Sometime between compiling a list of potential caterers and gorging himself on pizza, Hayes whipped together a beautiful logo for the event, using Riverside’s navy-blue and gray colors with accents of silver. “Riverside Gala” practically glows from my screen, shining in the reflection of Peggy’s glasses.
“What do you think?” I ask, waiting for her to say something for the first time since she sat down for this impromptu morning meeting. “Do you think the ticket price is too high? Have you had breakfast yet? We can go to the cafeteria to grab some coffee and talk it over? Peggy?”
Her eyes are brimming with tears. Crap. I’ve overwhelmed her with information. How can I backpedal?
I inhale, an apology perched on my tongue, but clamp my mouth shut when Peggy lifts one finger. I wait as she reads over the proposal once more.
“I think this is a wonderful idea,” she finally says, lifting her gaze from the computer screen.
Hope blossoms in my chest as all my tension dissipates with a big, relieved sigh. “I’m so glad you think so.”
I’m so glad, in fact, I could lean over this desk and give her a big, wet kiss on the cheek. Instead, I just give her a wide, goofy smile, practically buzzing with excitement.
Peggy, on the other hand, has wiped away her tears and is all business. “How can I help?” she asks, closing the computer to look at me.
I purse my lips for a moment, thinking. “Well, you have such a wonderful connection with our donors . . . how about this? Today, you can call the donors and tell them about the event and ticket prices. Then you can offer an additional two tickets for only two hundred dollars more. This way, we get more people in the door, more eyes on our auction items, and a little extra money in the bank. How does that sound?”
“I can do that.” Peggy nods, already scrolling through the contacts in her phone. She suddenly looks up, concern marking her features again. “Will we have enough time to prepare?”
“We’ll do whatever we can with the time we have. After this, I’m going to call a friend about a venue for the evening.” Reaching across the desk, I gently squeeze one of Peggy’s hands to reassure her. “I promise I’ll do everything in my power to save Riverside from collapse.”
“If anyone can do it, I think you can, Maren.” Her tone is resolute, and I pray she’s right about this.
After Peggy marches out the door, a woman on a mission, I pull out my cell phone and call the one person who may be able to take all my big ideas and make something out of them.
“Hey, baby girl, what’s up?” Scarlett’s voice rings out over the phone. She’s chewing on something, most likely the yogurt-and-granola breakfast I know she loves.
“Hey, I was wondering if you could help me with a project,” I say, tucking my phone against my shoulder as I turn on my desktop computer.
“Anything you need. I’m your magic lady genie in a bottle.”
I chuckle, enjoying that mental image for a moment before diving in. “Okay. What’s the likelihood that the Loft will donate space to a well-loved retirement home for a fancy late-summer gala?” Now that I’ve said it out loud, I can hear how absurd my request is. But Scarlett doesn’t skip a beat.
“Depends on the ol’ schedge. Give me a sec.”
My eyebrows jump in surprise. I was expecting at least a single question or concern. Then I remind myself that as an event coordinator, Scarlett deals with these kinds of inquiries on a daily basis. Lucky for me, and for Riverside, this is her specialty.
“How about early summer instead? We had a wedding cancellation for June twentieth. Sad for them, but fortunate for you.”
“June twentieth?” I choke, frantically searching for the date on my calendar. Less than a month away. Yikes.
“Yep. Sexy summer solstice. At this point, I doubt we’ll find any other renters, and we’re definitely keeping their deposit because—I’ll say it—screw them and their crappy engagement. So, what do you think?”
I almost want to ask, Is there anything later? But I bite my tongue. “June twentieth would be perfect. Pencil us in, and let me know what you need from me.”
“Sure thing, Mare. I’ll send you a contract around lunchtime. I have to rewrite a few things if we aren’t going to charge you. Wow, how cool. I’m excited to work with you!” Scarlett giggles between mouthfuls of breakfast, and I happily join in.
“Me too. You’re the absolute best.”
“Nah, girl. Just make me some cookies, and we’ll call it even.”
Now it’s my turn to cry. “Sure thing.”
We say our good-byes, and I spend the next ten minutes browsing through photos of the Loft on their website. It’s intimate, it’s gorgeous, and it just might do the trick.
I don’t want to jinx it . . . but I think this is going to work out, after all. I can’t wait to tell Hayes.
7
* * *
HAYES
“We’re looking for something . . . discreet.”
“Can’t have the kids stumbling across a ten-inch hot pink dildo, now can we?”
Ten inches? Someone’s ambitious.
Wolfie and I are at the back of our storefront, balancing spreadsheets. But for the past ten minutes, we’ve had a front-row seat to Connor attempting to help a middle-aged couple find the perfect toy to spice up their struggling marriage.
He’s got his work cut out for him, because judging by the look on the wife’s face, visiting us wasn’t her idea. Lucky for her, this might be the best thing her husband’s ever talked her into. Customer satisfaction is a baseline requirement in this business. And ours is guaranteed.
My friends and I created an ecofriendly line of sex toys. I know you’re probably rolling your eyes—five male friends who started a sex-toy company—but we saw a market and wanted to make a difference. It’s how Wolfie, Connor, Caleb, Ever, and I found ourselves as the co-owners of Frisky Business. Our toys are couple-focused and female friendly, and our shop has zero creepy vibes.
Connor lets out a good-natured laugh and guides them to our couples corner in the back. We’re not like those seedy sex shops you find at the end of a strip mall, full of feathers and mannequins and tacky displays. We’re all about the intersection of sophistication and sensuality. Sure, sex sells, but we don’t have to be fucking cavemen about it.
“Twenty bucks says he tries to sell them on the Joie de Vivre, and they settle for a basic cock ring,” I say under my breath, arching a brow at Wolfie.
He grunts and narrows his eyes at the couple, who are currently doing the what does this thing do dance around a particularly well-disguised fleshlight. “No way. She’s leaving with an LT.”
The Luxe Tube is our bestselling toy. It’s small and easy to conceal, but what it lacks in size, it makes up for in strength. With eight powerful vibration settings, it’ll leave any woman begging for more. Oh, and the best part? It looks exactly like a luxury tube of lipstick.
“No way the husband goes for that. You’re on, man.”
Wolfie and I shake on it and discreetly turn our attention back to the couple.
Like I guessed, Connor’s pointing them to the Joie de Vivre, a couples toy meant to enhance everyone’s experience. It’s not quite the dainty, discreet toy the wife claimed to be looking for, but it’s not a ten-inch hot-pink dildo either. It also happens to be one of our pricier toys, which is why it’s always Connor’s go-to recommendation.