27. Natalie
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
NATALIE
Noah poked his head into Natalie's office, waving a file folder. "Your four-thirty is waiting in reception. Shall I bring her back or would you like to go and greet her?"
"Otto said she asked for me by name, so she gets the full treatment. I'll escort her back. You know I have zero minutes in my schedule for this client, right? I’ve been on the phone dealing with Terrace Oak all day, trying to figure out who’s covering the cost of the musicians’ equipment.
And I still need to approve Hannah Hunt’s article. "
"Can’t think about Natalie & Co right now. You’re on Soiree time."
Natalie pushed away from her desk and pulled her jacket from the back of her chair. "It's Mrs. Everett, correct?"
Noah flipped open the folder and gave the contents a quick scan. "Yes. Mrs. Miranda Everett," he said with a heavy southern accent.
"Anniversary party?"
"No. A surprise party for her son and his fiancée. From what's been reported by a reliable source, Mrs. Everett comes from old Texas money. Very old in fact,” he emphasized.
"So, leave no design stone unturned?"
"Our yearly bonuses may very well depend on your artistic tenacity." He held the file out to her.
"Consider it done.” She snatched the folder from Noah’s hand. “This year, we're getting hella big checks."
Natalie walked down the hall to reception, mentally preparing her welcome speech and general small talk. When she rounded the corner, she stopped cold. A dead ringer for Helen Mirren, this potential client stood and flashed a prideful smile as she extended her hand.
"Hi there. I'm Miranda Everett and I believe you and I have a meeting."
The woman’s voice, however, the polar opposite of Dame Helen.
No, this woman spoke with a southern drawl, one as thick and sticky as a slice of honeycomb.
Every inch of her person screamed wealth.
The rock on her left hand rivaled the iceberg that brought down the Titanic.
It matched the boulder-size diamonds protruding from her earlobes.
But the handbag she carried truly took Natalie’s breath away.
On her arm hung a pink Birkin. Rory Gilmore’s Birkin.
She’d seen wealth in many forms over the course of her career, but never an actual Birkin bag in the flesh.
Of course, it coordinated beautifully with the colorful Hermès scarf tied around her neck.
Noah wasn’t kidding. Old Texas money indeed. Lots of it.
She shook the woman’s hand. “I’m Natalie Powell. It’s so nice to meet you, Mrs. Everett. If you’ll follow me …”
Miranda hesitated. “I’m not really the conference room type, hon. There’s a darling gent named Vonn who would love nothing more than to chauffeur us to Babette. Drinks and an early dinner? How does that sound?”
Babette?
There’s no way.
Even Otto can’t get a table at Babette, and he knows everyone in this town.
“It’ll be my treat … and our little secret,” Miranda whispered.
Noah appeared beside her and quick introductions were made. When Natalie excused herself to run back to her office for her purse, she motioned for Noah to follow. Behind her closed office door, she turned to him, her eyes wide.
“She wants us to talk business at Babette.”
Noah made a face. “Aw, poor Nat. Forced to have a meeting at the hottest restaurant in all of Chicago.”
“Don’t you think that’s a little odd though?” she asked.
“Based on her giant gemstones? No. The woman is a walking diamond mine. She’s probably got the Seven Dwarfs waiting in her limo. When a client’s this rich, we overlook odd.”
Natalie dropped her purse and planner into her leather tote. “So, whatever Mrs. Everett wants?”
“Mrs. Everett gets,” he said with a nod. “And who knows … maybe she’s the investor you’ve been waiting for.”
Natalie's eyes cruised the perimeter of the restaurant, taking in 360 degrees of opulence.
How had Mrs. Everett managed to score a table at the last minute?
Rumors swirled about a six-month waiting list for lunch alone.
Of course, the fact that they'd arrived via private car and driver gave her some indication.
Not to mention the thousands of dollars adorning her person.
"Despite my proper southern upbringing, I've never been a fan of the traditional. Sitting in an office is not the way I like to discuss business. I need ambiance and plenty of vodka. Are you sure you wouldn't like something from the bar?"
"I better not, seeing as how I'm technically still on the clock."
"Honey, your nine-to-five has come and gone. We've moved into girls' night out territory. Pleasure first, then business. Now, you strike me as a strong, independent woman. I bet you're a martini drinker."
"I do love a good dry martini."
Miranda reached and gave Natalie’s hand a squeeze, then signaled for the server. "Me too! I knew we were soulmates. I like mine with a slice of jalapeno, for an added kick."
Slice of jalapeno? No freaking way. Must be a Texas thing.
Natalie nursed her martini slowly, hoping to make it last throughout the entirety of their meal.
They kept to light topics. Mostly Natalie listened.
Mrs. Everett had led a fascinating life and shared a number of lively tales during the years she and her husband resided in Chicago.
She seemed to know everyone. Based on her easy-going nature and wicked sense of humor, Natalie guessed she made friends wherever she traveled.
"How long did you live here?" Natalie asked.
"Cecil's first big job was here in Chicago.
We were babies then. Lived here for about fifteen years.
We're still very close with a lot of our old crowd.
I try to come back as often as I can. We left and moved to New York for a while, then back to Houston when Cecil took an early retirement.
We're from Houston originally and were ready to be back home.
As rough as Houston summers are, I'll take them over Chicago and New York winters any day. How about you, hon? What's your story?"
"Oh, there's really not much to tell," Natalie said, smiling shyly.
"Of course there is. I want to know everything—that is, if you're comfortable with sharing. Let's start with something easy. Where'd you grow up?"
"I'm from Nashville. Lived there all my life until college."
"Another southern sister. I knew that accent was the real deal. Where'd you go to college?"
"Here at DePaul."
"So, you're somewhat of a Chicago girl at heart, too?"
"My older sister attended art school here.
I fell in love with Chicago the minute I stepped into the city.
I got a business degree, then fell in with some crazy people who convinced me to move to London with them and start our own event planning business.
That was a colossal failure. I ended up going to work for one of the biggest event planning companies in the UK, but I really wanted to come back to Chicago.
I was offered a job with Soiree about a year ago and here I am. "
"Congratulations." Miranda raised her glass in approval.
Miranda continued to press for personal details.
Not in a rude or overbearing way, but it kept Natalie on her toes, constantly working to keep their business dinner on track.
As soon as their plates were cleared, Natalie excused herself to the ladies' room, wondering when pleasure would cease and business would begin.
They'd spent two hours together and had yet to discuss a single party detail.
When she returned, she found Miranda busy sending a text.
She'd ordered them matching desserts: slices of triple-chocolate layer cake.
It's gonna be midnight before I get out of here.
Miranda put her phone down and smiled warmly. "Now then, let's talk about this engagement party."
“Oh, it’s an engagement party. That’s so exciting.”
“Well, they’re not engaged yet … but it could happen at any moment. Might even happen at the party.”
Natalie pulled her leather notebook from her tote bag, ready to jot down her client’s every request. "I'm ready. How about we start with your son? Can you tell me a little bit about him?"
"My Thom, spelled with an h, he’s somewhat of a sly fox.
And I have a small confession to make. Thom isn't my son, not by birth anyway.
My real son, Eli, passed away. Thom lost his mother when he was in high school.
Fate decided we were supposed to be family, so here I am, playing Mother of the future Groom. "
"Oh, Mrs. Everett, I am so very sorry about your son."
"Thank you, hon. I miss him every day. He was a beautiful boy."
"Tell me about Thom and his one-day-bride-to-be. What is her name?"
Miranda took a sip of her drink. "Amy. Her name is Amy."
"Thom and Amy." Natalie made a notation. "How long have they been together?"
"Well, let me think. They met about nine months ago, so this is a bit of a whirlwind.
According to Thom, it was fireworks from the word go.
No, that's not true. It was more like a five-alarm fire.
This woman lit him up and he's been on fire ever since.
The sad thing is that, because of their demanding careers, they don't get to spend much actual time together.
They live in separate states in fact. It's been hard on both of them, so it's important to me that this party is perfect.
And I'd like to make it happen next week, if that's possible. "
"This coming week?" Natalie asked, convinced she’d misheard.
"I realize it's short notice. If that means a fee or two in the way of rush delivery, it's no problem. We’re willing to do whatever it takes."
Natalie pulled up the calendar on her phone. Next week? Who does she think I am? Some Las Vegas magician? There’s no way.
"Our biggest obstacle will be the venue. A three-month booking window is about as narrow as it gets right now."
"Three months? Honey, the world could end in three months. And you're not giving yourself nearly enough credit. I bet you can whip this thing up in record time."