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“Also, you need another restroom. Or for this one to be bigger,” I say, peeking in the door. The ladies’ room is decked out in the same dark hunter green as the men’s, with only two stalls, and an expanse of black marble sink. “This place has the capacity for what, over one hundred people?”
“One eighty,” Charlie replies.
“If half of them are women, the line will be around the block just to powder their nose. Because unlike you gentlemen, we tend to linger,” I add.
“I didn’t even think of that,” Flynn says. “You know, we have this storeroom right next door,” he adds, showing me. “I could knock through, add a few more stalls, and then have a kind of lounge area with mirrors and seating.”
“Like a retro boudoir feel!” I exclaim. “That would be amazing. And maybe lighten up the color scheme, too,” I add. “This is all very cozy, but you can’t really see your reflection, it’s so dim.”
He nods again.
“This is really helpful,” Flynn says, clearly surprised. Then, to Charlie, “I hope you’re paying her a consultant’s fee.”
He gives me a smile. “I’ll make sure she’s properly compensated,” he says, giving me a wink, and I go warm thinking about just what he has in mind.
Flynn goes to take a call, leaving us alone. “I hope my suggestions are OK,” I say, knowing this place is his pride and joy—and how defensive some guys can get.
But Charlie slips his arms around me, relaxed. “I think your ideas are really smart. I can’t believe I didn’t think of this stuff myself.”
“Well, that’s because you haven’t suffered through a hundred nights out with nowhere to hang your purse, waiting in an endless bathroom line,” I reply, smiling.
He drops a kiss to my lips, light and sizzling, and I sink into his arms happily.
Then my phone buzzes in my bag. “New York area code,” I say, pulling it out. “It could be about a job application.”
“Good luck.” Charlie kisses me again, then retreats to join Flynn in the back.
“Grace Sommerville speaking,” I answer, trying to sound professional.
“Katherine Vanderberg,” the voice announces, and my eyes go wide. The fabulously chic woman from the boat party! I gave her one of my business cards, but I never expected her to actually call.
“I’m calling in regard to your concierge service,” she says, with a formal style that makes me picture her twinset and pearls. “I have several needs which likely fall under the umbrella of your business, so I thought I’d reach out.”
“Of course!” I blurt, even though my business is basically non-existent. “I’d be happy to discuss, and see how I might, uh, be of service.”
“Wonderful,” she says. “So, you’ll stop by my apartment and pitch your services? I have an opening in my afternoon schedule. Today.”
“Today,” I repeat.
“Unless you’re very busy,” Katherine says, with a bit of edge. No one wants a luxury concierge to be too busy for them, even on short notice.
“Of course not,” I say, though my heart is in my throat. “I’d be happy to.” What am I going to do—say no to this woman? I don’t think anyone would dare.
Katherine rattles off her details, and then hangs up. I stare down at my phone like I’ve never seen the device in my life.
What the hell did I just agree to?
“Good news?” Charlie asks, rejoining me.
“No!” I cry. “Katherine Vanderberg just called. She wants me to go pitch her my concierge offerings, like… Today.”
“Great!” Charlie says, beaming proudly. “I knew she’d be interested.”
“Not great!” I cry, flinging up my hands. “I’m not ready to pitch my services!” I yelp, panicking. “I don’t even know what services I’d be pitching. Shouldn’t I at least have… I don’t know, a Powerpoint?”
“You don’t need it,” Charlie laughs. He puts his hands on my shoulders, reassuring. “You’ve got all the experience you need—your network, your ability to think on your feet.”
Right now, my ability to think is mostly a small cyclone of panic.
