Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 87536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
I blink.
Once. Twice.
“I’m sorry, did you just say the email wasn’t a mistake?”
“You’ll do fine,” she says by way of explanation, leaning back in her chair with the kind of calm only a woman who has survived twenty Fall Fests can muster. “June can help you, and Annabelle has made herself available if you need to text her.”
Annabelle has made herself available . . .
Ugh!
“I’ll do fine?” I squeak, hope dwindling. “I’m sorry, but Annabelle ran Fall Fest like it was the freaking Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. She hired lumberjacks, Angelina. Actual lumberjacks! She taught one of them how to chop wood! She made more money last year than all other years combined! She is a legend. A legend.”
Have I Mentioned She Was a Damn Legend?
Angelina’s patronizing smile is still pasted on her face. “The mayor wouldn’t have given you this task if he didn’t feel you were up for it.”
The mayor? She’s going to hold that jackass over my head? Since when does he assign tasks? The man’s job is shaking hands and taking photographs with tourists.
My mouth gapes.
Angelina sets her pen down and levels me with a stare. “You’re resourceful, Layla. You’ll figure it out.”
But I’m not done whining. “You’re asking me to recreate the success Annabelle had last year, and it’s impossible! She has NFL connections. She’s got clout.” I sigh and slouch down in the chair, grumbling, “I’ve got nothing but an ex-boyfriend who cheated on me with my dentist, who won Miss Washington three years ago.”
For the first time, Angelina lets herself smile. Not encouraging. More like the smile of someone about to twist the knife. “Are you done complaining?”
No. “Yes.”
Angelina shuffles a stack of papers on her desk to busy her hands. “Use her connections if you aren’t confident you’ll have the same turnout.”
“Excuse me?”
“You still talk to Annabelle, don’t you? Ask her to send help. Someone with a big name who wouldn’t mind spending a weekend in Star Lake. A little star power goes a long way.”
Is she talking about a celebrity?
I thought I was the delulu one here.
I laugh, but it comes out too high pitched to sound normal. “You want me to text Annabelle and say, ‘Hey, any chance your hot football-player husband can come judge a chili contest?’”
“Or,” Angelina says, lifting one brow. “Maybe he can send a friend.”
I blink. And then the horror sets in. “Oh my God. You’re serious.”
“Of course I’m serious.” She picks her pen back up, already moving on to her paperwork and ignoring me. “Congratulations, Layla. Don’t forget to put the donut truck on Main Street this year. It bottlenecked traffic last time.”
Right.
Reluctantly I rise from the chair, pushing it in to tidy the space, and go to the door. Give Angelina one last glance—one last beseeching look—before walking back to my office.
I waste no time texting the former event organizer.
Me:
Sooooo . . . How much do you love me?
Ugh, too needy.
Plus, she barely knows me. Not really. We crossed paths because we were both dumb enough to get suckered into volunteering at the same committee meeting last year, and I suspect she only participated because at the time she was dating the mayor’s son, Tim.
That man is a drip, by the way. The kind of dude who wears tweed blazers and brags about his collection of craft beers and the lame trip to Jamaica he took ten years ago.
I delete the last message, thumb hovering.
Me:
Quick question: How would you feel about sending your hubby to Star Lake to judge the chili cookoff so my Fall Fest attendance numbers are through the roof?
Delete.
Too desperate.
Me:
Hey stranger, how is life treating you?! We miss you here, btw . . .
Annabelle:
Life is good—Cannot Complain. And Callum and I are thinking about coming home for a long weekend before his season starts. He has two weeks left before their first pre-season game.
Me:
Everyone would Love that. How long has it been since you’ve been back?
Annabelle:
Honestly? Too long. I wanted to sneak home about a month ago for my mom’s birthday, but that didn’t happen.
Annabelle:
How have You been? Quiet and chill as usual?
This is perfect. She walked right into my trap, and I didn’t have to mention Star Lake.
Me:
Things are good! Totally fine! Thriving, really. Except I’m actually not?? Your girl has been promoted. Guess who’s running Fall Fest. Hint: Not You.
Do I sound like I’m panicking?
Annabelle:
Omg!!! Wow, Layla! Congrats!! You’ll kill it.
I do not want her praise—I want her help!
Me:
No. You killed it. I’m already in a straight up panic . . .
Annabelle:
Yes, it can be overwhelming but most of the hard work is already done, Fall Fest is an annual, well run ship! Trust me. All you technically have to do is make sure all the same vendors are on board and have the date, time, blah blah blah . . .