"Early," I noted.
"Very," Jada replied, her voice carrying a warning tone that made the potted fern behind her lean slightly away.
Through my open door, I could see Mariposa happily arranging and rearranging her color swatches, completely oblivious to the increasingly tense atmosphere in the waiting area.
"Charlie, darling," she called, her melodic voice floating through the doorway. "I simply can't decide between the moonbeam silver and the pearl iridescent. The moonbeam has that lovely luminosity, but the pearl catches the light in a way that complements my wings."
"Mariposa, would you mind terribly if we continued this at our next meeting? I can have concept boards prepared with both color schemes so you can see everything together."
"Of course, darling!" Mariposa gathered her materials. "I've monopolized enough of your morning with my indecision. Justone tiny thing before I go." She produced yet another portfolio seemingly from thin air. "Napkin folds! I've narrowed it down to butterfly, cocoon, or chrysalis. Though the chrysalis might be a bit morbid for a dining experience, don't you think?"
I caught Jada's increasingly desperate glance from the doorway and the distinct smell of something electrical starting to overheat.
"Perhaps we should schedule a dedicated napkin consultation?" I suggested gently. "It's an important decision that deserves its own time."
"You're absolutely right," Mariposa nodded solemnly. "The symbolism of table linens can't be rushed. I'll call Jada later to schedule."
"Perfect." I guided her toward the reception area. "I'll have mockups prepared."
As we rounded the corner, I caught my first glimpse of my next appointment. Malrik sat with perfect stillness, but the air around him pulsed like a migraine aura. The overhead light flickered in a rhythm that matched the tapping of his index finger against his knee. The reception area's water feature, normally a soothing trickle, had started to bubble ominously.
"Oh my," Mariposa whispered, her wings fluttering nervously. "Is that?—"
"Malrik," I confirmed quietly. "The light show artist."
"Artist is one word for it," she murmured. "I attended his performance in Portland last month. Three people fainted, and I'm fairly certain the woman next to me pledged her eternal soulfor an encore." She patted my arm. "Good luck, darling. You'll need it."
Malrik rose as we approached, his movement so fluid it looked choreographed. That familiar face. The one currently gracing billboards and magazine covers across the country. It curved into a smile that probably came with its own warning label.
"Charlie Davenport," he said, his voice like aged whiskey poured over velvet. "A pleasure to see you again."
"Mr. Malrik. Sorry to keep you waiting."
His smile didn't falter, but the light above us surged briefly before settling. "I'm never kept waiting. I simply allow others the illusion of time management."
Behind him, Jada made a frantic cutting motion across her throat while mouthing something that looked suspiciously like "phone charger exploded."
"Well, fortunately for us both, I'm available now," I said, gesturing toward my office.
Mariposa gave me a little wave as she fluttered toward the exit, mouthing "call me" with wide, meaningful eyes.
I led Malrik into my office, trying to ignore how the lights brightened slightly as he passed beneath them, and how my laptop suddenly booted up despite being powered off. Just another client meeting. Just another day.
Except, of course, this particular day involved negotiating terms with the most powerful being ever to book our services. One who was currently leaving scorch marks on my hardwood floors with each step.
I smiled. This was going to be interesting.
I gestured to the chair across from my desk. "Please, have a seat."
Malrik surveyed my office with the idle curiosity of someone who'd seen centuries of interior design trends come and go. His gaze lingered on my vintage bar cart, collection of antique teacups, and the wall of framed event photos.
"Charming," he said, the word hanging between compliment and condescension.
I took my seat, opening my laptop. "So, Mr. Malrik?—"
"Just Malrik," he corrected, shifting in the chair. The leather creaked beneath him, and I swore I saw a faint wisp of smoke rise from where his fingers touched the armrests.
"Malrik," I amended, "let's discuss what you're looking for in an event coordinator." I kept my tone brisk and professional despite the fact that my desk lamp was now pulsing in rhythm with his breathing. A sudden wave of heat flushed through me, and I instinctively loosened my collar. Must be the heating system acting up again. Certainly not a reaction to the way his eyes seemed to gleam with ancient fire when they met mine. "Raina mentioned you needed planning services but was light on the details."
