Page 1 of Shifting the Flame
ONE
DANICA
Danica balanced her phone between her ear and shoulder while furiously typing on her laptop. Sweat beaded on her forehead despite the blast of the air conditioner in her French Quarter apartment.
"Mr. Thompson, I understand your concern about the princess costumes, but I promise they'll be perfect for Lily's party. Your daughter will be thrilled." She stood up and paced across her living room, her bare feet padding against the hardwood floor. Her floral skirt swished around her knees with each determined step.
"Listen, Danielle?—"
"It's Danica," she corrected, forcing brightness into her tone.
"Right, Diana. Just make sure those princesses look exactly like the real deal. My Lily watches those movies religiously." Chad Thompson's voice dripped with the casual entitlement that came with being New Orleans' biggest real estate mogul turned reality TV star.
"The performers are professionals, Mr. Thompson. They?—"
"And about the bounce houses. Four isn't enough. Let's add two more."
Danica froze. "Two more? The party's in three days, and your backyard space?—"
"Listen, Donna, I'm paying you good money to figure it out. That's your job, right?"
Danica bit her tongue hard as she leaned down and typed a quick message on her laptop to her bounce house vendor. "Of course, Mr. Thompson."
The call ended, and Danica tossed her phone onto the couch. "It's Da-ni-ca, you self-absorbed jackass."
Her laptop immediately pinged with an incoming email from her bounce house vendor. The subject line alone made her stomach sink. "IMPOSSIBLE REQUEST - READ NOW."
Danica's phone buzzed with a text from her friend Melissa:Drinks tonight at Lafitte's? Girls' night!
Danica stared down at her phone blankly for a long moment. Another buzz followed:Hello? Earth to Danica? When's the last time you had fun?
Danica sighed and picked up her phone, typing back:Drowning in celebrity birthday party drama. Rain check?
She sat down on her couch and turned back to her laptop, clicking through to the vendor email.
"No way can we source two more houses on this timeline," she read aloud, running her fingers through her long brown hair.
Her phone rang again. The custom ringtone – "Rich Girl" by Hall & Oates – told her exactly who was calling.
"Mr. Thompson, what a surprise." She perched on the edge of her couch, her bare legs crossed at the ankles.
"Denise, I've been thinking about the dessert table. My nutritionist says we need gluten-free and dairy-free options. My sister-in-law's kids are coming."
"I'll contact the bakery immediately," Danica said, mentally calculating how much extra this would cost – and how little of it would likely be covered by Thompson's budget.
"And make sure they're still colorful. None of those sad-looking health desserts."
"Vibrant, Instagram-worthy, and allergen-free. Got it."
After he hung up, Danica leaned back on her couch, staring at the ceiling. Her tiny apartment was a disaster zone of fabric swatches, vendor contracts, and half-empty coffee cups.
"This better be worth it," she muttered, visualizing the review she'd strong-arm out of Thompson once his daughter's eyes lit up at the party. His connections alone could transform her business from "up-and-coming" to "arrived."
Her phone buzzed with another text from Melissa:He's still calling you by the wrong name, isn't he?
Danica snorted and texted back:Today I've been Danielle, Diana, Donna, and Denise. I'm thinking of legally changing my name to just 'Event Planner' to make it easier for him.
The following forty-eight hours became a symphony of chaos that Danica conducted with one hand while putting out fires with the other. Her apartment disappeared beneath a mountain of contracts, supply lists, and hastily scribbled notes.
