AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Hannah couldn't imagine someone who didn't listen to music, who didn't love it and feel like it made even the most devastating life a little better. The first thing she had bought for her office was a stereo system that was always on when she worked after hours.
He looked like a classics fan; instrumental, maybe jazz, or a hint of the blues. Or maybe even Old Blue Eyes. After all, who didn't like Sinatra? She wondered about his musical guilty pleasure. Did he listen to country tunes about getting drunk and pick-up trucks? Did he nod his head to rap lyrics about female body parts and all the things you could do with them?
She was smiling at that, almost laughing.
"What are you thinking about?" he asked, unable to help himself. She looked so amused.
Hannah's head jerked. Caught. "Music," she admitted. He didn't need to know the whole truth.
Elliott's eyebrows drew together and his lips twitched like he was about to smile. "Music," Elliott mused, "interesting change in topics."
"Well," she said, moving away from the awkwardness of the situation and toward the door, "someone's got to keep you on your toes. I, ah, have to get back to work."
She was gone quickly, leaving Elliott to wonder. Music? How had she made the leap from office talk to music? And why was music so amusing? He knew it was something she was passionate about. As soon as five o'clock rolled around and the phones stopped ringing, he heard her stereo turn on. It was low enough that he could hear the sound, but not make out the lyrics. She seemed to have a love of singer-songwriters with their poetic lyrics and acoustic guitars.
Sighing, he hit the intercom button on his phone into her office. He heard a crash and a string of cursing. He must have surprised her. It never occurred to him to use it before.
Hannah came through the door, a haphazard stack of papers in her hand, looking almost
murderous. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair was starting to escape from its ponytail. Why did she always wear her hair up? She made no attempt to speak, simply raised an eyebrow as if to say 'what do you want from me now'.
"I have an event I need you to plan."
"An event," Hannah repeated, somewhat excited at the prospect but knowing she was overwhelmed already with work.
"Yes. I am having a black tie gathering at my house in just over a week. I will provide you a guest list and you will need to get invitations made up and sent out by tomorrow. There will need to be a caterer set up and some sort of music. I'll trust you with all of the details."
"Thank you," she said, feeling truly flattered that he didn't feel the need to look over her shoulder or walk her through it even though she had exactly no experience in party planning.
"I expect you to be there to make sure everything goes smoothly," he added, surprising himself. What had gotten into him? He never invited office staff to his events. Once all the aspects were in play, everything would go according to plan. He didn't need her there to oversee everything.
He just wanted her there. It was a strange realization for him.
"Of course," Hannah responded.
"The guest list will be in your email," Elliott said, typing on his computer, presumably to send said list. "That is all."
Hannah let herself back into her office, checked her email and sent the list to the printer. She paced her office anxiously. Finding a good caterer was going to require more work than most people would realize. She would have to have interviews, and test food, and work out the perfect menu- all without any input from EM on what his preferences would be.
The music was something she was excited about. She already knew that she would forego the DJ and would look into live bands for the event. It was more classy and would cater to a more high-class crowd. Maybe she would pursue her belief that EM would like jazz or blues music. It would be fitting for a black tie event.
Her mind reeled that entire afternoon. Every task she tried to complete, she kept getting distracted by party plans. She had a dozen post-it notes stuck to her computer.
The next morning, she left the office when she knew EM would be in a meeting for a few hours. The printing store was only a few miles away from the place she was supposed to pick up EM's lunch. The door chimed charmingly when she entered and a matronly lady in a bright pink dress and a matching flower in her hair rushed in from the back room to greet her.
She spent over and hour looking at templates, trying to make an educated choice between cream and antique-style paper even though she really couldn't tell the difference. In the end she went with the cream and was then forced to look through three binders of fonts before she found one that didn't scream "wedding" and then gave the lady her list of names and addressed, paid, and rushed to get lunch back on time.
Getting back to the office, she felt a burden off of her chest. The invitations had kept her up all night. If they didn't get in the mail by the next day, there wouldn't be enough time for them to get to their destinations and for people to rearrange their schedules and RSVP.
Now all she had to do was find a caterer and a band that would be perfect and, somehow, be available with a week's notice.
Who did that? Who made the decision to have a party so willy-nilly like that? Didn't he realize that these things had to be done? And that most amazing caterers were booked weeks, if not months, in advance? And the fact that most people, especially wealthy people, have busy schedules.
Or maybe he was just that important of a person that they would drop everything they had going on just to be able to show their faces at his event.
Somehow, she had the sneaking suspicion that was the case.
"Girl," she heard Tad accuse as soon as she walked back into the lobby, "you better call your mother."
