Chapter 9 – Dominic
NINE
PARK CITY, UTAH
DOMINIC
When will the decorations at headquarters finally be complete?
Mindy
Today, sir.
You said that yesterday.
Mindy
Yes, well, as your “ride or die” (remember?) I can assure you that today is really the da.y
The team you hired is excited to show you the final result this morning.
After Georgia wowed everyone with her headquarters decor last year, I couldn’t risk not having the same experience this season.
I enter the main building and notice a single white tree in the lobby.
It’s a fifteen-foot-tall white spruce with glittering gold “Reiss” ornaments that apparently cost one hundred dollars each.
Before I can ask where the rest of the shit is, a man in a tuxedo appears and hands me a snowman lollipop.
“There you are, sir,” he says. “Thank you for hiring Prescott and Lane to bring in the holidays with your company this year.”
“Thank you for agreeing to it.”
He leads me down the treeless hallways. The only signs of the holidays are the sparse and sparkling snowflakes hanging from the ceiling.
“Okay, in one, two…” He pushes the doors open. “Three!
“What do you think, sir?”
“I think I’m in the wrong room.” I blink a few times. “At least, I better be in the wrong room.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t see what you charged me half a million dollars for.” I notice that half the room is empty. “Where is Santa’s secret shop? The elves making hot cocoa?”
The team exchanges confused glances.
“This looks like a group of high schoolers did it.”
“It does not.” He narrows his eyes. “You’ve got drones, a twenty foot snowscape, and a real-life train. If you want more trees and garland, we can add that, but this is Christmas, sir. This is the ‘Wow’ factor you asked for.”
I hold back a sigh. “I’ll have my assistant Mindy get back to you with some notes.”
They smile and continue telling me about all the things that are not here, and I feign interest until it’s time for them to leave.
When I reach my office, I push aside the endless interview requests and pull up Georgia’s Pinterest account.
She runs it like a personal blog, and I’ve followed it since she left, even purchasing a few things in the off-chance that she ever accepts the offer to come see me.
I’m scrolling through her “Things I Wish Me and My Mom Would’ve Done” board when my phone rings.
“There’s a manager from Cartier on line one, sir,” my receptionist says, “Should I send it through?”
“Go ahead.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Reiss,” a woman says, “I was reading the celebrity pages and I noticed you placed a few rings on hold here for you and your fiancée with a “better do right by me” note. Would you like me to have someone come show you these options in person for you to purchase?”
“Excuse me?”
“Amy Prescott, sir,” she says. “Don’t worry. We’re sworn to secrecy at my store.”
“Thank you.” I stand up from my desk. “I’ll be right there to handle that.”