Page 34 of Married As Puck
That has the lady whose name I recall as Clara, grinning from ear to ear.
“Where did you learn to bake this good?” I ask, scribbling notes into the notepad I have been carrying around for most of today.
“Thank you, Brie. My grandma taught me the basics. I learned from watching her, got more tutorials on YouTube and then went ahead to get officially certified.”
For a moment I wonder what skills my real family would have possessed and what heirloom they would have passed down to me. Too bad the only families I had were the foster homes and even then, I never belonged. Well except for that one time with Julia’s family but every other place, I was an outsider.
I untangle myself from the cobwebs of that thought, a grin breaking through.
“That’s beautiful! Your grandmother would be so proud of you.”
Clara nods.
“Excuse me, I have to take this,” I say, taking a step from her as my phone buzzes.
The call is from the interior designer for the event.
“Oh, hi there, Brittany.”
The conversation takes longer than I anticipate. I take notes for most of the call and tying up loose ends.
“Everything must be perfect, Brittany,” I repeat my boss’ exact words to her. “This is huge, and we don’t want anything to go wrong. Stick to our initial color scheme for now until I get confirmation from Mrs. Randolph to tweak it a bit.”
She affirms and finally, I end the call.
A sigh of relief escapes my lips. My ears feel warm from all the calls I’ve answered today and it’s not even noon yet.
I plop on one of the nearest chairs in the room and rest my head on the desk to catch my breath for a while.
My phone pings with multiple notifications. I raise my head and see a message from Collins. It’s only a thumbs up emoji, signifying that I had done a good job getting Cameron on board with his ideas for our first public appearance as a couple.
A smile tugs at my lips as the memory of our conversation yesterday crosses my mind. He was his usual grumpy self, but our words didn’t escalate more than the playful banter. It’s a good thing I never back down from a challenge, even if that challenge was my hot, brooding roommate.
“Look at you sitting on your hands when you haven’t even done half of your work today.”
I roll my eyes at that annoying voice.
Miranda slams a thick folder in front of me. “There! Mrs. Randolph said she wants you to go through that and compile the guest list for the gala based on their net worth.”
“But we can do that digitally,” I counter, frowning at the papers. “I already compiled one two weeks ago, and she approved it.”
Miranda shrugs. “Well, that’s history now. She wants a fresh list, and you better not miss out any important name,” she instructs,wagging a finger at me, her pink manicured nail almost poking me. She sways her hips and walks away with a smug grin on her face.
I shake my head at her. “If this woman thinks she’s going to ruin my day today, then she’s got something else coming.”
Without opening the folder, I login to my computer and search for the one I submitted a fortnight ago. I cross-check it over the city’s most affluent citizens and add missing names. I edit the file name and send it to her email. Then, I lean back with a smile on my lips.Take that, Mrs. Randolph!
I can already picture how red her face will be once she receives the email. I can’t help it, I break down into a hearty laughter that leaves my sides aching and a few colleagues staring at me with arched brows.
A few hours later, I’m done handling the important details and head to Mrs. Randolph’s office to submit the hard copy of my report as requested. I know she only asked me to go through that painstaking process of pen to paper just to stress me. Like Julia always jokes, she’s taken her role as my evil stepmother a little too seriously.
I keep my fingers crossed as I knock on her door. There’s a muffled reply from the inside. I don’t wait for another. I just push the door and walk in.
“Mrs. Randolph, here’s the report you asked for. It’s lunchtime so I’ll be heading out now.”
I place the file on her table, but she barely acknowledges me. Her gaze is fixed on whatever reel she’s watching on her phone. It’s one of her habits.
As I get to the door, she calls me back in a barely audible voice. I turn slowly and plaster my signature grin. “Yes, Mrs. Randolph?”
