Chapter 2 Party

Real peacock feathers brought from India and black and white roses adorn the table centerpieces, while black and white linen covers every table. I suggested the feathers, and Samantha grudgingly acknowledged that they were attractive.

Again, since my company offers full-service party planning and catering, I'm happy as long as she's satisfied. After serving the dinner and setting everything up, we take everything down. I launched the business right out of college, and it has expanded beyond my expectations. I have eight extremely skilled servers, four cooks who handle the food, and twenty personnel for large events like this one. I had to put in a lot of effort to get here, but it was all worthwhile. This is my passion, after all, and I've been surprised yet happy with my success. The business's financial side is the sole issue. I don't have much left over because every cent of profit is either used to grow my business or pay off my education loans. I manage, but in the sweltering summer months, there are occasions when I have to choose between air conditioning and a shower. Given the limited funds, it is definitely not both.

I take a few more moments to look proudly at my work. My staff members are running about, completing the wall decorations and all of the tables. Although it's not the largest space we've ever worked in, it's unquestionably the most impressive. Even though I have faith that my staff won't damage anything priceless, I still get anxious when I see antiques all over. I can't wait for this evening to end. I will be able to forget this place ever existed once we have cleared out and cashed the money.

Samantha, wearing a silky floor-length gown, appears out of nowhere. She looks me up and down, her face crumpling into a grimace.

"Brendan, are you wearing that? Soon, visitors will arrive. Everybody should visit their party posts. I can't trust you to stay out of all the pictures if you don't change into something acceptable. Otherwise, you'll stand out like a sore thumb. I hope you have anything.

I make myself speak in a neutral tone and refrain from rolling my eyes. Naturally, Samantha. I'm glad to. I'm in the kitchen with a dress. I simply didn't want setup to go wrong.

"All right, then, go get it on. Assemble your personnel to their places. She loses her temper, obviously loving being in charge of me.

Samantha stalks off, and I sigh. Although I have dealt with some awful clients, Samantha is by far the worst. Her flawless blond hair and height, slender form only make me detest her more. She resembles a living Barbie. That is, if Barbie only ate lemons and never smiled.

Furthermore, I'm not very short-I'm five feet five-but I'm also not as tall as she is. I have all the appropriate curves and a healthy weight for my height. I don't have to use an iron every morning to get my brown hair straight. I wear minimal makeup that very slightly accentuates my natural features. I'm a pretty woman, by all accounts. But with her model-like figure, Samantha still makes me appear like a slouch.

I summon my employees to attention by clapping my hands into the reverberating ballroom and saying, "All right, everyone." "Our invited guests will be here shortly. Please complete the last details of your job before preparing for the welcoming reception. For the length of the celebration, everyone of you has a task to complete.

Through the huge room, I hear a few muttered answers, and my staff members work a little more quickly to finish the task. Five minutes later, every employee has left, and the space is prepared for the arrival of glitzy men and women. Before the party starts, I head back to the kitchen to get my dress and change in the restroom.

The bodice of my black, calf-length dress features a lovely peacock motif. The fact that I match the centerpieces makes it a little funny, but I don't mind. My goal is to become part of the background, after all. I only need to watch my waiters and waitresses, manage sure everyone is getting food, and make sure nothing disastrous occurs. I don't need to be seen. I'm here to babysit the ball, not to go.

Guests are already removing their coats in the foyer when I come out of the restroom. Some are barefaced, but the majority are wearing masks as specified by the invitation. I suggested that we have extra masks on hand, but Samantha rejected my suggestion right away.

She sighed, "You wouldn't find what we want."

Even if my expression remained the same, I was shocked.

My response was, "I'm sorry." "What do you mean?"

In other words, Mr. Fedrickson is a billionaire, and his guests are also affluent businesspeople. Your party budget wouldn't cover the kind of mask they choose. You wouldn't be able to find something appropriate either.

That was a real putdown, wow. However, I smiled pleasantly and let it go. This was a job after all, and a good one at that.

My polite reply was, "Of course." "So, no more masks. I understand.

And I understand what Samantha meant as the invitees start to show up. All of the visitors are gorgeous, wealthy individuals wearing sweeping ballgowns in jewel tones and exquisitely fitted tuxedos. Despite wearing five-inch heels, the women manage to look refined and kind. The men are tall, good-looking, and all tanned.

Who are these individuals? More precisely, who is the enigmatic host? Pedro Fedrickson, the client, was the subject of my inquiry, but I came to no firm findings. The man wasn't born wealthy, despite the fact that his name sounded significant. Rather, he left college long ago to start his own business, and today he's a multimillionaire with money flowing from the wazoo.

In addition, he seems like a bit of a bad boy from the stuff I've read. Pedro Fedrickson narrowly escaped being arrested for fighting at a charity function less than a year ago. According to the report I read, Mr. Fedrickson had not one but two attractive women at the party. As expected, the three were expelled after the two women got into a brawl. Whoa.

However, there was more to the story than that, since one of the women in the accompanying photo looked a lot like Pedro. Their jet-black hair, dazzling blue eyes, and prominent foreheads were identical. This wasn't your typical catfight, and I suspected she was his sister. There is undoubtedly more to the altercation than the typical female hormones gone wrong, though I'm not sure what it was about.

I'm startled out of my reverie by a sound to my right. The centerpiece on an adjacent table is being admired by a woman in a stylish black dress and a lovely green and white mask.

The female purrs to her male mate, "Do you see the peacock feather?" "What a lovely concept. Don't you think it truly brings everything together?