Reluctantly Yours(12)

My apartment is tiny with a capital T. It would be against fire code to have that many people in it at once. That and we wouldn’t be able to move if we happened to cram all of us inside. Lauren and Claire’s hotel room is bigger than my apartment. I could show up there and tell Lauren what happened. That she flew to New York City for her bachelorette party and I forgot to confirm the restaurant reservation. This trendy, upscale and completely unaccommodating restaurant was one of the only places I could find that didn’t have a room fee. A rare gem in this expensive city.

My phone buzzes, and while I expect it to be from my friends, I look down to see it’s JoAnna calling me.

“Hello?”

“Oh, Chloe, I’m glad I got hold of you. Are you busy?”

I want to laugh. I need to find a new location for my friend’s bachelorette party of sixteen women on a Friday night in New York. Nothing too pressing.

“Um, no,” I lie, “what do you need?”

“The review copies of Take Me Down got delivered to my building today instead of the office on Monday.”

“Oh, no.” My brain starts cranking, wondering if I made that mistake. The way this day is going, anything is possible.

“Paul’s assistant put the wrong address, so now there are twenty boxes of books in the lobby at the Pierre. Would you go over and let Orlando into my place?”

This is the last thing I need, another item on my growing to-do list.

“I don’t want them sitting there all weekend,” she adds.

“Of course. I’ll take care of it,” I say, fighting back the panic that’s telling me this detour is only going to eat into the time I have to figure out the bachelorette party location situation. I need JoAnna to know that I’ve got everything under control.

JoAnna isn’t an egotistical, demanding boss. If she’s calling me on a Friday evening, she legitimately needs my help.

“Please have him put them in the guest bedroom next to my office.”

“Okay. I’m on my way now.”

On the bright side, JoAnna’s penthouse apartment is only a few blocks away from the restaurant so I gather my things—balloons, party tote and obscene man cake—with the hope that the short walk will give me time to brainstorm a new plan for the night’s festivities.





JoAnna’s apartment is the entire top floor of the Pierre Hotel, across from Central Park. The doorman, Hank, opens the palatial gold door for me, offering to help me carry the items I’m loaded down with. I wave him off, though. It’s one of those situations that if I try to hand off anything I’m going to end up dropping it all. Also, there’s no way I want this sweet, white-haired man seeing this cake.

If Hank notices the cake, he doesn’t say anything.

Orlando at the concierge desk greets me with a smile.

“Good evening, Chloe. You’re here for the delivery, I presume?”

“Yes.” Looking at all the boxes, my eyes go wide. How long is this going to take?

He must read my panic.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got a dolly and I’ll do the heavy lifting.”

“Oh, great.” I’m relieved. I didn’t come for heavy lifting in my heels and sequined party dress.

I use the key card JoAnna gave me months ago to let myself into the elevator and Orlando follows with the loaded dolly, up to the top floor. When I exit the elevator into her apartment, I’m greeted by the scent of the large floral bouquet on the entryway table.

The arrangement that is refreshed weekly is currently packed with roses, ranunculus, mums, carnations and thistle. JoAnna’s penthouse apartment’s décor is bright pops of color mixed with neutrals that give perfect balance. It’s JoAnna’s style, polished and elegant, with a hint of sass and flair.

“Let me know where I can put these and I’ll go get another load,” Orlando tells me.

I set the cake and tote on the foyer table, and let the balloons drift freely, then I show Orlando to the guest bedroom by JoAnna’s office and indicate where he can stack the boxes.

I give him the key card to get back up, and while he goes downstairs for another load, I take a moment to drop onto the overstuffed sofa to think. Scrolling through my phone, I hope to find someone’s name that could help me. A favor that I could call in to get me out of this bind. The party starts in less than an hour, I have to figure something out. I scroll to Jules’s name and hit the call button.

Jules barely answers before I blurt out, “I’ve got a huge problem.”

“Is this about the cake? Because I don’t think huge can ever be a problem in that regard. Whether it’s of the flesh or baked good variety, huge dicks are never a problem.”

“No. It’s not about the cake, though I did get a few odd looks on the subway. The private room reservation was cancelled.”

“Oh, no. Why?” Jules asks.

“Okay, not necessarily cancelled,” I sigh. “I forgot to confirm the reservation and the restaurant gave it to the next party on the waitlist. I’m so screwed! Where am I going to find a place that will fit sixteen people with such short notice? I’m going to have to cancel the party. Lauren’s mom and aunt and sister flew into New York this afternoon just for the party. Not to mention her co-workers and friends. Friends that I haven’t met yet, but will soon learn that I’m an incompetent bridesmaid for messing this up. She’s going to be devastated.”