“Oh! We would be great strippers!”

Devonna ignored Mari bouncing in her chair, focusing on me. “Either way, I do agree that meeting with him is probably worth your time.”

“Fine,” I whined, even though all I wanted were my sweat set and my leftovers. “I’ll meet with the sexy serial killer.”