Chapter 21 Paige #2
“I’m tired. I was up at five this morning, trying to catch up on my day job.
” I pause, not liking my whiny tone, and try again.
“I’ve been out almost every night this week doing things for the gala.
And Tamara wants me to come by her office to sign some papers.
We don’t have a trial date yet, but she’s trying to make it so I don’t have to testify in person. ”
“I wish she hadn’t called you.” His face hardens, worry lines creasing his forehead. “She’s been keeping me up to date and I told her I’d get you to sign whatever was needed.”
“Zach, you can’t shield me from this.” He means well and he’s been amazing at holding up his part of our deal, but I need to know what’s going on. “I don’t want to be kept in the dark even if I never want to see or talk to Joel Hummel again.”
“Paige, I told you I’d take care of it and that’s what I intend to do. And as for the trial, I’ve told Tamara no fucking way you’re testifying with that psycho in the same room.”
“I don’t want to spend the last few minutes we have talking about this. Don’t worry about it.” I wave my hand in a carefree manner and force a smile. “I went to the hotel tonight and finalized the menu and room set up. Things are coming together nicely.”
“Are you enjoying it?” His voice is softer now, as are his eyes as he roams my face attentively.
“Yes, I am. I may be exhausted but I’m liking all of it and learning so much. I really can’t complain.”
I don’t bother telling him about the constant butting of heads with Reagan Hussey. She’s not only her grandmother’s proxy at foundation meetings, she also volunteered for the benefit planning committee. Lucky me. “And Morgan has been such a big help.”
“Good. If you weren’t liking it, I’d tell Nan to find someone else.”
“Zach, I made a commitment and I’d see it through regardless if I liked it or not. But thank you. And you’d better go. Mr. Wong is waiting.”
He nods. “Yes.” I detect a deep reluctance in his tone. “Get some sleep. Sweet dreams, Paige.”
“Thanks, and have a good day.” I smile and in return, his is small but warm.
I contemplate hitting the red round button with the X in the middle, but I don’t want to be the one to end our connection. Without words, he seems to understand this.
He doesn’t budge and does that thing again, staring at me. If his gaze wasn’t tender and contemplative, filled with so much emotion, I’d be freaked out. For one beat, then two and three, our eyes are locked on each other with only silence connecting us until Zach breaks our moment.
“I like you there. On my side of the bed. The only thing is, I wish I was there with you. With you on top of me or under me or…”
“I get the picture.” My cheeks flame and I shake my head, squeezing my thighs together to stave off the sudden emptiness inside me.
“Bettina, you aren’t listening to me. I have to cancel the order.” My mother refills my empty wine glass and I mouth thank you.
“Don’t be silly. We always get orchids. The gala wouldn’t be the same without them.” Her voice is high-pitched, so unlike her usual stoic monotone, and I pull the phone away from my ear to double-check that I am in fact speaking with Bettina van der Jagt.
“Orchids are expensive, and the cost is way outside the budget.”
“We get them every year,” she says as if I didn’t hear her the first time. “I don’t understand how they can’t be within budget.”
This is where I explain, for what feels like the hundredth time, that this year’s budget isn’t last year’s budget.
She listens but barely, interrupting several times.
Mom pats my hand, giving me a sympathetic smile and Bas, my little brother, mimics hanging up on her.
I bite my bottom lip to stifle a giggle. It’s tempting to hang up on her.
If she’d been paying attention when I presented the budget, she’d know why we can’t afford orchids.
And she was paying attention; she’s just being stubborn.
Even when she’s on video conference from Calgary for our foundation meetings, she’s always asking questions.
She’s shrewd and for some reason, she’s holding out for orchids.
Not going to happen. We are a charitable foundation after all, and our purpose is to make money for those in need, not spend it on flowers, even if they are beautiful flowers.
“Paige. They’ve been ordered and that’s that. I won’t continue to have this conversation with you. Call me when you realize your error. Good night.”
Dial tone.
Again, I check the phone screen and incredulous, I growl at my mom, Sam, and Bas seated around the kitchen table. “She hung up on me.”
This is what Zach meant by a ruthless bunch.
He’s right. It’s bad enough I have Reagan Hussey objecting to anything and everything I propose and now I have to deal with this.
Bettina didn’t hold back at all. She fought me tooth and nail for a bunch of flowers.
No, correction, extremely expensive flowers.
“That’s why you should have done it first,” Bas says, shaking his head.
“She sounded so hard-core,” Sam adds.
“Do you have to put up with that a lot?” Mom asks.
“Yeah, pretty much.” I shrug, realizing I’ve become accustomed to these wealthy snobs that are used to getting their way. “And that’s how my entire day has been. Putting out one fire after another.”
My head hits the table, lightly, and I groan, wishing I could press a reset button on the day. The only good thing about it is dinner with my family and that the day is almost over.
I’d spent the better part of the morning finalizing orders and deliveries for clients who are having their home custom built. The outside was done and now the inside work has begun. The crew was due to start the kitchen tomorrow but a few of the major items were still to be delivered.
By lunchtime, I had everything sorted and said items were on trucks to arrive by early afternoon.
But my accomplishments were wasted when Jennifer Sangster, the lady of the house and decision-maker for all things related to the build, changed her mind.
She no longer wanted the quartz countertops or the stainless sink.
And that was just the beginning of her list of changes, all of which impacted the work I had planned for tomorrow.
Then I spent the afternoon undoing my morning’s work, and that was before the email arrived with the invoice for the orchids Bettina ordered.
“Hey, Paige, why don’t you stay the night?” Sam says as he stacks the dishes in the drainboard.
“I guess I—” My phone rings and I wonder if it’s Zach although I don’t think so. He knew I would be at my parents’ tonight.
“Hello, Paige Hayes,” I say, noticing the number is for the Preston Hotel where we’re hosting the gala.
I listen as the man introduces himself as the manager and then proceeds to tell me that they’ve had an incident and are unable to hold the gala as planned.
He continues to apologize and offers to make it right with a reduced price for another evening and a bunch of other things but I’ve tuned him out.
My world has shrunk to the reality of this disaster. Nuit étoilée is less than three weeks away and we have no venue. What the hell am I going to do?