Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
By six-thirty, Felicity and Jade were on their hands and knees in the ballroom, armed with industrial-strength cleaning solution and scrub brushes usually reserved for garage floors.
Jade wore old jeans, and a faded sweatshirt, Felicity in leggings and an oversized flannel.
They looked like they were about to demo a house, not save a gala.
“I forgot how gross old buildings get,” Jade said, attacking a stubborn stain.
“Think of it as vintage patina,” Felicity offered.
“I’m thinking of it as a health code violation.”
Heavy boots echoed from the exterior door. Leo arrived with his equipment—industrial heaters on dollies, work lights, tools that would transform the frozen ballroom into something habitable.
Grant appeared moments later, having changed into dark jeans and a gray button-down with rolled sleeves. He carried his clipboard.
“Mr. Carter,” Grant said to Leo, who was testing an outlet. “I’d like to understand the installation process. For documentation.”
Leo didn’t look up. “Just Leo, please. You want to follow me around with that clipboard, be my guest.”
“I prefer ‘observe and verify.’”
Leo just grunted and moved to the next outlet, Grant trailing after him.
Felicity and Jade exchanged a glance, trying not to smile.
They’d been working for about twenty minutes when soft footsteps echoed down the corridor.
Meena appeared in the doorway wearing designer leggings with mesh panels, a fitted tank top, gleaming white sneakers. Her hair was in a sleek ponytail, and she carried unopened cleaning gloves.
Felicity and Jade both froze, staring.
“Room for one more?” Meena asked brightly.
“Meena?” Felicity scrambled to her feet. “What are you doing here?”
“Helping.” Meena surveyed the dusty space.
“I just tucked my grandfather into bed at Pine Ridge Manor, and what else is there to do in this one-reindeer town on a Friday night?” She pulled on the gloves with a snap.
“Besides, I’m as invested in this gala’s success as everyone else.
Maybe more. And I know you could use an extra pair of hands. ”
Jade glanced at Felicity with raised eyebrows. They’d been expecting corporate Meena—clipboard-wielding, stay-clean-and-delegate Meena.
This was different.
“You’re going to get dirty,” Felicity warned.
Meena looked at her pristine outfit, then grinned. “Good. These leggings cost two hundred dollars. Time to see if they’re worth it.” She dropped to her knees and grabbed a brush. “So where do we start? And please tell me someone ordered pizza.”
“Should be here in thirty minutes,” Grant called from across the room.
“Perfect.” Meena started scrubbing with surprising vigor. “Corporate said I should ‘engage with grassroots execution.’ Is this grassroots enough?”
From across the ballroom: “Mr. Whitaker, the heater won’t explode if you stop watching it.”
“I’m concerned about proper ventilation clearance.”
“It’s code-compliant.”
A long-suffering sigh from Leo.
Meena glanced over, then back at them, suppressing laughter. “Is he always like this?”
“Always,” Felicity and Jade said in unison.
They worked in comfortable silence for a few minutes before Jade spoke. “Meena, when Felicity first told me about you, I pictured someone who only communicated through Excel spreadsheets.”
“Oh, I do that too,” Meena said cheerfully. “But corporate strategists are also capable of manual labor. We just prefer not to advertise it.” She paused. “Though I’ll admit, this is more fun than my usual Friday routine.”
“Which is?” Felicity asked.
“Conference calls with the West Coast, a boring salad, and staring at data until my eyes cross.” Meena made a face. “Which is why when Grant told me this was going on, I may have been too eager to escape my hotel room.” She sat back.
After another ten minutes, Jade straightened. “So, Meena. Real talk. What’s the deal with Mr. Whitaker? Is he always so uptight? Rigid? Emotionally constipated?”
Meena laughed. “Excellent descriptors. But he wasn’t always quite this bad. In college, he was still serious, but he had this dry humor that would sneak up on you.”
“You went to college together?” Felicity leaned in.
“Cornell. Same business program.” Meena’s eyes sparkled.
“There was this spring formal our junior year. Someone spiked the punch, and Grant didn’t notice until he’d had three glasses.
He gave this impromptu speech—standing on a chair—about the fiscal irresponsibility of the DJ’s playlist choices.
Cited sources. Was passionate about budget allocation at a college dance. ”
Felicity laughed despite herself. “He did not.”
“He absolutely did. It was the most hilariously earnest thing ever. Everyone was cracking up, but he was dead serious.” Meena smiled. “That’s Grant—even drunk, he’s giving TED talks about financial planning. He was mortified the next day, of course.”
Felicity looked across at Grant, trying to imagine him standing on a chair, slightly drunk, lecturing about music licensing.
“Underneath all that starch,” Meena said softly, “there’s someone who cares deeply. He just doesn’t know how to show it without a spreadsheet.”
The words settled in Felicity’s chest, warm and clarifying.
“So you two stayed friends after college?” Jade asked. “That’s rare.”
“Mostly,” Meena said, her expression shifting, becoming more guarded. “We kept in touch, saw each other at alumni events, that sort of thing. But then, a few years ago, he started dating Victoria Hale.” She paused, her scrubbing slowing.
Felicity felt her stomach twist. “What happened?”
“Victoria never understood that Grant and I were just friends. She’s territorial.
Made comments about how I was ‘undermining’ their relationship.
” Meena looked at Grant across the room.
“But the real problem was Vermont. She couldn’t understand why he wanted to stay here.
Small-town banking is ‘beneath him’ according to her. ”
“What did Grant say?” Felicity asked quietly.
“Nothing, for a long time. But then his father died. Heart attack—one day fine, the next gone. Grant took over the branch, and now he feels it’s his responsibility to stay.”
“And Victoria?”
Meena shrugged. “She likes the big-city life. I think she gave him an ultimatum, but I’m not sure exactly what is going on. Grant is rather tight-lipped about it.”
Felicity tried to picture Victoria—polished, professional, serious. Everything Felicity wasn’t. The kind of woman who never showed up anywhere with glitter in her hair.
The kind of woman Grant had loved.
Meena was watching with sharp eyes. “Victoria was wrong about a lot of things, but especially about what Grant needed. She thought he needed someone pulling him toward ambition and prestige.” She paused, glancing at Grant.
“I think he needs someone who reminds him why he stayed. Someone who makes him remember that this life—it’s not settling. It’s choosing what matters.”
The words carried too much weight. Felicity felt her cheeks warm.
“Anyway,” Meena said briskly. “That’s the Grant Whitaker backstory. He’s a good guy who’s been hurt and deals with it by controlling everything. Maladaptive and exhausting, but it comes from a real place.”
Movement outside the window caught their attention. A woman stood on the sidewalk, glancing in.
“Who’s that?” Meena asked.
“That's Cecily Glick," Jade said, her voice flat. “Town building code inspector.”
"She looks like she wants to join us," Meena observed.
Felicity let out a short laugh. "Hardly. Cecily tried to put Jade out of business. She’s probably scouring the place for code violations.”
"Ah." Meena's expression cooled. "One of those."
Cecily seemed to realize she'd been spotted. She straightened, gave an awkward wave, and hurried away.
"That's actually a good reminder though," Felicity said, standing and brushing off her knees. "I need to get those drapes up by Monday. Can't have people peeking in before the big reveal."
"Heavy drapes?" Jade asked.
"White silk panels I ordered. They'll cover the windows, provide insulation, and keep the ballroom a complete mystery until gala night."
"Ooh, I love a good reveal," Meena said, going back to her scrubbing with renewed energy.
Before anyone could say more, heavy footsteps interrupted. Brice stood in the doorway holding coils of extension cord.
“Delivery,” he said. His gaze swept the room, taking in the three women and their progress. Something flickered in his eyes. “Where do you want these?”
Meena scrambled up. “Mr. Matthews. I wasn’t expecting additional deliveries.”
“Leo said you’d need them for the work lights tomorrow.” His gaze traveled deliberately over her dirt-streaked designer outfit. “Didn’t know you did manual labor.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
“Clearly.” He looked past her. “Carter, where do you want these?”
“Near the stage,” Leo called.
Brice crossed the room with unhurried confidence, set down the cords, then straightened in a way that made his flannel pull tight across his shoulders.
At the doorway, Brice paused and squinted at Meena. “You got dirt on your face.”
Meena reached up. “Where?”
“Other side. Higher. Your left.”
She found it, wiping her cheekbone. “Better?”
“Better.” He nodded to the room. “Place is looking good. Keep it up.”
Then, he was gone.
The silence was heavy.
“That was weird,” Felicity said.
“He came all the way here on a Friday night to deliver extension cords?” Meena asked.
“Probably heard we might have pizza.”
By nine o’clock, they’d made remarkable progress. The floor was clean, the walls wiped down, and all four heaters were running, filling the space with warmth. The pizza had arrived around seven-thirty, and they’d demolished three pies while sitting on the floor, laughing and sharing stories.
Now, packing up supplies, Felicity felt bone-deep exhaustion mixed with pride.
“We did it,” she said. “It’s a start.”
“It’s more than a start,” Meena said, taking photos. “This is going to be stunning.”
Grant joined them, clipboard under one arm, a smudge of dust on his collar. “The heaters will run continuously. Leo estimates optimal temperature within seventy-two hours.”
“You’re in your element,” Felicity teased. “Recording. Documenting.”
“Someone has to maintain standards,” he said, with the barest hint of humor.
By nine-thirty, they were packing up. Leo did a final check on the heaters while Jade and Meena gathered cleaning supplies.
“Same time Monday?” Felicity asked, making notes in her planner.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Meena said, looking at her ruined two-hundred-dollar leggings with surprising satisfaction.
“I’ll bring more scrub brushes,” Jade added. “And maybe kneepads.”
They headed out together into the cold December night, leaving Grant to lock up. Through the exterior door, Felicity could hear the steady hum of the heaters—the sound of progress, of a space coming back to life.
Twelve days until the Gala.