by Nicole Ellis
“What’s going on here?”
“The bride let the groom choose the centerpieces, and he chose M&M’s in cut glass bowls. Today the bride had the brilliant idea to use only M&M’s in the wedding colors, brown and blue. She also came in with a long list of things for us to do before the reception.”
“And the wedding is tomorrow? That’s nuts.”
“Yeah, well, crazy brides are part of the business. After forty years, I’m used to it.” Beth smiled.
“If I had your job, I’d go batty with all the odd requests,” I said, munching on a handful of rejected candy from the plastic bowl.
“It’s yours if you want it.” Beth sorted through mounds of M&M’s with gloved hands. “I’ve had about enough of bridezillas.”
“Why didn’t they just order blue and brown M&M’s from one of those places that customizes candy?” I purposefully ignored her comment about working at the Boathouse. While I loved the Boathouse, the thought of returning to a business career worried me.
“Because the bride wanted peanut butter M&M’s. They only customize the regular ones, and it wasn’t until today that she ok’d the centerpieces. She wanted her wedding colors, so here we are. I suppose there are worse places to be.” Beth winked at me as she dropped a few chocolate morsels into her mouth.
I hoped none of the wedding guests had a life-threatening peanut allergy. Then again, the bride would never allow it.
“I can’t work here—I’d gain twenty pounds in a month with all the treats around.” I grinned, but it was partially true. I couldn’t stop eating the candy. It was as if I’d forgotten the Chocolate Caramel Caresses I’d eaten only a few hours before. There was something addictive about the combination of salty peanut butter and sweet chocolate. As a child, my health nut parents had forbidden sweets, but I’d made up for it in adulthood. Even with all their efforts to convince me otherwise, I’d always suspected carob was not nearly as good as real chocolate. Every time we went to Idaho to visit them, I went through chocolate withdrawal.
“Seriously though, if you’re interested, we’d be happy to have you work here. You know I’d love to spend more time with my grandbabies. I’m so glad Adam and Desi live close by—I only get to see Will’s and Sarah’s kids a few times a year since they both live so far away.” Beth smiled at Mikey and Anthony. The two preschoolers were still playing a rousing game of broomball in the main room. Behind her grandmother, Ella babbled away in her Exersaucer. I doubted they’d even noticed I’d been candy shopping for the last few hours.
“I don’t know. I don’t want to step on Desi’s toes. Right now, with everything she has on her plate, she needs help, but I know how much she loves this place. I wouldn’t want her to think I was trying to take it away from her.” My sister-in-law had worked at the family business all of her life, and I knew how important it was to her. Plus, it was a handy excuse to avoid talking about the possibility of future employment at the Boathouse.
When my husband and his siblings were young, Beth and her husband Lincoln had bought a decrepit old boathouse and remodeled it into a place for locals to gather for parties. Over the years, they’d added on to the original building, and it had become a premier event center in the Seattle area—popular for weddings, special occasions, reunions, and the like.
“Fair enough, but let me know if you change your mind. I’m getting too old to do this every day,” Beth said. “Maybe you could discuss it with Desi before you make your decision.”
I nodded and put on a pair of plastic gloves to help sort. Soon, we’d emptied the last bag of candy.
“Well, that’s it. I think we’ve found every blue and brown peanut butter M&M this side of Seattle.” Beth carried the candy into the kitchen and carefully covered each bowl with plastic wrap before pushing the containers against the back edge of the counter. She held out the large plastic container with the rejected M&M’s. “Can you take this in to Desi? She’s using the discards in her famous brownies.”
“Desi’s making brownies too?” I sniffed the air. What I’d thought was the scent of chocolate candy was actually the aroma of baking brownies. And were those blueberry scones I detected as well? I took the bin from Beth into the kitchen, stopping in the doorway.
Desi had been busy. Scones, brownies, chocolate chip cookies, and the Caramel Chocolate Caresses were cooling on wire racks scattered on every flat surface. I set the container of M&M’s on a stool, waved hello to Desi over the pop music blaring from the radio, and turned to leave.
“Hey,” Desi called out. “Can you give these to Adam when he comes home? I know how much he likes my brownies.” She handed me a BeansTalk Café box loaded with M&M-studded brownies. “You can have some, too, but make sure Adam gets at least a few.” Desi shook her finger at me.
I grinned. Desi knew me too well.
Back in Beth’s office, I picked up my daughter from her Exersaucer. My mother-in-law sat at her desk, intent on typing data into a spreadsheet.
“Do you need help with anything else today?” I asked.
She swiveled around and motioned for me to sit in the chair opposite her desk. I sat down, bouncing Ella on my knees as Beth spoke.
“I know you’re busy with Adam away from home, but do you think you could help me out with something else? I need to finish up some prep for the wedding reception tomorrow night, but I promised a client I’d meet him at his office tomorrow at noon to get some information for his event. I really don’t want him to come here while we’re in the middle of setup because he wouldn’t be seeing the Boathouse at its best. I can watch the kids if you’d like. They’re no problem to take care of here. I may even put Mikey to work sweeping.” Beth eyed the paper the boys had strewn across the floor to mark the goal lines.
“A client meeting?” I hadn’t intended to get more involved with business operations at my in-law’s event center. Shopping for party supplies was one thing, but customer contact was another. While I liked my in-laws, I wasn’t sure I wanted to get back into the business world. At one time I’d excelled in a marketing career, but that was in my pre-kids life. I’d quit my job after an embarrassing experience while pregnant with Mikey, and the thought of re-entering that occupation made me queasy. “I’m not sure I’m up for meeting a new client.” I played with a strand of Ella’s hair and avoided direct eye contact with Beth.
Beth swept a few papers into a pile and looked up at me. “Will you help with the new client? Please… it would be a big help to me, and to Desi, of course.”
She had me there. I would do anything to alleviate some of my sister-in-law’s stress.
“Ok, fine. Wait, is it a wedding?” As a mother of two young children, I knew I could handle a bride’s demands or a homicidal groom if I had to, but coordinating a wedding wasn’t high on my wish list.
“Nope, this one’s a run-of-the-mill class reunion.” Beth retrieved a royal blue file folder from her file cabinet. “I have an information form that I need the client to fill out. It’s pretty self-explanatory—just go through the list of questions and find out what he needs. If you have any questions, give me a call.” She pulled up the client’s name and address on her computer and quickly copied it to a sticky note. “Thank you again for doing this for me. It’ll save me so much time to not have to leave the Boathouse to meet with him.”
It wasn’t until I arrived home with the kids that I read the unfamiliar name and address scribbled on the purple-lined Post-it note. Elliott Elkins. 148 Sunset Avenue.
My heart sank. I knew the address from all the publicity surrounding it. The building was the most unpopular construction project in Ericksville—a new seven-story condominium downtown. With the tallest existing building standing three stories high, it towered over the other structures, blocking views and changing the small-town feel of the business district forever. Although public opinion was against the condos, I had to admit some curiosity about seeing them close-up.
3
The area surrounding the condos on Sunset Av
enue consisted of older brick buildings, historic homes, and a few newer businesses. The towering condos clashed with the neighboring buildings, but whatever my feelings about them, they had nothing to do with my promise to Beth to interview the client.
I stood outside my van for a moment, psyching myself up to meet the client. What was I worried about? I had done this hundreds of times in the past, for much bigger clients and business deals.
If you had told me five years ago that I’d be spending my days playing with Legos, changing diapers, and having my main interaction with adults be through the preschool PTA as Jill Andrews, Mikey’s mom, I would have driven you straight to the loony bin. Back in the day, I’d actually had quite a reputation as a hotshot marketing executive. Now, I’d traded in linen suits and silk blouses from The Limited for yoga pants and tank tops specifically chosen to conceal baby spit-up.
The memory of that fateful last day on the job hit me again. I’d been in the middle of a client meeting, proudly showing off the marketing plan, when my huge pregnant belly hit the easel holding my presentation. The easel had crashed into the display next to it, and then, cascading in a domino effect, smashed a 3-D representation of the advertising ideas. Mortified, I’d waddled out of there as fast as I could.
But I wasn’t pregnant now, and that debacle had happened years ago. It was time to get over it. I hitched my satchel onto my shoulder, jutted my chin out, and picked my way across the unpaved parking lot, avoiding chunks of loose concrete and potholes that would become vast muddy lakes when it rained. Through the construction mess, I saw the appeal of this location. A few blocks away, Puget Sound lapped against pebbled shores, and the upper condo units would have gorgeous water, ferry, and Willowby Island views. Most of the exterior of the building had been finished, although the upper windows weren’t in place yet. The condos had been built in a Northwest style, with exposed timber beams on the outside and a nice courtyard area in front. However, the building looked out of place amongst the one-story businesses and early-twentieth-century homes in the area.
The sign over the main doors read ‘Elkins Development Group,’ and the outside light was on, although barely visible in the sunlight. I looked at my watch. Twelve o’clock on the dot. I steadied myself with another mini pep talk before knocking on the door.
“Come in,” a voice boomed from inside. I opened the door and saw a man reclining in a chair with his feet up on a desk.
“Why, hello,” he said. He sat up and removed his feet from the desk. “What can I do for you?” The man swiped a hand over gelled black hair and walked over to where I stood just inside the door.
“I’m looking for Elliott Elkins.”
“Elliott isn’t here right now, but maybe I can help you. I’m Perry Winston—nice to meet you.” He held out his hand, and I shook it limply but didn’t offer my name. He didn’t seem to notice. “Are you interested in one of our condos?” He looked me up and down and said, “I’ve got the perfect unit for such a beautiful lady. Would you like to see it?”
I backed up as close to the wall as I could. My creep radar pinged frantic warning signals. The guy was probably in his mid-thirties, not much older than me, but he reeked of alcohol at this early hour and his ruddy cheeks hinted it was not an uncommon occurrence. “No, I’m here to see Mr. Elkins on personal business.”
“Ah.” He smiled knowingly. I didn’t correct any presumptions he may have had.
“Well, have a seat.” He motioned to a chair on the other side of the room. “If you need anything, I’ll be right over here.” He flashed me an oily smile and ambled back to his desk, smoothing his crumpled charcoal button-down shirt before lowering himself into the chair again.
I had barely sat down when another man flung open the door and stormed in, not even glancing in my direction. I tried to focus my attention on a painting of a sailboat that bordered on abstract art, but I couldn’t help overhearing the conversation happening twenty feet away from me.
“Perry!” the man said. “We’ve got to talk. These numbers aren’t adding up. We can’t hold on much longer.” He shook a leather-bound notebook in the air to make his point. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”
Perry smiled smoothly and addressed the newcomer. “Elliott, you have a guest. She said it’s personal business.” He leered over at me.
Elliott recovered quickly but seemed confused as he walked over to me and held out his hand. “I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met before. I’m Elliott Elkins.” He wore a turquoise polo shirt and khaki slacks, and his skin glowed with the even color that only comes from a tanning bed.
“Hi,” I said, extending my hand. “I’m Jill Andrews. I’m from the Boathouse Event Center. You spoke with Beth Andrews about having an event at the Boathouse?”
Recognition dawned on his face.
“Of course. I was expecting to see Beth. Thank you for coming in on a Saturday. Please have a seat.” He motioned for me to sit in one of the two leather armchairs facing a rectangular metal desk and turned to Perry. “We need to talk later. Can you go take inventory of the materials that arrived yesterday so we’re ready for the construction crew Monday morning?”
Perry nodded and left.
“I’m sorry, is this a bad time? I could come back later.”
“No, it’s fine. Something came up with another project we have in the works, and I need to talk with Perry about it, but it isn’t urgent. Although, I would have preferred to do this at the Boathouse to avoid these types of interruptions.”
Just then Perry came back through the door, as though checking to make sure we weren’t up to something scandalous. He rummaged through the top drawer of his desk and held up a pair of black-rimmed glasses. “Can’t forget these—I can’t read the inventory list without them.” He stuffed them in his pocket. Elliott rolled his eyes when the door closed behind Perry.
After he left, I looked around the room. The room’s tan Berber carpet was spotless and the small reception area with plush armchairs practically shone.
“I’m sorry Beth couldn’t meet with you in her office today, but I’m glad to have the opportunity to see the inside of this building. I’ve been wondering what it looked like. This is very nice. I have to admit, I wasn’t sure what to expect from a building under construction.”
“Thank you. It was designed to be the sales space for the condo project and will eventually be the lobby, so we completed it first.” Elliott folded his hands on the desk in front of him and smiled at me pleasantly.
“It’s a beautiful location.” I gazed out the window. It may have been small talk, but the view of the Sound was truly gorgeous and made good conversational fodder as I mentally prepared myself for the meeting. “It sure is getting warm out there. I thought it was going to rain, but the weather seems to be fickle today.”
“I’m sorry, where are my manners?” he said. “Would you like a glass of water? Some coffee? Or maybe even a Scotch?” He crossed the room in five long strides and held out a brown glass from a pyramid of them in front of a matching whiskey decanter.
“Some water would be great.”
He filled the glass with water from a pitcher and handed it to me. I accepted the proffered glass and drank deeply, more to be polite than from actual thirst.
We sat back down at the desk, and I pulled the file folder out of my leather satchel.
“I just have a few things to review with you, and then we can go over any questions you may have.” I took out my ballpoint pen and scribbled on a piece of scratch paper to get the ink flowing. Nothing appeared on the page. I’d planned to test the pens I found in my desk drawer, but Mikey had distracted me with a question about a leaf he’d found outside and I’d forgotten to do so. Elliott noticed and handed me an expensive-looking pen out of a case in his desk drawer.
“Thanks.” I flashed him a grateful smile. “So, why don’t you tell me about your event.”
“I’m the alumni association class president for my graduating class from Willowby Coll
ege. We’re looking to have a fifteen-year reunion at the end of the summer.”
“My husband is coming up on his fifteen-year college reunion as well. It seems like just yesterday that he graduated.” On the walls, I noticed an old football team photo from Ericksville High School. If he was the same age as Adam, they’d probably gone to school together. “In fact, it looks like you may have been in the same high school class as him. Maybe you knew my husband, Adam Andrews?”
Elliott screwed up his face in concentration. “I think I remember him. Tall with sandy-blond hair? The football team, school, and work took up all my time, so I didn’t do much socializing in high school.”
“Yep, that was him. What a coincidence. I’ll have to tell him I met one of his former classmates.” I looked back at my file folder and handed him a brochure with the event space details. “What did you have in mind for the reunion? How many people do you think there will be? Depending on attendance, we have several room configurations that are popular for reunions.”
“Probably around two hundred people. Willowby College isn’t a huge school, but many of the alumni have stayed close by.”
“I’ve heard of Willowby College, but I’m not originally from this area. I take it the college is on Willowby Island?”
“Yes, it’s a small college on the island, only about two thousand students. Mainly liberal arts, with a good finance and business program as well. It may not be an Ivy League, but it was the best thing to ever happen to me. I want this alumni event to be the biggest and greatest reunion Willowby College has ever had. It will be part networking, part fundraiser, and lots of fun.” His face lit up as he envisioned the event.
“It sounds like the main room and a few smaller rooms will work best for you.” I showed him an example of the round table layout and photos of one of the smaller rooms set up with a buffet and bar. “If you are doing an auction-type event or need it for announcements, you can use the podium and microphone.”
