“We should test some of the games,” Alyssa suggested. “Make sure they’re actually fun and not just team-building torture.”
Evelyn raised an eyebrow. “You want to practice party games? Now?”
“Why not?” Alyssa said. “Bug can be our impartial judge.”
Bug wagged his tail, clearly delighted to be assigned such an important role.
And just like that, the serious planning dissolved into laughter, sticky notes, and increasingly ridiculous game scenarios, with Bug as their most discerning critic.
The party was going to be perfect. Or at least, perfectly chaotic.
The next few days became a blur of last-minute problem-solving meetings and increasingly elaborate spreadsheets. Alyssa found herself spending more time at Crawford’s than she’d initially planned, which was definitely not something she was complaining about.
“I’m pretty sure this is not what I meant by ‘help with the party, ’” Evelyn said, watching Alyssa rearrange the entire staff kitchen to create what she called a “festive flow zone.”
“Trust the process,” Alyssa replied, carefully positioning a set of reindeer-shaped mugs. “Spatial arrangement matters more than you’d think.”
Bug watched from his perch on a nearby chair, looking like he’d be taking notes if dogs had opposable thumbs.
“That sounds made up,” Evelyn said.
“Maybe,” Alyssa grinned. “But it sounds convincing, doesn’t it?”
The marketing department had been particularly enthusiastic. Tom from graphic design had created no fewer than seventeen potential party banners, each more elaborate than the last. The current favourite featured Bug wearing a Santa hat, which the dog himself seemed to find acceptable.
“I’m not sure this is professional,” Evelyn said, looking at the design.
“It’s exactly what your employees want,” Alyssa countered. “Trust me. I understand pack dynamics.”
Lil had been sending increasingly pointed texts, mostly variations of “Are you actually working or just flirting?”, which Alyssa studiously ignored. The event was becoming a project of epic proportions, and she was determined to make it perfect.
“This is more intense than I expected,” Evelyn said one evening, surrounded by sample Christmas decorations and sticky notes.
“This is how we prepare for puppy adoptions,” Alyssa replied. “Except with fewer worksheets and more sanitiser.”
As the days passed, the excitement became palpable. The Crawford’s office transformed, with employees not-so-subtly asking Alyssa about details. Bug had become something of amascot, with staff members stopping by to get his “approval” on various elements.
“I think he’s enjoying the power,” Evelyn observed.
“Total middle management energy,” Alyssa agreed.
The event was becoming more than just a celebration. It was becoming a moment of reconnection for a company that had been struggling with leadership transition, with grief, with the challenges of the past year.
And somehow, in the middle of all the planning, Alyssa was creating something else. A connection. A possibility. Something that felt like it could be more than just a work project.
But for now, there were plans to finalise, and a very opinionated dog to consult.
The venue selection turned into an unexpected adventure—and a nail-biting one at that. They were now less than a week out from the party and still didn’t have a confirmed location. With most spaces booked solid months in advance, Evelyn had suggested using the company’s main conference hall as a last resort—practical, convenient, and utterly soulless.
“Absolutely not,” Alyssa said, crossing her arms. “That room has all the festive energy of a tax audit.”
“It’s functional,” Evelyn protested. “And it’s available! Alyssa, we’re running out of time. The party is in six days.”
“So is a filing cabinet, but you don’t throw a party in one.”
Bug, who had accompanied them on the conference hall tour—their Hail Mary—sat down in the middle of the room and refused to move. His message was clear: this space was unacceptable.
“Even the dog hates it,” Alyssa pointed out.
