Chapter 16
VICTORIA
The salad was depressing. It wasn’t one of those fancy ones with fresh meats and the crunchy croutons. It was a basic bitch salad. Lettuce, chicken that could double as those rubber nuggets on playgrounds, and cheese that was dry enough to be used as tinder.
But it was food and I was hungry.
I stabbed a tomato with my fork and scrolled through my phone with my free hand. Betty had forwarded me three emails about the upcoming gala planning timeline. I needed to respond to all of them. I needed to call vendors back. I still needed to draft a thank-you letter to Chantilly.
I was trying to figure out how to word that particular letter.
I had looked up her Instagram and felt relieved and a little less guilty when I discovered she was still somewhere in the Mediterranean on her boyfriend’s yacht.
She’d been posting photos of herself every five minutes, including delicious meals.
It made my shitty salad taste just a little worse.
I stabbed a piece of chicken, cringed, but popped it in my mouth.
The breakroom was empty. Most of the other staff ate at their desks or went out in groups to the sandwich place two blocks over.
I appreciated the quiet and chose to ignore the acrid scent of burnt popcorn.
There should be a law against using a community microwave to cook popcorn.
It always burned and the smell never really went away.
The door swung open. I glanced up, chewing a chunk of lettuce, and froze.
Callum Blackwell was standing in the doorway holding a large paper bag in each hand. He was wearing dark jeans and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow. My eyes were drawn to his forearms.
He looked around the small room with its plastic chairs and its bulletin board covered in outdated flyers.
“What are you doing here?” I asked. I was so confused.
“I wanted to see you.”
I blinked. “Oh. You could have texted. Called.”
“And ruin the surprise?” He set both bags down on the table across from me and started unpacking them like he owned the place.
I watched him pull out white containers, one after another, arranging them in a row. The smell hit me first. I set my fork down.
“Is that sushi?”
“From Nobu.” He kept unpacking. More containers. A container of miso soup. What looked like edamame. “I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I got a selection.”
“A selection,” I repeated, looking at the spread in front of me. It was enough food for four people. “This is a lot of sushi, Callum.”
“Eat what you want and take the rest home.” He glanced at my sad salad still sitting in front of me and then picked it up and moved it to the counter behind him.
“Hey,” I said. “That was my lunch.”
“No, it wasn’t.” He sat down across from me and started opening containers. “A rabbit wouldn’t even eat that.”
I opened my mouth to argue and then closed it because he wasn’t wrong. He pushed a container toward me and I looked down at a perfect arrangement of salmon nigiri.
I picked up a piece and ate it. It was extraordinary. Of course it was. It was Nobu. I’d eaten at places like Nobu for most of my life without thinking twice about it, but that had been years ago.
“This is really good,” I said, reaching for another piece.
“I know.”
I ate more salmon and tried not to show how much I appreciated it. He was helping himself to what appeared to be a spicy tuna roll. It was strange but in the best way. Sharing meals was getting very easy with him.
I couldn’t remember the last time someone had brought me lunch. Not just suggested we grab something. Someone who thought about what I might like and showed up with it.
I set down my chopsticks. “I appreciate this,” I said. “Genuinely. The sushi is incredible. Thank you.” I looked at him across the table. “But is there a reason you showed up like this? Because I have a feeling this isn’t entirely about feeding me.”
He reached for a napkin and wiped his mouth. And then he smiled. I had to fight the urge to pull my clothes off right there in the breakroom. I wanted to feel him inside me again.
“I need your help with something,” he said.
“Okay.”
“The store opening.” He reached for a spring roll. “We’re planning a launch event to generate buzz. Something big enough to get people talking before the doors even open. I saw what you did with the auction. I want that kind of energy and excitement. The buzz.”
I was a little disappointed he didn’t show up because he wanted to see me. “I didn’t really do anything,” I said.
“I want you to help me,” he said.
“I’m flattered. Really. But I don’t plan just any big event, Callum. I work here. Specifically here, for this charity, doing fundraising events to raise money for children’s hospitals. Not to sell wedding dresses.”
“I know that but I’m not asking you to plan a marketing event. I want to make it a charity event.”
I stopped with a piece of yellowtail halfway to my mouth. “Say more.”
“My aunt in New York started a foundation to feed hungry kids,” he said. “After my uncle’s passing, she’s been pouring her time and energy into the foundation. It’s the thing that gets her out of bed every morning.”
“What is it?” I asked.
“It’s focused on food insecurity in kids.
School-age children who go home on Friday and don’t eat again until Monday morning when school provides meals.
” I could see the pride in his eyes. “It’s a real problem and she’s been doing a lot of work, but she doesn’t have the kind of reach she needs to make the impact she’s capable of. ”
“Okay,” I said.
“I want to bundle the store opening with a fundraiser for her foundation. I haven’t talked to her about it yet.” He held my gaze. “I wanted to come to you first. Talk it through. See if it’s a viable idea or if I’m about to embarrass myself by proposing something that would never actually work.”
It wasn’t a bad idea. In fact, it was a pretty good one.
A high-profile luxury brand launch attached to a children’s charity was gold.
The fashion press covered the store. The philanthropic press covered the foundation.
You doubled your reach and your goodwill in one evening.
Guests who came for the clothes left feeling like they’d done something worthwhile.
Donors who came for the cause got to feel glamorous while they did it.
It worked in theory. Whether it worked in practice depended entirely on execution.
“Tell me about the foundation,” I said. “What’s it called, how is it structured, how many people does it serve annually?”
He pulled out his phone and slid it across the table. There was a website pulled up. I scanned it while he talked. It was real and I really liked what they were doing. We could definitely use something like that in LA.
I scrolled through the website. There were photos of kids lined up at food pantries, smiling teachers holding bags of groceries, a grandmother with her hands clasped together looking relieved. The kind of images that made people want to open their wallets.
I handed the phone back to him. “Okay,” I said.
He looked up. “Okay?”
“I mean it’s viable. It’s actually more than viable.
” I reached for the last piece of salmon and ate it while I thought through the logistics.
“The key is making sure neither element overshadows the other. The charity can’t feel like a footnote to the party, and the party can’t feel like a hostage situation where people are guilted into donating before they’re allowed to look at the dresses.
” I picked up a napkin and wiped my fingers.
“It has to feel organic. Like both things belong in the same room.”
“Can you make that happen?”
I looked at him across the table. “We can talk through some ideas. That’s all I’m committing to right now. I have a job, Callum. A full-time one. I can’t just go moonlighting as an event planner for a fashion house.”
“I’m asking you to consult. Share your expertise. Help me make sure the charitable component is handled properly and doesn’t just feel like a PR stunt.”
“There’s a fine line between those two things.”
“Which is exactly why I need someone who knows the difference.”
I did know the difference. That was the problem. He was appealing directly to the part of me that couldn’t walk away from something worth doing. He probably knew that too.
The breakroom door swung open. Betty looked from me to Callum. The surprise on her face said it all. “Am I interrupting something?” she asked.
I opened my mouth but I had no words. I didn’t know what to say.
Callum got to his feet. “Callum Blackwell. You must be Betty. We never got a chance to properly meet at the auction.” He shook her hand and flashed a charming smile. “Victoria speaks very highly of you.”
Betty shook his hand. “It’s a pleasure,” she said, her voice pleasantly neutral. “What brings you by?”
“I’m hoping to borrow a little of Victoria’s expertise,” he said. “Just a little consulting.”
Betty looked at me. I shrugged.
Callum nodded at me. “I’ll be in touch.”
And then he was gone. He left behind the rest of the sushi. Betty watched him go and then took the seat he just vacated. “Tell me everything.”