By the time the reception was nearly finished, Paige was setting her shoulders to keep from slumping over. But, despite a few glitches, the show had been a success, which could only do her business good. She savored that accomplishment even as she watched for any last-minute troubles.
“Ms. Porter?”
Paige turned to see the woman she had spoken to earlier in the vestibule, and her uneasiness returned. She braced herself for some kind of complaint about the seating, the food, the loudness of the music, etc., even as she summoned her professional smile.
But the woman did not look annoyed. At Paige’s nod, she reached out to take her hand in a gentle clasp. “I’m Beatrice Maitland.”
Her white hair was fashionably cut, her simple suit was tasteful, and she held herself in a manner that spoke of old money. Gesturing toward the linen-draped tables, festooned with white roses and crystal, and the gorgeous views of the bay beyond, she smiled.
“I’m very impressed.”
“Thank you,” Paige said, enjoying the rare praise. If anything went wrong, the wedding planner was always to blame, but few people noted a job well done.
The older woman studied her closely. “We need someone like you.”
Paige’s tiredness evaporated at the prospect of a new client, especially one like this woman: elegant, classy, moneyed...
“And perhaps you need us as well,” Mrs. Maitland said.
Paige’s smile faltered. Was her ambition showing?
“Well, we’ll see,” Mrs. Maitland said, with a graceful wave of her hand. “In the meantime, my granddaughter is engaged, and we could use your expertise. Nothing too elaborate. For several hundred guests, I would imagine.”
Paige blinked at this unexpected opportunity, which might provide her the cachet she’d been lacking, an entrée into a more exclusive market.
“I’m sure you’ll be able to manage quite nicely.”
Paige nodded, trying not to look too eager. “Shall I give her a call?”
“Oh no,” Mrs. Maitland said. “You had better come out to the house. You’ll have to meet Siegfried, of course.”
“The groom?” Paige asked.
Mrs. Maitland smiled. “Oh no, dear! Siegfried is my grandson. He’s the one paying for it all.”
Paige kept her face impassive as the woman handed her an elegant business card.
“Can you come tomorrow at five o’clock?”
Paige nodded, glancing down at the handwritten number on the back. And when she looked up, Mrs. Maitland was gone. Paige blinked but could not find her among the guests who were drifting off now that the bride and groom had been whisked away.
With a shake of her head, Paige realized the party was winding down and soon she could make her escape. As if on cue, her assistant Zoe appeared, hurrying toward her on ridiculously high heels.
Dark where Paige was fair, Zoe was the artistic heart of their enterprise. She had but one real goal: to marry well. Meanwhile, she enjoyed trying out her wedding day ideas on others. Her dream ceremony had blossomed accordingly, so that in order to pull off the envisioned event, she really would have to marry well.
Paige did not share her assistant’s objective. Coming from a single-parent household, she was determined to rely on herself, not any man. And she’d been building her business with no other thought in mind, except perhaps the vague wish for a house of her own, which in the Bay Area required more cash than she had... yet.
“What were you doing with Bebe Maitland?” Zoe asked, breathless from her race across the grass.
“Who?” Paige asked.
“Bebe—the matriarch of the whole Maitland family.”
“Maitland family?” Paige echoed. As a displaced Midwesterner, the finer points of the city’s social structure were sometimes lost on her.
“Hello? They’re the Bay Area’s resident clan of eccentrics, rich eccentrics,” Zoe said, looking exasperated. But Paige was used to that look, which came when she didn’t know the name of San Francisco’s current Most Eligible Bachelor or what club was the hottest of the moment.
“How rich?” Paige asked, lifting her blond brows.
“Uh, billionaire rich!” Zoe said.
Paige felt the air leave her lungs at the prospect of arranging such a wedding. This could be the opportunity she’d been waiting for, she thought, turning over the card in her hand.
“The Maitland Company,” she read aloud.
“Duh!” Zoe said. “The family founder was an inventor, plastics or explosives or something. Anyway, they’ve been raking in the money ever since.”
The name did sound familiar. Paige stood staring at the lettering while Zoe expounded on how much Bebe gave to charity and how little anyone ever saw of the scions of the city, the “truly important,” which in Zoe-speak probably meant “really eligible.”
Paige tried not to get her hopes up too high, which was probably a good thing because Zoe suddenly fell silent. Since her assistant usually talked nonstop, that was never a good sign.
Paige glanced up to see that Zoe was wearing her thoughtful face, a sort of scrunched-up frown that would make anyone else look bad, except that Zoe was too gorgeous to ever look bad.
“What?” asked Paige, wondering if there was a catch. Was the granddaughter the sort of demanding, spoiled heiress who could make her job a living hell? Or was Bebe herself difficult? She had seemed a bit odd, though not in a bad way.
Zoe bit her lip. “Well, they are eccentric,” she said.
“And what does that mean, exactly?” Paige asked, her eyes narrowing.
Zoe sighed and gave her an apologetic smile. “They’re probably one of the weirdest families San Francisco’s ever seen, and that’s saying a lot.”
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