6. CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SIX

Ivy

8 DAYS UNTIL RED CARPET EVENT

"How does this typo happen? Seriously? I need an explanation." Stella says, showing me a few print materials that are clearly incorrect—one is simply the wrong size but the other has the word "galla" instead of "gala".

My stomach flips. We're basically a week away and things that should be drop dead easy are nothing but problems. "Maybe I shouldn't leave?" I ask as I flip through a botched order of print materials, the latest on a long list of mistakes. If there was a leaderboard, the rice sculpture is at the top, claiming the spot of most ridiculous and most disappointing of the mistakes.

"That isn't even an option," Stella replies, putting her hand flat on the page I was looking at, capturing my full attention. "We'll be fine here. I'll get this monstrosity fixed and then we'll be almost back on track." She grabs the stack of papers, pulling them to her and out of my reach.

"Are you sure?" My stomach drops thinking of leaving so close to the thing I've been planning for months, especially when it seems like anything that could go wrong, would. It's kind of selfish to leave at this juncture, honestly .

"A thousand percent. I'm also fluent in Ivy and I know you're convincing yourself that you need to stay and it's not true. Your brain is telling you lies."

Damn, she's good. I also feel like I may have divulged a little too much when it comes to "how is therapy going" because that's a line straight from my therapist.

Stella smiles, making eye contact. "The plane tickets are paid for. You fly out the day after tomorrow and it's only for a few days. We'll see you next week. Remember, we even have an extra travel day accounted for, so you should be back the day before the event." She puts her hands on my shoulders. "Plenty of time." She gives me a little shake.

"But, all of these things keep coming up and who knows what else will?" I plead.

"You've done your part, Ivy. And it doesn't matter whether you're here or at home, whatever's going to come up will still come up," she says, organizing the print materials on the desk. "We can only do so much. Plus, what fun would this be if it was easy as pie?"

She's right. I'll obviously have my laptop and will be able to assist with whatever I can. We're in the stage of deliveries and preparations at the venue; it shouldn't matter that I'll be working remote.

"I'll make sure to stay on top of my email and you can call if you need anything," I say, trying to sound helpful, but mostly I think I'm trying to convince myself.

"I know you will but try to enjoy the time. You've been away from home for a few weeks. Do some recharging before the gala." Stella tucks a piece of her chic, gray bob haircut behind her ears .

I want to ask if she's positively sure. As the battle of reassurance and being a burden declares a winner, I say nothing. I reach for a hug and smile as she pats my back.

Many people don't hug their boss but they don't have a Stella.

Fine, I'll go home. I'll take the gracious gift of time, from my work-life-balancing boss, and enjoy myself. That doesn't mean I can't try and fit in as much work in before I get on that plane.

I walk to Olivia's cubicle, finding the intern dressed in a dark navy blazer with her hair pulled back in a sleek bun, and knock on one of the standing walls. When she turns and sees me, she smiles, something we've been working on. I don't see any tears or a wobbly lip in sight.

"I have a proposition for you. Why don't we work late tonight, dinner on Sparks, and you can take the day off when I fly out?" I want to be productive but I still don't need to instill bad habits into the fresh intern.

She smiles, nods yes, and hands me a stack of takeout menus from a desk drawe. Three of the five are for Thai restaurants—my favorite.

I feel like Olivia and I could be friends after this.