To Have and to Heist(37)
“There’s no chance we’ll be able to break in.” Anil picked up his third apple. Or maybe it was his fourth. I wished apples were my go-to food for stress eating, but no. I gravitated to candy and fried food. “It’s a fortress,” he continued. “There are cameras everywhere. The fence is electric, and I saw two dog kennels. The guards are armed and clearly not afraid to shoot.”
“What about the day of the wedding?” I suggested. “Security won’t be as tight. There will be lots of people there: guests, vendors, staff . . .”
“It’s a double-edged sword,” Rose said. She’d returned with a tray of mousse in tiny cups. “More people means more eyes watching what’s going on.”
“We can’t just crash the wedding.” Chloe took two cups of mousse and offered one to me. “Someone would know we didn’t belong.”
I had no self-control when it came to desserts so I took the cup and tried not to think about where it might have been. “What if we got invited?”
“Does anyone know the bride or groom or their families?” Rose surveyed the room. “No one? You’re a disappointing bunch. Back in the day, I knew everyone who was anyone in Chicago.”
“I could find out where her mom hangs out and offer her some life coaching.” Cristian had changed out of his Speedo and into a pair of mustard pants and a skin-tight white shirt. He seemed no worse for wear after his ordeal. “I am your inside man, after all.”
“What kind of ‘inside’ are we talking?” Emma asked. “Look how bonkers they went when they saw the drone on their property. What do think will happen if Mr. Angelini finds you in bed with his wife?”
“I don’t think it’s going to matter.” Chloe looked up from her phone. “There might not be a wedding. Bella posted on her social asking for recommendations for a new wedding planner because she had to fire her last one. If she doesn’t find someone soon, she’s going to postpone the wedding.”
An idea niggled at the back of my mind. I’d never planned a wedding on my own, but I’d been dragged into preparations for the weddings of numerous relatives and had attended dozens—maybe even hundreds—more. Wedding season in the South Asian community started in May and went until September. I spent every weekend and most Thursday and Friday nights at welcome dinners, sangeets, mehendi ceremonies, and then Saturdays and the occasional Sunday attending the wedding itself. Granted, they involved South Asian traditions, but at their essence, weren’t all weddings the same?
“What about us?” I suggested. “We could plan her wedding.”
“I hate weddings,” Emma grumbled. “All that fake happiness, drunk dancing, family feuds, cringeworthy speeches, and shoving cake in people’s mouths isn’t for me. And then after you spend the equivalent of a down payment on a house for one stupid day, he cheats on you with your best friend when you’re at the hospital with your mom who has just been injured in a motor vehicle accident, runs up all your credit cards so you can’t pay for her medical treatment, and skips town in the car you and your dad built together before he got cancer and died.”
“Wow,” Cristian said. “Is that what happened to you?”
“No.” Emma shrugged. “It’s just something that might happen that makes the whole wedding idea a total waste of time.”
“I thought we were planning a heist.” Gage folded his arms across his chest. “Not a wedding.”
“The wedding is the perfect cover for our heist. We can plan both.”
“We can’t just message her randomly and offer our services,” Chloe pointed out. “She’s been through some of the biggest event planners in the city. We have no street cred. We don’t even have a website or a social media footprint.”
“We can set all that up,” I said. “The biggest problem is finding a way to meet her. We can’t just show up at her door.”
“Not unless we want to get attacked by killer Bees.” Anil gave a dejected sigh. “Honey never had a chance and neither do we. I say we give up and go home.”
“I say we crash the Summer Garden Charity Ball.” Chloe looked up from her phone. “Bella is going to be there on Thursday night with her fiancé. She’s been posting pictures of dresses.”
“You need an invitation for that event,” Cristian said. “I have clients who go every year. It’s only for the rich and famous.”
Gage shot him a sideways glance. “Thought you were an escort. Can’t you find some single rich lady who needs a date?”
Cristian stroked his chin. “I could make a few calls.”
“I can get an invitation.” Jack’s gaze dropped to my worn sneakers, then up my torn jeans to my faded white T-shirt and flannel shirt. “Do you have something nice to wear?”
I gave an affronted sniff. “Are you saying my clothes aren’t nice?”
By way of answer, he held out a black card with bloomingdale’s on one side and the name Clare Richards—Stylist written in gold script on the back. “Clare will take care of you.”
I stared at the card, aghast. “I can buy my own clothes.”
“It’s black tie and you gotta dress to impress.” He tucked the card in my shirt pocket. His fingers may or may not have brushed my breast. My nipples didn’t care. They reacted with enthusiasm.