“There are eighty in the office.”
How perfect. A grand for each of you. I’m sure no one could use that extra thousand on things that actually matter like food or paying down credit card debt. All employees want a freaking party they’re forced to go to instead of a well-deserved bonus.
Maybe they were getting that too. Ambi shook her head, trying not to be uncharitable. Maybe Dale Hartford didn’t run his business like he ran his life. And his son. Maybe he wasn’t such a dick when it came to his company and he actually treated his employees quite a bit better than he treated his son’s (at the time) girlfriend.
“Eighty. Right.” Ambi realized she had to say something. Awkward pauses on the phone didn’t make anyone comfortable.
“We were thinking of renting out a nice hall type place. Having a dinner, hopefully catered, some live entertainment during that, maybe a magic show or someone who plays piano, then having dessert and a live band. Drink tickets would be up to the hall pricing, as we don’t want people to get completely wasted on the company’s dollar if you know what I mean.”
“Of course. Yes. That all sounds very doable for your budget. I’d require a deposit of ten percent to get started, non-refundable. My services for something of this size, given that it’s only a month away and that’s kind of last-minute in the event world, would be around six thousand. Is that alright?” She winced after, wishing she would have quoted double the price, just to stick it to H&H. She was too honest.
“Yes. Perfect.” Sarah didn’t even miss a beat.
“Great. I’ll come down to your office for a cheque and I’ll have a couple of packages put together for you by then. Does tomorrow afternoon work?”
“That would be perfect. Thanks so much.”
“Thank you for calling. Can I ask how you heard about me?”
“Oh.” Sarah giggled into the phone. She was probably twirling a strand of her hair around her index finger at the moment, leaning back in her desk chair, her pink sky-high heels perched on her appointment book. “I don’t know. Someone in the head office just gave me your name and asked me to call about planning this. I guess word of mouth? Or maybe they looked you up online?”
Right. Because her company was at the top of every search result in Minneapolis. Not. Ambi wasn’t starting out or anything, but it took years to build a successful business. She’d only been doing event planning for a few years. Not long enough that she’d be someone’s choice in a cold search. Maybe it was word of mouth. Maybe someone worked at H&H and she’d helped plan their wedding or their daughter’s or son’s wedding or grad or something. It sure as hell wasn’t Dale Hartford or his son. One hated her and the other she hated- okay, maybe hate was a strong word and maybe she disliked them both- so that was a big nope on their part.
“Yeah. Sounds good. Thank you. I’ll be in touch tomorrow.”
“Super.” Sarah drew out the s, making it sound really snake-like. “Do you know where we’re located?”
Unfortunately, yes. “I do. Thank you. I’ll be by tomorrow afternoon, likely around three, if that’s alright?”
“That’s perfect. Thanks a bunch. Have a super day.” There was that snakey s again.
“You too.”
Ambi put the phone back down in the cradle on her desk and leaned back in her chair so far the thing nearly snapped. Yes, she was still one of those people who had an office phone. She wasn’t about to give her freaking cell number out to potential bridezillas and the like. She was perfectly capable of ducking into her office at all hours of the day and night to check her messages, seeing as she lived in a small apartment right above the even smaller retail space.
The shittier, evil, horrible parts of herself wanted to plan the worst, most bland, horrible office Christmas party in history, just to stick it to the Hartfords. For being such dicks. For treating her like she was garbage just because she didn’t come from a line of blue-blooded assholes. Pedigree. That was the problem. The whole reason Dale Hartford told his son that if he didn’t end things with her, it would be the end of him and his inheritance. Like she was a dog or something, which in Dale’s eyes, she likely was.
She was some poor college kid with student loans, working her way through a Business Degree, hoping to graduate and go into event planning, a humiliating career in which she worked for and served others menially for fairly low pay. It didn’t matter that she was good at it or that she loved it and always had. That she’d planned most of her high school fundraisers and was involved in a ton of different activities and groups in college.