Hitched (Hitched #1)(6)

Tate rolls his eyes. "This is so lame, Kacie. The cheese factor is at stench level."

I stick my tongue out at him. "You're just jealous you didn't think of it first."

I dump everything onto the coffee table and start assembling my masterpiece.

Vi comes back in and sits next to me. "What's this?"

"It's Kacie's latest 'business plan,’" Tate says, using air quotes.

"Shut up, Tate. Until you come up with something better, we're doing this." I turn to Vi to explain as I hold up a toy car. "You heard the news that David Melton's getting married, right?"

Her eyes light up. "Melton, as in the famous magician who performs at the Wynn? The guy who literally disappeared, without any props, live in front of thousands of people?"

"That's the one!"

"He's getting married? That bastard! He's my magical goth-rock-star-celebrity husband. He just doesn't know it yet," Vi says, fanning herself dramatically.

"You'll have to fight his fiancée for him."

"I'm a patient woman. I can wait for the divorce."

I laugh. "And such a romantic. Anyways, I want Hitched to land his bachelor party. So… I'm sending him a basket with little gifts that represent my ideas for his party, along with a handwritten note pitching him my idea. I did some research, and he's a huge fan of Michael Schwartz, the racecar driver, and loves race cars. So I'm including miniature high-end cars, a helicopter, handcuffs, champagne, whipped cream and a few other trinkets. The plan is to host his party on the roof of the Wynn and have a helicopter pick him and a few of his closest friends up to take them to the tracks to race. What I'm really hoping is that I can get Schwartz himself to show up. But I'm not promising that yet, since it's not a done deal."

I add the finishing touches to the basket, and then I tuck my card, our brochure, and the letter I wrote inside and wrap it up. "Voila!"

Vi examines the basket. "I like it. I think it's clever and fun and unique. I have a good feeling about this."

I flip Tate off and smile. "See? This is going to work. Melton will be blown away, he'll book us, we'll rock his world, and he'll tell all his celebrity friends about us. It's going to launch us onto the next rung of the business ladder," I insist.

"Want me to deliver it? I'll be driving by the Wynn today, and I know some people there who can help make sure it gets to him," Vi says, standing and grabbing her purse.

"Oh, that would be great. Thank you!" I hand her the basket and kiss her cheek. "You're the best."

She tosses her hair over her shoulder. "I know. But it's good to be reminded."

As Vi heads out, she runs into a deliveryman coming up the stairs. "Someone's got a package," Vi hollers as she walks away. "I wonder who it could be from."

Don't judge me for the butterflies I get in my stomach. You know you'd get them too if there was any possibility that the hot guy you spent the night with had just sent you something. Not that he has. I'm sure it's just… a mistake or wrong address or something.

When I get to the door, a man is standing there with a long white box wrapped in thick red ribbon. "Miss Michaels?"

"That's me."

He holds out the box. "This is for you." When I take the box, he holds out a clipboard. "If you could just sign here." He points to a line, and I scribble my signature and close the door.

I carry it into the living room and sink onto the red couch I talked Tate into letting me buy for our house. The ribbon on the box slips off easily, and when I open the box, I find two dozen long stemmed red roses, my missing red shoe and a card.

My hand is trembling as I tear through the thick parchment envelope. When I open it, a gold ring falls out. My wedding ring. The note is written in neat cursive.



My darling Kacie,

I know our relationship started unexpectedly and proceeded with too little caution, but I can't get you out of my mind. Like Cinderella, you lost your shoe, and I endeavor to make mine the only woman who should be wearing it. Watch for another package tomorrow, and please keep tomorrow evening free. I'll pick you up at seven o'clock, and we can discuss our future, for there will undoubtedly be one if I have anything to say about it.

Yours truly and always,

Sebastian



Tate, the busybody that he is, snatches the note from me and reads it aloud. "That's so sweet," he says, his voice too syrupy. "You should definitely see him again. And f*ck him again. He sounds perfect. If I were gay—and he were gay, obviously—I'd totally go for it."

I grab the note back from him. "If you were gay, you'd bang him one night and never call him again. I don’t think being gay would change your genetic makeup of love 'em and leave 'em."

He grins like an idiot. "But what a night it would be."

"Go away now, please. I will go, but only to discuss the annulment. Nothing more."

He wags his eyebrows. "That's what they all say. Until it's cock-o-clock."

"Gross. You didn't seriously just say that did you? That better not become a thing. I don’t ever want to hear that spoken aloud again."

I take my package up to my room and think about the note.