“No. I hate violent movies.”
“Too bad. I could have used that movie to illustrate more clearly how Rocky became world champion and got soft, so he had to go back to his gritty roots to regain his eye of the tiger.”
“Sounds really neat,” she said drily.
“My point is, I think what happened to Jameson International is that I got complacent with all of my success—I got soft. So I don’t want to start another slick company with a soft underbelly. I want to be the little guy that punches the big guy in the nose.”
Nicole shook her head. “Back to the wedding. Are you okay with what I said?”
He took her hand and looked her in the eye. “Fifty people sounds like a perfect amount.”
“And I’ll probably want to have the reception at a nice place, so it might get expensive.”
“I don’t think you could plan a wedding for fifty people that would be considered expensive.”
“So I’m not on a budget?”
He shrugged slightly. “I really don’t see the point. Just do what you think is right, I trust you completely.”
“Okay, then,” she said, laughing a little at how easy it was.
They continued walking through the office and when they circled back around to the realtor, Red said, “It’s perfect.”
***
The next week flew by in a flurry of activity. Red was starting to hire employees for the new operation. Not very many—just a skeleton crew of people to form a strong team.
Nicole was required to be there every step of the way, mainly because Red liked to discuss every minor detail with her. She still wasn’t sure exactly what her role was, so one morning she pressed him on it in the car ride over to the office.
“So what exactly do I do at this new company?”
“I was thinking of calling it The Red Agency.”
“I like it. But what do I do at The Red Agency?”
“I’m not sure if the name sounds too feminine, though. Like we’re in the business of manufacturing lipstick or something.”
“Will you please answer me?”
He glanced at her. “Why is it so important to give you a title? We’re partners. Isn’t that enough?”
“Of course it is. But I don’t have equal say in the day-to-day operations of the business. You have way more experience than me, and I don’t want that type of responsibility. Besides, you don’t really listen to me all that much.”
“That’s so not true.”
“I told you I thought the office was a dump and you just went and rented it anyway—like two seconds after I gave you my opinion.”
He made a face. “You’re exaggerating.”
“No I’m not.”
“Well what do you want your title to be?”
Nicole thought about it. “I don’t know. It seems like I’m your executive assistant.”
“Fine then.”
“Is that what you want me to be?”
“Nicole, I don’t care what your title is. I just want you by my side.”
She leaned over and kissed his rough cheek, smelling his cologne. “I love you when you’re being stubborn.”
“I’m not being stubborn,” he muttered, with a grin.
***
That night, she called her mother to tell her about the wedding.
Her mother was ecstatic. “Finally,” she crowed, “we can get down to brass tacks.”
“I think we’ve settled on a date. It’s just over two months from today,” Nicole said. “We want to do it sooner than later, but I also need to give people time to plan.”
“That’s reasonable,” her mother replied, “especially since most people typically send out a save the date note six months in advance.”
“Obviously we can’t do that.”
“Obviously. So you’re doing it the best way you know how.”
Nicole rolled her eyes, switched the phone to her other ear. Red was in the media room watching Rocky III. He’d even made her watch part of it yesterday—the scene where Sylvester Stallone goes back to his old, stinky gym and everyone stares at him with these mean looks in their eyes—they call it “they eye of the tiger.” Red had pointed at the screen and asked her if everything made more sense now, and she’d nodded her head, pretending that she understood.
“I just thought I’d let you know what we were planning,” Nicole said, wanting to get off the phone without allowing her mother to drag her into some needless debate over what was an appropriate amount of time to give advance notice of her wedding date.
“Speaking of planning,” her mother said slowly. “Do you remember Marcie Tilly?”
Nicole wracked her brain. “Hmmmm….”
“She throws those parties that your father and I go to on New Year’s Eve. I’m sure I mentioned her to you before.”
“I think I remember you talking about her,” Nicole said, having only the vaguest recollection of her mom saying something last year about New Year’s Eve plans—and Nicole could have sworn she’d been complaining that she didn’t want to go because it would be such a production.