“You want to have complete control over an event that will either reflect very well or very badly on your company.”
“Yes.” He took a step closer, his eyes boring into mine.
“You need someone you can trust to report regularly on the progress of the event, something I assume Crystal didn’t?” My focus switched to Max, who shifted uncomfortably at the attention before nodding. “All of that can be achieved by employing a reputable event management company.”
I waited for further protests, then carried on as all three alphas’ attention was on me.
“I will liaise with the company on everything,” I explained. “I will get weekly, if not daily reports on how they are progressing, and then forward the information onto whoever wants it. I would suggest a divide and conquer approach—each of you will take an area of expertise, and I will report anything to do with that back to you. I’m used to using project management software.”
“They’re not,” Max grumbled. “I’ve tried to get them to start using it more than once, but they never listen.” He eyed the other two then.
“Well, it’s time to listen to your brother,” I continued. “All of the deliverables can be identified together. We can assign someone as ultimately responsible for each one. I’ll have a clear idea of who to bring issues and requests to, which will speed up the process.”
Max nodded along, fighting the urge to look smug and not entirely succeeding.
“We can then bring the event management company in and assign tasks to them from the software. They’ll report their progress within the program, bring up any hurdles, and I can compile reports from there, identifying where any issues lie. But most of all…”
I stared from one to the other of all three men, willing them to see the wisdom of my idea.
“You’ll have a document that can be reused in future projects, negating the need to do so much legwork to establish the whole system, and if for some reason I decide to leave your employ, you’ll be able to slot my replacement in with much greater ease than I’m finding, trawling through Crystal’s emails.”
That was underselling the problem. From what I could see, she’d done very little except shoot off emails to some suppliers of things like cut flowers or catering companies she’d liked the look of, spending way too much time focussed on the look and feel of the event but not the actual purpose of it.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Lucien said, and the ragged sound of his voice had both of his brothers looking at him, then me in alarm.
“I have no intention of doing so,” I replied coolly. “But even I can have an accident or a medical emergency. I want this event to be a success, don’t you?”
That was apparently the right thing to say. Tension seemed to leach out of every man, and they glanced at each other, then nodded.
“Excellent.” I looked down at my watch, spying the notification flashing on the screen. “Now you’ve got the brunch meeting over at Darling Harbour. I’ll hang back here and chat to the lovely Mr Gardener” —the manager of the convention centre flashed me a tentative smile— “and get his hot takes on some of the event management firms that have worked here privately. I’ll meet you over there.”
They were dismissed. They seemed to realise that, blinking and then nodding, but I turned towards Gardener before I could catch any further reactions. Sometimes, you had to upwardly manage your bosses to ensure things got done.
“So who do you recommend?” I asked him as we walked back towards his office. “Give me the good, the bad, and the freaking horrendous. This is insanely high stakes, and I have to know who we’re working with before we employ someone.”
“Well…” Gardener began.
I walkedout of the convention centre feeling forewarned and forearmed. I’d cross-check the manager’s thoughts and opinions. One person’s point of view did not a judgement make, but I had created a list of my top three possibilities, filling me with a sense of achievement as I went to join my bosses.
Only for it all to fall apart.
I was typing yet more notes on my phone as I was walking, never a smart move, when a rude noise had my head jerking up. Just a rough intake of breath, part ragged inhale, part snort, that was all it took to break my concentration. My eyes flicked around, finding the source of it quickly—a man in a very nice suit passing me by, with a not very nice expression on his face.
Part leer, part wrinkle of disgust, it tore away the me who was immersed in her job, who was totally focussed on an impossible task and starting to feel like she was having some initial success, and put me back here.
Another little snort came from him, then his eyes flicked up and down me, to make sure I knew what that meant. Pig. That was what I was supposed to take away from this. For a moment, I just stared, which I shouldn’t have. Old coping methods rose up, immediately pushing me to move my damn feet and walk away from this prick. He was like a small child calling out ‘Mum, Mum, look at me!’ He’d seen me walking and thought it fine to be a fucking rude prick and I was not going to give him what he wanted.
A reaction.
Except each one of those steps? They took something from me, something precious. Anger seethed inside me, righteous and ready to burn down everything in its path, then frustration, then fear. My focus wasn’t on my job anymore, on feeling confident and competent. It was on them and them and them. The people sitting at the tables beside Darling Harbour, looking out onto the sea as they enjoyed their brunch. The young men walking towards me on the boardwalk. The pretty girls, their hair shining in the morning sun as their heads bent together to discuss something excitedly. Even the small children waiting for a turn on the Ferris wheel. Did they think and feel the same? Was it just a thin veneer of civility all that held them back from making the same type of comment? I felt exposed, vulnerable, my hands going to my jacket and pulling it closer around my body, despite the morning heat, my hand wiping sweat from my brow.
There was no winning here.
If I confronted the guy, like I’d felt the need to for a blazing few seconds, I’d be that crazy Karen going nuts in public. If I showed any sort of pain or reaction, he’d gleefully laugh, having gotten exactly what he wanted.
If I took him to task, calmly and assertively, as I’d practised with my therapist? Well, then I had to face something else again—his aggression, his need to tear me down, the smugness he felt when he looked at a complete stranger like me.
He doesn’t matter, I told myself furiously.He’s nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing—