The Paid Bridesmaid(8)

“What about you?” he asked. “What do you do?”

“Event coordinator.” It was my standard response.

“Are you working at this event?” His question was pointed, calculated sounding. Did he suspect what I really did?

“No, I’m just here for Sadie and to celebrate her special day. I think Troy’s doing an amazing job. It’s nice to not have to be the one in charge.” That was a package we offered brides—we would plan their entire event and be by their side for every decision they had to make and then ensure the day went smoothly. I had, from time to time, been an event coordinator. So, not a lie. Technically.

Camden’s expression made me feel like a big old fibber, though. His phone buzzed and he pulled it out of his pocket, glancing at it. “Excuse me a second.”

He had an actual flip phone. Why would a tech CEO have a relic older than my mom?

As he stood up I said, “Okay, but I hope you tell whoever’s on your call from the ancient past that I’m definitely winning.”

He grinned at me, seeming to enjoy both my joke about his phone and how I was going to beat him. “We’ll see about that.”

I watched as he walked into the darkness, past the lighted torches, and wondered who was on the other line.

I also wondered why I was spending so much time interacting with and thinking about a man that I was never going to see again after this week ended.

Instead of watching him pace back and forth while he talked, I decided to check my own phone.

Where there were thirteen missed text messages from my mother.

I let out a groan. This was not going to be pleasant.





CHAPTER THREE


I didn’t bother reading her texts; I didn’t need to. They would all be some variety of Call me right away! If I didn’t respond to her soon, she’d start calling me. Nonstop. I was about two more texts away from that happening.

If I’d been able to, I would have just turned off my phone. I couldn’t, though, because we had two of our staff working as bridesmaids at an event in New Jersey with a bride who was, shall we say, very enthusiastic about perfection. I took pride in coaching them through her drama because I was something of a bridezilla whisperer.

But it meant I was available to my mom, as well.

I dialed her number and she somehow picked up before it even rang on my end.

“Rachel! Where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you!”

“I’m working,” I told her, glancing around to make sure that no one could overhear me.

“Oh! Right. In Hawaii. How is it?”

“It’s beautiful here. You and Dad should come visit.”

She let out a sigh of disgust. “I didn’t mean the scenery. I meant the men. Are there any attractive, eligible men there?”

I couldn’t help it. My gaze was drawn to Camden, still engrossed in his own conversation.

Unfortunately, my mother correctly interpreted my momentary silence. “There is! What is his name?”

I sighed. It truly wasn’t worth the fight. “His name is Camden. He works in tech.”

“So he’s smart. That’s good. Then my grandchildren will be smart.”

I’d been a late-in-life baby. My parents had suffered from infertility and then my mother miraculously got pregnant with me when she was thirty-nine years old. I was apparently their reason for existing, and there had never been such helicopter parenting as I had growing up. They thought every fever meant I had meningitis and every bruise must mean internal organ failure. I was pretty sure they were the reason my pediatrician had been able to buy a second home in Aspen.

“Mom, I just met Camden. No one is giving you grandchildren.”

“I know! That’s the problem!” she said in an exasperated tone.

Because she’d been older when she had me, that meant all of her peers not only had grandchildren, but some of them even had teenage grandkids. For some reason this made my mom desperate and she’d been pushing me since my twenty-first birthday four years ago to fall in love and have babies as soon as possible.

I pointed out to her once that even if I did find a guy, I might have the same fertility issues she’d had. That conversation had not gone over well.

When I didn’t respond she added on, “I’m not getting any younger and neither are you.”

I was only twenty-five but she acted like I was close to retirement age. “So, Mom, other than me depriving you of babies, how are things going?”

“Oh no, you don’t get to change the subject on me. I want a picture of this Camden. I need to see what we’re working with here.”

Closing my eyes, I counted silently to ten. No wonder I was so good with demanding brides—my mom could be the worst. “I’m not taking a picture of him.”

“Please send your poor, deprived mother just one picture. I spent thirty-seven hours in labor with you.”

I could feel the guilt trip coming on, and I wasn’t interested in booking passage. I didn’t need the laundry list of all the ways I’d made her suffer before I was even born.

“Fine,” I grumbled. “Hold on.” Better to give in to this small bit of madness than for her to escalate things. I looked up to see where Camden had gone, but he wasn’t on his phone.

I had one heart-stopping moment where I was terrified he’d returned to the table and was standing behind my chair listening to every word, but when I turned around he was talking to Dan’s mom, Irene, at the next table over. I let out a sigh of relief and then got up to walk past him, turning my phone at the last second to catch him laughing. I checked the photo, seeing that his face was mostly visible if a bit blurry, and sent it off to my mom.