Snowbound in Her Boss's Bed, page 3
Benjamin, however, did not modify his request.
If she could not summarize her efforts, she did not have command of the situation.
Could she deliver?
When her eyelids lifted there was a steady resolve in her bright amber orbs.
Her gaze, direct and clear as it was, rattled him, shaking him as if she had some power to influence the tectonic plates of his subconscious, but he processed the impact in the back of his mind, keeping his primary focus trained on her full lips.
Moistening them before she spoke, she said, “I reserved Vibiana. They’re full service and since time is short, I thought it best to take them up on that. Because it’s a decommissioned cathedral, it’s got a lot of very old-world European detail, so I have been conceptualizing a Secret Garden theme. I looked through previous files and it has never been done before. It’s pretty and festive, but still far from Christmassy. Picture lovely architecture and detail, mosaics, greenery all around. There is also an outdoor garden area that will serve as the ballroom floor, so to speak.”
Her ideas were fresh, possibly exciting—as long as they were carried off with taste as opposed to kitsch. They were certainly nothing like anything the foundation had done before.
There was a big gap between a good idea and a solid execution, however.
“You’re telling me the plan is to gather the city’s wealthiest Jews together in a Roman Catholic cathedral?” he pushed.
Had she thought her plan through, or was she merely carried away in imagery? Did she understand what was at stake, or did she think this event was merely an opportunity to plan an almost-wedding?
Her frown deepening, Ms. Howard repeated and emphasized her first word when she spoke. “Decommissioned and now one of the trendiest event spots downtown, so yes, it is. The location is ideal, the full service and reputation for excellent catering is beyond a time-saver, and the capacity is exactly what we need for this event. It’s large enough for the dinner service, while also offering private and intimate spaces for smaller groups to gather and converse. Honestly, it’s better than we could have hoped for. That they could even fit us into their calendar was a matter of dumb luck and cancellation. They have a kosher kitchen, and the chef is well versed. I really can’t see how we could have done better, especially given the circumstances.”
Benjamin appreciated her thinking, though he continued to search out any flaws in her ideas.
“It’s not the Getty,” he said.
Letting out a little noise of frustration, Ms. Howard’s response was both sharper and quicker than her previous. “No. It’s not the Getty. And, as I’ve discussed with the rest of the senior staff, as well as some of the more involved donors who somehow got word, given the situation we’re presently dealing with, not to mention the fact that it is now absolutely unavailable to us, the Getty is unfortunately no longer an option on the table.”
There was that interesting spine of hers again.
Benjamin allowed a small smile to tilt the corners of his mouth upward. “That’s a rather politic way to describe a scandal,” he said.
Ms. Howard gave an unconcerned shrug. “My job is to ensure that the foundation’s events continue to run smoothly, now and into the future. I’m not interested in rehashing the past.”
“Well said,” Benjamin replied, “and, as I said, politic.”
The previous events director had been fired due to the revelation of her ongoing affair with the foundation’s married executive director.
Fraternizing between employees was prohibited at the JCF.
Both actors had been fired, deeply damaging the reputation of the foundation and rattling community faith in its capacity to carry out its mission.
Ms. Howard wasn’t the only new hire, nor the most important.
But, as opposed to Ms. Howard, the hiring committee had gone with the most experienced and proven candidate for executive director in order to re-instill faith in the community and steer the organization through the rocky transition.
The former executive director had bowed to the decisions of the board, cooperating and supporting it with as much grace as she could.
The former events director, however, had not been so accommodating.
Choosing vengeance, she had taken her contacts with her when she left as well as sullied the foundation’s name among her network of service providers.
And after fifteen years in the position, the woman’s network had been extensive.
In attesting to have the skill to clean up the mess, the newly hired Ms. Howard had agreed to not just race against the clock, but to buck the flow of how things were normally done.
The foundation’s largest donors, however, did not tend to be fans of bucking the flow.
“You’re going to need that when we announce a new venue,” Benjamin added.
If she had been comfortable around him, she might have sighed in commiseration. Her eyes said as much, even while outwardly she merely held herself still and took a long blink.
“I’ve gathered as much,” she said. “At this point, though, I have sampled menu options and walked the space myself, so I am confident that the experience will change hearts and minds.”
“And what about those who will refuse outright? This is LA we’re talking here. Never put it past people to simply not be willing to drive downtown.”
Without missing a beat, Ms. Howard replied, “That’s where you come in. This year it is more important than ever that you reach out to our most important donors with personal invitations. I can give them a gala they won’t forget, but you need to sell it.”
Benjamin held back a full smile after getting yet another glimpse of the steel in her.
She had communicated the same message, earnestly and with urgency, in the many emails she had sent him. Though she did not realize it, he had done better than respond to an electronic message. He had given her his direct time.
He wanted this to succeed as much as she did.
“Ah, yes,” he said, warmth cracking some of the hard lines of his face. “A personal invitation from the billionaire. Well, if I am to whore myself out, it’s likely time to get into the details.”
“So I have your approval for the venue and theme?” she confirmed.
She needed it—his approval—and so he knew she listened for his response carefully. It appeared she was the type of person unwilling to jump to conclusions.
He appreciated the trait.
It revealed that she was keenly aware of the time constraints she was working within and would not risk losing any to mistakes or misunderstandings.
He nodded, confirming with a “yes” but no further elaboration. She need not know that not only did he approve, but that he found her ideas a refreshing change from the glitz and glam aesthetic of previous years.
Ms. Howard’s eyes lit with a spark of real joy. “Excellent. Now, for food. Given the time frame, it seemed best to go tried and true for the menu, sticking with the chef’s most popular option of a three-course meal with seafood, red meat and vegetarian options, fruit and chocolate dessert selections, and a very open bar. If you agree, it’s a simple matter of letting the chef know—”
Stopping her, Benjamin held up a hand. “What are the options?” he asked.
“Salmon, filet mignon and vegetable risotto,” she answered, eyebrows drawing together as she looked from her screen to him.
Benjamin shook his head. “No. Absolutely not. Your concept thus far has been interesting and fresh. I expected better from the menu. The donors will, too.”
“Excuse me,” she said, her right brow lifting slightly, arguments reading themselves in her eyes. “It’s my judgment that with the event less than four weeks away we don’t have the time to experiment with a menu and the subsequent tastings. The classics done right blow people away, time and again.”
“No,” Benjamin repeated, more certain he was right with every word he heard. “If we give them what they might have delivered to their doorstep on any given Tuesday night, the letdown will be what people talk about afterward, no matter how many pretty flowers you surround them with. Your menu bears no relationship to the concept. By that alone, it breaks the continuity of the evening and theme, makes it clear that the recent scandal was a sign that the foundation is indeed faltering and disorganized. It is more critical this year than ever that every detail reflect competence or they’re not going to hand over their money. Anything that hints at haphazard or thrown together at the last minute will have lasting impacts. And more than that, it’s boring. Give me something better. That idea is lazy and below your standard.”
* * *
That idea is lazy and below your standard...
The words rang in Miri’s head, stunning in their blunt censure—even if they were true.
How dare he say so? What did he know of her standards?
The classic catering offering idea had been lazy—intentionally—because Miriam had seen the menu as the best place to save time in the miracle she was trying to pull off.
There simply wasn’t time to reinvent the wheel, and food was a place where people preferred the usual.
Or so she had determined.
Mr. Silver clearly did not agree.
Unable to fully hide the faint edge to her tone, Miri said, “I apologize, but I’m going to need you to clarify. Are you asking me to come up with a new menu right now?”
He nodded impatiently. “It appears I was crystal clear. What you’ve got now is basic and has nothing to do with your theme.”
Miri pressed back. “I won’t argue those points. It was a sacrifice I felt was warranted considering our time constraints.”
With a dismissive snort, Mr. Silver waved her words away like so many excuses. “I don’t care what your reasons were. I told you to do better.”
Miri’s mouth dropped open.
The man was out of his mind and mad with power. It was the only explanation—for any element of her day, honestly, from the unrequested flight to the fancy desktop, to this right now.
How dare he speak to her like a child?
Like he was some kind of mentor pressuring her into higher performance.
And this was after all of his comments about her cardigan.
Thank God they were only meeting for two hours. And that she had a night with her closest friends to look forward to when it was all over.
He’s been complimentary of the concept thus far, a timid internal voice offered.
Miriam stamped that voice out.
The last thing this man needed was someone inside her head making excuses for him.
Autocratic, bad-mannered, out of touch, toxic man... Her mental litany continued as she forced her face into a smile.
“Why certainly, Mr. Silver. Recalling that the theme is Secret Garden, we should obviously have a menu built around lush produce prepared simply with fresh herbs, botanical cocktails, and desserts inspired by the overflowing bounty of a summer garden, throwing in honey berry drizzles and edible flowers here and there throughout it all for the whimsy. Is that more along the lines of what you were thinking?” She said it all brightly, but the flat tone of her voice said exactly what she thought.
She thought he was being outrageous. Everything about him.
His demands, his mountain fortress, his power, his ability to make her forget that everything depended on making a good impression with him and instead respond with a more authentic version of herself—all of it.
Without his cooperation, there was no way she would keep her job. Without her job, the only place she had to go was back home. Pride had pushed her to stay in her car the two weeks immediately after graduation rather than go back to her family home before she’d gotten her apartment, but she knew she didn’t have enough pride for a second round of that.
She would rather do whatever it took to keep her apartment and the new job she was already in love with.
She wanted those things more than she was interested in chasing any wild thoughts she might be inclined to think about Mr. Benjamin Silver.
He might be good-looking and have a great voice, but he also lived on a different planet from the one she inhabited. He was entirely out of her league—both because of the foundation and because of his wealth.
He was not a man she could afford to be a more authentic version of herself with.
He was a man she had to be the sharpest, most impressive version of herself with.
He held her gaze for a moment silently, his clear blue eyes dancing with a light that could have been temper or humor.
It flashed through her mind that under different circumstances, she wouldn’t have minded knowing him well enough to know the difference.
Then he smiled, slowly, one corner of his mouth lifting at a time, offering Miri a glimpse of his straight white teeth, and she had her answer: humor.
Even as she attempted to shore up the foundation of her professionalism, his grinning eyes promised he could handle a little pushback.
“Exactly,” he said. “Much better, Ms. Howard.” He continued to grin as he elongated the Ms. in a way that could only be interpreted as insolence. “That’s much more in alignment with the event you’ve put together thus far.”
“I’ll update it accordingly, sir,” she said, exhaling through flared nostrils with irritation even as a part of her was pleased at what was ultimately a show of real buy-in to her plan.
Here again was the contrary sense of humor that she had encountered on the phone.
He joked, but he was also serious.
He meant every word he said, even when his delivery was shameless.
Sighing out the last of her irritation on the point, she updated her spreadsheet, elaborating and specifying the menu she had rattled off to him facetiously.
Eyeing the updated menu with narrowed eyes, a part of her grumbled, knowing the necessary tastings would have to be squeezed into her already tight schedule.
The rest of her acknowledged that the revision was an improvement over the original.
With his input, the new menu was more interesting and memorable, and far more aligned with her concept.
“Wonderful work, Ms. Howard. Now that’s sorted, please continue. I believe we had arrived at entertainment.”
He spoke as if he were a king, generously doling out his approval, and Miri resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
She didn’t know why it was so hard to maintain control of her reactions when it came to the man at her side.
It was probably just that everything he said and did was provoking.
If he could have managed to stop behaving as if the entire world worked for him for more than three minutes, it might have been easier to keep a handle on herself.
Never mind that she did work for him.
They continued through the remaining elements of the gala in generally the same manner—Mr. Silver waving his dismissive hand of approval to most of what she presented with periodic breaks for criticism that goaded her into improvement.
That he seemed to understand her intentions without needing explanations only made it that much more irritating each time he lambasted the elements of her plans that were merely acceptable or expedient.
But to both of their credits, the event improved at each and every point at which he stopped her.
When they were done, Miriam was confident that if this gala didn’t blow its attendees away, it would be because those attendees were dead inside.
Unfortunately, her neck was also stiff and tense from the effort it had taken to rein herself in every time her mind wanted to dash off on a wild tangent related to his voice or brace for his next critical interruption.
Bringing a hand to rub her neck, she checked her watch, only to startle at the time.
They were late—by an hour.
How had they gone over by a whole hour?
By the way Mr. Silver had gone on and on about how limited his time was, she would have expected him to have set an alarm to keep them on schedule.
As it was, going over the hour threatened to put even her off schedule.
Yes, flying by private jet saved a lot of time, but losing an hour meant losing the chance to get home and change her clothes before she headed out to meet her friends.
But out loud, all she said was, “It looks like we’ve gone over our two hours.”
She packed her things back into her bag with a new urgency.
“What?” His response was swift, that stunning voice of his filled with genuine and not exactly pleased surprise.
Even caught off guard it was kind of sexy.
Shocked at herself at the thought, Miri moved with even more purpose.
She needed to get out of Colorado and back to Los Angeles. A warm night with friends would wash this whole encounter away—which she obviously needed.
They might work well together, but she was grateful it wasn’t going to be an all-the-time thing. Three hours in the company of Mr. Silver was simply more than her body and mind could handle.
Men were not supposed to both be as rich as he was and look the way he did.
Where was the equality in that?
He needed more flaws than the habit of delivering criticisms with the bluntness of a baseball bat.
He should not have been blessed with the kind of voice that belonged on television, nor should he have had the physical features to match.
He should not have had bright azure eyes, as clear as a glacier.
He should not have worn his hair long so that its soft mink-brown waves framed and feathered around his face and thick broad shoulders.
