Chapter 8 - The LeakThree months before our wedding, someone sold our private wedding plans to the press.
I discovered this at 6:12 on a Tuesday morning while standing barefoot in the kitchen and drinking coffee directly from Elliot’s mug because mine was in the dishwasher.
My phone buzzed.
Then again.
Then seventeen times in approximately four seconds.
Elliot walked in wearing running clothes, hair damp from a shower.
“What happened?”
I stared at the screen.
“Our wedding venue is online.”
He stopped.
“What?”
“And the date.”
His expression changed instantly.
The softness disappeared.
CEO Elliot arrived.
“Give me the phone.”
I handed it over.
The article displayed photographs of the estate we had privately chosen in Hudson Valley.
BILLIONAIRE ELLIOT HAWKINS SET TO MARRY FORMER ASSISTANT IN SECRET $2 MILLION CEREMONY
My jaw tightened.
“Two million?”
“That number is wrong.”
“That’s your concern?”
“No.”
He kept reading.
My stomach dropped further.
The article included details.
Guest count.
Designer consultations.
Flower concepts.
Even the fact that my mother would walk me down the aisle.
That information was not public.
Not even close.
Only a small group knew.
Elliot.
Me.
Jade.
Victoria.
Marcus.
Our wedding planner, Celeste.
A few vendors under nondisclosure agreements.
My mother.
“That’s private,” I whispered.
Elliot’s face went completely cold.
“I know.”
“How did they know about Mom?”
“I don’t know.”
I took the phone back and scrolled.
Photographs of me leaving a bridal atelier.
Photographs of Elliot meeting with the estate manager.
A blurry photograph of Victoria carrying fabric samples.
Someone had been following us.
“Elliot.”
He was already calling someone.
“Daniel. We have a security problem.”
His chief security officer.
Of course.
“Find out who leaked the Hudson Valley information. Immediately.”
He listened.
“No. Full internal review. Planner, vendors, staff, everyone with access.”
He ended the call.
I wrapped my arms around myself.
“This is exactly what I didn’t want.”
He looked at me.
“I know.”
“My mother is going to see this.”
“I’ll call her.”
“She’s going to panic.”
“I’ll handle it.”
“Stop.”
He froze.
“I know you’re trying to help.”
I took a breath.
“But don’t turn this into a corporate emergency where you handle everything and I stand here.”
His expression softened slightly.
“You’re right.”
“I need five minutes to be angry.”
“Okay.”
“And then we handle it together.”
“Together.”
That word mattered.
By 8:00, we were at the office.
By 8:30, Daniel had assembled preliminary access records.
Celeste, the planner, arrived at 9:15 looking close to tears.
“I swear to you, I didn’t speak to anyone.”
I believed her.
She had planned weddings for politicians, celebrities, and people significantly more paranoid than Elliot.
Breaking confidentiality would destroy her business.
Daniel reviewed the information.
“The article contains details from different sources.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“It probably wasn’t one leak.”
My stomach sank.
“The venue and date were on vendor contracts. Bridal designer appointments were in Alexia’s calendar. Mrs. Summers’s role was mentioned only in planning notes from last month.”
“Who had those notes?”
Celeste thought.
“Myself. Alexia. Victoria.”
“And my office,” Elliot said.
I looked at him.
“What?”
“Because you emailed me the revised ceremony outline.”
My stomach twisted.
His office.
For years, access to Elliot’s office had been controlled obsessively.
Now that I no longer managed it, several assistants rotated administrative duties before a permanent replacement was hired.
“Who has access to your email calendar?” I asked.
“Executive admin.”
Marcus, standing near the window, suddenly turned.
“Julia.”
Silence.
My heart skipped.
The former intern.
After her rotation ended, Julia had been hired as junior executive coordinator.
Not Elliot’s personal assistant.
But part of the admin group.
“No,” I said.
Not because I trusted her.
Because it seemed too obvious.
Elliot looked furious.
“Daniel.”
“I’ll check access logs.”
Two hours later, the results were complicated.
Julia had accessed several calendar records related to the wedding.
But she had legitimate administrative permissions.
She denied leaking anything.
Strongly.
“I would never do something like that,” she said, sitting across from us in a conference room.
Her face was pale.
“You think because I flirted with Mr. Hawkins a year ago, I’m some psycho trying to destroy your wedding?”
I said nothing.
Because when she phrased it like that, accusing her felt ridiculous.
She looked at me.
“Yes, I was stupid. I was twenty-two. He was attractive and powerful and I had terrible judgment.”
Elliot folded his arms.
“Comforting.”
She ignored him.
“But I moved on.”
Her eyes filled with angry tears.
“And I worked hard for this job. If I lose it because someone assumes I’m jealous, that’s not fair.”
Something in me shifted.
Because I knew exactly what it felt like to have your professional achievements reduced to assumptions about a man.
“Did you access my wedding calendar?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Mr. Hawkins had vendor calls accidentally marked on the corporate calendar. I was cleaning conflicts.”
Daniel spoke.
“Did you copy anything?”
“No.”
“Screenshot?”
“No.”
“Forward?”
“No.”
“Did you discuss it with anyone?”
Julia hesitated.
Everyone noticed.
“With who?” Elliot asked coldly.
“My roommate.”
My stomach tightened.
“What did you tell her?”
“Nothing important. Just that planning billionaire weddings is insane.”
“Name?”
“Rachel Monroe.”
Daniel immediately typed something.
Julia looked horrified.
“Rachel wouldn’t—”
Daniel’s expression changed.
“What?”
He rotated the laptop.
Rachel Monroe.
Lifestyle blogger.
Freelance contributor.
Previously wrote gossip columns for two entertainment websites.
Julia went completely white.
“Oh my God.”
Elliot’s voice became lethal.
“You discussed confidential information with a journalist?”
“I didn’t know she was still writing gossip.”
“You knew she worked in media.”
“She writes beauty content now.”
“What exactly did you tell her?”
Julia started crying.
Not performatively.
Really crying.
“I complained. That’s all. I said your wedding was at some Hudson estate and that everyone was stressed about September because vendors were overbooked. I mentioned your mother was walking you down the aisle because I thought it was sweet.”
I felt sick.
There it was.
Not malicious sabotage.
Carelessness.
Which somehow felt worse because there was no dramatic villain to hate.
Just an employee who talked too much to the wrong person.
Elliot stood.
“You’re suspended pending review.”
“Elliot,” I said quietly.
He looked at me.
“We need to talk.”
Outside the room, he turned on me.
“What?”
“She made a serious mistake.”
“Yes.”
“But don’t fire her because you’re angry.”
His eyes flashed.
“She exposed our wedding.”
“She violated confidentiality. HR should decide the consequence.”
“I’m CEO.”
“Exactly.”
He stared at me.
I held his gaze.
“This is personal to you.”
“To us.”
“Yes. Which means you shouldn’t make the employment decision.”
His jaw worked.
He knew I was right.
He hated that I was right.
Finally:
“Fine.”
HR investigated.
Rachel Monroe had indeed passed pieces of information to a gossip site in exchange for payment.
The publication had combined those details with paparazzi photographs and vendor speculation.
Julia received a formal disciplinary action and was transferred away from executive administration.
She was not fired.
The leak stopped.
But the damage remained.
Our venue was now public.
Paparazzi appeared outside the estate.
Fans and curiosity seekers began calling local businesses asking about the wedding.
The property manager warned us that privacy would be difficult.
Three months of planning suddenly became useless.
That night, I sat at home staring at the venue photographs on my laptop.
“I loved that place,” I said quietly.
Elliot sat beside me.
“We can increase security.”
“I don’t want security guards lining the aisle.”
“We could restrict roads.”
“I don’t want the entire town inconvenienced because we’re getting married.”
He sighed.
“Then we change venues.”
“Three months before the wedding?”
“We can.”
“Normal people can’t.”
“We’re not exactly operating under normal circumstances.”
I gave him a look.
“That sounded disgustingly billionaire.”
“I’m aware.”
I closed the laptop.
“What if we don’t replace it?”
He looked confused.
“What?”
“What if we stop planning the wedding everyone expects?”
“Define everyone.”
“The press. Your social circle. The board. Society pages.”
I stood and started pacing.
“Every choice became bigger. More expensive. More impressive. We started with eighty guests. Now there are two hundred and twenty.”
“Mostly because my mother knows everyone alive.”
“Exactly.”
“She’ll deny that.”
“She invited a European prince.”
“Former prince.”
“That does not improve things.”
Elliot laughed.
Then he studied me.
“What do you want?”
The question again.
The question he had learned to ask.
I closed my eyes.
“I want my mother.”
“Obviously.”
“Jade.”
“Yes.”
“Marcus.”
“Unfortunately.”
“Victoria.”
He smiled.
“She’ll be offended you put her after Marcus.”
“She’ll survive.”
I looked at him.
“I want people who actually know us.”
Understanding appeared slowly.
“A small wedding.”
“Very small.”
“How small?”
I smiled.
“Thirty?”
His eyebrows rose.
“That will cause diplomatic incidents.”
“I can live with that.”
“Where?”
I thought about it.
Then suddenly laughed.
“No.”
“What?”
“It’s stupid.”
“Those are usually your best ideas.”
I hit his shoulder.
Then I said it.
“The office.”
Silence.
Elliot blinked.
“Our office?”
“The reception area.”
His expression shifted from confusion to disbelief.
“Where the poster is?”
“Exactly.”
“You want to get married beside the poster you kissed.”
“When you say it like that, it sounds insane.”
“Because it is insane.”
I started laughing.
He did too.
Then he stopped.
And I saw it.
He loved the idea.
“You’re serious,” he said.
“Maybe.”
“Alexia.”
“It’s where we actually started.”
“Technically, we started when I hired you.”
“No. You ignored me for a year.”
“I was busy.”
“You were emotionally constipated.”
“That’s medically questionable.”
“You know what I mean.”
He leaned back against the couch.
The smile spreading across his face was slow and real.
“The office.”
“The office.”
“Thirty people.”
“Thirty-two if your mother insists on bringing someone.”
“She will.”
“No press.”
“No press.”
“No society photographer.”
“Jade will take pictures.”
“That woman takes terrible photographs.”
“She’ll hire someone.”
He reached for my hand.
“And you’re sure?”
I looked down at the ring.
Then around the apartment we shared.
At the life we had created because one awful workday had somehow pushed me into doing something completely irrational.
“Yes.”
His thumb brushed over my knuckles.
“Then we’re getting married at the office.”
Victoria’s reaction was exactly what we expected.
“You cannot be serious.”
We were having dinner at her Manhattan apartment.
“I am,” Elliot said.
“At Hawkins Media?”
“Yes.”
“In reception?”
“Yes.”
Victoria looked at me.
“Beside that ridiculous poster?”
I smiled.
“Potentially.”
She put down her fork.
“I have spent eight months speaking to florists.”
“You enjoyed it,” Elliot said.
“That is irrelevant.”
“Mother—”
“This family has access to estates, cathedrals, private islands.”
“I don’t want an island.”
“Everyone wants an island.”
“I get seasick.”
She stared at me.
Then she sighed dramatically.
“Thirty guests?”
“Thirty-two,” I corrected.
Her eyes narrowed.
“Why thirty-two?”
“You may bring two.”
Her expression transformed.
“I approve.”
Elliot stared.
“That was embarrassingly easy.”
“I know when to negotiate.”
I started laughing.
The wedding was moved.
Officially canceled, according to the press.
We told no one except the thirty-two people invited.
The office was scheduled for maintenance on the Saturday we selected.
Security controlled the building.
Employees believed electrical work was happening.
Celeste nearly cried with happiness when we told her she had only three weeks to transform reception into a wedding venue.
“This is the most insane thing anyone has ever asked me to do.”
“Can you do it?” I asked.
She smiled.
“Obviously.”
Two nights before the wedding, I stayed late at the office.
The building was almost empty.
I walked to reception.
The Forbes poster was still hanging there.
My magazine cover beside it.
Two lives.
Two careers.
One completely ridiculous beginning.
I stopped in front of Elliot’s photograph.
“You caused a lot of problems,” I told it.
“Talking to posters again?”
I turned.
Elliot stood ten feet behind me.
Exactly where he had stood that first night.
I laughed.
“You need a new entrance.”
“I like this one.”
He came closer.
“Planning to kiss him?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“Jealous?”
“Deeply.”
I touched his face.
“The real version is better.”
“Obviously.”
He kissed me.
Slowly.
Carefully.
And when we separated, he rested his forehead against mine.
“Forty-eight hours.”
“Until what?”
“Until you’re stuck with me permanently.”
I smiled.
“I’ve survived worse.”
“What?”
“One year as your assistant.”
He laughed.
And somewhere behind us, the glossy version of Elliot Hawkins kept smiling.
Still arrogant.
May you like
Still perfect.
Still responsible for everything.
