Page 2 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Isla

"Should I marry him? What do you think?"

Knew it. I knew I shouldn’t have accepted her invitation to a drink. After that conversation almost went south with Liam—and would have had I not managed to salvage it—I said my goodbyes and left.

Only an hour later, as I slid the key into the lock of my apartment door, my phone vibrated with Lila’s message.

She wanted me to meet her for a drink. I almost messaged her to say I was too tired.

But my sense of duty insisted I not turn her down.

That, and the fact I genuinely like Lila.

Her father might be on Forbes' rich list, and she’s undeniably spoiled, but there’s also a hint of a lost child in her.

Not to mention, a sense of playfulness about her that appealed to me at once. She’s also great fun to hang out with.

We get along so well together, and as we began to plan her wedding, we were in touch every day.

Lately, it’s been almost every hour as we finalize the details of the nuptials.

Despite my efforts to the contrary, at some point in the last few weeks, we crossed the line of a professional, work relationship and went straight into friend territory.

And the tone of the text was that of a friend needing reassurance.

Not to mention, part of the job of being a wedding planner is knowing when to be there to boost the bride’s confidence.

So, despite my exhaustion and the strange sensation in my belly warning me I might be better off not turning up tonight, I came to the bar at the Dorchester, where she told me she was.

Now, I pause with my tequila shot halfway to my mouth, and—fuck, fuckity fuck—I know for fact I should not have come.

Sure, I’m here to set her mind at ease, encourage her, and assure her that all is well; and if it were any other bride, I’d buoy up her spirits and tell her yes, she’s absolutely making the right choice.

But this is Lila. This is the woman I’ve come to consider a friend. And I don’t lie to my friends.

"Isla?" Lila leans across the table. "What do you think?"

"Umm—" I raise the tequila glass to my mouth and down it. Then cough, and cough, until tears run down my cheeks.

"Oh gosh, here." She slides the beer bottle over to me, and I snatch it up and chug down half its contents. Not that it calms the burning sensation in my chest; which has nothing to do with how I’m going to answer this question, right? I place the bottle back on the table, making sure it’s precisely on the circle of moisture left earlier.

"You okay?" She peers into my features. "Want some water?"

I wipe the tears off of my face. "I’m good." I clear my throat.

"Good." She smiles.

I try to match the curve of her lips, but the muscles of my face are frozen. Don’t ask me again, please don’t ask me—

"So, what do you think? Should I marry Liam?" Her tone is serious. The skin around her eyes stretch. She holds my gaze and oh, lord, she’s not going to take silence for an answer. She wants me to give her my opinion. I’ve known it’s wrong to overstep the boundaries of my professional relationship with Lila.

But as much as I hate her husband-to-be, I’ve developed a wonderful friendship with her.

When she met Liam Kincaid and the two embarked on a whirlwind courtship culminating in Liam proposing to her, the society matrons, both in the UK and across the pond, sat up and took notice.

Plus, Lila’s father gave the couple their blessing.

After all, Liam is one of the most eligible bachelors in the world, one of the few who can meet him eye-to-eye and dollar-for-dollar.

Too bad, his attitude is better suited to a boorish oaf.

I took an instant dislike to him as soon as he opened his mouth.

He has his head stuck so far up his arse, he needs a pounding to shake it loose, and that might not even work.

In fact, I hate the man so much, I almost declined their request to be the wedding planner on this gig—and that’s saying something, considering this is the kind of project every single event manager in the world is salivating for. And I got it. And I intend to keep it.

"Umm, Lila... Not sure I’m the person you should be talking to about this."

"You are the person I should be talking to about this," she retorts.

"How so?" I narrow my gaze on her.

"My so-called 'friends’" —she makes air quotes with her fingers— "are too overwhelmed by my money and my father’s status to tell me what they really think.

As for my family?" She cuts her palm through the air. "They don’t care about my happiness. They simply want the family’s status to be maintained.

And Liam is a catch, from that point of view. "

"He’s a catch from any point of view." I look away.

"See? You couldn’t even meet my gaze when you said it." She juts out her chin.

I raise my hands. "Just trying to tell you what everyone thinks of him."

"But that’s not what you think of him."

"Umm, no?" I rub the back of my neck. "But my opinion really isn’t important here."

"On the contrary..." She reaches over and grips my arm. "Your opinion is what matters most. Considering, you’re the only one who doesn’t give a damn about my wealth or status."

"Not true—the reason this wedding is so important to me is because of your wealth and status."

"That’s the actual event—" She flips her hair over her head. "But when it comes to me, although I’ve known you for a relatively short time, you’re the only one among all of my friends and family who really sees me."

Her lips turn downward. So does my heart. Hell and damnation. Why do I have to be so outspoken with my opinions? Why can’t I have a filter and be discerning about what thoughts I choose to air and to whom?

"Also, you were the only one who was truthful when I asked your opinion about that truly horrendous wedding dress."

"It was horrible." I wince.

"Terrible." She shudders. "And the most expensive of the lot. Just because it was a designer who would have immediately had me trending on social media, is no reason to wear a dress that makes me look like an upside-down cake."

"Actually, a Victorian sponge cake," I offer.

"Ugh!" She snatches up her still full tequila glass. “Also, Lila and Liam. What would our wedding hashtag sound like? #lilum?” She makes a face.

“You do have a point there,” I admit.

"Which is why I really need your opinion on this. And I honestly don’t want you to hold back. This is my life we’re talking about, after all."

I know. And I like Lila. For all her moneyed upbringing, she's surprisingly down-to-earth, intelligent, and shares the same quirky sense of humor I have. Which is why we hit it off so quickly. Which is why I know I don’t have any choice but to tell her the truth.

She tosses back her alcohol without even blinking, then slams it upside down on the table. "Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you’ve been going out of your way to avoid him."

"I haven’t been avoiding him—"

"You made sure your assistant was the one to oversee the last wedding rehearsal."

"Only because I was taking care of the wedding cake, and the wedding cake is very important."

"You told me you would be there. Then, when I messaged you to say Liam was turning up for the rehearsal, you sent your assistant instead—without giving me a warning."

I grimace. This is true. But the reason I didn’t go is not that Liam was going to be there. At least, not completely. Okay, I m-a-y be stretching the truth here. I wasn’t looking forward to seeing his sourpuss face, so yeah, maybe I decided to send my assistant instead.

My phone alarm buzzes. Shit, I need to take my supplements. It’s okay to wash them down with alcohol, right? I’m sure it is. And if not, too bad. I’d better take them now while I still remember. I slide the bottle from my bag, shake out two of the pills, and gulp them down with the beer.

"Uh, what are you taking?" Lila’s forehead crinkles.

"Vitamins, I forgot to take them earlier."

Her frown deepens. "Vitamins? At this time of the day? Aren’t you better off taking them in the morning?"

I place my beer glass on the table with a snap, then narrow my gaze on her. "I’m sorry I didn’t make it to the last rehearsal but Jen, my assistant, is really good at what she does."

It’s a segue; one which Lila follows without question. "She is, but that’s not the point." Lila stabs her finger in my direction. "You know exactly what I’m talking about, so don’t try to wriggle out of this."

Or maybe it wasn’t a good idea to lead her back to this topic of conversation.

Although, considering that’s why she called me here, it’s a little hard to avoid.

I lower my neck. Shit, shit, shit. How did I allow myself to be corralled into this situation?

It’s every wedding planner’s nightmare come true.

On the one hand, I do consider Lila a friend.

On the other? If I tell her the truth, will she back out of the marriage and leave me with the reputation of a wedding planner whose wedding planning was canceled?

It’s an unspoken rule in wedding planning circles.

If a wedding you’re planning gets dropped, for whatever reason, the stigma of being unlucky sticks to the planner, and it’s very difficult to shake off.

Even more so when it’s the ‘‘wedding of the century’’ that gets called off.

A bead of sweat slides down my back. I grab a paper napkin and mop my brow.

“Uh, is it hot in here? Do you think they forgot to turn off the heating, even though the weather turned? Maybe I should ask the bar owner.” I slide off the barstool, but Lila shoots out her hand and grabs mine.

"We’re at the Dorchester. Not bloody likely that they forgot to swap out the heating for the air-conditioning. "

Busted! I hunch my shoulders.

"You’re really going to make me say it?"

She nods.

"That’s not playing fair, Lila. You’re using our friendship to hold me hostage for my opinion."

"Damn right." She blinks rapidly. "Please, Isla, please tell me what you think. Should I go through with this marriage? Your thoughts on it would mean so much to me. I know you won’t pay lip service, and you’ll tell me the truth." Her chin wobbles.

My heart sinks into my stomach.

Oh shit, this is it. I don’t have a choice.

I’m going to have to tell her my true opinion, and then?

Goodbye, ‘wedding of the century’. Goodbye, financial solvency.

Goodbye to making the list of top ten wedding planners in the world.

Goodbye, fame. Hello, notoriety. Hello, failure. But at least, I’ll be a good friend.

"Isla, please." She chews on her lower lip. "Tell me what I should do."