Her jaw dropped. “Wait. What? Are you—Lori.”
Olivia’s eyes stung from all of this emotional whiplash.
The thin gold bangles on Lori’s wrist jangled when she batted at the air. “I beg you, please don’t get mushy on me. My nerves are shot. If you start to cry, I’ll cry, and I loathe crying.”
Olivia pressed her lips together, stifling a laugh.
Lori rolled her head to the side and smiled. “You’re right. You are good at this. Which is why I’m going to give you the Lowell wedding.”
Lips still pressed tight together, her squeal escaped as a high-pitched meep. “Thank you, thank you, thank you—”
Lori lifted a hand, cutting off Olivia’s effusive thanks. “You pull this off, and consider the word assistant scratched from your position, okay?” Lori rounded her desk and reached for her glasses, sliding them up the bridge of her nose. “We can discuss a raise in your salary later.” Lori lifted her head and smiled. “Sound good?”
It sounded freaking fantastic. “Perfect.”
“Great.” Lori tore a sheet of paper from her notebook and held it out for Olivia to take. “Monday. Six p.m. sharp. Brendon and his fiancée, Annie, would like to tour The Ruins. Fabulous hidden gem in Queen Anne? You remember it, right? We had an event there a few months ago. It was for—”
“The Martins’ golden anniversary.” Olivia nodded. “I remember.”
Lori arched a single brow, one corner of her mouth rising simultaneously, looking pleased. Olivia warmed faintly at the unspoken praise. She had a sharp memory, necessary in a profession like this.
“Good.” Lori pointed at the paper in Olivia’s hand. “Brendon’s and Annie’s cells are listed at the top. Backup numbers for the Maid of Honor and Best Woman are below those. Just in case.”
Listed on the paper beneath B. Lowell and A. Kyriakos was D. Lowell and M. Cooper.
M. Cooper.
Olivia traced the inked name with the tip of her finger. In a city of nearly four million people, what were the chances of this M. Cooper being the same M. Cooper Olivia knew from high school? Her face warmed; the rest of her, too. Slim. The chances were slim.
“I’ll forward you his email with details on budget and guest list. Lucky for us, we already have a head count.”
Lucky was right.
“Well, go on.” Lori shooed Olivia out of the office. “You’ve got a lot work ahead of you.”
*
“I’m just saying, maybe it’s time to put some feelers out, start the hunt for a new roommate. It’s been six months since the last one moved out.”
As if Margot Cooper needed the reminder of how long it had been. It was the longest she’d lived alone, a fact of which she was painfully aware. “I know, Elle.”
“Doesn’t the quiet bother you?” Margot’s best friend frowned and leaned her shoulder against the crosswalk pole. “It would bother me.”
Elle didn’t have to worry about coming home to an empty apartment. A little over a year ago, she’d moved out of the place she and Margot had shared and in with her girlfriend, Darcy, at the same time Annie—Darcy’s best friend—had moved in with Margot. That arrangement had lasted a brief two months before Annie had moved in with her now-fiancé, Brendon, Darcy’s brother.
None of it would’ve happened had Margot and Elle, the voices behind the astronomically successful social media–based astrology business Oh My Stars, not partnered with Brendon’s dating app, One True Pairing, to incorporate astrological compatibility to the app’s matching algorithm two years ago. Not only had it been a smart career move, beneficial for both OTP and Oh My Stars, but Margot had also lucked out, finding a close friend in Brendon. And thanks to Brendon, Elle had met Darcy. Wins all around.
Except for the part where Margot was down a roommate and now came home to an empty apartment, ate dinner alone more nights than not, and had started saying good night to her plants. An admission she could kick herself over confessing to Elle, the reason behind this whole conversation.
“Maybe I’ll get a cat,” she mused, stepping out into the street when the light turned green.
Elle snorted. “Except for the part where you hate cats.”
“I do not hate cats.” She sniffed. “I have a . . . healthy respect for anything that could rip my face off.”
It was common sense. Self-preservation. Survival skills.
Elle bumped Margot with her hip. “Healthy fear, more like.”