Chapter 8
Mia
Venue Selection
I’m spending far too much time working on the inclusive park fundraiser, but after meeting Nora and Madison, there’s a fire in my belly to make this the most successful fundraiser possible. Raise a million dollars? No problem! But why don’t we shoot for two million? I’ve been reading about the cost of specialized park equipment and our one-million-dollar goal may not be enough money to cover all the apparatus.
A quick review of the project spreadsheet reminds me that Otto and I still need to visit venues and select one. Frankly, we’re behind schedule in doing this. I check his calendar and bring up my email to send him a message suggesting a few times for our visits. His email with the subject line “Silent Auction Donations” catches my eye, so I read it.
Ugh! I’m happy that Levi has donated a signed jersey, but Otto sure loves to gloat. His ego is bigger than the Stanley Cup parade. Peeved over Otto’s braggy email, I pen a reply in the heat of the moment.
Subject: Fundraising Venue Selection
Dear Mr. Stagmeier,
First let me congratulate you on obtaining the signed Nyberg jersey. Although, I would characterize that achievement as taking a shot at an open net.
We need to make our venue selection as soon as possible. I’d like to visit three locations. I checked your calendar as requested and these times should work. Simply reply with yes or suggest another time.
- Wednesday at 3pm – Marriott Grand Marquis
- Thursday at Noon – Arcadia Botanical Gardens
- Friday at 11am – Four Seasons South
Regards,
Mia
After pressing Send, remorse sets in. Why did I feel compelled to minimize Otto’s achievement of acquiring one of Levi’s signed jerseys for the silent auction? I could have just said thank you and moved on. I wish that I could retract my snarky comment, but it’s too late.
Frankly, I’m embarrassed by the paltry gift cards I’ve procured thus far. It’s much more difficult than I expected to talk business owners into giving a silent auction donation, especially one that will garner high bids. They gripe about the economy and how it’s impacting their business, or they give me the brush off with the line, “Every Tom, Dick, and Harry asks me to donate to their cause,” followed by Click! Unfortunately, the two twenty-five-dollar gift cards to Sammy’s Burgers won’t bring in the big bucks.
I vow to be extra accommodating during the venue selection trips. I’m going to listen to Otto’s input with an open mind rather than immediately dismissing his comments. Maybe I’ll even treat the guy to a meal.
~*~
Otto replies promptly and we’re scheduled to tour the Marriott Grand Marquis today at three. He didn’t say a peep about my sarcastic comment. In fact, his email was terse to the point of being disappointing. All he said in his reply was “Yes” without any mention of Floyd. Why did he follow my instructions to a T? It occurs to me that I look forward to his witty emails and his teasing remarks about pigeons, so this was a big letdown.
I’m working at the bakery until two-thirty, so we agreed to meet at the venue. He’s coming from hockey practice on the other side of town and the Marriott is in the city center area halfway between both of us. I would have preferred to discuss our strategy for the venue interview with Otto on the drive over, but I guess we’ll just wing it.
The city center is surprisingly busy for this time of day. Rather than drive around looking for a parking spot, I pull into the Marriott’s attached parking garage with only five minutes to spare. My heels click noisily on the concrete as I dash into the hotel. I’m breathless and a bit disheveled when I finally reach the grand ballroom where our meeting is to take place. Straightening my jacket and smoothing down my skirt, I march through the double doors. Otto is already here and engaged in a discussion with Ms. Henderson. From my phone conversation, I made the assumption that Ms. Henderson was a fiftyish woman, possibly a little frumpy, with gray hair and thick ankles. Wrong.
“Sorry I’m a few minutes late!” I say as I stride over to the pair. “I didn’t expect all this traffic in the middle of the day.”
Both pairs of eyes swivel towards me. Otto is rocking another business suit that makes me more breathless than when I arrived. Ignoring the tingles I feel in his presence, I focus my eyes on the Marriott’s event coordinator—who, to my surprise, is several years younger than me. She looks like she just stepped out of a fashion magazine, from her stylish eye-popping purple dress down to her sky-high heels. Standing beside her, I look downright plain in my prim and proper business suit. As I compare myself to her, I can’t help but feel grumpy, old, and dowdy.
“I’m Felice Bettencourt. Ms. Henderson has been delayed and won’t be joining us,” the young woman says as she extends her hand, and we shake. She tosses Otto a flirty look. “Otto has been gracious enough to describe your fundraiser. It’s such a worthy cause!” she gushes, as she speaks directly to him.
Did she just bat her eyelashes?
I open my mouth to respond, but Felice keeps going, as if I don’t exist. Pointing to Otto, she says, “Shall we take a tour of the facility and all it has to offer? Please follow me.” Her hips sashay, emphasized by the tight skirt on her form-fitting dress, as she leads us to the back of the ballroom. I’ve never had a bout of jealousy before but maybe that’s because I’ve never been attracted to anyone before. Darn Otto and his good looks! He’s a chick magnet in every sense of the word. I grit my teeth, shore up my feelings and school my expression. Otto and I have a professional relationship and nothing else, I remind myself.
We enter the spotless commercial kitchen and Felice explains how the caterer can bring in the food or prepare it onsite. The kitchen is impressive, and they certainly have all the necessary equipment.
“Have you selected a caterer yet?” Felice asks after showing us the four double-door, side-by-side commercial refrigerators.
“We haven’t,” I reply.
Her eyebrows arch, emphasizing the thick brow outline created by using dark brown brow gel. They look like caterpillars as they inch towards her bangs. “Oh my! Eight weeks is not that far away, many of the caterers will be booked.”
A scowl fills my face. My attitude turns even grumpier, and her implied criticism makes me feel like the worst project manager in the world.
“We were just assigned this project a few days ago,” Otto says smoothly. I appreciate his supportive comment, but it doesn’t change the fact that we need to get the venue and caterer booked ASAP.
Felice nods. “Would you like me to recommend several caterers that are familiar with our facility?” She directs the question at Otto, but he gestures towards me.
“Mia, what do you think? Did you have a caterer in mind, or shall we look over Miss Bettencourt’s list?”
Apparently, the blatant flirting is one-sided. The little green monster inside me stands down.
I toss Otto a thankful grin, then reply. “Yes, Miss Bettencourt, please email us your list. That’s very generous of you.”
Our use of her formal address takes the wind out of Miss Bettencourt’s flirting. She remains professional for the rest of the tour, even showing us table linens selections and giving me a sheet with tiny swatches that show the various colors and textures we can choose from.
“These match the colors in the invitation,” Otto points out.
Smiling, I nod in agreement, even though I thought we’d just go with traditional white, but maybe I’ve been narrow minded. Colors that match our theme could be fun. It’s good that Otto is on this project, otherwise everything would be black and white. Literally.
“Thank you for your time, Miss Bettencourt. We’ll get back to you with our decision by the end of the week,” I say as we reconvene in the lobby.
“It was my pleasure. I hope to hear back from you,” she says, throwing Otto another smile as she saunters off down the hall.
“What did you think of this venue?” Otto asks after Miss Bettencourt is out of sight. He gestures towards two stuffed chairs in the lobby, so we take a seat.
“The ballroom is huge, plenty of room for the dance floor and to tastefully display the silent auction items,” I reply.
“I thought the kitchen was very impressive,” Otto adds.
“With their vast selection of table linens, we can make the ballroom look fun and playful as a take-off of our theme and your design,” I say.
Otto grins. “That’s a lot of praise. What are you thinking, Mia? Just come out and say it,” he teases.
“With our tight schedule, do you think it’s worth our time to tour any other venues?” I ask.
Laughing, Otto says, “I’m relieved you said that! I was afraid you’d want to do extensive research and tour all the potential sites.”
My reputation for doing extensive research obviously precedes me. “This time I’m happy to make the selection after touring this site. I think we’ve found our venue.”
He stands and pulls me to my feet, our eyes lock, and we stare at each other for several long beats. His eyes focus on my lips, and he starts to lean towards me. Time stands still as I wait for what’s coming next, my heartrate skyrocketing in my chest.
“Oh! I’m so glad that I caught you!” Miss Bettencourt shouts as she approaches us.
My heart sinks at the interruption. Was he going to kiss me?
“We just received word that another client is interested in the same date as your gala,” she says in a breathless voice. “Because you expressed interest first, we can reserve the date for you, but only if you can make the decision right now.”
This feels a bit like a high-pressure salesman tactic, but since we already decided on the Marriott, I don’t pushback.
“We’d love to book our date right now,” I say.
She claps her hands, delight shining on her face. “Excellent,” she says while looking directly at Otto. “Follow me and we’ll complete the paperwork.”
“I have another appointment, so I can’t join you,” Otto replies.
Miss Bettencourt’s smile slips a bit.
It occurs to me that Otto is making up an excuse, but maybe I’m reading the tea leaves wrong.
“I’ll complete the paperwork and email you a copy,” I say to Otto. He nods and strides off. So much for my plan to take him out to dinner.
“My office is just down the hall,” Miss Bettencourt says.
I follow her in silence, wondering whether Otto was really going to kiss me or was it my imagination. How do I encourage him to follow through next time?