Page 31 of Married As Puck
I hear the subtle shift in the room, the almost imperceptible inhale from Miranda before she smiles—a smile too sweet to mean anything good.
“That’s… interesting,” Miranda says, tilting her head with mock curiosity. “No offense, Brie, but have you ever handled something of this scale before? It would be awful if the event ended up being embarrassing for the company.”
My grip tightens on the pen. Everyone’s eyes flick between us, sensing blood in the water.
I force my voice to stay calm, controlled. “I might not have handled this exact scale before, Miranda, but I’m more than capable. And if I recall correctly, I’m not the one who nearly lost the Henderson account last quarter, and of course, I have been in all major projects this year, even though you’ve conveniently decided to forget that.”
Her smile falters for half a second. Bullseye.
But she recovers quickly, her voice lilting with false innocence. “First of all, that was a client with impossible demands. Not exactly comparable to organizing an entire gala with donors, press, and executives involved. I’m just saying, Mrs. Randolph, maybe it’s wiser to give this to someone more experienced.”
The way she saysexperiencedmakes it sound like I’m an intern who wandered into the wrong room. Heat flares in my chest, but I meet her gaze head-on.
“Or maybe,” I say evenly, “it’s time someone fresh took the reins instead of recycling the same old tired ideas copied directly from Pinterest.”
A ripple moves through the room—half shock, half glee at the drama unfolding. Miranda’s nails tap the table, a sharp staccato.
Her voice hardens, “Fresh doesn’t mean competent. This gala is too important to risk on your learning curve.”
“And undermining your colleagues in front of management doesn’t exactly scream competence either,” I snap back before I can stop myself. I can tell that most people do not expect me to clap back, but I guess being the “wife” to a famous hockey playergives me a sudden boost of confidence. I’m no longer someone to mess with.
“Excuse me?” Miranda leans forward, eyes flashing. “I’m trying to save the company from disaster. You should be thanking me.”
I lean in too, matching her energy, refusing to back down. “No, you’re trying to save your ego. Just admit that you can’t stand the idea of someone else succeeding where you’ve always been the safe, predictable choice. That must suck, doesn’t it?”
The silence after my words is so sharp I can hear the hum of the overhead lights. Miranda’s face goes red, but her voice comes out clipped. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. And if you think you can pull this off, you’re delusional. You’ll crumble under pressure like you always do.”
My heart spikes, but I won’t let her see it. I lift my chin. “We’ll see about that.”
“Enough.” Mrs. Randolph’s voice slices through the tension, calm but laced with steel. Both Miranda and I snap our heads toward her like guilty children. She sets her pen down slowly, her eyes sweeping the room before pinning Miranda in place.
“Miranda,” she says, her tone as precise as a blade. “Brie will be leading this project. And you will act like a lady and be gracious about it. Is that clear?”
Miranda swallows hard, the color draining slightly from her cheeks.
“Yes, ma’am,” she murmurs, though the venom in her eyes doesn’t fade.
Then Mrs. Randolph turns to me. “Brie, you will comport yourself and refrain from making jabs at your colleagues,”what the hell?, “and don’t let the noise distract you. Show us what youcan do and make sure you do a damn good job about it, because if you fail, then you’re not going to leave unscathed.”
Something surges in me at her words—fear, yes, but also pride. I nod firmly. “I will.”
The meeting continues, but the air between Miranda and me practically crackles, an unspoken war declared. She might try to trip me up, but I’m not backing down. Not anymore.
As soon as we’re done, Miranda walks up to me and gets right into my face.
“You might think that you’ve won this round because you’re allegedly married to some famous guy, but I hope you know that you’re nothing compared to me. I’m going to be here and I’m going to watch you fail, you know why? Because I’m better than you and even if you were sleeping with a million famous people, you’d never beat me.” She smiles and then walks away.
Somehow that hurt, but I don’t let it get to me completely. I’ll show her what exactly it is that I can do.
13
The minute the car pulls up to the front of the house, I’m already out the door, not bothering to lock it properly. I have more serious issues to attend to, and number one on that list is Brie. She hasn’t responded to my messages after the last one where she asked me to use the magic word, like what the heck? Who does she think she is?
I march into the house, ready to give her a piece of my mind. I find her seated on the couch, dressed in a green oversized t-shirt and jean shorts. The magazine in her hand hides her face from my view.
“Brie! Why the hell have you been ignoring my texts?”
She doesn’t respond, doesn’t even acknowledge me. Seething, I push the magazine from her face, and it falls forward on her chest, revealing her face. I’m about to demand for an answer but the words die in my throat at the sight of her calm expression. At this point, I feel like a raging storm coming to disrupt that.
