Page 35

“Whatever you gotta do–” I start to say, but Natalie cuts me off.

“No,” she shakes her head, and we both look at her. Then she steps forward. “Absolutely not,” she says.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” the guy asks.

“Natalie Blythe, Director of Events here at Ashford,” she says. While I love the way that sounds coming out of her mouth, I’m not sure just what the hell she thinks she’s doing. “I’m sorry, but we can’t push things out for an extra twenty minutes.”

“Why not?” the guy asks.

“Yes, Miss Blythe,” I echo through a tight smile. “Why not?”

“Because your little band gig isn’t the only thing going on tonight,” she says. “There’s the silent auction, and the award ceremony starts in forty-five minutes. Events like this run on a tight schedule, not just for the sake of the guests, but for the staff and all the people who work directly for Mr. Ashford. If it doesn’t run smoothly, it’s his reputation at stake. I don’t think preferences on sound distortion are worth the reputation of Marcus Ashford, do you?”

“No, ma’am,” the guy shakes his head and starts backing up. “I’ll tell the band we are using the venue’s soundboards.”

“Thank you,” she says, punctuating her speech with a smile. Once he’s gone, she releases a frustrated sigh, fights a loose strand of hair, and shakes her head. “The entitlement of some people, I swear!” she says with exasperation.

It takes a moment of me staring at her before she realizes it. She looks up, then down real quick, then up again.

“What?” she asks. “Is there something else?”

“Actually, yes, there is,” I tell her. I step closer, but stop before touching her. Natalie’s eyes drop to my mouth. Then she catches the front of my shirt in her fist and closes the last inch herself. “If you’re going to kiss me again,” she murmurs, “then do it.” So I do. I kiss her hard enough that she gasps against my mouth, and she kisses me right back. After a long moment, I pull away. When I walk away from her, I don’t look back; I can’t. She’s got a lot of nerve being that sexy.

Chapter 15

Natalie

“Have you noticed how quiet it is around here?” Dylan asks, poking her head into my office. Dylan has a job. She really does. She’s the tablescape designer. Yes, that is a real thing. She’s a top designer for table settings at weddings and holiday parties. She’s actually arranged the most beautiful table art for just about any event. She needs only a host willing to dump an obscene amount of money on the decor, and she always delivers.

She has flawless taste and puts it to good use coordinating colors, place settings, and napkin art. She even creates masterful centerpieces and delicate place cards.

Initially, she got the job because we’ve been friends since freshman year of high school. She had a sweet sixteen that beat any other sixteen because I was her party planner and she has a Pinterest board with over five hundred pins about table settings alone. When my father picked me up from her party and saw everything we’d done, he said that there was a career waiting for her after graduation, and he made good on it. The girl doesn’t know how to change a tire or lightbulb, but she can design a table rivaling any Martha Stewart ever did.

“It was quiet,” I tell her, typing away on my computer. I am actually on Pinterest. It’s an app companies like us use often. “Until you came poking your nose in here,” I say with a small, teasing smile.

Ever since the big man decided to go back to his own office instead of marching around here all day, I think people can finally breathe without worrying they’re going to get fired for doing it wrong. Is it inhale first, or exhale? Never can say when Ashford is watching you do it.

“He’s not that bad,” I tell her. That’s a lie. He is intimidating, but not as bad as people think. He’s just harder than my dad, and it’s taking people a moment to get used to it.

“Listen, he’s only been here for two weeks and he's already fired one guy. The one that blinks too much and talks too much and has the patchy beard but acts like he’s God’s gift to women? I can never remember his name,” she says.

I can’t remember his name either, but I know who she’s talking about. I don’t really feel like that guy counts anyway. “He was terrible at his job,” I tell her. I save a couple more pins for a showcase I’ll be working on at the library in a couple of weeks.

“What even was his job?” she asks.

“Exactly,” I say.

Dylan shrugs it off and starts meandering around my office, clicking a freshly manicured nail on the fish tank even though I made a sign that says Don’t Tap the Glass. Clearly, she’s directionally challenged. I roll my eyes. She moves on to play with the 3D-printed fidget spinner on my desk. Jamie made it at school when someone’s dad came in with an actual 3D printer on career day. It’s safe to say his preschool is a little bit bougie, but considering where we live, I wanted the best and safest. I can afford it, so why not?

“So, has it been awkward?” she asks. “I bet it’s been awkward.”

“Has what been awkward?” I ask monotonously.

“Working with you know who,” she says.

“Why would it be awkward?” I ask, pretending that I don’t know.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because you and him you know what-ed, and he’s Jamie’s you know wh–”