Page 7 of Under Pink Skies

“Because that wouldn’t be as glamorous, Ms. Collins.”

Now it was my turn to laugh. Trent Kaser may have been born and raised in Watford, but he certainly wasn’t a local. He’d gone off to college and law school right after, and he had barely set foot in Watford proper, despite being an elected member of the town council. There was some weird loophole about owning property in the jurisdiction but not having to live there, written long ago by people exactly like Trent.

“Why are you telling me about this directly, Trent?”

“Because we want you to be the organizer,” Trent said.

If my jaw could possibly drop even lower, it did.

“I run a store. By myself,” I added. “The only general store in town. Why on earth would you think I have time for this?”

“For one, you’re the one business owner that stands to gain the most from such a robust endeavor. Think of all the supplies that will need to be ordered in order to accommodate special requests, vendor booths, and everything else that comes with putting on a festival. All those orders, funneled through Watford General.”

I couldn’t deny that we needed the business. Even though only Imogen knew about the IRS breathing down my neck, I had no intention of making that public knowledge. Nor was I interested in losing the store—and my family’s legacy—entirely.

“Which parts of this festival would I be organizing?”

I can only imagine Trent’s grin at my request for more information.

“We’ll provide you with the financial resources and some basic guidelines for activities and events we’d like to see at the festival, but mostly, you’d have creative freedom over how those things get done.”

In other words, I was expected to do all of this on my own. “Creative freedom” was a bureaucratic cop-out when it came to actually helping instead of talking.

I pinched the bridge of my nose.

“And you seriously want to put on the festival in October?”

“Yep,” Trent said, far too cheerily.

“I want to be paid for my efforts,” I said. “I’m not working for free. I love Watford, and I’ll do everything in my power to see it thrive, but this is a lot on my plate.”

I held my breath for a moment before releasing it. My old therapist would be proud of me for asking for what I need.

“Of course!” Trent chirped. “We wouldn’t dream of asking you to work for free.”

A shuffle of papers and murmured voices in the background told me they would indeed dream of asking me to work for free.

“We will pay you a baseline salary of ten thousand dollars for your planning work, and you can expense anything related to the festival, including hiring employees at Watford General to fill in the gaps.”

I blinked slowly. “You’re going to pay me ten grand for three months’ worth of work?”

For some people, ten thousand dollars was a drop in the bucket. The only person I knew making more than five thousand a month was Cassie, and that’s because she was a big, fancy lawyer up in Seattle. But for me, and the lake of debt that I’d accrued in the last few years keeping Watford General alive, that ten thousand dollars would allow me to get back on my feet.

“As I mentioned earlier, we were approved for a rather sizable revitalization grant. We also had a sponsor for the festival come forward. He’s the owner of an up-and-coming local farm, and he wants to be the front-running sponsor for the festival to get his name out there. What better way to invest in our local economy than to hire one of our own to help us put on an amazing event?”

If it sounds too good to be true, it probably is. Some rational voice in the back of my head kept trying to remind me.

“We’ll send the contract your way. Take as long as you need to review it,” Trent said. “I’ll be your liaison for the council. If you need anything, I’m your guy.”

“When do you need my decision?”

“By close of business Friday,” Trent said. I glanced at the calendar pinned to aisle three. Friday was four days away. That was plenty of time for me to mull things over if I needed to.

“I’ll call you,” I said, and after a few closing niceties, I ended the phone call.

Kevin immediately popped out from aisle one, apron tied haphazardly around his waist. His hair was disheveled and slightly greasy, and I really, really didn’t want to contemplate all the many reasons behind his appearance. I shook my head and pulled my tablet from my bag.

Teenagers, man.

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