“No.” She’s adamant. “In fact, maybe we should extend it and do three or four days instead.”
Fuck.
“That suits me.” That sounds like hell. Because, well, spiders. “Will there be limited technology access?”
“Yes. Maybe even detoxing of your body too.”
Fuck. Fuck. “Fantastic. And will there be a schedule with a list of activities we will be doing?”
“Not always. Sometimes they throw you into the unknown and in at the deep end.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. “Sounds like my kind of thing.” I’d rather floss with barbed wire.
Sapphire blinks once, then twice, like she can’t believe my response. “Well then, I’ll get that all booked for us.”
“Fantastic, I can’t wait.” I’d literally rather do anything else; I’d even high-five a poisonous jellyfish.
“Right, well, I’ll get right on to that.” She swallows, glancing at the door, and her shoulders stiffen like she’s bracing herself to escape.
Almost too quick, she’s waving goodbye, muttering something under her breath, and slips away, leaving me standing in an empty room.
“Fuck!” I tilt my head back slightly, letting out a heavy sigh because I know Sapphire has been sent to test me on every level of my life.
This was supposed to be a simple venue walk through, and agreeing to attend a retreat with Sapphire was not on my radar today.
She’s trouble on tap.
But maybe spending a few days with her is exactly what I need to help me understand how someone so unlike me is wrong for me… but then, why does she feel so right?
13
SAPPHIRE
“Have Hart Law confirmed the suitability for the venue yet?” Mistee, my best friend I couldn’t run my business without, asks, inspecting our slammed schedule projected onto the conference room wall.
“Nope.” I take a long sip of my crisp wine, then swirl the straw-colored liquid around the red Solo cup I’m drinking it out of. The pair of us decided to work late tonight to do our monthly catch-up with the condition that there would be alcohol, and pizza. So far, I’m on my third cup of wine. After the venue walk through with Eli yesterday and hours of work preparing opening speeches for upcoming events, it’s felt like a long week, and it’s only Tuesday.
“Is he stalling again?” She twirls one of her unruly corkscrew curls around her finger.
“Big time.” I emailed him this afternoon to ask for feedback, but I haven’t heard back. “I’m hoping to hear from him by tomorrow.” That’s pretty unlikely, but a girl can wish.
“What’s the issue?”
“Him. He’s the issue.” I down the rest of my drink, then set my cup on the table and lift my hands in the air to give my back a good stretch, lengthening my spine to release some of the tension. Luckily, I have a yoga class booked tomorrow. Thank the gods.
Mistee taps her pen against the tabletop before lifting it to her mouth and biting the end of it.
“You’re thinking,” I say, knowing my friend. I can almost hear the wheels turning in her busy brain, which is always full of creativity.
“You should build your own venue.” She comes straight out with it.
She knocks me sideways, but in all the best ways. Hell, why didn’t I think of that? “That’s a great idea.”
Mistee sits back in her chair and rubs her hands together like a conspirator. “Then delegates would come to us. It would save us so much time. Securing venues and conference facilities has become a full-time job. It’s not sustainable.”
It’s a pain in the ass and takes me away from the office. I’m glad I only do this when I am managing the bigger events like the one Hart Law is having. However, those are becoming more common, leaving me with little to no time to plan keynote speeches, catch up with marketing, create presentations, and do what I should be doing instead: delivering awesomeness.
At this rate, there might not even be a conference for Hart Law. However, if we had our own venue, the battle would already be halfway won, because there would be no options. It would be a one-and-done solution.