“I was a little sad because we couldn’t go out and celebrate in Times Square like we always do,” he admits with a soft pout.
I give him a sad look. “Well, I told you to go by yourself, or call your ex. I’m sure he would’ve taken you.”
“Yeah, but it wouldn’t have been as much fun without you.”
“You’re sweet.”
“Besides, until we find out who’s been trying to kill you, I wasn’t too comfortable with the idea of leaving you alone at the apartment either. Besides, we had our own kind of fun, didn’t we?”
I can’t help but laugh. “We did.”
“Oh, I’ll bet you a whole commission that the Hamiltons are going to love this,” Jamie quips and turns the floral catalogue over for me to see a stupendous display of flower arrangements. “Lavender, citrus blossoms, snapdragons, look at them.”
“They look gorgeous.”
“Paired with the napkins?—”
“Which we’d complete with gold filigree rings?—”
“Right on the money, sister!” Jamie exclaims. “Want me to whip out the Bohemian crystal glass models?”
“And the Preciosa plating sets, please. The Hamiltons have an insanely generous budget for us to work with.”
Jamie fetches a couple of more catalogues for us to peruse while I snap photos of our selected pages and sendthem to the printer for physical copies. A large whiteboard is mounted on the western wall, where we build the actual mood board for each of our events.
“We’re lucky they won’t be back from Switzerland until late next week,” I say, adding more printouts to the whiteboard. “They won’t be bothering us with micro-management until then.”
“They’re too busy drowning in mulled wine when they’re not breaking their necks on the ski slopes,” Jamie mutters.
“They don’t actually ski up there.”
“They don’t?” he asks, brows furrowed.
“Cole told me. They just hang around the slopes, take photos with their skis for Instagram, and that’s about it.”
“Rich people.” He shakes his head slowly, then narrows his eyes at me. “Speaking of, where’d you leave it with the Morgan brothers?”
I sigh deeply and go back to my desk for a moment. I made jasmine tea with honey that should be cool enough for me to take a generous sip from while I gather my emotions into a coherent thought.
“They asked me out for New Year’s Eve, but I politely turned them down,” I say. “Toby said they’d try again soon.”
“You love playing hard to get,” he replies with a laugh.
“I just don’t want to give in that easily. I’m still kind of mad about the whole Sheila thing.”
Jamie crinkles his nose. “No, you’re not. You’re scared out of your mind because you’re pregnant and you don’t know how to tell them.”
“Jamie—”
A knock on the office door interrupts our conversation. Sheila walks in without waiting for a response.
“Happy New Year,” she quips with a faux smile on her red lips.
Wrapped in a silvery grey fur coat, she wanders towards the office. Her leather boots have high heels that click across the hardwood.
“What brings you here?” I ask, my tone flat.
“Don’t say to bury the hatchet,” Jamie interjects, giving Sheila a wry smile. “You don’t wear that mink to peace talks, and you know it.”
