The Event Planner's Encore
"Vivian plans events for everyone else's milestones. When she organizes a retirement party for a handsome executive, she discovers some celebrations deserve an encore."
Milestone Events has planned two thousand celebrations.
Weddings, graduations, promotions—everything except my own life, which I've put on hold for the business. I'm Vivian—fifty-eight, perfectionist, perpetually working on everyone else's happiness.
"I need a retirement party."
The client is distinguished—Marcus Webb, sixty-two, thirty years as CFO, stepping down with style.
"What's your vision?"
"Something that says 'new beginning,' not 'end.'"
"I can work with that."
The planning process is extensive.
Marcus is involved in every detail—not micromanaging, just... engaged. Meetings become longer than necessary.
"Most clients trust me and disappear," I note.
"I'm not most clients." He studies a fabric sample. "I like being here."
"With the napkin options?"
"With you."
"Marcus—"
"I know. Professional boundaries." He sets down the sample. "But I've spent thirty years in boardrooms with people who don't see me. You see everything."
"That's my job—"
"It's more than your job." His eyes find mine. "You listen. You understand. You translate what I want into something beautiful."
"I'm just an event planner."
"You're a miracle worker. And I've been finding excuses to spend time with you."
The retirement party is spectacular.
Three hundred guests, every detail perfect, Marcus glowing at the center.
"You've outdone yourself," he says, pulling me aside.
"I always do."
"No." He takes my hand. "This was different. This was personal."
"Every event is personal—"
"Vivian." He faces me. "I'm retiring to have time for things that matter. Tonight showed me what I've been missing."
"What's that?"
"Someone who creates beautiful things." He squeezes my hand. "Someone I want to celebrate with, not just for."
The kiss happens as the party winds down.
In the coat room, between the furs and the wool, his mouth finding mine like we planned this.
"This is unprofessional," I gasp.
"The event's over. You're off the clock." He pulls me closer. "Let me take you somewhere."
His home is elegant, ready for the next chapter.
"New beginning," I say, looking around.
"Exactly." He turns to me. "Want to be part of it?"
He undresses me in his bedroom.
Takes his time, appreciating every detail the way he appreciated my planning.
"Beautiful," he says.
"I'm not—"
"You are." He kisses my shoulder. "The most beautiful thing I've seen all night."
His mouth explores me thoroughly.
Between my thighs, he's patient, attentive—executive precision applied to pleasure.
"Marcus—"
"I'm thorough. It's why they paid me well."
I laugh, then gasp as he finds exactly the right spot.
When he enters me, we're both celebrating.
A milestone neither of us planned. His body moves with mine—new beginnings, new rhythms.
"So good," he groans.
"Don't stop."
"Wasn't planning to."
Afterward, he holds me close.
"Plan something for me."
"What?"
"Our wedding." He kisses my forehead. "I know it's fast—"
"It's insane—"
"It's retirement. I'm done waiting for things I want." His eyes are serious. "Plan it, Vivian. Make it perfect."
I plan my own wedding for the first time.
Every detail chosen for us—not clients, us. It takes three months, and it's the hardest event I've ever organized.
"Why hard?" Marcus asks.
"Because I actually care about this one."
"You care about all of them."
"Not like this." I kiss him. "Never like this."
The wedding is everything I've dreamed for others.
Finally mine. Finally ours.
"To the woman who plans perfect moments," Marcus toasts.
"To the man who gave me one," I counter.
We kiss while the guests applaud.
Some events are for others.
Some are for yourself.
And some event planners find that the best celebrations are the ones you get to keep living.
No closing time.
No cleanup.
Just the party continuing forever.