Flowers and Financiers by Alina Jacobs

In my defense, I never claimed to be professional…

At least that’s my excuse for why I mistook a billionaire for a waiter, made off-color comments and accidentally dumped a plate of food all over him.
Embarrassing myself is a daily occurrence, just like my unpaid bill notices.
But being in a wedding instead of planning one is not.

I shall live vicariously through this high-end wedding and forget about the rent payments I’ve missed, the fact that my tiny apartment has no hot water, and that I’m about to be evicted anyway so it doesn’t even matter anyway! Yay!
But when I walk into the wedding planning kickoff, there’s everyone’s least favorite billionaire, scowling and mansplaining wedding planning to me. Me! An actual wedding planner!
Sebastian and I working on a wedding together is like a 1950s Jell-O mold: a complete and utter horror show filled with marshmallows and Vienna sausages. (Also I might have accidentally stared at Sebastian’s ahem Vienna sausage and it is NOT cocktail wiener sized!)

I’m the sunny maid of honor, he’s the grumpy storm cloud of a best man.
He’s a straight-laced corporate boss and I’m the flower power florist.
I’m a small-town girl and he’s a big city scion.

He plans everything, even things that he’s not supposed to plan because I was supposed to plan them, while I…really should have actually planned that seating chart instead of watching Netflix…

Sebastian is going down! I will not have a snarly billionaire ruining my wedding fantasies.
Unfortunately, he’s starting to feature in some ahem other fantasies of mine.
And when he appears shirtless in front of me hotter than an orchid greenhouse?
He’s ringing all my wedding bells!