Boardroom Battle

by Kelsie Fann

  I want to thank you for all of the hard work and incredible loyalty you have shown over the years. You have made building a company a pleasure. I will be in my office the rest of the afternoon to answer whatever questions you have.

  Please come meet the new buyers Friday night during an office party we are throwing for them to celebrate the transition.

  --Mr. C.

  Liz immediately called Rose, who picked up on the first ring. “He’s selling?” Rose whispered.

  The remorse Liz felt about not telling her friend the bad news flooded her body. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you last night.”

  A few silent seconds passed between them, then Rose spoke, “I thought you were just really interested in those clams.”

  “I was at the time.” Another wave of nausea hit Liz’s stomach. “Will you talk to the Stella and Elise? Just tell them it’s going to be okay,” she squeaked out the words as she walked to the bathroom.

  “Sure,” Rose said.

  Liz grabbed her stomach and slid down against the bathroom door. “Thank you. I’ll make it up to you.” Liz wondered how many times she’d said that to her friend over the years. Rose was so reliable, it was almost a fault. Liz cringed, realizing how heavily she relied on her.

  Liz closed her phone as a wave of anxiety and nausea flooded over her. She didn’t know whether it was the clams or talking about the sale, but she was sick again.

  After her stomach calmed down, she sat up, and the reality hit her. Mr. Chambers mentioned an office party? He was a great boss, a great mentor, and a great friend. But he was not a party planner. In the six years since Mrs. Chambers died, they’d never had an office party, not even for Christmas.

  Liz’s phone rang again. When she looked at the phone, she wasn’t surprised by who the caller was. Chambers.

  “Hi, Liz,” he said, sounding like he was out of breath.

  “Hi, Mr. Chambers.”

  “Did you see my email?” he asked.

  She slowly replied, “Yes.”

  He didn’t say anything for a few seconds, but she could hear his heavy breaths on the other side of the phone. “I know I don’t need to tell you this again, but this sale.” He stopped. “It means a lot to me. To Dee.”

  She scooted out of the bathroom and lay on the floor by her bed. “I know.”

  “Right, well,” he continued, “the buyers want to back out.”

  What? Chambers was throwing a party for people who didn’t want to buy his company? This was crazy. “Maybe it’s not the right time to sell,” Liz said. She couldn’t get over how sudden this whole sale seemed. It was beyond quick for a man who had spent fifteen years building a company.

  “I’m sixty-six. It’s time, Liz. If Chambers’s Media doesn’t sell now, I don’t know how much longer I can hold on. Dee needs me.”

  Liz sighed. Her stomach rolled once more. “What makes you think they want to back out? Did they say it?”

  “Darcy said he had bad news. I can tell when they don’t want what I’ve got.”

  Liz trusted Chambers’s judgement. He might not know the newest digital marketing trends, but his instinct was always spot on.

  Liz walked to her kitchen table and rested her cheek against the cool, wood surface.

  “I’m trying to buy us some time with the office party.”

  “A party? What were you thinking?” Liz clenched the phone like she wanted to shake some sense into the old man. The last thing he needed to do was throw a party.

  “I tried to think of what Sharon would have done. She always said that ‘a soiree can make any canary sing.’” His voice was no louder than a whisper.

  Liz smiled, thinking of Chambers’s wife, Sharon. She was the kind of fiery woman who lit up a room when she walked in. She was tiny, barely five feet tall, and she always wore at least four-inch heels. She was one of those southern women who could make a party out of anything: Fourth of July, Cinco de Mayo, Halloween, Valentine’s Day . . .

  Before she died, the office even had a “flu shot party,” just to encourage everyone to get vaccinated.

  Liz snapped out of her memories. “Okay,” she said. She forced her uncooperative stomach into work mode. “What do you need?”

  “Food. Hot dogs?” Chambers said.

  Liz groaned loudly over the phone. If Mr. Chambers were in charge of this party, there would be a plastic platter of pigs in a blanket touring the room. Liz was going to have to take charge. “Don’t worry about anything. I’ll take care of it. Location?”

  “The office,” Chambers said quickly. “I’m hoping they fall in love with the company and the building. The best place for that is in our space surrounded by our staff.”

  “Okay, I’ll take care of it.” Liz hung up the phone and cracked her knuckles. She knew, even though she didn’t specialize in planning parties, that this was her element. Any time there was a crisis, her blood started pumping, and her mind was hyper focused. She loved being able to make things happen in a crisis.

  Liz dialed the only person on the planet who loved a crisis as much as she did. “Rose,” she said when her friend picked up. “We need a party, fast. Can you come to my house?”

  “I don’t know,” Rose hissed into the phone. “The new girls are pretty shaken up here. Elise is crying about not being able to afford her manicures.”

  “We’ve got bigger problems. We’ve got to plan the office party.”

  Rose’s breath hitched in excitement. “I’ll be at your house in twenty,” she whispered quickly and hung up the phone.

  Liz lay on the couch until her friend arrived an hour later with a stack of magazines, a raspberry-and-lime paisley notebook, a matching ball point pen, and two triple-vanilla lattes. Liz got up; her stomach problems were going to have to wait.

  “Can you clear the table?” Rose held her notebook close to her chest.

  Liz looked at her kitchen table. It was full of budgets, deadlines, client agreements, loose paper, and her half-eaten hash brown. She went to the kitchen, got a trash bag out from under the sink, and shoved the contents of the table inside.

  “Don’t you need those?” Rose asked, nodding toward the paperwork.

  “Not if this party fails.” Liz put the trash bag in her coat closet, praying she would need to organize it later.

  Rose set her notebook down in front of a chair and clapped her hands together like they were choosing colors for the formal. “Okay, so let’s start with theme.” Rose was the Kappa Kappa Delta President in college, and her skills always had a way of showing up.

  Liz looked at Rose. “This isn’t a birthday party. We don’t need a theme.” Rose was an excellent planner, but maybe she didn’t understand how tight the timeframe was. They didn’t have time for a theme; they needed to pick up the phone and make calls, now.

  Rose shook her head; her long, blonde hair skated across her back. “Every party needs a theme. It’s what you center the food, decorations, music, and lighting around.”

  “We need to order food and drinks,” Liz said.

  Rose ignored Liz and tied her hair back in a low ponytail. “Lucky for you, I’ve already got a theme. I’m thinking.” She paused for the grand reveal. “Southern,” she said, pulling her hands apart like a magician revealing a final trick.

  “That’s fine.” Liz hoped her quick agreement would help Rose get on to the important stuff. They needed food. Fast.

  Rose didn’t take the hint. She placed her hands on her notebook, like she was giving a lecture. “The theme came to me after I looked through the recent companies Pemberley Media has acquired. Do you know the one thing they have in common? They were all northern companies. Most in Minnesota, New York, and Maine.”

  “It’s fine. A ‘southern party’ works for me,” Liz said, using air quotes.

  “First things first.” Rose flipped open her notebook. “Let’s talk briefly about every party category, and then we can do a deep dive into each one.”

  “Category?”

  R
ose made a list of words down the left-hand side of her paper. “Food, floral, décor, alcohol, staff, furniture, lighting, and sound . . . ”

  “Rose.” Liz put her hand over the page of Rose was writing on. “We only have one day.”

  Rose grabbed Liz’s face and pulled it to hers. “Liz, if these buyers are pulling out and if Chambers can’t find someone else, then we potentially won’t have jobs. We need to make this spectacular. I need you on board.”

  As Liz looked down at Rose’s list, she gave in. Rose was right, if Chambers didn’t get a buyer for his company, Liz would be looking for a job as a director. They needed to go big or go home.

  Liz scooted her chair up to the table. “Southern theme it is.”

  Rose nodded and motioned toward Liz’s phone. “Start with caterers.”

  Liz called twelve catering companies, but no one could come on such short notice. Eventually, Rose found a chef who had the night off. They agreed to pay him exorbitantly to create southern favorites: shrimp and grits, chicken and waffles, and brisket sliders.

  Rose worked with a local flower farmer to deliver and set up white and magenta peonies and peat moss.

  Luckily, Liz knew a violinist who was part of a country meets classical quartet and was willing to round up her ensemble and come last minute.

  While Rose locked down a lighting company, Liz ordered furniture and linens from a local events company.

  After five long hours of party planning, Liz and Rose relaxed against the hard backs of the kitchen chairs.

  “It’s not going to be the most sophisticated party, but it will be the best we can do in with a twenty-four-hour turnaround,” Rose said.

  “I think it’s the best we could have done with a month turn around,” Liz said, thinking she would have quit about four hours earlier.

  Rose stacked her pen on her matching notebook and pulled down her hair. “I hope Mr. Chambers likes it.”

  Liz sat up in her chair. “He will. I’m going to make sure he knows how much work you’ve done.”

  Rose flipped through a magazine. “Just happy to help.”

  “You’ve got to start taking credit for your work.” Liz put her hand on Rose’s arm as she remembered her last annual review. When Mr. Chambers asked about her accomplishments, Rose just stumbled through various “ums” and “ohs,” too shy to brag about herself. So much so that Mr. Chambers almost didn’t give her a raise, even though he gave everyone else in the company one.

  In reality, Rose put in more hours than anyone. She stayed late to finish up proofreading even the most tedious jobs. And when they were about to miss a deadline, Liz always relied on Rose to get the work done.

  Liz sighed. She was relieved she was sitting in the review and she was able to speak up for Rose. She could make sure Mr. Chambers knew how much work she did. Liz shook her head; she wouldn’t be able to speak up for her friend forever.

  Liz waved her hand toward the stacks of magazines and scrawled numbers and notes across several pieces of notebook paper. “Seriously, Rose. You did all this.”

  Rose met her eyes and grinned. “Thanks.”

  Liz raised her eyebrows, “So how do we celebrate?”

  “Want to get a glass of wine?” Rose asked.

  “I’m buying,” Liz said.

  “Theo’s?”

  Liz tried not to snarl. She hated Theo’s. It was supposed to be fancy and upscale. In reality, the tiny appetizers cost a fortune. Plus, it was so dark in there, it was hard to see who you were talking to. The last guy Liz talked to at Theo’s turned out to be over fifty, with an Alaska-shaped mole on his face.

  Think, think. Liz tried to come up with another place.

  “Please,” Rose begged.

  Liz groaned. She knew she owed Rose. Without her, the party would consist of brats and Mr. Chambers’s favorite dessert, funfetti cake, which sounded so good at the moment, Liz almost suggested it as an alternate plan.

  “Okay. I’ll get ready,” Liz looked into Rose’s big blue eyes. “I’ll leave here in thirty. Pick you up at your house?”

  Rose scooped up her notebook and practically skipped out of Liz’s house. “Deal.”

  After Rose left, Liz fell onto her couch, and a sharp pang hit her stomach. She closed her eyes until she only had a few minutes before she was supposed to leave. Liz tuned out her aches, jumped up, curled her hair, put on a bold lipstick so she didn’t have to do much to her eyes, and threw on an off-the-shoulder black cocktail dress and strappy black heels. She looked at herself in the mirror and considered changing into a T-shirt. But she knew Rose would be dressed up, so she left her dress on.

  Liz was glad she dressed up when she walked into Theo’s with Rose twenty minutes later. Two words described Rose: blonde bombshell. She towered over Liz by about six inches, and even with her hair pulled away from her face, she looked like Barbie in her navy, spaghetti-strap jumpsuit.

  Despite her model height and looks, Rose didn’t date a lot. “I just don’t know what to say to people,” she said, walking into Theo’s.

  “You won’t need to do any talking in that outfit,” Liz told her.

  Liz was right. As they walked up the stairs to the door, every person’s head turned. Man. Woman. Dog. It didn’t matter; they were looking at Rose. As soon as they sat down, a man brought two bright pink martinis to their table. I guess going out with Rose does have perks, Liz thought, taking a sip of the florescent drink, but she almost spit it out when she realized it tasted like cough syrup.

  The man who brought the drinks had slid into the seat next to Rose. “And I guess I’m not needed anymore,” Liz mumbled and walked toward the bar.

  “Can I get a glass of wine?” Liz asked the handsome bartender. He was just her type: he had a beard and slicked back hair, with dark brown eyes. Clean but scruffy.

  As she reached for her wallet, a man’s voice interrupted her, “Can I get that for you?”

  Liz locked eyes with a tall man, who wasn’t at all scruffy, and even though he wasn’t typically her type, he was gorgeous. No scraggly beard. Instead, he was golden all over—sandy brown hair and tanned skin—the only thing not perfectly sun-kissed was his bright blue eyes.

  Do not drool, she told herself. Liz smiled at the man. “Thanks.”

  “No problem.” He slid onto a barstool. Liz looked toward her table. The man with the pink martinis was still talking to Rose, so she sat on the stool next to the golden stranger.

  “Liz,” she said, sticking out her hand.

  “Hamilton.” He shook her hand.

  “Hamilton?” Liz questioned.

  “Trust me. It’s better than my first name: Albert.” She watched him as he took a drink and slipped his suit jacket off of his shoulders. He draped it down the back of the chair and rolled up the sleeves of his light-blue button-down shirt.

  “I’ll stick with Hamilton.” Liz tucked a stray curl behind her ear.

  “Should I call you Elizabeth? Or maybe Lizzy?” he asked.

  Hearing the name “Lizzy’” made her body involuntarily twitch. “Liz is fine.”

  “You don’t like Lizzy?” he asked, noticing her reaction.

  She took a sip of her wine. “Not really.” She returned the stranger’s gaze. As she stared into his piercing blue eyes, she realized she didn’t want this to be another awkward encounter. So, she told him the truth, the truth she never told anyone.

  “I was a fat kid, and these two boys used to call me ‘Lizzy the Piggy.” The sun-kissed god, sitting to her right, didn’t say anything. Instead, he leaned closer. She could smell his cologne, and she took a deep breath of the sandalwood scent.

  “Nice to meet another former fat kid.” He stuck his hand out once more, a piece of blond hair falling out of place on his forehead. “They called me Hammy.”

  No way. Liz stared at him, hesitantly shaking his hand again. “You’re lying,” she said, staring at Hamilton’s broad, toned shoulders.

  He puffed out his cheeks. “It’s true.”

>   “What are the chances two former fat kids would be sitting at the same bar on the same night?” Hamilton asked.

  Liz laughed and tipped her head back, considering where they were both from. “In America, I’d say pretty likely.”

  Hamilton nodded, and a wide smile spread across his face, giving Liz a good look at his straight white teeth. “You’re funny,” he said. “I like funny.”

  “I like former fat kids.” She winked at him, then checked over her shoulder, making sure Rose was okay.

  “You here with someone?” He followed her gaze.

  She shook her head. “I’m the wing woman to that blonde model over there.”

  Hamilton looked toward Rose’s table. The couple was deep in a conversation; their eyes were locked on each other. “Well, it looks like we have a few minutes. Tell me about Lizzy the Piggy, and I’ll tell you about Hammy.”

  Liz inhaled deeply as her childhood memories rushed back. She couldn’t believe she was about to talk to someone about her childhood, one she was always trying to forget, but something about his eyes made her want to confide in him. “Miss Piggy’s favorite foods were fried cheese sticks and ranch dressing. She usually followed it up with chocolate Ding Dongs or Twinkies. Or both. I had good taste.” Liz raised her eyebrows at Hamilton. “What about Hammy?”

  “Hammy liked.” He stopped and took a drink of his beer. “French fries, hot dogs, and anything covered in fake cheese.”

  Liz pictured the yellow nacho substance dripping over a basket of chips. Hammy was a winner. “Ohhhh, nice choices. When did your love of fine food start?”

  Hamilton took another drink, this time a little slower and replied, “My dad died. Kind of dove head first into junk food for a while.”

  Liz grimaced, worried she’d pushed the conversation too far. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  Hamilton shrugged his shoulders and drew a circle on the bar top with his long index finger. “It’s okay. Good to talk about him sometimes.” He looked into her eyes. “What about you? When did your cupcake obsession start?”

  Liz felt the heaviness of her childhood land on her chest. “Fifth grade. Divorce.”

  He nodded. “I’m also sorry.”