“The dog is biased,” Evelyn replied, but she was already pulling out her phone to research alternatives. “Though I’m starting to think he has better taste than both of us.”
That’s when Alyssa found it: a converted warehouse space in Shoreditch. The listing had only gone up that morning—a last-minute cancellation. All exposed brick, fairy lights, and industrial charm. It was completely impractical, slightly over budget, and absolutely perfect.
“This is ridiculous,” Evelyn said when they arrived an hour later, but she was smiling as she said it. “We’re cutting this incredibly close.”
“This is brilliant,” Alyssa corrected. “Look at the natural light. The open floor plan. The potential for creative seating arrangements. And we can have it.”
Bug trotted around the space, tail wagging, giving his seal of approval to various corners.
“He’s doing a security sweep,” Alyssa explained. “Very thorough.”
The warehouse manager, a woman named Sienna with impressive sleeve tattoos and a nose ring, looked between them with barely concealed amusement. “So you want to book this for a corporate Christmas party? In six days?”
“Yes,” Alyssa said firmly.
“Maybe,” Evelyn said simultaneously, then sighed. “Yes. Definitely yes.”
Sienna laughed. “You two are adorable. Lucky for you, the cancellation just came through this morning. The space is yours. I’ll even throw in some extra fairy lights—and I’ll waive the rush fee because I like your dog.”
With the venue secured, the real work began—and the clock was ticking. Five days. They had five days to pull off what normally took months.
Back at Crawford’s, Maggie had somehow gotten involved, bringing her own brand of organisational energy to the proceedings.
“I’ve created a system for tracking all the moving pieces,” Maggie announced, dropping a comprehensive binder on Evelyn’s desk. “Everything cross-referenced and colour coded. With timelines.”
“That’s…thorough,” Evelyn said.
“That’s genius,” Alyssa corrected, immediately diving into the binder. “And we’re going to need every minute accounted for.”
Now that they had a venue, Alyssa could finalise the theme. She laid out colour swatches across Evelyn’s desk, her vision finally coming together despite the compressed timeline.
“We settled on ‘Crawford’s Celebration of Connection,’” Alyssa said, “but now we need to make sure everything—decorations, invitations, even the playlist—actually reflects that. And we need to do it fast.”
“You’re very particular about cohesion,” Evelyn observed. “Even under pressure.”
“A theme isn’t just words on an invitation,” Alyssa explained. “It’s the feeling people get when they walk in. It’s what makes an event memorable instead of just…mandatory.”
Evelyn nodded slowly. “My mother used to say something similar. That events should tell a story.”
“Exactly,” Alyssa said, feeling warmth spread through her chest at the mention of Roslyn. “This is about bringing people together. Reconnecting them to the company, to each other, to what Crawford’s stands for.”
“Bug would definitely approve of this philosophy,” Evelyn said, glancing at the dog.
“He has excellent taste,” Alyssa replied. “Now, catering.”
The catering became its own saga—made more complicated by the fact that most caterers were already booked. Alyssa insisted on including options that went beyond the standard corporate fare. She’d somehow convinced a local chef—a friend of Lil’s—to squeeze them in with only four days’ notice, creating a menu that was part traditional, part adventurous, and entirely delicious.
“You’ve got ‘Festive Fusion Tacos’ on the menu,” Evelyn observed.
“Trust me,” Alyssa said. “They’re going to be the highlight of the night.”
“We’re a pet supplies company, not a food truck festival.”
“Exactly. Which is why this will be memorable.”
The entertainment was another challenge—and another race against time. Evelyn wanted something subdued. Alyssa wanted something that would get people actually enjoying themselves.
“What about a DJ?” Alyssa suggested.
