Page 14 of Daddy’s Naughty Bridesmaid (Naughty Girls Book Club #4)

What I don't expect, what never enters my realm of possibilities, is the sight that greets us at the entrance to the ballroom: a slender blonde woman in a slightly rumpled cocktail dress arguing with hotel security, her voice rising with indignation.

"I'm not crashing! I'm Megan Roberts. I’m Catherine's best friend! This is absurd! I have every right to be here!"

My blood runs cold, professional panic setting in with crystalline clarity. Megan. Catherine's actual best friend and former maid of honor, whose confession of feelings for Greg created the vacancy I was hired to fill. The woman whose existence throws my entire presence here into question.

Beside me, I feel Matt go very still, his posture shifting subtly from relaxed to alert. Before I can decide how to handle this development, Catherine appears, her face draining of color as she spots her former friend.

"Megan? What are you doing here?"

Greg materializes at his new wife's side, his expression hardening as he recognizes the source of the disturbance. "You shouldn't be here," he says firmly. "You need to leave."

"I came to apologize!" Megan exclaims, her voice carrying despite security's attempts to usher her away discreetly. "To explain! You wouldn't answer my calls or texts, so what choice did I have?"

"Not showing up drunk at my wedding reception would have been a good start," Catherine replies, her voice tight with controlled anger. "This is completely inappropriate, Megan."

"Inappropriate?" Megan's laugh holds a bitter edge.

"You know what's inappropriate? Replacing your best friend of fifteen years with—" her gaze lands on me, narrowing with recognition and resentment, "—with some hired stranger pretending to be your BFF!

Yes, I know exactly who she is, Catherine.

A professional bridesmaid you found online when you decided to erase me from your life! "

The accusation lands like a physical blow, silence expanding in its wake as nearby guests process this unexpected drama.

I maintain my professional expression through sheer force of will, though internally I'm calculating damage control scenarios with the detached efficiency that crisis situations tend to trigger in me.

Before I can decide how to respond, Matt steps forward, his voice carrying the calm authority that seems to come naturally to him in crisis situations.

"This is hardly the time or place for this conversation," he says, addressing the security staff rather than the principal players in the unfolding drama. "Perhaps we could move this discussion somewhere more private?"

Security nods in agreement and guides Megan towards a small room off the main ballroom. Catherine follows, visibly distressed, with Greg close behind, his expression a complex mixture of confusion and concern.

As I move to join them, Matt's hand catches my arm, his touch gentle but grounding.

"Do you want me there?" he asks quietly, his focus entirely on my needs.

The simple offer of support, the acknowledgment that this situation is professionally and personally challenging for me, creates a lump in my throat. "Yes," I admit, finding strength in honesty. "Please."

He nods once, his hand moving from my arm to the small of my back as we follow the others into the private room, his steady presence beside me more comforting than it has any right to be given how recently he's entered my life.

Inside the room, tension radiates from all parties.

Megan perched on the edge of a chair looking simultaneously defiant and miserable, Catherine standing with arms crossed and posture rigid, Greg hovering beside his new wife with protective concern, hotel security positioned discreetly near the door.

"I think," Matt says into the awkward silence, "some explanations would be beneficial for everyone involved."

His calm statement serves as permission for the floodgates to open, Megan launching into a tearful, slightly disjointed explanation of her side of the story.

She explains how her confession to Greg had been misinterpreted, how she'd been drunk and emotional after a bad breakup, how she never intended to create problems but simply needed to be honest with her friends.

"I didn't try to 'steal' Greg," she insists, looking pleadingly at Catherine.

"I just... I was in a bad place, and I've always admired your relationship, and it came out all wrong.

But cutting me out completely? Hiring someone to pretend to be your best friend?

" Her voice breaks on the last words, genuine hurt evident beneath the indignation.

Catherine's rigid posture softens slightly, though wariness remains in her expression.

"You told my fiancé—now husband—that you'd 'always had feelings for him' and 'wondered what might have happened if you'd met him first,'" she says, the words clearly painful to repeat.

"Right before our wedding. What was I supposed to think? "

"That I was a mess! That I needed my best friend!" Megan wipes at her eyes, mascara smudging beneath her fingers. "Not that you'd replace me with—" she gestures toward me with a dismissive wave, "—with some fat stand-in."

“I understand you are drunk and upset, but you will not talk to my girl like that,” Matt says, stepping forward.

“Your what?” Catherine asks before turning to me. “Did you seduce the best man?”

The accusation stings.

“No.” Matt says. “She did not. If anything, I seduced her. She was the epitome of professionalism and turned me down.”

“You know how stubborn Matt can be,” Greg says.

Throughout this exchange, I maintain careful neutrality, years of navigating wedding drama allowing me to project calm despite my central role in the conflict.

After a moment, Catherine turns to me, genuine regret in her expression. "I'm sorry you've been put in this position, Jackie. This isn't what I hired you for."

"Wedding dynamics are complex, and my role is to support you through whatever situations arise, including unexpected confrontations."

"I think," Matt says, addressing the room with quiet authority, "that what we have here is a situation where hurt feelings and miscommunications have created complications for everyone involved.

Including," he adds with a significant glance at the security staff, "hotel personnel who are simply trying to maintain appropriate decorum at a wedding reception. "

The gentle reminder that this drama is unfolding in the middle of what should be a joyous celebration seems to penetrate the emotional fog surrounding both Catherine and Megan.

"You're right," Catherine acknowledges, visibly collecting herself. "This isn't the time or place for this conversation." She turns to Megan with mixed emotions evident in her expression. "We need to talk but not tonight. Not in the middle of my wedding reception."

Megan's posture deflates slightly, belligerence giving way to resignation. "I just wanted to apologize," she says, voice smaller now. "To explain. To fix things."

"I know," Catherine says, softening further. "And we will talk. Soon. But right now..."

"Right now you should be celebrating with your husband," Megan finishes for her, a hint of her former role as supportive friend emerging through the drama.

"I'll go. I'm sorry for crashing in like this. And I’m sorry for calling you fat. I’m feeling all the things seeing you stand where I was supposed to. "

I accept her apology with a nod and security escorts Megan out through a side entrance. Catherine takes a moment to compose herself with Greg's supportive arm around her waist, before they return to enjoy the little time left of the reception.

As I prepare to return to the reception, Matt pulls me gently aside.

"You okay?" he asks simply, his focus entirely on my wellbeing.

The genuine concern in his voice and the prioritization of my emotional state creates a lump in my throat that makes speaking difficult.

I nod, not trusting my voice immediately.

"Yes," I say. “I’m fine. I’m just about ready to go but…”

“But, first you have a job to finish," he completes for me, understanding evident in his expression. "I know, Sunshine. Go be brilliant at what you do. I'll be waiting when you're done."

"Thank you," I say simply, meaning it more than the words can convey.

When the reception finally concludes and the bride and groom depart amid sparklers and cheers, guests dispersing to their rooms or after-parties, vendors begin the careful breakdown of décor and equipment.

I find myself momentarily alone in the partially dismantled ballroom, I realize my professional responsibilities are complete but my personal reckoning was still to come.

Can I do this? Can I step out and take a chance on a Daddy of my own?

Move from my books to real life? I think about RJ and Jess and how they definitely found their own fairytale Daddies… and I want that, too.

"You did it," comes Matt's voice from behind me, quiet in the relative emptiness of the space. "Perfect wedding, crisis managed, bride and groom departed happy. Professional bridesmaid mission accomplished."

I turn to find him leaning against a pillar, jacket discarded, tie loosened, looking both exhausted and alert in that particular way special events tend to leave people. "It's what I do," I say simply, too emotionally drained for pretense or deflection.

"You do it exceptionally well," he acknowledges. He studies me for a moment, those perceptive eyes taking in my appearance, my posture, my likely exhaustion after hours of emotional and professional high-wire acts. "My place or yours?" he asks finally.

"Yours," I decide after brief consideration. "There’s no one on the other side of the wall like in the hotel.”

He nods understanding, extending his hand in silent invitation. After a momentary hesitation, not reluctance but acknowledgment of the threshold I'm crossing, I place my hand in his, allowing him to lead me from the ballroom toward whatever conversation and consequences await us.