Smart kid.
Back at the estate, we unload everything into the kitchen. It takes twenty minutes of careful maneuvering, my back protesting as we carry the last of the heavy trays.
“Set up here,” I tell Tom, pointing to the prep station. “Use whatever you need. Can your team make it?”
“They’re getting a rental. Should be here by—” He’s already pulling out his phone, fingers flying.
“Good. Make it work.” I turn to leave, loosening my tie. The salmon smell is clinging to my clothes.
“Wait. Should I tell the wedding planner—”
“No.” The word comes out harder than intended. “She’s got enough to deal with. This stays between us.”
“But—” His eyes are wide, confused.
“Tom. The bride wants salmon. She’s getting salmon. End of story.” I level him with a look that’s closed more than one business deal.
He stares at me, processing. “You’re doing this for the bride?”
No. I’m doing it for the woman who stayed up all night making sure every detail was perfect. Who forgot to eat because she was too busy taking care of everyone else. Who looked at me last night like I might actually be worth something.
“Sure,” I lie, the word tasting bitter. “For the bride.”
My phone rings as I’m heading back to the house. Gideon’s name flashes on the screen.
I let it go to voicemail.
He calls again immediately. Persistent bastard.
This time, I answer. “What?”
“Where the hell are you? Feldstein wants—” His voice is tight, professional panic mode.
“I’m busy.” I keep walking, phone pressed to my ear.
“Busy? Your next brief is due—”
“Monday. It’s due Monday.” I can picture him in his office, pacing, tie loosened.
“He wants to review it today.” Each word is clipped, stressed.
“Well, he’s going to review it Monday.”
Silence. Gideon doesn’t do silence, which probably means he’s about to go nuclear.
“Are you seriously blowing off Feldstein? Now? When you’re this close to partnership?” His voice climbs, incredulous.
I watch through the window as Poppy races across the lawn, clipboard in hand, hair already escaping from whatever style she’d attempted. She’s talking to three people at once, somehow making each one feel heard. Gesturing with the clipboard, smiling, solving problems with that endless energy.
“Dean?” Gideon’s voice pulls me back.
“I’ll call him back.” My gaze stays on Poppy, tracking her movement across the property.
“You’ll call him—are you insane? This is your career we’re talking about!” He’s nearly shouting now.
“I’m aware.” My voice is calm. Too calm, probably.
“Then why—”
