“You know," I start, narrowing my eyes with annoyance, “could be one of Blaine’s groupies if the season started too. What is going on with you two anyways?”
“I don’t want to talk about Blaine.” Libby dramatically jumps up from the table. “I’m going to take a shower.”
I holler after her as she climbs the stairs, “Don't forget we are getting work done today!”
That was not the way I expected to start my morning—or the way I wanted my eggs either.
Chapter twenty-six
Laur
The smell of burnt coffee and cinnamon rolls fills the air inRoast & Revelry. After this morning’s incident, my brain has been in a fog, and I needed a change of scenery and suggested Libby, Kat, and I meet up here. I’m still racking my brain on who the hell could want to egg our house.
“Didn’t someone suggest something about banging up an old car with a hockey stick during interviews?” Kat inquires, sipping her latte.
“Too dangerous,” I mutter. I’m only half listening as I frantically send the last of the rejection letters, wanting to ensure everything is communicated and nothing is left lingering.
“The picnic basket auction idea that one of the new girls had in her interview was pretty impressive,” Libby remarks.
She’s not wrong, but I want to hold on to that idea until the new girls come so it doesn’t seem like we are just stealing their ideas.
“Let’s wait on that one,” I respond quietly, eyes still glued to my computer.
“The calendar obviously is happening this season,” Libby declares.
“Do you have any thoughts?” Kat asks softly trying to get my attention.
Fingers snap in my face, causing me to snap my head up and finally look up from my computer at Libby.
“Sorry,” I mutter. “Last email to send.” My fingers type furiously, trying to rush.
Libby lets out an audible groan of complaint. Conversations come to a halt, and the only noises that can be heard from our table at thealmost empty coffee shop are the coffee and espresso machines. How silly of me to think that she and Kat could independently come up with ideas without me.
“Okay.” Pressing send on my last email, I look up again, dragging my eyes from Libby to Kat. “You were saying . . .”
Libby blinks rapidly, exaggerating each close and open of her eyes in what I can only assume is annoyance. “The calendar is tradition,” Libby responds.
Tapping my finger on my lips, I ask, “But how can we make it even bigger and better this year?” After a beat of no response, I add, “That’s the goal for anything we do: how can we elevate and expand on anything we’ve done in the past.”
“Will you be the photographer again? It will definitely save us money,” Kat suggests. “Unless we get someone to donate their time, which might be difficult.”
She’s right. It’ll be hard to convince someone to donate their time. Bren and Suz tried in the past. But how can I lead the initiative and take photos at the same time? Libby might have been right when she mentioned her and Kat would be lost without me. They seem to rely on me too much. I’d be a nervous wreck if I trusted them to run the photoshoot smoothly.
My heart sinks into my stomach thinking about Bren. If she was here, it’d be a freaking breeze.
A big exhale escapes me. “We can reach out to photographers, and I can be a last resort.” I take a sip of my now watered-down iced coffee. “It would be difficult for me to lead the photoshoot and take photos.”
Libby furrows her brows. “We can help.” Her tone, dry and curt.
“I think—” Kat pauses before slowly continuing “—I have an idea.”
Grasping my hands in excitement, I’m eager to hear what she has to say.
“What if we auction off four or five spots to attend the photoshoot?” She starts.
“They can all be escorted around by someone from the PR team,” Kat mutters in a quiet voice.
Kat has brilliant ideas but seems to always doubt herself. Being much more introverted than Libby and me, she never comes out and hasn’t gotten close with our friend group. Sometimes I feel like I barely know her, but she is one of the most eloquent writers I’ve ever met.
