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ONE

DANICA

D anica balanced her phone between her ear and shoulder while furiously typing on her laptop. Sweat beaded on her forehead despite the blast of the air conditioner in her French Quarter apartment.

"Mr. Thompson, I understand your concern about the princess costumes, but I promise they'll be perfect for Lily's party.

Your daughter will be thrilled." She stood up and paced across her living room, her bare feet padding against the hardwood floor.

Her floral skirt swished around her knees with each determined step.

"Listen, Danielle?—"

"It's Danica," she corrected, forcing brightness into her tone.

"Right, Diana. Just make sure those princesses look exactly like the real deal. My Lily watches those movies religiously." Chad Thompson's voice dripped with the casual entitlement that came with being New Orleans' biggest real estate mogul turned reality TV star.

"The performers are professionals, Mr. Thompson. They?—"

"And about the bounce houses. Four isn't enough. Let's add two more."

Danica froze. "Two more? The party's in three days, and your backyard space?—"

"Listen, Donna, I'm paying you good money to figure it out. That's your job, right?"

Danica bit her tongue hard as she leaned down and typed a quick message on her laptop to her bounce house vendor. "Of course, Mr. Thompson."

The call ended, and Danica tossed her phone onto the couch. "It's Da-ni-ca, you self-absorbed jackass."

Her laptop immediately pinged with an incoming email from her bounce house vendor. The subject line alone made her stomach sink. "IMPOSSIBLE REQUEST - READ NOW."

Danica's phone buzzed with a text from her friend Melissa: Drinks tonight at Lafitte's? Girls' night!

Danica stared down at her phone blankly for a long moment. Another buzz followed: Hello? Earth to Danica? When's the last time you had fun?

Danica sighed and picked up her phone, typing back: Drowning in celebrity birthday party drama. Rain check?

She sat down on her couch and turned back to her laptop, clicking through to the vendor email.

"No way can we source two more houses on this timeline," she read aloud, running her fingers through her long brown hair.

Her phone rang again. The custom ringtone – "Rich Girl" by Hall & Oates – told her exactly who was calling.

"Mr. Thompson, what a surprise." She perched on the edge of her couch, her bare legs crossed at the ankles.

"Denise, I've been thinking about the dessert table. My nutritionist says we need gluten-free and dairy-free options. My sister-in-law's kids are coming."

"I'll contact the bakery immediately," Danica said, mentally calculating how much extra this would cost – and how little of it would likely be covered by Thompson's budget.

"And make sure they're still colorful. None of those sad-looking health desserts."

"Vibrant, Instagram-worthy, and allergen-free. Got it."

After he hung up, Danica leaned back on her couch, staring at the ceiling. Her tiny apartment was a disaster zone of fabric swatches, vendor contracts, and half-empty coffee cups.

"This better be worth it," she muttered, visualizing the review she'd strong-arm out of Thompson once his daughter's eyes lit up at the party. His connections alone could transform her business from "up-and-coming" to "arrived."

Her phone buzzed with another text from Melissa: He's still calling you by the wrong name, isn't he?

Danica snorted and texted back: Today I've been Danielle, Diana, Donna, and Denise. I'm thinking of legally changing my name to just 'Event Planner' to make it easier for him.

The following forty-eight hours became a symphony of chaos that Danica conducted with one hand while putting out fires with the other. Her apartment disappeared beneath a mountain of contracts, supply lists, and hastily scribbled notes.

"No, Marco, I understand the bakery closes at six, but I need those gluten-free cupcakes by tomorrow morning." Danica paced her living room, her phone pressed to her ear, while balancing her laptop in her other hand. "I'll pay double your delivery fee. Triple. Just make it happen."

She hung up and immediately fielded call after call, while simultaneously firing off dozens of last-minute emails, well into the evening.

"Denise!" Chad Thompson's voice boomed through her phone at 11 PM. "The weather report shows a twenty percent chance of rain. We need tents."

"It's Danica, Mr. Thompson." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "And I've already arranged for a tent company to be on standby."

"Perfect. Also, Lily now wants unicorn princesses, not regular princesses."

Danica's eye twitched as she opened a new tab on her browser. "Unicorn... princesses. Got it."

When the big day finally arrived the next day, Danica pulled up to Chad Thompson's sprawling Garden District mansion in her compact car. Her blue sundress hugged her curves perfectly – professional yet comfortable enough for the inevitable running around she'd be doing.

"Dominique!" Chad called out, descending his marble staircase as Danica entered the foyer. His spray tan glowed unnaturally in the morning light. "The ice sculpture hasn't arrived."

"It's Danica," she replied with a practiced smile. "And the ice sculptor is setting up in the backyard as we speak. I arrived early to make sure everything is on schedule."

Danica moved through the mansion like a general inspecting troops, clipboard in hand.

The princess performers – now sporting glittery unicorn horns – were practicing their routines.

The bounce houses stood majestically on the lawn.

The dessert table gleamed with colorful treats that looked too beautiful to eat.

Perfect chaos. Just how she liked it.

Three hours later, the party was in full swing when a tiny hand tugged at Danica's dress. She looked down to see Lily Thompson, her birthday crown slightly askew, looking up with wide eyes.

"Princess Elsa's horn fell off," the little girl whispered urgently.

Danica knelt down to eye level. "Well, that happens to unicorn princesses sometimes. Should we go fix her magic?"

Lily nodded solemnly.

Behind the dessert tent, Danica found the actress playing Elsa frantically trying to reattach her horn with rapidly melting glue.

"I'm so sorry," the performer whispered. "This humidity is killing the adhesive."

Danica reached into her emergency kit – a small purse that somehow contained solutions to every conceivable crisis – and pulled out double-sided fashion tape and a mini hair dryer.

"Crisis averted." She winked at Lily, who watched the repair with fascinated eyes.

"You're magic too!" Lily gasped.

"Just prepared." Danica smiled.

The moment of triumph was short-lived. A crash from the main tent sent Danica sprinting, Lily at her heels. One of the child guests had bumped the dessert table, sending a precarious tower of cupcakes tumbling.

"Everyone freeze!" Danica commanded with enough authority that even the adults stood still.

Thirty seconds later, she had rearranged the remaining treats into an even more impressive display, handed out the fallen cupcakes to nearby children as "special floor treats," and had the catering staff bring out the backup desserts she'd ordered just in case.

"Delightful, isn't she?" she overheard Chad saying to another parent. "What's her name again? Danielle? Diana?"

"Danica," Lily corrected her father solemnly. "She's the magic lady who fixes everything."

By sunset, as the last guest departed, Danica stood surveying the aftermath with satisfaction. Despite everything, the party had been perfect. Lily had experienced every childhood dream condensed into one afternoon.

Chad approached, phone in hand.

"Doreen—"

"Danica," she corrected automatically.

"Whatever. Check this out. My personal assistant just posted this." He thrust his phone toward her.

There on his Instagram account, which boasted millions of followers, was a photo of Lily hugging Danica, both surrounded by unicorn princesses. The caption read: "Best birthday ever thanks to @DanicaUlrichEvents #EventPlannerExtraordinaire #HireHer"

Danica's heart skipped. Already the likes were climbing into the thousands.

"You definitely saved my ass after that other planner flaked," Chad said, actually meeting her eyes for the first time. "My agent's already asked for your number for his holiday event."

Danica steered her car along River Road, the sunset painting the sky in pinks and purples outside her windshield.

She'd left the Thompson mansion with the sweet taste of success but an aching exhaustion that burrowed deep into her bones.

Her phone, connected to the car's Bluetooth, began to vibrate against the console.

"Unknown number," the car's system announced.

Danica tapped the steering wheel. "Answer call."

"Danica Ulrich? The event planner who managed to make Chad Thompson use the word 'thanks'?"

The voice on the other end belonged to an older woman, vibrant and sharp as a diamond. Danica straightened in her seat, her professional instincts kicking in despite her fatigue.

"This is Danica. And you are?"

"Gerri Wilder, honey. I run the Paranormal Dating Agency."

Danica nearly swerved. Everyone in New Orleans knew Gerri Wilder—the matchmaking legend whose success stories were whispered about like urban myths. Celebrities, business tycoons, and mysterious clients alike sought her services.

"The Gerri Wilder? How did you?—"

"I just scrolled past that glowing Instagram post Chad Thompson's team published about you. Six unicorn princesses and not a single horn fell off until after the photos. Impressive."

Danica laughed. "Well, technically one did, but I?—"

"Fixed it with fashion tape and a travel hair dryer? I've used that clever wardrobe malfunction trick a time or two, darling."

The sky deepened to indigo as Danica processed how intuitive Gerri was. "So, Ms. Wilder?—"

"Gerri, please."

"Gerri. What can I do for you?"