All I could think about was a comfy pair of sneakers. I had just the ones in mind – my white Chuck Taylor low-tops, perfectly broken in after years of use, scuffed just enough so they looked a little worn-in. But I was thinking more about the comfort.
Because anything had to be better than zipping around at a mile-a-minute wearing heels. But as an event planner, I didn’t just have to be the best, I had to look the best.
“OK,” I said as I strode through the hallway of the Nickel Creek Event Hall, the massive space decorated to the nines for the charity event. “Let’s hear a status report.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Kenna, my perky, twenty-something assistant said, clipboard in her hands as she flashed me a cheeky smile. “Kitchen’s prepped and ready to go. One word from you and they’ll start whipping out canapes like a blackjack dealer on a hot streak .”
“Perfect.” The sounds of our heels echoed through the hall, mine in purposeful, steady strides, Kenna’s quick steps going click-click-click as she struggled to keep up. “And what about the seating – we good on that?”
“Just took a pass before you called me. We’ve got seating for two hundred in there, and plenty more in the cocktail area – more than enough for everyone who’s scheduled to come.”
I stopped. “Wait, are you serious?”
Kenna, petite and cute, a short, pixie-style haircut framing her elf-like features, gave me that wide-eyed expression that always appeared on her face when she knew she was about to get chewed out. “Um, yeah,” she said. “Guests at charity events always bring plus-ones and twos. I wanted to make sure there was enough space for everyone.”
“No way,” I said, continuing toward the massive double doors at the end of the hallway. “Whatever extra tables and chairs, get rid of ‘em.”
“What?”
Kenna was a hell of an assistant – and she’d have to be to work at my side for the five years I’d been running this business. But she could be accommodating to a fault, always a little naïve about how to really pull off the event of the season.
“You heard me. We want this party to be exclusive. That means no one, and I mean no one, who isn’t on the list is getting in. I don’t care if the mayor of Denver shows up – she’s not on the list, no seat.”
“But don’t we want more people here? I mean, more people means more money.”
“More people means more chaos, more fighting over seats, more mouths eating and drinking. It’s not worth the hassle. Not only that, but we want people to feel like they really missed out on something by not getting in. And come next year when we’re throwing the same event, people will be losing their minds to get in. Trust me, when it comes to these high-society types, the FOMO is strong.”
“FOMO?”
“Fear of missing out,” I said with a sly smile. I turned toward the doors and kept moving. “Besides, the auction’s going to be livestreamed. Anyone who wants to bid can do so from the comfort of their ginormous Colorado mansion. I’ve run the numbers – we’re not losing a single dollar by keeping this event exclusive as eff.”
Kenna grinned as we walked, seeing the wisdom of my words. I stopped again, about a dozen feet from the side doors to the main events space.
“Detour,” I announced. “Let’s check out the kitchen.”
“Good call.”
I backtracked a bit, opening a non-descript door and heading through. The kitchen on the other end was a massive affair, industrial-sized, the stainless-steel surfaces and appliances gleaming under the stark overhead lights. A couple dozen or so kitchen staff zipped around, calling out orders as they prepared the food for the evening. It was controlled chaos through-and-through, the exact sort of chaos I liked.
The staff, knowing I was the woman in charge, cleared out of the way as I moved through. Then I laid eyes on the man I was searching for.
“Chef Bennet!” I called over the cacophony of dishes being prepared.
A tall man with a fleshy face and rotund belly that stretched out the front of his chef’s outfit listed his head from behind one of the prep stations.
“What’s the word with the appetizers?”
He gave me a pleased smile, gesturing for me to join him. I stepped around the station and was presented with a round white plate with a series of finger foods intricately arrayed. “The word is they’re ready for you to try.”