Chương 14
“Okay.”
He nodded.
“I meant what I said.”
“I know.”
He looked uncomfortable with how little she gave him.
Finally, he said, “You were good at the job.”
Emily’s expression hardened.
“That isn’t enough.”
“No.”
He accepted that immediately.
“I know.”
She looked at him.
“Stop saying that.”
He almost smiled.
“Right.”
Daniel left.
Emily watched through the lobby windows as he crossed toward the parking garage.
Then she looked at me.
“Do people actually change?”
I started gathering abandoned place cards from a table.
“Sometimes.”
“That sounded inspiring.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
She picked up two cards and helped.
I looked at her.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know.”
“You’re the client.”
“I’m also the person who brought confetti into your building.”
“You brought that?”
She froze.
“No.”
“Emily.”
“Megan brought it.”
“You knew.”
“I had suspicions.”
“You signed a no-confetti clause.”
“I was under emotional stress.”
“That defense is not going to save you.”
She laughed and kept picking up cards.
We worked in silence for a while.
Employees moved around us stripping linens and stacking glasses.
The room emptied piece by piece.
Near midnight, only the staff, Emily, and I remained.
She found one intact slice of cake and sat at a table with a plastic fork.
“Want some?”
“No.”
“It has my face on it.”
“That’s part of the problem.”
She cut through the printed photograph.
“Disturbing.”
“Very.”
She ate another bite.
Then she looked around the ballroom.
“I really did tell security to throw you out.”
“Yes.”
“In your own hotel.”
“Yes.”
“That may be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”
“I heard about the reporting issue.”
She threw a sugar flower at me.
It hit my shirt and dropped to the floor.
Priya, passing behind us, pointed at it.
“You’re cleaning that up.”
Emily bent down immediately.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Priya kept walking.
Emily looked at me.
“She scares me.”
“She should.”
She placed the sugar flower on her plate.
“I’m glad you didn’t throw me out.”
I looked around the room.
“So am I.”
She studied my face, probably checking for sarcasm.
There wasn’t any.
Outside, a rideshare car pulled away from the curb.
Inside, the chandeliers dimmed as the overnight settings kicked in.
Emily finished the cake.
Then she stood, put on her shoes despite the blister, and carried her plate toward the service station instead of leaving it on the table.
I watched her set the plate beside the bussing tray.
“You know there are people paid to do that.”
“I’m trying to become unbearable in a new direction.”
“That might take practice.”
She looked around for her clutch.
It was under the chair where she had been sitting.
When she bent to get it, she winced again.
“Your foot.”
“I’ll live.”
“You’re limping.”
“I spent six thousand dollars on these shoes.”
“That sounds like evidence against you.”
“They were not six thousand.”
I waited.
She sighed.
“Two.”
“Still evidence.”
She slipped them off again.
By twelve-thirty, the ballroom had been reduced to rows of bare tables and stacked chairs.
The flowers that had looked extravagant four hours earlier sat in plastic tubs waiting to be collected by the florist.
A crushed gold balloon rolled lazily beneath the dance floor lights every time the ventilation kicked on.
Emily stood beside me in the lobby while I locked the event binder inside the front desk cabinet.
“You going home?”
She looked toward the glass doors.
“I guess.”
That answer carried hesitation.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Emily.”
She looked at her phone.
“My car is in the garage.”
“That generally helps with going home.”
“I’m not sure I want to go home.”
I waited.
She rubbed her thumb along the edge of the screen.
“My apartment looks exactly like it did when I left this afternoon.”
“Yes.”
“I know that sounds stupid.”
“It doesn’t.”
She stared through the doors.
“I decorated for this party two months ago.”
“You decorated your apartment for a party at a hotel?”
“No.”
She gave me a tired look.
“I mean I bought everything.”
“Right.”
“The dress was hanging on the bedroom door.”
She swallowed.
“I had this whole version of tonight in my head.”
I leaned against the desk.
“And now?”
“Now I’m going back to a place where all the boxes from work are still stacked in the hallway.”
That made more sense.
“Stay here.”
She looked at me.
“What?”
“We have rooms.”
“I’m not paying for another thing tonight.”
“Employee rate.”
“I’m not an employee.”
“Family nuisance rate.”
“That sounds expensive.”
“It is.”
She smiled faintly.
Then she shook her head.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because if I stay here, tomorrow becomes another thing I avoided.”
There was nothing polished in that sentence.
I nodded.
“Then go home.”
She looked annoyed.
“You could pretend to resist.”
“You just made a good decision.”
“Don’t say it like you’re shocked.”
“I’m processing.”
She shoved my shoulder lightly.
At the doors, she stopped.
“You working tomorrow?”
“Morning.”
“You own the place.”
“That has not yet translated into sleeping late.”
She nodded.
“I’ll call Dad.”
“For breakfast?”
“For everything.”
Her face tightened.
“Eventually.”
“That sounds less convincing.”
“It’s progress.”
Outside, the garage lights made the pavement look pale and empty.
She took three steps, then turned back.
“Jake.”
“What?”
“If Tuesday goes badly, I’m still paying you.”
“I know.”
“And if it goes well, I’m not going to become insufferable.”
“That would be a major personality shift.”
She pointed at me.
“See you.”
I watched until the garage door closed behind her car.
Then I went back inside and helped Priya count damaged glassware.
Sunday passed in the strange exhaustion that follows an event everybody survives but nobody fully understands.
I woke at seven, burned toast because I forgot it was in the toaster, and reached the hotel before eight-thirty.
Priya arrived ten minutes later carrying coffee and a bagel.
“You look terrible.”
“So do you.”
“I look efficient.”
“You look angry.”
May you like
“That’s efficient.”
We spent most of the morning reviewing invoices.
