“In what world is that white?”
“Umm, this one?”
“Come with me.”
She lets out a huff of air but follows me back up front. I open the door and step out into the light of day. I take the tablecloth from her hands and hold it against the sleeve of my white dress shirt. “See the color difference?”
She rolls her eyes. “Oh, my God. Are you serious?”
I just lift my brows.
“You are serious,” she practically yells, running her hands through her hair. “The tables won’t be outside. It won’t even be daytime. They’ll be in a room with artificial light. They’ll look white, trust me.”
“They’ll look white until something white is against them. Like the slipcovers for the chairs.”
She groans. “Fine, I’ll send them back and request fresh ones.”
“New ones,” I correct.
“What’s the difference?”
“Used white tablecloths are yellow-ish. New white tablecloths are white.”
“Fine,” she agrees.
“Alright, now let’s go back in and you can show me the rest.”
She pushes through the door with a little too much attitude, but it’s her attitude that I get a kick out of and find sexy as hell. When she’s mad, her ass sways just a little bit more and I can’t keep my eyes off it as I follow her to the back room.
In the back room, she puts the tablecloth back into the box and moves to another stack. “These are the vases for the centerpieces. I know we talked about white, but I can’t come up with enough matching ones.” She holds up a clear, glass vase.
“That’s not what I want,” I remind her.
She rolls her eyes. “We can put a white and gold ribbon around them. They’ll be pretty.”
“No, I don’t want clear glass. I don’t want to see the water or the stems. It looks cheap and tacky. I want white vases with a gold ribbon.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me. This is getting ridiculous. Who’s the party planner here, you or me?”
“I’m the planner. You’re the person I hired to see it through and you’re not doing a very good job.”
I think her face turns at least three different shades of red. “You need to let me do my job. Go back to your leather desk chair, kick your feet up, and stuff your face with bon-bons. I know what I’m doing.”
It feels like my eyes bug out of my head. How dare she think I do nothing but sit around stuffing my face? I may be rich, and I may own more real estate than any other person in the country, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t know how to work or get my hands dirty.
I put my hands on my hips and take a deep breath. “I hired you, correct?”
“Yes,” she says, quirking her brows.
“Then that means that I’m the boss. If I don’t like it, I don’t want it. You can either accept this job as it is, or I can let you go and find someone who will do as I ask.”
She grinds her teeth and puts the vase back in the box. “Fine. I’ll send these back too and find some white ones.”
“Thank you.” I let my hands fall back to my sides. “Now, where are we on the menu and music?”
“Up here,” she says, leading me back to her desk. “I hired a jazz band to play—”
“No,” I cut her off.
