What Happens in Vegas: Chapter 11

A shrill ring pulled me out of a deep sleep. My hand blindly groped the nightstand for my phone. I wrapped my fingers around the device and pulled it to my face. Even with my eyes half-closed, I could see the screen was black, yet the ringing continued.

With every reverberation, it felt like someone was poking me in the brain with a knitting needle. I shouldn’t have had that third martini last night, but I got caught up in the atmosphere and threw caution to the wind. It was stupid on so many levels.

I grabbed the receiver from the room phone and brought it to my ear. “Hello,” I grumbled.

“Ms. Romano, I’m sorry to bother you so early. I have a Debra Stanton on the phone for you. Something about the flower convention today.”

I searched the foggy recesses of my brain. Debra Stanton? Who the hell was she? Finally, it came to me. “Oh, our keynote speaker. You can put her through.”

“One moment.”

I waited patiently for the call to be transferred. As soon as it was, loud coughing and sniffling came through the line. I pulled the phone away from my ear. “Hello?”

Another cough. “Ms. Romano, this is Debra Stanton.” Sniff, sniff, cough. “I’m not going to be able to attend the convention.” Then there was the unmistakable sound of retching and a flush. “I’m so sorry, I think I have the flu.”

That wasn’t what I wanted to hear at seven in the morning the day of the event, but the woman was clearly ill. Getting upset with her wouldn’t be helpful. “I’m so sorry to hear that. Don’t you worry, we’ll figure it out.”

The sound of retching came through the phone again. “Thank you. I really feel terrible.”

“No worries. Please take care of yourself, and I hope you feel better.” I hung up the phone before being subjected to another round of vomiting.

Well, that was a rude awakening. It was time to get up anyway, but now I had a major problem to solve in a matter of a few hours. No keynote speaker was a huge issue. I started the coffee maker, jumped in the shower, and got myself ready for the day. Where the hell was I going to find a keynote speaker on such short notice?

There was only one option, and it was a Hail Mary at best, but I was desperate. Grabbing my coffee, I took the elevator down to the main lobby and started toward the shops. Some were open twenty-four hours, but the one I needed didn’t open until nine. I stood in front of the glass doors and pressed my face to the window. It was dark inside, but a glow came from the back of the shop. I pounded my fist against the glass and teetered in my heels from side to side, hoping someone was there. After a minute passed, I tried again.

Finally, a tiny woman in her early fifties came to the door, turned the lock, and poked her head out. “We don’t open for another hour,” she said in her thick French accent.

I sighed a breath of relief. “Genevieve.”

She narrowed her eyes, then they widened in recognition. “Gia?”

“Yes, we met the other day. I really need your help.” Thank goodness for Penny and her tour or I wouldn’t have even known we had an in-house florist.

Genevieve opened the door wider and beckoned me in. The scent of roses, lilies, and lavender was almost too much in the small space. “What can I do for you?”

“As you know, the floral convention starts today.”

The lines in her forehead deepened. “I’m aware. I’m putting the finishing touches on the arrangements.” She moved into the back room, and I followed.

Scattered around the space were dozens of floral arrangements, each one unique and more beautiful than the last. I raised my hands to my mouth. “Oh, Genevieve, they’re gorgeous!”

She laughed. “You doubted me, mon chéri?”

I shook my head. “Not for a minute, but I have a problem. The keynote speaker canceled on me. She’s sick as a dog.”

“Merde! That is a problem. What are you going to do?”

“Well, I do have an idea.” I tapped a fingernail against my lower lip. “Remember the story you told me when we first met? About how you grew up in Paris and your mother owned a floral shop along the Seine?”

“But, of course. I spent every day of my youth in that shop.”

I smiled. “And how you told me you didn’t choose the flowers, the flowers chose you? How they whispered to you?”

Genevieve laughed. “I know it sounds silly, but it’s true.”

I shook my head. “It’s not silly at all. It’s perfect. How would you like to be our keynote speaker?”

She gasped. “Me? I don’t know anything about public speaking. I’m just a florist.”

“And a florist is exactly what I need. Tell your story… about growing up in France, working at your mother’s shop, coming to America, and how the flowers speak to you. You can use these arrangements as props and explain what inspired your designs. Maybe answer a few questions from the audience. You’re charming. Just be you.”

I could see her wheels turning as she considered my proposition. “I don’t know.”

My hands came together in front of my chest in a praying position. If she didn’t agree, I was totally screwed. It would be one more thing for Trent to hold over my head. “I’ll pay you double what the other woman was getting.” It was a generous offer and likely one I’d have to pay out of my own pocket.

Genevieve gasped. “Mon dieu! I’ll do it, but only because it was you who asked, and I don’t want to see you sink in your first week. I like you, Gia.” She reached up and pinched my cheek. “Vous avez du cran.”

I looked at her blankly. “I don’t know what that means.”

“It means you’ve got guts. Spunk. I admire a woman willing to take chances.”

I hoped Trent felt the same way.

“Bonjour!”

I stood at the back of the conference room and snapped pictures as Genevieve took the stage. I was afraid our audience might be upset with the unplanned change, but within minutes she had them eating out of the palm of her hand. Her passion for flowers flowed through the room like a melody that soothed your soul. She was both captivating and inspiring.

“Why is Genevieve on the stage?”

Trent’s deep voice in my ear startled me. He raised an eyebrow, waiting on my response.

“Our keynote speaker canceled this morning,” I whispered. “I was desperate, so I begged her to fill in.” I raised my hand to stop his impending rebuttal. “I know I didn’t get this approved by you, but it was an emergency, and I didn’t have your cell number. I made a decision, and you’ll have to deal with it.” The smell of his cologne made my chest flutter with unwanted desire. My body clearly hadn’t got the memo that Trent Dorsey was my boss and a second round between the sheets was never happening. Besides, he was a jerk. A hot jerk, but still a jerk.

“I see,” he said, leaning against the wall. My body tensed as I waited for the reprimand that was sure to come, but he just listened as Genevieve explained how the flowers spoke to her. “She’s good. Suzette should have hired her in the first place.”

That alleviated some of the stress, but I had another bomb to drop on him. “I’m glad you feel that way because I promised her double what we were paying the original speaker. Like I said, I was desperate.”

He cringed. “We’ll make it work. She’s worth every penny for saving our asses.”

His words were a relief to me and my wallet. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Not chewing me out. I expected you to be pissed.” I crossed my arms defensively.

He pushed off the wall and crowded my personal space. “Despite what you may think, I’m not unreasonable. I appreciate your quick thinking and ability to resolve what could have been an embarrassing situation for the hotel. Good work.”

As Trent turned to leave, I tugged at the sleeve of his suit coat. “Did you read my proposal yet?”

He tapped the rolled-up papers in his fist. “Got it right here. We can discuss it on Monday. Good luck with the rest of the convention, Gia.”

Gia.

That was the first time he’d used my first name at work. We were making headway. Maybe going to The Rabbit Hole last night wasn’t a mistake after all.