1
ELLE
I rushedinto the vibrantly lit hectic office of Starr-Bright Events. The twentieth floor of the high-rise building on the lower west side of Manhattan was still massively impressive; even on my third day on the job. The majority of the light poured through full-height windows throughout the floor. The lofty space, which expanded over two hundred meters, screamed modern-chic. White desks with red leather armchairs lined up evenly. Each desk had a pin-up board with an endless array of samples and photos of flower arrangements, space layouts and color schemes.
Not a soul so much as glanced up when the elevators opened for me seconds ago. All hard-working personnel busy exchanging ideas, solidifying venues or criticizing their cube-mate’s ideas. I took a deep breath, reminding myself for the fifth time that week that this was a good decision in continuing my successful career as an event planner.
Tossing my oversized tote bag onto my “new girl” sized desk, I rolled out my chair and turned on the screen. On day three of working for Starr-Bright Events I didn’t expect too many messages. Other than the standard ‘first week on the job’ orientation-related crap like welcome videos and compliance acknowledgements. Certainly some getting used to not being the number one go-to girl for high scale events this firm was undoubtedly swarming with.
I inhaled deeply as I opened up my Outlook, prepared for yet another day of mundane ‘can’t believe I came in for this’ bullshit.
I nearly fell out of my chair when my inbox started pouring in new unread emails. My eyes grew wider as I scrolled to the bottom of the bolded lines—the first one having a timestamp from 11:45 p.m. the night before. Most were from a few names I recognized within the firm, but nearlyallpossessed the same subject line:
RE: URGENT DONOVAN HAYES EVENT.
I double clicked on the first one which had been addressed specifically to me directly from my new boss.
From: Dean Levy
Adding Elle to the thread.
Elle - can you please handle? Thx.
Handle what? Taking the subject line at its word, Iurgentlyscrolled down to the thread before I was looped in and began reading. Picking up on the matter even before reaching the bottom, I understood that a guy named Donovan Hayes was throwing a party…a surprise party…a twenty-year anniversary for his wife.
For…where was the date of event?
This Sunday?
It was already Wednesday. And they just got this account?
No way. No how. Not possible. What made this guy so special? From what I understood, Starr-Bright would turn away anyone who wanted an event planned in less than a month. Either someone at the firm screwed up and they needed to make a client happy ASAP, or this guy was a very big deal.
Someone approached me from behind and my head snapped.
Bobby Rankoff, a lanky, preppy attired tenured event planner who I understood to—at this point in his career—only passes on information, critiques others and barely do any work himself. He tossed a blue folder onto my desk and held up two thumbs, walking backwards. “Elle! Can’t thank you enough. You’ve got this!”
Oh and the guy was also a maddening phony.
I shook my head and held up my hands. “Bobby, wait. Not that I’m not thrilled to get the work,” I laughed nervously, “but what makes this guy so…urgent?”
Bobby raised his head slightly and looked around dramatically. “Donovan Hayes is the CEO of Hayes Enterprises; one of the city’s biggest private investment firms. We don’t turn down these types of clients, even when their requests are nearly impossible. Where there’s money and recognition, there’s a Starr-Bright event planner ready for the job.” Bobby nodded at me and flashed a smile before pointing back to the frustratingly thin folder. “Hayes’ assistant’s contact is in there along with all the info she’s given us last night, including budget. And Elle…use every last dime,” he stressed. Then slipped into his cheerful tone again. “Good luck.”
I turned back to my desk, eying the folder. My heart beat at an uncomfortable pace and feared I was about to experience my very first panic attack. And at my new job, no less. A job where I was supposed to be known as the best in the city.
Now people were acting like I was some sort of a rookie. A sorority pledger who needed to prove her worth by doing the dirty work.
I stared at the folder, desperately trying to remember how to open a clogged throat for a breath of air. It wasn’t like me to get this nervous. Why was I nervous?
Because this is impossible. Utterly impossible. And it looked like I was going to work my ass off, pulling at an endless line of strings and calling in an obscene amount of favors. All for a job I no longer truly care for.
But one I desperately needed.
“Elle?” My co-worker and next-door cube mate, Mimi called in a soft, tentative voice that snapped me out of my time-wasteful daze.
“Why me?” I whispered to her. For a moment I felt proud that my new boss believed I could handle the job and trusted me to run this important event. But it was short lived and quickly replaced by dread that wasn’t going away anytime soon.
Mimi pushed off her desk and rolled close, lowering her voice. “Did you read the entire chain of emails? Everyone copied in the request turned it down. Suspiciously claiming to be too busy with projects or admitted to not having the means to plan such an event.
