I sit at my desk, attempting to focus on the piles of work before me. I should be making calls to confirm the details for the bar mitzvah on Saturday and checking on the flowers for the Gilbert wedding like I told Catherine I was going to. Instead, I’m scouring the internet for Levi. He doesn’t have a single social media account. Not one. The only thing I’ve managed to hunt down that mentions his name are old news articles about opening a bar called the Collector. I want to look further, search the Department of Revenue and licensing sites so I can find out how many bars that S equates to, but my attention is focused on finding a picture of him to replace the mental image that I’ve been carrying around with me for a week—the look he gave me before he kissed me.

Catherine steps into my office, and if guilt were a color, it would be the pale shade of red that colors my cheeks as I quickly move my cursor to close all my internet windows so traces of my search for Levi are gone. “Chelsea called me,” she says.

I look to her, my shoulders still rigid with surprise. “Is everything okay?” I ask, noticing her pursed lips and strained muscles in her neck.

“We were discussing details of her redesigning my office, and an event I’m attending on Friday came up.” She pauses, folding her arms across her narrow chest. “She told me she’d see me there and that Levi was going as her plus one.”

I lean back in my chair, recognizing her attempts to soothe her temper as she quickly unfolds her arms and moves a hand to her temple. Catherine can’t remain still when she’s angry.

“If you’re in a contract with her for any of your events, complete them, but then I don’t want anyone using her again. She’s blacklisted from Glitter and Gold.” Her arms shoot out, her hands waving. “She’s dead to us. That level of unprofessionalism will not be tolerated. This isn’t a dating establishment. What was she thinking?”

I take a deep breath. Guilt stirs into the pool of relief I’m internally doing cannonballs into.

“How did it even come up? Levi should have been more professional. Tell me you weren’t there when he asked her out.”

My cannonball becomes a belly flop. Her question knocks the air from my chest and leaves a stinging sensation across my skin. She hasn’t said anything to compare us, yet self-consciousness envelops me. Of course she’d assume Levi asked Chelsea out. She’s gorgeous and successful, owning her own prosperous and sought-after business.

I take a drink of my coffee. It’s gone cold, but it’s still sweet and buys me a moment to stifle my pride so I don’t mention Levi had asked me out—and another moment to drain the pool and save the company’s relationship with Chelsea. As much as I currently wish to have her blacklisted, I know I’m being shortsighted. “She invited him so they could discuss details of the bar—not as a date. She fit this job in last minute, and you know how booked she gets. It was very professional,” I lie.

Catherine pauses, her blue eyes focusing on me. I stare back at her, searching for similarities between her and Levi. Even now that I know she’s his mom, it’s impossible for me to see a resemblance. “I still don’t like it,” she says. “It doesn’t feel right, and I don’t want her even thinking she’s dating my son.”

Warning bells are going off in my head. I knew this would be her reaction had she found out Levi and I had gone out; that’s why I’d made sure we broke things off. But hearing it confirmed smothers that final ember that Felicity had stoked last night. “I’ll call him,” she says.

“Not to impose,” I say, sitting forward. “But that might create more friction, and I’d hate for him to fire her when this project is already facing so many obstacles. Did you hear about the roof?”

Catherine’s attention shifts from annoyance to interest. “What happened with the roof?”

“They found a leak. I received an email from Levi this morning that said they’re going to be pulling out the ceiling, and due to the age, it will likely have asbestos, so they have an abatement team going to test it tomorrow.”

She sighs loudly, throwing her head back. “The abatement teams are painfully slow. Levi must be going out of his mind.” She takes a deep breath and straightens before pointing a red-polished finger at me. “I want you to work directly with Chelsea. Try to keep Levi out of the picture. She doesn’t need to be distracting him.”

I nod. “I will do my best.”

“Make it happen,” she says, turning toward my door.

I count. One. Two. Three. She spins as I hit four.

“I also need you to book me a flight for next week. Last time Andrea did it, I ended up in the back of the plane next to a man who smelled like urine.”

I reach for a pen and pad of paper. “What dates?”

“I want to leave Sunday morning and return Thursday afternoon. Early. I don’t want to have to drive home in the dark.”

I nod, already knowing this detail from planning too many of her trips. “And where to?”

“New York.”

“Newark?”

“I prefer Kennedy, but Newark will be closer.”

“I’ll take care of it. Did you already book your hotel?”

“I’ll be staying with someone, so that’s no trouble.”

Catherine has been making this trip for years, and it’s the only one she ever makes where she doesn’t stay at a hotel. I’ve always assumed it was because she met a man there—now I’m wondering if it’s her son.

“I’ll email your confirmation as soon as it’s done.”

Catherine nods. “While I’m away, I’ll need you to feed Cleopatra. She’s on a special diet. I’ll send you a copy of the vet’s instructions.” She disappears down the hall.

“Of course you will.”

I grab my phone and flip to Felicity.

Around 2 p.m., my phone rings.

“Glitter and Gold, this is Brooke.”

“Brooke, this is Stan.”

“Stan. How are you? Thanks for returning my call. I was just touching base to confirm this Saturday.”

“This Saturday?” he asks.

My heart stalls. “Yeah, the bar mitzvah. Potato latkes. Phyllo triangles with feta cheese. Tri-tip?”

“Brooke, I have you down for next Saturday.”

I clamp my hand to my forehead, panic consuming my thoughts. “Are you sure?”

“I’m looking at my calendar right now. I was calling to confirm head count to ensure I had the right amount of food.” As he continues discussing seasonal vegetables and the reason for his call, I pull up the contract I’d sent over. On it the date is for this Saturday except for at the bottom, where the date is for next Saturday.

“I have no idea how this happened,” I tell him. “It appears as though the contract shows two dates, one for this Saturday and one for the following week. I’m really sorry, Stan. I know this puts you in a bind, but is there any way you can make this work?”

“I have an event this Saturday,” he says. “Otherwise, I’d find a way to make it happen. You know I would.”

I run my hand through my hair and close my eyes. “I know. I’m so sorry for the confusion and for scheduling you out for next week and potentially costing you lost business. Did you order anything? Do I need to reimburse you or pay a cancelation fee since I won’t need four hundred latkes next week?”

“You’ve never pulled this on me before, and I got a call from a lady today looking to book that date. I’ll call her, and tell her I can do it with the same menu we discussed, and if she agrees, I’ll refund you for the event. Maybe you can find someone else?”

I sigh with relief. The added cost would have had to come from me personally since it wasn’t my client’s error and there’s no way I would have brought this to Catherine. “If your event Saturday cancels, let me know. We’ll take whatever you’re fixing them.” I try to laugh at the end to make it sound like a friendly joke rather than a plea.

“Good luck. I hope you’re able to find someone on such short notice.”

The moment Stan hangs up, I begin scouring my contacts, searching through all of the caterers I’ve ever worked with. I contact each of them regardless of our history being positive or not—at this point I’m a beggar and have absolutely no room for being a chooser.

Booked.

Booked.

Message.

Message.

Message.

Booked.

Booked.

Message.

Booked.

Out of business.

Message.

Booked.

Message.

Hates Catherine.

Message.

Believes the entire world should be Catholic.

Message.

Booked.

Booked.

Booked.

Message.

Number out of service.

I turn to Google when my list of contacts runs dry and make a couple dozen phone calls as I pace the perimeter of my office until I sit down with a notepad and make a list of possible meals I could purchase and find some people to hire to help plate. Giant wholesale stores have made it possible for us to orchestrate these emergencies when absolutely necessary. It’s chaotic and stressful and generally not as successful, but as a last resort, it’s feasible.

“Is that a message you plan to send to me via carrier pigeon?”

My neck snaps, and I see Levi standing in my office doorway. He’s wearing a pair of worn jeans, brown boots, and a light-blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled that makes his eyes look almost electric. His light hair is artfully mussed, and his lips are curved with a smile that makes my breathing erratic. I tear my eyes from him to the clock on my phone and discover it’s past 6 p.m.

“I… Oh, my gosh. I’m so sorry. I didn’t forget. I just—” I hold my breath while shaking my head. Any excuse will be terrible, so I plaster a smile across my face. “I can be ready in ten minutes. Let me just…” I scan over my desk, searching for anything left untouched that had an immediate deadline. I stop on the note with Catherine’s flight request. “I need to make this reservation for your mom really fast, and then we can go.” Really, all I can do now is wait and hope that one of the messages I left will be answered while making a contingency plan.

“You book her travel plans? Doesn’t she have a secretary for that stuff?”

I shake my head. “Sort of. But it’s a long story…”

“That isn’t even for business. If she’s flying into Newark, it’s to see my brother.” He turns his wrist to look at the time. His watch is a large silver band, enunciating the definition of his forearm.

My internet stalls, and my guilt ratchets higher. “You know what? I can do this later. Let’s go.”

Levi shakes his head. “Don’t let me stop you. I’m not trying to rush you. I just find it ridiculous that she’s asked you to do this.”

“No. I feel terrible. I meant to call you around noon. I don’t know how it got so late.”

“Usually they say fun steals time, but in your case, that doesn’t sound like a very accurate statement.”

I lock my computer and grab the note with scribbled details, shoving it into the front of my bag along with several contacts and my laptop. “It’s been a day. But it will be fine. Do you mind if I change really quick?”

“No. Should I wait for you in the lobby?”

“That would be great. I’ll be right out.”

“You won’t sneak out a bathroom window or forget about me, right? I have a limit on the number of times I stalk a person down, and you’re starting to impede my average.”

“Five minutes.”

“I’ll give you ten.”

As my office door clicks shut, I grab the bag of clothes I’d brought with me. I’d meant to hang them up, but everything I meant to do today went to the wayside after my call with Stan.

I wriggle out of my dress and pull on a pair of skinny jeans and the emerald top Felicity gave me and shove my feet back into my black pumps before taking my bags and heading to the restroom.

I stop when I catch my reflection. My hair is sticking up in spots from running my fingers through it all day, and flecks of mascara have gathered below my eyes. I look like I need a shower and a nap. I quickly wash my face with a towelette and reapply as much makeup as I can in the short period before turning to my hair. I don’t have time to salvage it, so I pull it into a high bun and call it done.

I stop before opening the door, staring at myself in the mirror again. While I’ve never thought of myself as a beauty queen, I don’t recall questioning myself and each of my features like I have been the past couple of months. The observation leaves a nagging sensation in my chest, begging me to delve further into the observation so I can uncover more truths and realizations, but I’ve already gone over my ten minutes, so I flip off the lights and head to the lobby, passing by another coworker who’s still here with a client. I silently wave good-bye and meet Levi.