Overall, she was unhappy with everything, but the dress situation ate at her. When she’d first visualized the colors, pink sashes on the gray dresses had seemed so cool and stylish, but now she thought pink was more froufrou than sophisticated, and the line of gray just seemed dull. Bishop Delaney, the floral designer, hadn’t helped; he’d shrugged and said that his personal choice would have been dark gray dresses with bloodred flowers, but the pink sashes prevented that particular combination and now that the wretched dressmaker had simply quit, there was no way to get anyone else lined up in time to get the color of the sashes changed to teal, or even gray to match the dresses. Why couldn’t he have said something about the gray and red combination at the very beginning? Now she was stuck with the pink, and that made her so angry she wanted to take scissors and slash something, preferably Wretched Gretchen, the seamstress, but if Jaclyn didn’t fall in line soon she might make an acceptable substitute.

If she’d been in a better mood she might have enjoyed the spectacle of all these people gathered to try to please her, but the situation with the dresses had soured the day for her. She had to deal with the veil-maker and the pastry chef, choose the band’s set list, and everyone was saying she had to make her selections now because time was running out and they had other obligations that would prevent them from doing so and so, blah blah blah, all these endless excuses for not doing things her way.

After the wedding, she’d start dropping comments about how incompetent they all had been. Let them see how they liked it when their business fell off. And the one she would talk the most about would be Premier. Everyone had said Premier had the most cachet of any event planner in the area, and of course their Buckhead location made them even more desirable, but Jaclyn Wilde had turned out to be a real pain in the ass, because she kept taking the side of the nitwits who said they couldn’t do what Carrie wanted. Jaclyn was supposed to make it all happen, and not take any excuses; instead she’d been a complete failure at helping make this wedding the vision it should be.

The veil-maker, a short, plump Hispanic woman named Estefani, laid out her book with photographs of the headpieces, ranging from simple bands to ornate tiaras, along with fabric samples. Who knew there were so many options for veils, ranging from net to gossamer film that was so light it almost floated? “All of these are boring,” she said pushing the book away. “Don’t you have something with flair? Black, maybe?” Her wedding dress had a thin black ribbon running just under the bustline, so black wasn’t completely out of the ballpark, but of course she’d never go with a black veil. Watching the woman’s eyes round with horror, watching her try to control her expression, was amusing enough that she might let the idea run for a while, just to keep things stirred up, before settling on something more classic. She wasn’t joking, however, about the tiaras. They all looked like beauty-pageant fare, and what she had in mind was more European royalty.

“Black?” Estefani said, her voice faltering. “With the white dress?”

“Yes, with the white dress,” Carrie snarled, rejoicing inside because Estefani had risen to the bait. At least now she had a target. “Are all of you people so simpleminded that you can’t see beyond what you’ve always done?”

To her surprise, Estefani’s shoulders stiffened, and her brown eyes flashed. “I am not simpleminded. I have good taste.”

“Meaning I don’t?” Carrie demanded, hardening her tone and narrowing her eyes. Before she could launch into a more blistering attack, though, her cell phone rang. She glanced at the number display, intending to let the phone ring, but she saw it was Sean and she held up one finger for Estefani to wait. She took a deep breath, plastered a smile on her face, and answered in a sweet voice.

“Hi, honey.”

Sean was cute, rich, and gullible. What more could a woman ask for in a husband? For now, she let him have his way in almost everything, but that would change after the wedding. Once she walked down the aisle, she’d be in the driver’s seat. Actually, she already was; getting Sean to propose had been the first big step, but just yesterday she’d taken the second step, the money step. Things were working out just as she’d planned.

Sean was planning the honeymoon. It kept him busy, and out of her hair, and he was excited about being in charge and giving her the perfect honeymoon. Thank goodness he took her hints to heart. He was taking care of the last details today, and wanted her opinion. She simply agreed with everything he said, smiling the whole time because the smile was part of the persona she’d created to catch and keep Sean. Physically smiling changed the tone of her voice, kept it light and sweet.

She glanced up to find the wedding planner and the veil-maker staring at her as if she’d sprouted another head. Piss on ’em. Soon she wouldn’t have any need of them. She listened to Sean’s plans, laughed as if he were saying things that were either witty or amusing, told him how wonderful he was and how much she loved him, all the usual bullshit.

As she and Sean talked, she watched Jaclyn and Estefani move across the room, where they huddled with Bishop Delaney and Audrey Whisenant, the pastry chef. The caterer, Irena, stood off to the side making notes and didn’t join them, but the reception hall manager—Melissa somebody—walked over to add her two cents’ worth of nonsense. Carrie couldn’t hear what they were saying; she had to concentrate on Sean, who kept rattling on even though he’d already covered the reasons why he’d called, but from the look Estefani threw at her Carrie knew they were talking about her. Jaclyn’s tone was soothing, which meant she was probably telling them she’d deflect Carrie’s complaints.

Cold rage bubbled through her veins at the idea of anyone thinking she could be handled, as if she were a difficult child. And Jaclyn, with her smooth skin and her smooth hair and the way she had of dressing as if she were really old money and embedded in the Buckhead social structure, instead of being nothing more than a wedding planner, made her even angrier. If it hadn’t been for Jaclyn, things might have gone differently, but from the beginning she’d been an obstacle instead of a help … and now she was talking about Carrie, undermining her even more. That simply couldn’t be allowed to happen.

“If the custom-made crystals hadn’t already been ordered, I’d be out of here,” Bishop Delaney told Jaclyn. “But I don’t want to be hung out to dry on that expense, so I’ll see it through. I won’t ever take another job for the Dennisons, though.”

“Thanks for sticking it out. I’m sorry the job has been such a disaster, for all of us.” Jaclyn felt as if she’d been apologizing since she’d first walked through the door. Come to think of it, she had. So far Gretchen had been the only vendor to quit—though the bridesmaids’ dresses were finished so she hadn’t left the job in the lurch. Estefani might walk out at any moment, though. Her veils and headdresses were works of art and she was justifiably proud of them. Her schedule was packed; she wouldn’t miss the income from this job at all. In fact, she could probably make two phone calls at the most and have an open slot filled. That was what Carrie didn’t seem to realize, that she was dealing with top-flight vendors whose reputations were already made, and who didn’t have to put up with her demands and insults.

“I’ve never before dealt with anyone this difficult,” Melissa whispered. She’d been the manager of the reception hall for the past nine or ten years, so she had seen some doozies. If Carrie was difficult by her standards, that was saying something. She gave Jaclyn a sympathetic look.

“I will not let her say I am stupid,” Estefani said fiercely. “It is she who is stupid. A black veil with a white dress! And my work is not boring.”

“Don’t let her upset you,” Bishop drawled, taking care to keep his voice down. “She wouldn’t know classic good taste if it bit her on the ass.” He patted her on the arm. He was tall and muscled, with bleached blond hair and an exotic black goatee, an almost exact physical opposite from the short, grandmotherly Estefani. In their business they frequently ended up working together, so they had known each other for years. There seemed to be real affection between Bishop and Estefani; she was far more likely to listen to him than she was to anything Jaclyn could say to calm her.

Audrey Whisenant, the pastry chef, shrugged her muscled shoulders. She’d been an Olympic swimmer back in the day and still spent a lot of time in the water, but after winning a bronze medal she’d decided competition wasn’t her thing. Instead, she explored another passion of hers—baking. Her cakes were works of art, lighter and with a silkier texture than the average wedding cake. Unlike a lot of pastry chefs, she decorated her own cakes, too. “Now, if I can just get her to choose the flavors and fillings for the cakes. I have a couple of weeks’ leeway on these cakes, but I’d like to get the details nailed down because I’m going on vacation next week.”

“Then let’s see if we can move on you for now, and give things time to calm down between—”

Behind them, Carrie chirped a cheerful, “Bye, love you,” to her poor unsuspecting groom, the sound followed almost immediately by a thud and crash as she swiped her arm across the table, sending Estefani’s book flying, along with kabob skewers, cake samples, ribbons, brochures, a couple of ink pens, and Jaclyn’s appointment book, all of which went skidding across the floor.

“Who do you think you are?” Carrie’s voice was low but textured with venom as she stalked toward them. Melissa, Bishop, and Audrey faded back a little, but Jaclyn held her ground, figuring it was her job to stand between them and the advancing demon. Estefani, though, narrowed her eyes and tensed her small dumpling of a body as if she was ready to put up her dukes. The mental image made Jaclyn’s mouth quirk as she struggled not to smile.