Page 45 of Married As Puck
The kind I thrive in but secretly want to scream in-between. It keeps me busy, yes but also makes me feel as though I’m not unleashing my full potential. There is enough work on my desk to last me until next week, but somehow, I have to clear them out this week, come hail or high water.
I’m juggling three things at once now––emails, calls, notes scrawled in a notebook and a half-finished burger on my desk. The last one doesn’t count but it’s there so…
“Mrs. Gray?” a junior volunteer calls out, peeking into my office with hesitation.
I glance up from my laptop. “Yes, Jen?”
“The caterer says the vegan menu is short of two entrées, and the governor’s aide just called. His wife doesn’t want to sit near Mrs. Bradley because…” she trails off, then adds, “personal reasons.”
I rub my temples and count to three. These elites are very picky with the company they keep and who they are seen with.
“Alright. Tell the caterer to add two more. Move Mrs. Bradley to the other end of the table, away from the governor’s wife. Make it sound like a privilege and tell her it will give her a better view of the stage, alright?”
Jen nods fast and disappears.
I barely breathe before I hear the sound of heels walking towards my door. I take a breath, bracing myself for whatever she has to say now.
Mrs. Randolph walks in, impeccably dressed as always in a green maxi dress. Her lips are painted red and set in a tight line. Her eyes scan everything in my office like a detective.
“Brie. Or should I say, Mrs. Gray?” She places emphasis on that. “Hmm. No because you have yet to change your name legally, so Ms. Sparks.”
“Mrs. Randolph,” I say with a polite yet tight smile on my face. She would call me out on a marriage certificate.
“You’ve confirmed the guest list, I trust? The senator, the governor, the sponsors, everyone important accounted for?”
“Yes, ma’am. Everything’s been finalized, seating chart included.”
Her head tilts, studying me like she’s looking for a loophole. “Good! Remember, one mistake and it won’t be only your name people talk about. It’ll be your husband’s too, and that won’t be good for his reputation now, will it?”
Is that a threat? My fists clench under the desk, but my face stays calm. “Understood.”
“The interior designer called. She said you suggested the idea for the new designs, that’s impressive.” I perk up, listening for a compliment. “Of course, I told her that my organization is known for unique ideas that’s why we are always on top.”
Of course, she had to take the credit for it.
She lingers another second, fingering through a few documents and making annoying comments then leaves. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
God, she’s exhausting.
I begin to respond to the last batch of emails.
She’s kind of right though. Cameron doesn’t need more bad press which is why I’m killing myself to make this gala perfect but that’s not the only thing at stake. Her image will be tarnished too if it falls through and she knows that.
I stare at her through the glass door as she stops at another table to bark orders. I bet she thinks I don’t know that whenever she assigns Miranda to a project, she goes behind to assist her.
The atmosphere at home is a bit different from when I moved in. I think it all started to change since our first official appearance as a couple.
That intense make out session still pops into my head every now and then especially when I’m around him but it’s a good thing that we’re acting like it never happened. It’s better that way, saves me from wondering what it was all about and how that part was not for the cameras. Funny how my life now revolves around the public’s opinion.
As I go down for my morning walk, I find him in the kitchen, already up before me, coffee mug in hand, staring out the window, his brows knot in concentration as if he is communing with nature.
“Brooding again?” I tease, brushing past him for a mug. I take the hot water he left to make tea for myself too.
The way his pout sits catches my attention. Those lips. The hot water spills on me almost scalding me but brings me back to my senses.Ow!
He glares at me. “It’s called thinking.”
“Thinking or sulking?” I grin into my cup.
