Chapter 3: The Simmons Deal

A cool female voice interrupted my thoughts.

She tapped me lightly on the shoulder. "Sorry, I’m late."

She stuck out her hand with a brisk confidence. "I’m Emily Simmons."

The woman in front of me wore a crisp white suit, her hair smoothly draped over her shoulders, her features gentle, and her face held a sincere hint of apology.

She looked every bit the part of old Chicago money—diamond studs, phone case monogrammed, and nails painted the exact shade of a calla lily. Emily took a delicately wrapped box of perfume from her bag and handed it to me.

She offered it with a practiced smile. "A little something. Thanks for waiting."

I glanced at the perfume. It was a luxury brand, over $400 for just an ounce.

It shimmered in the sunlight. I hesitated, weighing whether to accept such an expensive gift.

Somebody’s leftover Starbucks iced latte was sweating on the corner of the table, half-buried under a pile of bridal magazines. I was about to refuse when Emily’s best friend walked in.

Her heels clicked loudly on the marble. She barely glanced at me. "Luke already left. He left a message: the wedding budget is $400,000, and going a bit over is fine."

'Four hundred grand. For one day. That’s more than I’d make in a decade.'

"He said to do it however you like."

She shot a withering look at Emily. "He doesn’t even have time to meet the wedding planner with you—how much can he possibly love you?"

Emily pressed the perfume into my hand and said casually,

She shrugged, almost bored. "Love or not, it’s just a merger."

"I don’t care what he does before marriage, as long as he settles down after."

She picked up a napkin, folding it absently. "Even if he cheats after, I’ll just pop a bottle of champagne to celebrate."

"All I’d lose is a bad apple, but the Simmons family will owe me big—at least thirty percent of the deal."

I hesitated about whether to tell her the truth, but in the end, I swallowed it back.

I clenched my fists under the table, feeling like an outsider. Is this the world of the wealthy?

Love means nothing at all.

Interests last forever.

Emily called the waiter and ordered some light dishes and desserts, then finally turned her attention to me.

She set her phone down and looked at me, her eyes suddenly sharp. "Rachel, right? I’ve seen your work—it’s really inspired."

She leaned in, lowering her voice. "It’s exactly my style."

She slid a folder across the table. "Here’s a document with my basic requirements for the wedding. Take a look."

Her requirements were clear: the venue would be the Ritz-Carlton, booked out entirely on the wedding day. The banquet would cost $3,000 per table, with 50 tables in total. The theme: calla lilies.

I read through it carefully and offered a suggestion.

I pointed out, “If we set up a week in advance, the hotel will charge a hefty fee, which is really unnecessary.”

“Three days is enough—I can handle the setup on my end.”

“From a cost-effectiveness perspective…”

When I looked up, Emily was smiling at me.

She held my gaze, eyebrow arched, as if waiting for me to catch up. I suddenly realized—'cost-effectiveness' isn’t a word in their vocabulary.

I quietly corrected myself.

I coughed, feeling small. "That was a slip—let’s just set up a week in advance."

At this moment, the waiter brought the food.

The silverware clinked softly. I instinctively moved my things onto the chair to avoid taking up her space.

But Emily pushed the plate toward me.

She raised her hand, palm up. "Eat."

I looked up in surprise.

Emily lifted her chin, signaling me not to be polite.

She waved her fork at me. "You look pale. Low blood sugar? Eat something first."