I climb behind the wheel and start toward my newest masterpiece. It’s the biggest building around and it would stick out like a sore thumb if it wasn’t so beautiful. It’s easily one of my biggest accomplishments and I can’t wait for the grand opening. Everything about it is perfect and top of the line. Just pulling into the parking lot makes me excited.
Chapter Three
DESTINY
Istep out of the car and pull my purse higher up on my shoulder as I look around and take the place in. Beside me, a black Escalade pulls up. The windows are tinted so dark that I can’t see into the vehicle. The engine shuts off and the door opens and a man steps out. When he turns to face me, I see that it is Mr. Billings, and he is even better-looking in person than in magazine articles. His raven-black hair is styled neatly, slicked back on the sides and cut short up top. He’s dressed in a fashionable black suit that probably costs more than my car, and he’s wearing shiny black shoes that scrape against the concrete as he walks toward me.
“Are you Destiny Parks?” he asks with a lift of his brow.
I nod. “I am. You must be Mr. Billings,” I reply, stepping forward with my hand out.
He shakes my hand. “Please, call me Shepard. Mr. Billings is my father,” he says around a smile.
I nod. “I’ll do that.”
“Shall we go inside and get to work?”
“Can’t wait.”
The two of us walk across the parking lot toward the door. As we approach, a man opens the door for another who’s carrying out a ladder.
“Is the room ready?”
“Not yet,” he replies, motioning for me to walk in ahead of him.
We go through the grand entrance, where a large water feature is on display. Gigantic crystal chandeliers hang from above the low lit room. I continue forward, down the grandiose hallway then finally enter the main ballroom that’s supposed to be extravagant, but it’s nowhere near ready. In fact, the only thing in place is the built-in stage and the bar. The walls are painted, the floor is covered in plastic, and it’s big and empty. No tables. No chairs. No barstools or decor.
“Are you sure it will be ready in time? It looks like there is a lot of work to get done.”
Mr. Billings lifts his brow and smirks. “If I say it’ll be done, it’ll be done.”
“Oh,” slips out, but I quickly nod and smile, hanging onto my concerns.
He leads me over to the bar and we stand on either side, facing one another. I put my bags on the top and start digging things out. “I have some samples with me for flower arrangements, tablecloths, that kind of thing, if you’d like to go through them to make your decisions.”
“No need. I’d like you show you around a bit, make sure we both have the same vision for this space.”
“Okay,” I agree.
“But before we do that, I’d like to get to know you a little better. How long have you been an event planner?”
“It’s been my full-time job for almost six years now.”
“Have you even planned any parties like this one before?”
I’m on the spot and his eyes feel like they’re drilling into me. I feel my heart rate pick up. “Most of my parties are wedding receptions or engagement parties. I do the occasional office party and birthday party, but this will be the first event I hold for a hotel meet-and-greet like this.”
He nods. “Just keep things simple, yet elegant. I want this to be the biggest, best party this town has ever seen.” His eyes are wide with excitement. “So, how did you get into this career?”
I take a deep breath to calm myself. I don’t know why I’m so nervous. “Well, I stumbled into it basically. I always loved and enjoyed planning parties. I helped the schools in town plan a lot of their dances, so when I graduated and it was time to pick a career, I just thought, why not try it out? It was rocky at first; I had to keep a part-time waitressing job in order to have some income while things took off, but they finally did, and I’ve been doing this ever since.”
Before I’ve even finished talking, he pulls his phone out and it feels like his device gets more of his attention that I do. Which I don’t mind, but why ask these questions if you’re not going to listen to my response? Not to mention, it’s rude.
“So, how long have you been building hotels?”
That seems to get his attention and he looks up at me with surprise. “Oh, many years now. I know exactly what I’m doing, so you don’t need to worry your pretty little head.” Without another word, he walks to the center of the room and holds his arms out. “This will be where the tables are set up. I want round tables with crisp, white tablecloths.”
I’m still thrown off by his prettylittle headcomment, but I nod and write that down in my notebook, already able to tell that he’s not going to just step aside and let me do my job.
