Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76664 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76664 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“We were all so impressed by your Brighton wedding,” Christoph continues as we finish pressing hands across the table, and I start to set up. “The way you handled that seagull showed real grace under pressure. Especially knowing a Brighton seagull the way I do.” He glances to the rest of the table as he adds in a confidential voice, “Big as dogs and twice as aggressive. I had one steal the celery right out of my Bloody Mary while I was there last summer.”
The table titters with laughter, and I make a mental note to send Christoph a thank-you gift for being such a wonderful warm-up act. He’s getting everyone loose, relaxed, and ready to receive my message of party wonder.
Now, all I have to do is deliver.
“Can we get you anything before we begin?” he asks, motioning toward a sideboard against the wall filled with hot drinks and pastries. “Tea? Coffee? Cranberry tart?”
“No, thank you. You can just dim the lights if you don’t mind.” I tap my laptop to connect to the conference room’s display with another smile. “I’ve already eaten my way through multiple servings of Christmas pudding since I’ve been in London. I have to slow down before I go into sugar shock.”
The table titters again, for which I’m grateful.
My joke wasn’t as good as Christoph’s, but they seemed to appreciate my appreciation of British holiday desserts.
It’s as good a segue as any…
“Speaking of sweets, I have some fantastic options for the gala menu near the end of the presentation,” I say as Christoph hits the lights and returns to his seat, beaming up at me with what looks like genuine excitement. “London caterers are truly masters of their craft. And so creative.”
The first fifteen minutes of the presentation prove that my anxiety dreams last night were meaningless manifestations of stress, not prophecies foretelling certain doom.
My laptop doesn’t spontaneously combust—a Christmas miracle given my history with technology—and the emergency binders stay tucked away in my big briefcase as I move from slide to slide.
By the time I reveal the design concepts Belinda and I developed during our meeting—a magical entrance, enchanted conversation nooks, and a ceiling of oversized flowers for the dining area that gives posh Alice in Wonderland vibes—they’re all leaning forward, tea and tarts forgotten.
“Guests will feel like they’re entering a secret garden from a fairy tale,” I say, clicking to the rendering that made Belinda gasp when she first saw it. “Attendees enter through a tunnel of wisteria. And at the tables, the ceiling blooms with giant peonies and rose vines, all in blush and cream with touches of gold.”
James, the CEO, fetches his glasses for a sharper look. The silver-haired woman beside him stops taking notes to grin at the illustrations as they materialize and fade on the screen.
“And for added magic,” I continue, blood rushing with that presenter’s high that sets in when you know your audience is with you, “Hidden LED strips make the flowers seem to breathe. Subtle. Romantic. Like being inside a music box made of petals.”
I click to slide fifteen. “All with an eye toward sustainability, of course. In addition to actual florals, we’ll use recycled fabrics and found elements from London parks for the installation. And when the party’s over, the flowers will be donated to local care homes, courtesy of Fletchers, bringing holiday cheer long after the gala ends.” I smile as I add, “And goodwill toward their favorite place to shop during the holidays, of course.”
A knowing smile curves James’s lips, and Christoph shoots me a subtle thumbs up beneath the table.
I’ve just finished with slide twenty-three—the custom menu designs—when James calls for a short break.
“Brilliant work so far.” He stands, glancing down at his phone. “Let’s take five before we move on.” He lifts his cell with a sheepish smile as he moves toward the door at the back of the room, “It’s my daughter. She’s about to go on as Clara in the Nutcracker at her school and needs a pep talk from Daddy.”
Heart melting, I make happy shooing motions. “Of course, no need to apologize. That’s fantastic. Please tell her to break a leg for me.”
“Yes, from all of us!” Cristoph agrees, rising with a wink. He squeezes my arm before adding in a softer voice, “So good, Emily. I have chills. Seriously.”
“Thank you,” I say, beaming.
“Can I get you a coffee now?” he asks. “Or tea? We have a fantastic smoky Earl Grey.”
I wave him off. “No, thank you. I’ll get one when I get back. I’ll just pop down to the loo while we’re waiting.”
He nods and lifts a hand. “Of course, no rush. You’re so organized, we’re running way ahead of schedule.”
My knees only shake slightly as I push back through the main doors into the hallway, heading for the bathrooms I spotted on the way in.