Lina’s strength is that she gets shit done. Like she’s always acknowledged, she isn’t going to be a client’s best friend. Or cry at their wedding. Or jump around when the bride finds the perfect dress. That’s not her style. But she’ll organize the best wedding she can with the resources available to her. And that’s what any client should want. Now I just need to explain why I’m advocating a change in tactics. “Can we talk about the pitch for a minute?”
She takes a sip of her water and folds her hands in her lap. “Sure. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I say. “It’s just . . . I don’t think we should use the wedding-godmother concept. It isn’t you.”
She sags against the chair, and her smile broadens in tiny degrees. “Can I tell you a secret?”
“Of course.”
“I’m relieved. I’ve been thinking about it the past few days, and I was waiting for the right moment to talk to you about it. I started to worry that the concept would make us look like we’re trying too hard. Or that we would be making me relatable at the expense of what I do best.”
I nod. “Exactly. Fuck relatable. We don’t need to change a single thing about you. We just need to play to your strengths, of which there are many. I’m thinking a theme focusing on your role as a wedding concierge could be effective. It ties in with the hotel’s business, still evokes the idea that you’ll give each wedding your personal touch, and would appeal to a broader cross-section of your client population. What do you think?”
She leans over and squeezes my hand. “I think I’m lucky to be working with you, and now I’m really looking forward to making this pitch.”
I’m probably beaming. Pleasing her pleases me, but it’s extra special that I can impress her simply by doing my job. “Great. So I’ll talk to—”
A hand lands on my shoulder, and a voice behind me bellows my name.
Startled, I twist around to see Nathan Yang, a childhood friend from the old neighborhood, grinning down at me. My heart resumes a normal rhythm. “Nathan, how the hell are you doing? It’s been ages.”
He nods. “It has, it has. Way too long.” Nathan looks at Lina. “Sorry to interrupt, but I had to say hello to an old friend.”
She gives him a friendly smile. “No worries.”
“Are you dining by yourself?” I ask.
Nathan smooths his hands over the front of his black suit jacket. “No, no. I’m the manager here. This has been my gig for about a year now.”
“Wow. That’s fantastic,” I say. “Congrats, man. Lina and I were just raving about the decor.”
“Thanks a lot. I’m proud of this place.” He glances at Lina again, his eyes narrowing as though he’s trying to figure out where he’s seen her before.
My mouth goes dry. Oh, shit. Nathan was Andrew’s friend, too, and I’m pretty sure he was invited to Lina and Andrew’s wedding. If there were a way to disable that part of the brain that controls facial recognition, I’d be performing surgery on Nathan this minute.
“Lina. Max. How good to see you,” a voice behind Lina says. “Is Nathan treating you well?”
Rebecca? You’re shitting me, right? Who the hell did I screw over in a former life? My gaze darts to Lina, who appears frozen in place. It’s okay. We can handle this, no problem. We’re working. Not a big deal at all. I stand and shake Rebecca’s hand. “Hey, Rebecca. Good to see you. Nathan and I were just catching up. We grew up together.” I wave my hand between Lina and me. “And Lina and I were just talking about the interior design. Trying to figure out the restaurant’s main selling points. There’s a lot to recommend. We’re trying the food next.”
Rebecca brushes her palms together. “Oh, I’m happy you’re liking it so far.” She leans in so only we can hear. “And the restaurant’s at its most impressive during the weekend, so good choice coming during a peak time. Be sure to try out the special tasting menu if you get a chance. Nathan’s done an amazing job drawing people in with that one.”
Lina gives her a tight smile. “I bet.”
Rebecca glances at her slim gold wristwatch. “I’m meeting my grandfather for dinner. He’s checking up on our properties. And checking on me, too, probably.”
Nathan places a finger over his lips as he studies Lina. “Sorry if I’ve been staring, but you look so familiar to me. Have we met before?”
Lina sinks lower in her chair and fans herself. “Is it hot in here? Someone must have turned up the heat.”
Rebecca, meanwhile, is slipping curious glances at everyone, tennis-spectator style. “Lina, are you okay?”
“Oh, I’m fine,” Lina says, her voice froggy. She clears her throat. “Just feeling a bit under the weather all of a sudden.”
I want to wrap Lina in my arms and hide her from Nathan’s scrutiny, but that would be unprofessional—and weird. Play it cool, Max. With any luck, Rebecca will leave before Nathan makes the connection.
“Hey,” Nathan says, pointing a finger in Lina’s direction. “Now I remember. You’re Carolina Santos. You were engaged to Max’s brother, Andrew. Sorry that didn’t work out.” His face flushes. “Damn. This is me inserting a foot in my mouth. My apologies for mentioning it.”
Dammit. So much for luck.
Rebecca tilts her head and studies Lina.
Her expression devoid of emotion, Lina surveys the restaurant through narrowed eyes, as if she’s searching for the most effective escape route.
How she’s holding it together is a wonder. Me? I’m ready to crawl under the table, and my brain isn’t operating quickly enough to defuse the situation. Besides, what the hell would I say?
Rebecca shakes her head. “Well, I must have missed a memo, but we can sort it all out Monday morning.” She looks between Lina and me, her mouth set in a hard line, then she says, “First thing Monday morning, perhaps?”
We both nod, neither of us meeting Rebecca’s gaze.
“I need to use the restroom,” Lina says, standing abruptly, her face still blank. “It was great seeing you again, Rebecca.” She glances at Nathan. “And nice meeting you.”
I watch her walk briskly in the direction of the restrooms. Rebecca and Nathan watch her leave, too.
What a clusterfuck.
Chapter Thirty
Lina
Hope may spring eternal, prima, but deception will bite you in the ass.
Natalia’s warning rings in my ears like a church bell. Bong. Hello? Are you surprised? Bong. Of course you got caught. Bong. Now Rebecca not only pities you but also distrusts you. Bong. What are you going to do now? Bong. Guess you can forget about that position with the Cartwright. Bong. At least you didn’t cry in front of everyone.
With my fists clenched at my sides, I pace the length of the restroom, avoiding my reflection in the mirror. There’s no need to see my tears. I can feel them sliding down my cheeks.
Someone knocks on the door.
I flinch, then quickly wipe my face dry—or try to. “It’s occupied,” I call out.
The door opens a crack. “Lina, it’s me. Can I come in?”