Chapter Thirty-Two
This is an appropriate amount of fangirling over Frank, I would say.
Elodie
Remember the good ole days when Ruby and Will’s wedding was a whole two months away?
When we had loads of time to plan, find outfits, do fittings, and schedule in all the DIYs that Will wanted?
When I wasn’t sitting at a desk in Frank’s office at Whirlwind Branding, frantically answering emails because, despite the fact that they’re getting married in a freaking elevator , organizing this thing has been less than chill.
To the point that I sent out an SOS PLEASE HELP ME email this morning to the entire bridal party, to which Frank replied saying she could ignore her deadlines if Liam would get me a visitor pass for the building for the day, to which Liam replied with a simple, “She has access to Graphics, Finance, the conference floor the reception is being held on, and my personal floor until after the wedding.”
One hour later I was experiencing the elevator, standing within the walls where my bestie committed many inappropriate-for-work acts on my way to the graphics department, where Frank greeted me with an “I ordered us coffee. Come quick before Liam changes his mind and makes me do”—she shuddered—“ work. ”
Since then, we’ve emailed the DJ. We’ve emailed Brian, who coordinates the party planning in the building, apparently, and can get us conference rooms for the reception, as requested by the bride and groom.
We’ve emailed Roman, whose only reply was a string of question marks followed by, “I’m not emailing you.
We can talk at home.” We’ve also emailed need-to-know clients to let them know that Whirlwind Branding will be closed during the hours of the wedding and reception.
If they think it’s weird that the head of the graphics department and some random girl off the street are keeping them abreast of closings, they’ve thankfully kept their skepticism to themselves.
“I think this is it,” Frank sighs. “The final email. The last one. Finite. Fainaru. Done, done, done.”
“I’m so jealous,” I groan. “I have two more. The HR department wanting to organize a song at the reception for Ruby and Will, and the DJ, who doesn’t seem to understand that line dances are not going to work in the multi-room reception we’re going to have, on account of the walls and all.”
Frank sighs again, longer. “Forward the DJ to me,” she says. “HR… we’re not exactly on the best of terms.”
I blink. “HR doesn’t like you? You ?”
“I know. It’s inconceivable. And yet… you call Michael a baby one time , and suddenly you’re persona non grata in their offices.” She tosses a hand through the air. “Ridiculous.”
“They’re not getting a song,” I declare. “No one who is rude to beautiful, perfect, angel Frank gets a song. Are they kidding me?”
Frank grins. “I like you. You can stick around.”
My fatigue lifts away on the wings of her approval, my back straightening as I beam. “Like glue!”
I forward her the email from the DJ, practicing my delegation skills by not insisting that it’s totally fine!
or I can just do it! The new and improved Elodie asks for help and then accepts it when it is offered.
She does not let the weight of life crush her, because she has her friends there to help lift it up.
The new and improved Elodie rocks .
“What’s left on the agenda?” Frank asks once we’ve both closed out of our emails for the day. I check my list.
“We’ve done emails, which was the biggest thing, and now we have… oh. I wanted to see if Liam would be okay with me seeing where everything would be day of? Obviously I’ve seen the elevator now, but the reception space is still a mystery to me.”
“No need to involve Liam,” Frank says, rising from her desk with a stretch. “I’ll take you to the conference rooms. I think Brian wanted to use the ones one floor down. That’s where the big ones are.”
I follow her lead out of her office and through the graphics floor, marveling at the attention she does—and doesn’t—get.
Many of her underlings ignore her completely, so wrapped up in their art that they would let a goddess walk by without notice.
Other heads are turned the moment she steps out of her office, awe overtaking their faces as she walks past. These ones…
these ones I understand. She’s magnificent, a sight to behold, a force to be reckoned with.
I am all shock that there’s not a shrine to her in a corner somewhere. Perhaps it’s just out of sight…
“If there were to be a shrine in this building, where would it be?” I ask as we step into the elevator. “Somewhere I have access to?”
She takes her glasses off to clean the round lenses with her shirt as she considers, head tilted to the ceiling. “Hmm… maybe in the basement. Brian’s domain. He’d totally condone a shrine on company property.”
This makes sense, yes. “Can we visit?” I ask. “I want to check something.”
Her glasses return to their perch above her cute, cute cheeks, and she eyes me. “I do not believe there to be any shrines in the basement at this time.”
“There could be, though? Perhaps a shrine to, oh, say, the resident graphic goddess?”
She snorts. “Unlikely.”
“If there isn’t, I’ll build one,” I promise. “I don’t suppose Norman would be interested in collaborating with me? He seems like a man who could build a killer shrine.”
“He is,” she confirms. “But is this place really worthy of a Frank shrine if they didn’t think to make one themselves?”
She’s not wrong, and yet… “I still think you should have one.” I pout.
She reaches up to pat the top of my head, squishing my curls. “There, there, little one. It will all be okay.”
“I’m several inches taller than you.”
“And several pounds lighter,” she counters. “It’s all relative.”
“You’ve got the sort of body they carve into statues to put in museums,” I sigh. “Norm’s a lucky man.”
Frank does not disagree.
A thought occurs to me. “Hey, you’re an artist…”
“No,” she answers. “Absolutely not.”
“But—”
“No.”
“But what if—”
“I will not be taking on the art of sculpture work in order to create a self-portrait for your shrine, girlie. I like you, and I want to keep you, but I don’t like you or want to keep you enough for that .”
I pout, just a little.
She pats my head again, and we start our slow elevator journey back to her floor. “You know, I’ve been so proud of you today.”
My jaw drops. “Sneak attack!”
She chuckles. “Maybe, yeah, but I’m being genuine.
Last time I saw you, you were drunk on mimosas and being crushed to death because you weren’t asking for help.
Now you’re not only asking for help, but accepting it, and I can see the difference it’s making in you.
You look like the sunshine Will’s always told me you are, whereas before you had a cloud blocking your light. ”
My chest aches bittersweet. I love that I’ve changed. I love that I’m counting on my friends. But I hate, hate, hate that I needed to change because I wasn’t counting on them in the first place—that I let a cloud eclipse my light.
“Promise me you’ll keep that cloud away, yeah?”
“Yes,” I promise. “No more clouds for me.”
“Good,” she says, reaching out to squeeze my hand. “Because I much prefer the sun.”
I squeeze her hand right back.
“Me, too, Frank. Me, too.”