The Wedding Crasher by Mia Sosa

He presses the phone against his chest so Mrs. Budros can’t hear him.
“It’s my client,” he explains to me. “I need to take this.”
“Let me guess: You’re a lawyer.”
“Guilty as charged,” he says with a grin. “Excuse me a minute.”
Pressing a finger against his free ear, he pivots away from me and strolls
down the hall. “I’m back,” he says to his client.
Seconds later, the elevator arrives on the floor and Jaslene, Lina’s best
friend and assistant, rushes out, a clipboard wedged under one arm, her gaze
zeroing in on Dean. “Found him,” she says into her space cadet headset. “I’ll
send him down right now.”
Jaslene marches over and tugs Dean forward by the sleeve. “Let’s go,
hotshot. We don’t have time for this. You’re supposed to be downstairs so I
can grab your bride.”
Dean allows himself to be led inside the elevator, never interrupting his
conversation with Mrs. Budros. Without another word, Jaslene presses a
button on the panel and gingerly jumps off before the doors slide shut. Just
like that, he’s gone.
When she notices me standing off to the side, Jaslene stops short. “Are you
the designated hall monitor?”
I consider Jaslene family, so she’s allowed to be a smartass.
“Cute.” Adopting a posh British accent, I explain why I’m loitering. “The
bride has requested sparkling water, and I’ve been given the unenviable task
of procuring it.” Eh, sounds more like a poor imitation of Count Dracula.
Jaslene rolls her eyes. “Don’t bother. You won’t get it to her in time. I’ll
call in a request and have it sent downstairs to the waiting area.”
I shrug. “I’ll go back in and help Natalia clean up, then.”
Jaslene pouts. “You’re not going to watch the wedding? It’s the first one
I’ve planned from start to finish. I don’t mean to brag, but I think I’ve finally
hit my stride with this one.”
Watching that train wreck is not on my agenda, which means I need an
excuse. Jaslene’s wearing a fitted pale blue skirt suit that complements the
wedding scheme; my casual outfit would mar the vibe—or so I’ll tell her. I
sheepishly gesture to my skinny jeans and ballet flats. “I’m not really dressed
for it.”
“Just stand in the back,” she says, waving away my concern. “Near the
rose-covered trellis. You’ll have a perfect view of the ceremony.”
Again, that isn’t a goal of mine, but if I’m honest about it, Jaslene will be