“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” My voice echoes through the space, the anger surrounding everyone in the room.
Daly takes a few steps backward until he’s almost hiding behind a large gallery print. “Well, Mr. Hunter…”
I grunt, hating the sound of the name. My hand waves in the air dismissively as I look from him to Trisha.
“They really just canceled?”
She nods. Trisha is the one person who doesn’t ever cower at my mood swings. It might be because she’s old enough to be my mother and was the very first employee I ever hired. My raised tone doesn’t seem to deter her in the slightest. “I’ve tried calling a few local places. There’s not a ton of options, but I’ll continue to try and find something, sir.”
I take a deep breath, looking at the space around me. The gallery is pretty much completely ready for the opening tonight—except for the fact I don’t have a goddamn caterer for the night.
“We’ve used them countless times. I don’t understand why they’re suddenly canceling now,” I grit out, grasping for straws because everything tonight has to be perfect.
So many people I know have already flown in from New York for the night. Word spreads quickly, and the news of the opening tonight is spreading from one wealthy family to the next. I’m hoping even people who are vacationing here or close by come to see it.
It’s all supposed to be perfect. And it’s supposed to be a big fuck-you to my father, who told me this would be the worst career move of my life if I opened something here.
But I can’t have a room full of bored, rich people and not have anything to serve them.
“What if we ran to the store and just bought stuff to serve? They wouldn’t know any different,” Daly offers, his tone cautious.
I shoot a scathing look in his direction. Tonight is supposed to be immaculate. I’m not serving store-bought vegetable trays and cheap meats, no matter how desperate of a situation I’ve found myself in. “Over my dead body,” I growl, the idea preposterous.
In an hour, the first wave of people are set to arrive. Granted, it’s some of the artists I’ve flown in to see the space, but I don’t want to be trying to sort all of this out with them here.
I look back to Trisha. “Their flights were supposed to get in last night, so they had all day today to prepare. They’re just now telling us?”
“Yes,” Trisha answers.
“That’s incredibly unprofessional,” I snap.
“Something about how they got offered a different event. Much bigger, couldn’t say no…”
My loud sigh tells her I’ve heard enough. They’ll never be getting my business again, and I’ll make damn sure that no one else I know in my social circle uses them either. This kind of professionalism is unacceptable in my book and won’t be tolerated. I booked them the moment the sale went through, even going as far as to book their plane tickets and have Trisha set them up with everything they needed for this opening.
My footsteps are heavy as I bound through the gallery and to my small office space at the back of the building. The door cracks against the wall as I angrily shove it open.
Trisha follows me, leaving everyone else behind. Their ideas are useless anyway.
“We have to figure this out,” I tell her, my voice softer now that it’s just the two of us. It’s not her fault they’ve suddenly canceled at the last minute. She did everything she was supposed to do. It wouldn’t be fair to take my anger out on her.
“I think the answer is to find someone locally.”
My fingers steeple underneath my chin. I haven’t exactly gotten to explore the town since arriving last week. I’ve been at the gallery from early in the morning to late at night, surviving off whatever food Trisha forces me to eat. I don’t know where to start on what to eat and how fast I can get it from them, but I don’t really have many other options.
The opening is in four hours, and somehow, I have to start feeding people shortly after that. I don’t have the luxury of time on my side.
“What about the little bakery next door?” Trisha offers. “You’ve had me grab your drinks there every morning. I’m sure we could get some finger foods to serve from them.”
My eyes cut to her immediately. It was supposed to be our little secret that I’ve had her going next door instead of traveling to Starbucks. We’ve been busy, and I needed her here. It was just more convenient that way.
“I’m sure we have other options,” I clip. My phone vibrates in my pocket, but I ignore it. Nothing is more important than dealing with this catering situation and figuring it out fast.
“Well, sure, but I don’t know if anything is better than the cute shop next door. She seems to work so hard and always has a lot on hand. If you just went over and asked nicely, maybe…”
“Trisha, there has to be somewhere else. Isn’t there another bakery here? Or a nice restaurant? Where do people eat?”
She stares at me for a long time, a slight frown to her lips. “There are other places to eat; I’m just not sure there are places that can make the elegant finger-type food we’re looking for at this opening. The last thing people want to do while milling about and munching on snacks is have something messy. Little pastries would be perfect.”
I groan, running my hands up and down my face. “The girl there hates me,” I admit. “She hates everything that has to do with this gallery. I think she was friends with the previous owners. She doesn’t seem like the type that likes the fact that we made the small little gallery more…”
“City?” Trisha finishes.
I nod. “Yeah. That.”
“Then go to her and tell her that even though this isn’t the gallery they’re used to that you appreciate small businesses and would love to show off her delicious food at the opening.”
Trisha crosses her arms over her chest, pinning me with a stare that doesn’t leave a lot of room for arguing. She’s right. Pippa’s little bakery would be perfect for the mess I’ve found myself in, but I’d much prefer riding the god-awful mechanical bull at one of the bars in this town than asking her for help.
“She’s too smart,” I remark off-handedly. “There’s not enough smoke I could blow up her ass to make her believe the whole small business speech. It’s too last-minute. She’d be onto me immediately.”
“How about I go ask her?” Trisha offers. “No one can say no to an old lady.” She flutters her eyelashes, making me bark out a laugh.
“You’re not old,” I tell her, sitting up in my chair.
She smiles. “Good answer. I’m off to go lay on my old-lady charm anyway.”
Trisha doesn’t say anything else. She flutters out the door, and as I watch her leave, I already know what Pippa’s answer will be. I just hope I’m wrong.
