"You in the vest," she points to another guy. "Find the banquet captain. Tell him I need the table schematic. If he doesn't have one, tell him to draw it on a napkin and bring it to me in five minutes."
"Yes, ma'am."
Ivy turns to me. She walks over, tossing her apple core into a nearby trash can with the accuracy of a sniper. "Brooks," she says. "I need your phone."
"Why?"
"Because families like yours don't change vendors," she says, already moving. "They inherit them. Florists, caterers, bands. Passed down like fine china. Someone in there will have what I need."
I unlock my phone and hand it to her. She starts scrolling through my contacts.
"Who does your mother use for florals?"
"Bellmont's. They've done the estate for fifteen years."
She finds the number and dials. I watch her face shift as someone answers. "Hi, this is Ivy Sullivan calling on behalf of the Taylor estate. I'm checking on the delivery status for this afternoon's event." A pause. Her jaw tightens. "I see. And when did this happen?" Another pause. "Right. I'll be in touch."
She hangs up and looks at me. "Their truck broke down an hour ago. They weren't going to call until they had a solution."
"What do you need me to do?" I ask.
She looks up at me. Her eyes are bright with adrenaline. There's a faint smudge of something on her cheekbone. "I need you not to lift anything," she says immediately. "Those crates of glassware are in the way, which is a problem. But you are a bigger one."
I blink. "I'm capable of moving a crate."
"Your doctor said light duty for another week," she says, flat and unamused. "And you're wearing loafers, not steel-toed boots. You supervise."
I glance toward the crates anyway. Old habit.
Her hand snaps out and presses lightly against my chest. Not hard. Just enough to stop momentum. "No," she says. "You direct. You delegate. You use your terrifying Taylor voice and make other people very efficient."
I hesitate. "Then what am I doing, exactly?"
She points without looking. "You're finding the AV team. You're telling them that if they tape down one more cord with duct tape instead of gaffer tape, I will personally end their careers with an HDMI cable. And then you're standing there to make sure they believe you."
I stare at her. "That seems aggressive."
"It's the biggest event of the season," she says. "They expect it."
She turns away, lifting my phone to her ear. "Hi, this is Ivy Sullivan calling on behalf of Betty Taylor. Yes. We have asituation with the hydrangeas. I don't care what the contract says. If you don't have fresh stems here in an hour, Mrs. Taylor will make sure you never work in this zip code again. Wonderful. See you soon."
I watch her for a beat longer than necessary. I should be irritated. I manage a billion-dollar portfolio. I do not take orders from professional stand-ins with smudged cheekbones. But as she pivots to correct a lighting technician about the amber wash, something settles into place in my chest.
It isn't annoyance. It isn't the concussion. It's the realization that the room is moving because she told it to.
None of this is in the contract. The contract sayshold his hand, attend events, be convincing.It doesn't saycommandeer a three-hundred-person event because the florist's truck broke down.She could have done the minimum. She could have stood in the corner looking engaged and let the staff sort it out. But she's treating this like it's hers.
I tug my sweater sleeves down, square my shoulders, and head for the AV team. Supervising. Exactly like I was told.
For the next three hours, I am not a venture capitalist. I am infrastructure.
I don't lift anything heavier than a clipboard. I don't climb ladders. I station myself at choke points, redirect traffic, clear paths, and intercept problems before they reach Ivy.
I run interference when my father tries to wander in. "Dad, not now," I say, steering him by the elbow toward the door. He raises an eyebrow but retreats. Ivy shoots me a grateful look from across the room.
It is a masterclass in measured momentum. She's everywhere without rushing, issuing instructions that land cleanly and stick. She diffuses arguments between the caterers and the house staff with charm edged by logic sharp enough to cut glass. She improvises without hesitation. Extra linensbecome camouflage for unsightly cords, a broken centerpiece becomes a cocktail arrangement, a temperamental band leader is somehow persuaded to set up ten minutes early and thanks her for the privilege.
She is relentless. She is precise. She is brilliant.
