LITMIR.BIZ

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life, until she drove a man absolutely crazy. None of that equated to mousiness.

      Although he had to admit, in the brawl photos, she looked tiny and sad standing there dejectedly on the sidelines. It looked like her show had been ruined, and she’d been working her whole life for a chance like that. She’d wanted it more than she’d wanted him, that was for sure. And it had just burned him up at the time.

      “Sure you don’t want one of those?” Vince asked, pointing at the tabloids. “They’ve got more pictures inside.”

      “No, thanks.” No way he was going to buy that on the street. He’d swipe his assistant’s copy.

      Strolling into his office on the twenty-sixth floor, he greeted his secretary and his secretary’s secretary and then asked Marcy, his assistant, to come into his office, a large, starkly bare room with a massive, gleaming wooden desk, big, cushy leather chairs and an expansive view all the way down to New York Harbor and Battery Park.

      He believed in order, discipline, control, hard work and the power of his own mind. People called him a financial genius, and he just smiled and went on with his work. While the current times were challenging, they certainly hadn’t caught him by surprise, and he was doing just fine while others around him floundered. Never believe the hype about anything—especially the economy—he always told people. The philosophy had served him well.

      He wondered now if he’d hyped the whole idea of Chloe in his mind to an impossible level. He couldn’t have been as happy with her as he remembered or as miserable without her, he told himself.

      And he wasn’t obsessing.

      Just … curious.

      “Mr. Elliott? Are you feeling all right?” Marcy asked.

      “Of course,” he claimed, then couldn’t quite bring himself to ask for what he really wanted. He cleared his throat, adjusted his tie, frowned. “I just … I need … I want to see your copy of the New York Mirror.”

      Marcy sputtered. Her eyes got all big and round and then her cheeks turned red. “But I don’t—”

      “Oh, yes, you do. I know you have that thing, and I want it—”

      “But why?”

      “You know why. I’d bet a thousand dollars you know exactly why.”

      She looked truly flustered then, but didn’t deny either having the damned thing or knowing why he wanted it. She’d come to work for him in the immediate post-Chloe era. He’d been in a truly ugly mood for weeks, and had ended up springing for unscheduled bonuses to her and a handful of other staff members forced to put up with him, as a way of saying he was sorry.

      “Okay. I’ll go get it,” Marcy said, turning on her heel and heading out.

      “And don’t you dare tell anyone!” he yelled as she opened the door, his secretary and his secretary’s secretary peering through, looking worried.

      Great. Just great.

      Marcy came back with the tabloid carefully rolled up tightly so no one could see what it was. At least she was embarrassed to have it. She scowled as she handed it to him, then reached over to type something into his computer.

      “You’ll want the tabloid for the photos, but the best written account is here.” She pointed to a blog now up on his computer screen, then retreated from his office in an embarrassed huff.

      James glanced through the tabloid photos, grimacing at what he saw, then turned to the blog.

      The Bride Blog: News of all things bridal.

      Bridal Brawl Breaks Out at NY Fashion Week!

      Talk about a Bridal Nightmare!

      Forget the bridesmaids! It’s the other men modern-day brides have to worry about, as we saw in the amazing brawl that broke out at New York Fashion Week.

      Wedding dress designer Chloe Allen, plucked from obscurity mere months ago when gorgeous pop star Jaden Lawrence got married in a Chloe gown, was having her first showing at Fashion Week when everything suddenly went horribly wrong.

      It seems Chloe’s fiancé, veteran fashion photographer Bryce Gorman, just couldn’t keep his hands off the male model posing as the groom to model extraordinaire Eloise’s bride at what was to be the climax of the show.

      And what a climax it turned out to be!

      One doesn’t think of models like the beautiful Eloise as the kind to ever worry about losing a man to anyone, but lose him she did, and she clearly put the blame on Bryce Gorman.

      Eloise jumped him—literally—designer wedding gown and all. She wrapped those incredibly long legs around his waist and held on tight, her long, pale pink fingernails clawing at his face, supposedly drawing blood.

      Bryce swung around trying to dislodge her, as her long train and veil floated around them in an odd mélange of satin, lace and bridal horror that will not soon be forgotten.

      So far the only video clips of the scene have been particularly unsatisfying. (A free bridal bouquet to the first person who sends a good video of the bridal brawl to this blog.)

      Meanwhile, traumatized brides, especially the ones closest to their big day, have been writing to the Bride Blog like mad to say they’re keeping a close eye on those groomsmen and any close friends of their grooms.

      It seems that old nightmare of standing at the altar, surrounded by friends and family, and finding out at the last minute that the groom had a little fling with one of the bridesmaids has been replaced with the modern-day equivalent.

      The groom doing another man!

      Chloe woke from her post-apocalyptic haze the day after the show, praying it had all been a horrible nightmare and that she could do it all over again. Even for her—a woman who liked to think of herself as highly creative—the previous day had been outlandishly bad.

      She looked up and there was Addie, whom Chloe claimed as a half sister, although no one had ever done the paternity tests to be sure. Chloe’s father had slept with Addie’s mother at about the right time, and that was enough for the two of them, who found each other much more reliable than their father.

      “Tell me it didn’t really happen,” Chloe begged.

      “Oh, honey. I wish I could.” Addie sat down on the bed, her back against the headboard, offering Chloe a shoulder if she needed it.

      Chloe leaned her head on Addie’s shoulder and thought this had to be the absolute worst day of her life. Yesterday had been horrible, but her family had closed in around her, gotten her out of the tent and then poured drinks down her throat until everything became a blur.

      Today, she didn’t have the luxury of alcohol or denial. “I thought he was the one,” she cried.

      “I know, sweetie.”

      Addie, kindly, did not point out that Chloe always believed every new man in her life was the one. She wasn’t stupid, just ever hopeful. At least that’s what Chloe tried to tell herself. Although after being engaged three times and never making it to the altar, it was getting harder and harder to believe.

      Her family loved weddings. They married over and over again. And the wedding was always the high point. All their relationships went downhill from there. Chloe thought she was breaking the pattern thus far by not marrying, but even that hadn’t protected her from her own unique wedding curse.

      There was Fiancé No. 1, her high school sweetheart. Chloe liked to think they’d merely been too young to know what they wanted, no giant failure there or any kind of sign.

      Bryce, No. 3, was sexy, fun, confident and in the business, someone who understood exactly what it took to be a success. He had come along at the perfect time.

      When Chloe was just getting over No. 2.

      Addie said that timing was the only reason Chloe ever gave Bryce

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