Page 1 of A Love Like Candle Light

Prologue

Kylie

“Here, girl, have some champagne.” Gabriella, my officially favorite coworker, pushes a cold flute filled with the golden liquid into my hand without waiting for an answer.

“You, my friend, are heaven-sent.” I clink my glass against hers and take a sip. Thank the heavens for people who take you under their wing at events as soon as you arrive. A.k.a. people more extroverted than I am, which isn’t a hard achievement by any means.

My face pulls into a grimace as soon as the bubbly liquid meets my tongue. Ugh, I hate champagne. However, this is a black-tie and fancy-dresses kind of event, so apparently there’s only fancy alcohol, too. I wish they had some cocktails or even beer. But alas. Sparkling alcohol it is. I’ll get over it.

“Don’t I know it?” She giggles and takes a sip, her cheeks already flush. Clearly, it’s not her first glass. “Now, how about we mingle and get updates on our virtual office gossip, so you can give your husband all the tea once he arrives?”

Mischief twinkles in her eyes and what can I say? It’s infectious.

I glance at the entrance. Then back to her. “You know what?” I shrug. “Sure, why not.”

She links her arm with mine and pulls me along. It takes her three steps until she downright clutches my arm because she trips over the hem of her bright yellow A-Line dress. Thankfully, I’m more stable on high heels than she is, otherwise we’d both be kissing the ground. Halfway through the pompous event space, I spot the group of our coworkers she’s pulling me to.

Our marketing company is nothing special. We work nine to five, get paid average wages and have superiors who have no idea what we do on the daily, yet always find ways to ‘optimize’ and change our processes.

However, once a year, there is an award ceremony for the employees. Everyone is invited to dress up, stuff their bellies on an extravagant buffet and drink to their hearts’ content - which has led to a few interesting situations over the years. And by ‘interesting,’ I mean drunken actions have led to the demise of several marriages and several contract terminations, so maybe the fact they only have Champagne is not so bad after all.

It is also the only time I get to meet my team in real life instead of through a screen. All of us work from home. The joys of having C-suite members who go with the times, listen to their employees and act upon productivity facts instead of subjective ‘but I want to look my team member in the eyes when I tell them what to do.’ I don’t think our company even has an office big enough to accommodate us all at this point.

To keep morale high, employees motivated, and their C-Suite friends from other companies impressed and entertained, they created what I like to call the ass-kissing awards.

At my level, it’s mainly a chance to mingle with my coworkers, team-building if you will, but we’re also on the low end of the food chain. At higher levels, it’s being seen and the opportunity for some ass-kissing to get your next promotion.

I’m happy in my team, though. There’s nothing I want to do less than climb a corporate ladder into nothingness.

This year, the company rented a pompous ballroom, and the theme is very clearly ‘wedding your in-laws pay for, but make it conference.’ It has a beautiful laminate floor; tables are arranged banquet style so everyone can see the stage and there are white sheets everywhere. They’re on the tables, hanging on the walls and covering the underside of the stage. The only pop of color comes from the blue corporate-branding light that hidden spotlights shine on them.

The most delusional, the most out-of-touch thing in here though?

A goddamn fountain in the corner, which seems to have turned into an unofficial spot for networking.

This event is very much black tie, and I’m very much out of my comfort zone. Although dare I say I look stunning in the dark blue dress I bought just for the occasion.

“Look at you!” Vanessa, one of our graphic designers, whistles as we approach. Her long, red-dyed hair is gathered in a low updo and she’s sporting a moss-green wrap dress.

Brock, the giant lanky member of our IT team, who only recently fixed my laptop, shoots me a grin and offers me his hand and makes me turn around myself once I take it.

“Thank you, thank you,” I giggle and join the little circle they’ve formed.

“How is that dress staying in all the right places?” Vanessa asks in a whisper, staring at my cleavage as if she’s trying to solve a puzzle.

“Like, three rolls of tape, girl,” I whisper back and take another sip of my champagne. I’m still not a fan, but the second sip is a lot more tolerable. “I’m not too eager for a nip slip up on stage.”

Personally, I think the awards would be a whole lot cooler if we didn’t all know beforehand who will be getting one. Then again, we’re a marketing company, not the freaking Oscars, who have an engraver on standby to get the names on the award plaques. We’re also not the biggest company, so news travels fast and someone is almost bound to slip up and spill the beans.

Either way, a part of me expected one this year. As little as I want to admit it, I would have been pissed if hadn’t been considered. The algorithm gods were on my side this past year, and several of my clients went viral thanks to strategies and content I created the concept for.

“Hey, babe.” Gabriella’s husband approaches the group, a glass of champagne in one hand and a plate with snacks in the other. “I found those little chocolate peanut bites you always bring home from these events.”

He nudges his way into the circle next to her, leans over, presses a kiss to the side of her head and hands her the plate. “So I got you a bunch.”

“You’re the best.” She purses her lips for a kiss. He happily complies with her silent demand, causing a collective playful groan from our group.

“Get a room!” Brock demonstratively puts his hand over his eyes. To annoy him, they kiss even harder and Gabriella giggles into the kiss.