Page 23 of The Boss and the Wedding Mess

Marc replies: “Seriously?”

I text back” Yeah. We’re on lunch break. She’s about to call you to apologize. Forgiving her is up to you.”

I slip my phone away as we step inside.

Security wave us through, and we head toward the elevator.

“You need a code to get to the roof,” she explains. “Eight digits.”

“My mother’s birthday,” I say, watching her. She clearly already knows. It only earns me a small smile.

The doors close, and the elevator starts moving. The doors open onto a dark little room. London swipes a card, punches in the code, and with a loud CLACK, the lock releases, and she pushes the door open.

Sunlight floods into the dark hallway, a small box-like structure, and we step onto the rooftop. A five-foot wall surrounds a wild green oasis—moss, grass, and pure wild growth everywhere. Bees buzz alongside other insects. Birds seem to love it too.

In the middle of London's little paradise stands a wooden bench, the only thing not overgrown with plants. Stone slabs form a narrow path toward it.

“Why isn’t this open to everyone?” I ask.

“Because they’d trample everything. Your father gave me the code so I could have my breaks in peace. He figured out how much I need nature. Not much of that here in the city.”

“How’d he figure that out?”

“During my interview. After the tour, he asked what I’d change. He promised that if I survived the three-month probation, he’d green the roof just for me. He kept his word even before the time was up.”

Her smile is grateful as she sits. I drop down beside her, pulling out my phone, and just like that, her mood sours.

“Do you want to eat first or call Marc right away?” I set the two bags down between us—smoothies, wraps, salads. She carried the deep, wide bowls.

“I’d rather get it over with,” she admits, looking incredibly nervous.

I dial Marc and hand her my phone. As she takes it, I put it on speaker.

“Hey, Alex?” Marc’s voice comes through.

“Uh, no. This is London Waverley. Alexander’s father’s assistant. The… wedding crasher. Alex was kind enough to let me use his phone to call you and apologize. I’d also like to explain and maybe talk to Stephanie to save your marriage.”

Marc stays quiet, letting her squirm. London fidgets with her skirt, her ears and cheeks turning scarlet.

“Hmmm… Well, if you want to talk to Stephanie, sure. She still doesn’t fully believe I don’t know your friend.”

“I’m so, so sorry. I thought I was crashingthat idiot’swedding…” London starts pouring her heart out. She explains in detail about how her best friend Vanessa found out she was the other woman, and how they just wanted to warn the bride. "But she had the wrong church," she chatters on, without Marc having even the slightest chance to respond.

“Okay. I believe you,” he says, giving in surprisingly quickly. “Convince my wife, and I’ll forgive you.”

“Wife?” she asks, puzzled.

“We still got married.” Marc chuckles.

London’s glares at me soon after.

“Oh, really? Did you?”

I grin broadly. “Seems you misunderstood something.” I can’t help laughing. She absolutely fell for it. She presses a hand to her chest, breathing in deeply.

"Thank goodness. And yes, I would really like to speak with Stephanie. Is she there?"

"She's at the salon. But I'll let her know and text Alex later," Marc says.