Anything for You
Page 29
“Wow. I have a title.” She couldn’t help grinning.
“And an office. We’ve finally accepted the fact that my father will never set foot in one, so you get his.”
“Really?”
“You also get a raise, Jess. You’ve been fantastic, and we don’t want to lose you.” She handed over another piece of paper.
Tears stung Jessica’s eyes.
Eight thousand more a year. Eight thousand.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“We’d like to take you and Marcy out tonight, okay? Bring your brother. O’Rourke’s, seven o’clock. The whole family, plus spouses and kids.”
Jess was afraid to look up. She didn’t want her boss to see her crying.
Honor sensed it, anyway. “Why don’t you pack up your desk and get settled in your new office?” she said kindly. “Marcy will be here around noon to meet everyone.”
* * *
AN HOUR LATER, Jess closed the door to her first-ever office.
Honor had already hung a name plaque on the door. Jessica Dunn, Director of Marketing.
Was it wrong to want to take a picture of that? Maybe later, when no one was around.
On her desk was a picture of Davey when they got Chico Three. She had a coffee cup—This mug may contain wine with the Blue Heron logo, one of her ideas from a couple of months ago. She’d pitched the notion of a little more humor in some of the merchandise, and Honor liked it, so they now had a line of items in the gift shop that were more lighthearted and selling like crazy.
Almost hesitantly, Jess sat behind her desk. Her window overlooked the western vineyards—the 1780 Rieslings and Maisy Chardonnays.
A view. She had a view. Her throat tightened again.
Jess took a breath and considered the office. She might need a few more things to personalize the space. One photo and a company mug didn’t say much.
Honor’s office had beautiful photos of the vineyard in the different seasons, taken by Jack, who was a pretty good amateur photographer, at least a dozen framed photos of her siblings and their kids. There were also a slew of Tom and Charlie, including an absolutely gorgeous shot of Honor and Tom on their wedding day, dancing together, their foreheads touching, Honor’s eyes closed, a small smile on her lips.
It occurred to Jessica that there was not a single photo of her and Connor together. Not one in the entire world, unless someone had snapped one of them doing the Chicken Dance at Colleen’s wedding.
All those times together, and not one photo.
The thought gave her an unexpected pang.
But you know what? No negative thoughts were going to take place here. She had a raise, a title and an office! Maybe she’d get some plants. African violets or orchids. Davey tended to overwater houseplants, so they all died swiftly. But her office (her office!) had a wide windowsill perfect for just such a thing. In some ways, it would be more her space than anywhere but her bedroom, a room only Davey had seen. And once, Connor.
It dawned on her that she’d be going to O’Rourke’s tonight. This wasn’t exactly a new experience, but going to the place owned by the guy whose marriage proposal she’d just rejected...that was new.
Nervousness jangled through her limbs.
Had he told anyone about the proposal? Would Colleen spit in her drink? Would the O’Rourke cousins refuse to wait on her? Would Connor do anything, like storm out of the kitchen and dump a plate of nachos in her lap or...nah. Of course he wouldn’t. There was some pride at stake, after all.
And Connor wasn’t violent.
An image of his bruised, stitched twelve-year-old face flashed in front of her. You can hit me. It’s okay.
Her heart folded in on itself like a wounded animal.
Well. The sooner she started acting normal around him again, the sooner things would actually be normal.
Time to get to work. She had a story to pitch on Ned becoming the fourth generation to currently work at Blue Heron. She clicked on the document and read what she’d written so far, then revised a little, wrote a few more paragraphs. She was pitching it to Wine Spectator, so it had to be brilliant.
A knock came on her door.
“Jessica Dunn, meet Marcy Hannigan, our new events planner,” Honor said, stepping aside for the new hire. “Marcy, if you have any questions, just ask Jess. She handled your job until this morning.”
“Hi, Marcy. It’s very nice to meet you,” Jessica said, standing to shake Marcy’s hand. Her hair was black and choppy like an anime character—really cute—and she wore black-framed glasses. Her cheeks were ruddy with good health. “And absolutely, let me know if I can help.”
“Don’t worry about me!” Marcy said, her voice strong and robust, matching her sturdy frame. “I doubt I’ll need a thing! I’ve been doing event planning for ten years, and you wouldn’t even believe some of the venues I’ve handled, or some of the personalities I’ve worked with. Donald Trump, hello? Talk about high maintenance on that wedding! But in the end he told me I was the best planner he’d ever worked with! He even offered me a permanent job, but I’m the type of person who thrives on diversity. Who cares if I had a million-dollar budget? That gets old so fast, you wouldn’t believe it, I kid you not. And even if he did send me an entire case of Cristal to try to woo me, I said, ‘Donald, I’m sorry, you’re going to have to settle for my runner-up! I’m just not interested!’ So this place will be a piece of wedding cake for little old me! I told Honor when I interviewed, I foresee absolutely no problems!”
Wow. That was quite a soliloquy. A lot of exclamation points. Jess glanced at Honor, who didn’t seem affected. Then again, Honor was very chill.
“Well, uh, welcome to Blue Heron.”
“I’d love to stay and chat, but as I told you, Honor, I want to hit the ground running. No time like the present! We all have twenty-four hours in the day, but I’m the type of person who doesn’t like to sit around on my butt, staring at a computer screen. Nice to meet you! I guess I’ll see you later!”
“You bet,” Jess said. Had she just been insulted?
Marcy’s office was right across from hers—no mere desk for her—and for the next two hours, the woman hauled stuff in—boxes, photos, a huge ficus tree, curtains—curtains? Why would anyone want to block the view of the fields?—an upholstered chair, a coffee table. She clattered. She hammered. Jess heard Honor get up and close her door, and after a while, she did the same.
Marcy had energy, she’d give her that. And if Honor had hired her, she must be a helluva wedding planner.
At that moment, Ned stuck his head in the door. “Hey. Got a minute?”
“Sure. Come on in, and close the door.”
“Yeah. Noisy out there.” He sat down. “Congrats on the promo.”
“Thanks, buddy. What’s up?”
He tilted his head back against his chair and sighed. “You know I’ve been living in the Opera House, right?” he asked.
Jess nodded. The Opera House was a beautiful old building converted into apartments a few years ago, right there on the green in the heart of Manningsport.
“Well, I can’t really afford it anymore. I’m a spendthrift youth.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Yeah. I bought a new truck, couldn’t resist a big-screen TV, bought a necklace for a certain girl who will remain nameless, and now find myself in debt.”
“And an office. We’ve finally accepted the fact that my father will never set foot in one, so you get his.”
“Really?”
“You also get a raise, Jess. You’ve been fantastic, and we don’t want to lose you.” She handed over another piece of paper.
Tears stung Jessica’s eyes.
Eight thousand more a year. Eight thousand.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“We’d like to take you and Marcy out tonight, okay? Bring your brother. O’Rourke’s, seven o’clock. The whole family, plus spouses and kids.”
Jess was afraid to look up. She didn’t want her boss to see her crying.
Honor sensed it, anyway. “Why don’t you pack up your desk and get settled in your new office?” she said kindly. “Marcy will be here around noon to meet everyone.”
* * *
AN HOUR LATER, Jess closed the door to her first-ever office.
Honor had already hung a name plaque on the door. Jessica Dunn, Director of Marketing.
Was it wrong to want to take a picture of that? Maybe later, when no one was around.
On her desk was a picture of Davey when they got Chico Three. She had a coffee cup—This mug may contain wine with the Blue Heron logo, one of her ideas from a couple of months ago. She’d pitched the notion of a little more humor in some of the merchandise, and Honor liked it, so they now had a line of items in the gift shop that were more lighthearted and selling like crazy.
Almost hesitantly, Jess sat behind her desk. Her window overlooked the western vineyards—the 1780 Rieslings and Maisy Chardonnays.
A view. She had a view. Her throat tightened again.
Jess took a breath and considered the office. She might need a few more things to personalize the space. One photo and a company mug didn’t say much.
Honor’s office had beautiful photos of the vineyard in the different seasons, taken by Jack, who was a pretty good amateur photographer, at least a dozen framed photos of her siblings and their kids. There were also a slew of Tom and Charlie, including an absolutely gorgeous shot of Honor and Tom on their wedding day, dancing together, their foreheads touching, Honor’s eyes closed, a small smile on her lips.
It occurred to Jessica that there was not a single photo of her and Connor together. Not one in the entire world, unless someone had snapped one of them doing the Chicken Dance at Colleen’s wedding.
All those times together, and not one photo.
The thought gave her an unexpected pang.
But you know what? No negative thoughts were going to take place here. She had a raise, a title and an office! Maybe she’d get some plants. African violets or orchids. Davey tended to overwater houseplants, so they all died swiftly. But her office (her office!) had a wide windowsill perfect for just such a thing. In some ways, it would be more her space than anywhere but her bedroom, a room only Davey had seen. And once, Connor.
It dawned on her that she’d be going to O’Rourke’s tonight. This wasn’t exactly a new experience, but going to the place owned by the guy whose marriage proposal she’d just rejected...that was new.
Nervousness jangled through her limbs.
Had he told anyone about the proposal? Would Colleen spit in her drink? Would the O’Rourke cousins refuse to wait on her? Would Connor do anything, like storm out of the kitchen and dump a plate of nachos in her lap or...nah. Of course he wouldn’t. There was some pride at stake, after all.
And Connor wasn’t violent.
An image of his bruised, stitched twelve-year-old face flashed in front of her. You can hit me. It’s okay.
Her heart folded in on itself like a wounded animal.
Well. The sooner she started acting normal around him again, the sooner things would actually be normal.
Time to get to work. She had a story to pitch on Ned becoming the fourth generation to currently work at Blue Heron. She clicked on the document and read what she’d written so far, then revised a little, wrote a few more paragraphs. She was pitching it to Wine Spectator, so it had to be brilliant.
A knock came on her door.
“Jessica Dunn, meet Marcy Hannigan, our new events planner,” Honor said, stepping aside for the new hire. “Marcy, if you have any questions, just ask Jess. She handled your job until this morning.”
“Hi, Marcy. It’s very nice to meet you,” Jessica said, standing to shake Marcy’s hand. Her hair was black and choppy like an anime character—really cute—and she wore black-framed glasses. Her cheeks were ruddy with good health. “And absolutely, let me know if I can help.”
“Don’t worry about me!” Marcy said, her voice strong and robust, matching her sturdy frame. “I doubt I’ll need a thing! I’ve been doing event planning for ten years, and you wouldn’t even believe some of the venues I’ve handled, or some of the personalities I’ve worked with. Donald Trump, hello? Talk about high maintenance on that wedding! But in the end he told me I was the best planner he’d ever worked with! He even offered me a permanent job, but I’m the type of person who thrives on diversity. Who cares if I had a million-dollar budget? That gets old so fast, you wouldn’t believe it, I kid you not. And even if he did send me an entire case of Cristal to try to woo me, I said, ‘Donald, I’m sorry, you’re going to have to settle for my runner-up! I’m just not interested!’ So this place will be a piece of wedding cake for little old me! I told Honor when I interviewed, I foresee absolutely no problems!”
Wow. That was quite a soliloquy. A lot of exclamation points. Jess glanced at Honor, who didn’t seem affected. Then again, Honor was very chill.
“Well, uh, welcome to Blue Heron.”
“I’d love to stay and chat, but as I told you, Honor, I want to hit the ground running. No time like the present! We all have twenty-four hours in the day, but I’m the type of person who doesn’t like to sit around on my butt, staring at a computer screen. Nice to meet you! I guess I’ll see you later!”
“You bet,” Jess said. Had she just been insulted?
Marcy’s office was right across from hers—no mere desk for her—and for the next two hours, the woman hauled stuff in—boxes, photos, a huge ficus tree, curtains—curtains? Why would anyone want to block the view of the fields?—an upholstered chair, a coffee table. She clattered. She hammered. Jess heard Honor get up and close her door, and after a while, she did the same.
Marcy had energy, she’d give her that. And if Honor had hired her, she must be a helluva wedding planner.
At that moment, Ned stuck his head in the door. “Hey. Got a minute?”
“Sure. Come on in, and close the door.”
“Yeah. Noisy out there.” He sat down. “Congrats on the promo.”
“Thanks, buddy. What’s up?”
He tilted his head back against his chair and sighed. “You know I’ve been living in the Opera House, right?” he asked.
Jess nodded. The Opera House was a beautiful old building converted into apartments a few years ago, right there on the green in the heart of Manningsport.
“Well, I can’t really afford it anymore. I’m a spendthrift youth.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Yeah. I bought a new truck, couldn’t resist a big-screen TV, bought a necklace for a certain girl who will remain nameless, and now find myself in debt.”
