“Vicky!” Bentley bellowed from the reception area. “Please put Eliot in the break room. He’s upsetting Olive.”
“Olive?” Vicky echoed incredulously. Since Vicky hadn’t attended yesterday’s meeting at the James Joyce Pub, she’d missed Olive’s grand entrance. Obviously, no one had filled her in on Bentley’s newest acquisition. Now she was looking to me for an explanation, but I hated to be the bearer of bad news. And any rival for Eliot’s coveted agency mascot position would certainly be bad news to Vicky. So I simply shrugged and turned away, busying myself with gathering files and paperwork I’d need for the status meeting. Behind me, I heard the scurried clicking of claws against the hardwood floors, then a loud hiss and a sharp doggie yelp, followed by Bentley’s own form of barking: “Ms. Crump, get that cat into the break room now!”
I squeezed my eyes shut and took a deep breath. It looked like we were all in for a very long week.
Chapter 4
Entering through the double doors of the Marlette Robbins Center for the Arts, I felt a mixture of emotions, including pride that I’d had even a small, albeit roundabout, part in creating this fine facility. The Arts Center, built on the edge of town, now stood as a cornerstone to our community activities, providing space and resources for artists of all kinds. Although it was funded by the estate of a wonderfully talented author named Marlette Robbins and existed only because of his premature death, I knew in my heart that Marlette would be proud for two reasons. First, this building represented a lasting physical legacy of his love of this community. And second, because his book, The Alexandria Society, given wide acclaim after it was published posthumously, had so skillfully touched the hearts of thousands.
But this wasn’t the time to dwell on the past—we had new authors to introduce to the world of publishing and to the hearts of readers. So I focused instead on the remarkable scene before me, which instantly filled my spirit with the joy of my dream job as a literary agent. Our agency had worked with Ms. Lambert’s crew on and off last week to help transform the Arts Center into what we hoped would be both a magical and informative expo for the brides who would be in attendance this week. Now that I saw it all put together, I couldn’t help but smile at all we’d accomplished. Time and time again, the creative energy and talents of our literary team amazed me. I felt so fortunate to be a part of it all.
We’d strived to put a creative spin on the usual trade show format used at many expos. Instead of using just the main presentation hall, we’d lined the corridor with vendor booths and even used a few of the smaller rooms to accommodate displays. The Dragonfly Room, usually used for dance class, would feature different venues throughout the week. Today, it had been transformed into a romantic dining room showcasing floral arrangements and gorgeous ideas for reception tablescapes. The Textile Workshop Room housed displays of bridal gowns, bridesmaid dresses, tuxes, and every sort of wedding attire imaginable, while the smaller classrooms such as the Potter’s Room and Picasso’s Studio were converted into intimate spaces set with tables and seating areas where brides could take a quiet break and enjoy a glass of champagne while organizing their notes and wedding plans. However, what was by far our best idea was the setup of the Arts Center’s east wing, which had an extensive commercial kitchen at one end. The classrooms in this area would allow guests to visit wine tasting booths, sample appetizers, and choose their favorite dishes for their own reception menus.
After checking my coat, I started meandering down the main corridor, stopping to admire a display of invitations. I tossed a quick wave to Flora and Franklin, who were a couple of booths down, chatting next to a display of dried flower arrangements. My hand glided over the invitation samples and came to rest on a stack of handmade papers. I fingered the uneven texture of the natural fibers and admired the simplicity of the designs before an array of save-the-date postcards caught my eye. What a great idea! Of course, Sean and I hadn’t actually set the date yet, but hopefully . . . Anyway, I’d have to show this to Makayla later.
A whoosh of cold air brought me back to the moment. Turning back to the main doors, I saw Zach arriving with the first group of authors. Franklin and Flora joined me in greeting them and then offered to show the authors to their booths. I agreed to remain on standby waiting for the next group and any early-arriving vendors. Fine by me, I thought, heading back to the invitations. More time to check out the displays. I’d just picked up a beautifully printed invitation—cornflower blue with copper accents engraved on paper made out of bamboo, of all things!—when Jude Hudson sidled next to me.