4. Confetti Cannons, Chemistry, and Karma #2
Her eyes flashed at the challenge. “It’s not simple, but it’s not brain surgery. It’s storytelling, vision, and logistics, and I excel at all three.”
I hesitated. There was something relentless about her, but also something honest. It made me want to ask more questions, just to see where her answers would lead.
I checked my list and saw a question I was very invested in. “With your skills, you could work anywhere, why do you want to work for us?”
She didn’t give the fake answers. I admire your family, I love your mission, I want to help the community.
Instead, she said, “Before applying, I did my due diligence to make sure this was an environment I would thrive in and could bring something to the table. You have a luxury ranch, a vineyard, a spa, and enough picturesque scenery to make a Hallmark producer hyperventilate. I can think of a dozen ways to sell that which aren’t weddings or corporate events.
” A grin tilted on her perfect, full lips. “And the commute wouldn’t suck.”
The corners of my mouth twitched at her mention of living next door, but I held my composure.
I tapped my pen on the table, then started in on the scenario exercises.
“A drunk groom-to-be decides, forty-eight hours before the wedding, that he wants a full-scale fireworks show. The county requires at least five business days’ notice for permits and fire marshal approval.
The client threatens to cancel unless you deliver. What do you do?”
Her response was immediate, no thinking, no hesitation.
“Honestly, if I have a relationship with the groom’s family, or whoever he was closest to, I’d call them to explain the situation and see if he could be talked out of it.
If that fails, I find a way to get a permit expedited—call in a favor, sweet-talk the clerk, whatever it takes.
If that fails, I rent a confetti cannon and sell him on how much fun it is to cover his guests and new in-laws in glitter.
If that failed, I would look into the logistics of a laser show.
The point isn’t to say yes or no, it’s to manage expectations while keeping the client happy and the ranch safe. ”
I presented a second scenario, one God himself would have difficulty handling.
“Saturday. Two hundred guests. Outdoor wedding. Ceremony starts at five. At three-thirty, a thunderstorm rolls in. The bride refuses to move the ceremony indoors because she’s dreamed of getting married beneath the cottonwoods since she was twelve.
The groom’s mother is threatening to leave because her ex-husband brought his twenty-five-year-old girlfriend.
The florist is stuck forty miles away with a flat tire.
One of the groomsmen has already gotten into the whiskey, and somebody’s kid just released the bride’s doves two hours early. ”
Her expression doesn’t change.
“You have ninety minutes. What do you do?”
She asked a follow-up. “Do I have staff?”
“You have me.” The second I said the words, I realized how they sounded and feared it was a Freudian slip.
Her eyes narrowed slightly, and she teased, “That feels less like help and more like an additional complication.”
One corner of my mouth twitched. I liked that she was giving me a little shit.
“Eighty-nine minutes,” I counted down.
“Fine.” Her eyes twinkled with delight as if she loved this. “First, I get the bride a drink.”
My brows lifted.
“Next, I check the weather reports and establish a hard safety cutoff, quietly separate the warring parents and enlist a bridesmaid to help keep the mother of the bride distracted and heard, raid the ranch/vineyard/gardens for emergency florals, put coffee and food into the drunk groomsman, delegate the dove problem to someone who has no other useful skills, and create a covered backup ceremony that still gives the bride the romantic aesthetic she wanted without endangering her guests.” She took a breath.
“The bride doesn’t need to know there were seventeen disasters.
She needs to remember that she had the best day of her life.
My job is making sure those are the same day. ”
It was the best answer I’d ever heard in an interview, and that fact annoyed me as much as it impressed me.
I held Felicity’s gaze a moment longer, waiting for her to blink or for her confidence break, but she just sat there, patient and luminous, making me feel like the more time I gave her, the more certain she became that I’d already decided to hire her.
It was impossible not to respect that kind of self-possession.
For the second time in recent memory, I was at a loss for words. The first was leaving Felicity’s house the night before. So I defaulted to procedure. “If we select you, it’s a ninety-day trial. No guarantees.”
She nodded, eyes twinkling. “I’ll try to contain my excitement.”
I rose, extending my hand. “And I’ll need a full proposal by the end of the week.”
She stood at the same time, not bothering to accept my handshake.
Instead, she met me at the edge of the table and, with a tilt of her head, offered a parting volley, “Just out of curiosity, do you plan on showing up at all the applicants’ homes unannounced the day before the interview, or am I special? ”
Was she flirting? No. That had to be me projecting.
“For the record, charm and a quick wit do not balance a budget.”
She matched my tone perfectly as she shot back, “And spreadsheets don’t make guests fall in love with your ranch.”
I stood there like an idiot, completely put in my place, while karma laughed at my expense.
Because of course this was happening. Of course, the one woman I couldn’t stop thinking about was also brilliant, funny, creative, and was now going to show up every day at the one place I’d always considered my safe haven.
Not only that, I was going to be paying for the privilege of having my world turned upside down and inside out.
This was going to be a problem.