The last of our frustrated customers are straggling out the door, empty-handed. The balloons over by the photo wall have lost half their helium, but Margaret’s as chipper as she was when she walked in at ten thirty.
“I think that went great!” she announces, tucking her cell phone into her back pocket. “How about you guys?”
Cami’s already folding leftover inventory back into boxes. She doesn’t say a word but offers a tight smile. I can see doubt settle into Margaret’s expression the longer the silence stretches out—especially when she catches the uneasy looks from the other staff and, worst of all, the smudged mascara under my eyes.
“Everybody can head out,” I jump in. “Thanks for all your hard work, especially on a Saturday. Camila and I will load the rental truck.”
Mark offers me a weak smile, and Brandi rubs my shoulder as they grab their things and make for the door. Margaret lingers, approaching Camila.
“Hey, I can take care of that. Since I didn’t show up in time this morn—”
“It’s okay.” Cami lifts her head and shoots Margaret a lukewarm smile. “I appreciate the offer, but I already grabbed the keys to the truck. My fiancé is on his way to help us load. We’ll manage.”
The air in the room grows tight as Margaret grabs her belongings, muttering that she’ll see us both Monday morning. I stay quiet and unmoving, my hands loosely resting on my hips until she’s gone.
Camila walks over to her oversized purse and riffles around inside until she pulls out a lunch box. The same one she used to carryJell-O shots on our way to date parties in college. (It was her party trick.) Nestled into a bed of slushy ice are two mini bottles of La Marca prosecco.
“This was supposed to be a celebratory drink.” She scoops up the bottles and stares at their necks wedged between her fingertips.
“Well,” I say, “we don’t have to tell the mini alcohols about that.”
“That their identity has been stolen? That we’re now drinking in mourning?”
“I need it more desperately now than I would’ve if today had gone off without a hitch.”
She sighs, dropping to the floor. She crosses her legs and sets both bottles in front of her. I walk over and sit down opposite, unscrewing each cap.
“I asked Margaret if we needed to hire an event management company,” Cami admits, taking a swig. “She said we didn’t.”
“We probably needed one,” I agree.
“Am I going to have to fire her?” Cami asks. “I’ve never fired anyone before.”
“Firing people sucks,” I say, thinking back on the handful of people I’ve had to let go over the years. “But if this was her first flop, maybe not?”
“It wasn’t her first flop.”
“Oh.”
After a minute Cami asks, “I know Derrick has an opinion.”
“Derrick says to fire her.”
Cami barks out a laugh. “Derrick is ruthless.”
“She’s your employee,” I say. “It’s your call.”
She bites her lip, looking sideways. “I didn’t really call David. But I can.”
“No need. Will Grant is here. He can help us load the truck.”
Her brown eyes lock back on mine, narrowing. “I know we’ve both been busy over the last couple of days—”
“Days?”
“Years,” she amends. “But at some point, J, I need you to explain why you signed a contract with a man who looks like a young Henry Cavill and writes sonnets at you with his eyes inpublic.”
“He does not,” I say staunchly. “It’s a completely different look, I swear. I need to give you the full story later. Will and I know each other from high school.”
