yourself.”
“And Big Pretty is?”
“One of our drivers. He can be a little intimidating.” He smiles but doesn’t look at me.
“Well that’s not very nice.” I can’t help but smile a little too.
“I know, Brinkley, that’s why I resisted temptation.”
“I guess chivalry isn’t dead.”
“No ma’am.” He touches the brim of an imaginary hat, and I roll my eyes dramatically, which only makes him chuckle.
Back in my corner I’m busy taking notes while McKenna runs through my to-do list.
“And Lee’s team should have linen samples for the Kessler-Glen wedding—”
I don’t mean to interrupt him, but I actually squeal at the mention of Hollywood’s “it” couple. His eyes narrow into slits.
“I don’t need to remind you that you signed a confidentiality agreement, do I?”
My face falls.
“Of course not. I won’t mention it to anyone. I’m just such a huge fan of Kira Glen; I can’t believe I’ll be working on her wedding.”
“I wouldn’t say you’ll be working on it so much as running around in the background schlepping. You won’t even be doing that if Selah finds out you’re a star-fucker.”
What did he just say?
“I’m not a—” I can’t even say the words. I’ve never heard the phrase before, but the way he just spat it at me means it’s definitely not a good thing.
“Brinkley, I’m going to tell you the most important lesson you’ll learn, and I expect you to commit it to memory since I don’t have the time to hire a new intern. Are you ready?”
Even though he’s being condescending, I nod . . . with the all-day smile plastered on my face.
“The celebrity clients are everything. Let me say it again—everything. They’re the most important part of this whole deal.” He swings his index finger in a wide lasso, gesturing to the whole office. “They’re the bread and butter, they’re who make it possible for SSE to charge what it does, they’re where we get the press and the clout, and she’d stab her own mother before she’d risk her reputation with A-list clients. Nod if you understand.”
I swallow nervously and nod.
“So like I said, the most important lesson is this: piss off a celebrity client and you can find another job. Serious as a heart attack. No joke.”
I nod again. He looks at me through narrowed eyes as if assessing my understanding of the topic and then continues on as if the whole celebrity aside hadn’t taken place.
“Next I need you to pull some entertainment options for the Lerner bar mitzvah; use the binders out front.”
“You know, I was wondering yesterday if y’all have ever considered creating Pinterest boards for each event element, or even the event itself. It’d be so much more efficient than the binders, and I can—”
“How about you work here more than a week before you start trying to change business practices?” he bites out.
Damn it! I’ll never learn to keep my mouth shut! I nod again. I’m getting really good at expressing chagrin with a single bob of my head.
“Now as for the mitzvah, I also need you to check with operations on the delivery of the kippot.” He rubs the space where his glasses meet his nose like he’s already exhausted. It’s only 10:18 a.m. “They’re supposed to have hand-stitched anchors on them, but Mrs. Lerner sent a panicked e-mail at, like, three this morning, freaking out because Ari went to another mitzvah last weekend and that kid had anchor kippot, and we can’t possibly have the same thing this weekend. We’ll need to reorder sailboat kippot instead.”
I nod again, like I have any clue what he just said. I write a note to myself in the top corner of my page: Google KeyPah (sp??) .
McKenna pushes himself to his feet, and the sound makes me look up.
“Time for the all-hands meeting,” he says, slipping back into his pin-striped jacket. He considers me for a moment like I’m a particularly interesting species of insect.
“Fine, you can come. Say
“And Big Pretty is?”
“One of our drivers. He can be a little intimidating.” He smiles but doesn’t look at me.
“Well that’s not very nice.” I can’t help but smile a little too.
“I know, Brinkley, that’s why I resisted temptation.”
“I guess chivalry isn’t dead.”
“No ma’am.” He touches the brim of an imaginary hat, and I roll my eyes dramatically, which only makes him chuckle.
Back in my corner I’m busy taking notes while McKenna runs through my to-do list.
“And Lee’s team should have linen samples for the Kessler-Glen wedding—”
I don’t mean to interrupt him, but I actually squeal at the mention of Hollywood’s “it” couple. His eyes narrow into slits.
“I don’t need to remind you that you signed a confidentiality agreement, do I?”
My face falls.
“Of course not. I won’t mention it to anyone. I’m just such a huge fan of Kira Glen; I can’t believe I’ll be working on her wedding.”
“I wouldn’t say you’ll be working on it so much as running around in the background schlepping. You won’t even be doing that if Selah finds out you’re a star-fucker.”
What did he just say?
“I’m not a—” I can’t even say the words. I’ve never heard the phrase before, but the way he just spat it at me means it’s definitely not a good thing.
“Brinkley, I’m going to tell you the most important lesson you’ll learn, and I expect you to commit it to memory since I don’t have the time to hire a new intern. Are you ready?”
Even though he’s being condescending, I nod . . . with the all-day smile plastered on my face.
“The celebrity clients are everything. Let me say it again—everything. They’re the most important part of this whole deal.” He swings his index finger in a wide lasso, gesturing to the whole office. “They’re the bread and butter, they’re who make it possible for SSE to charge what it does, they’re where we get the press and the clout, and she’d stab her own mother before she’d risk her reputation with A-list clients. Nod if you understand.”
I swallow nervously and nod.
“So like I said, the most important lesson is this: piss off a celebrity client and you can find another job. Serious as a heart attack. No joke.”
I nod again. He looks at me through narrowed eyes as if assessing my understanding of the topic and then continues on as if the whole celebrity aside hadn’t taken place.
“Next I need you to pull some entertainment options for the Lerner bar mitzvah; use the binders out front.”
“You know, I was wondering yesterday if y’all have ever considered creating Pinterest boards for each event element, or even the event itself. It’d be so much more efficient than the binders, and I can—”
“How about you work here more than a week before you start trying to change business practices?” he bites out.
Damn it! I’ll never learn to keep my mouth shut! I nod again. I’m getting really good at expressing chagrin with a single bob of my head.
“Now as for the mitzvah, I also need you to check with operations on the delivery of the kippot.” He rubs the space where his glasses meet his nose like he’s already exhausted. It’s only 10:18 a.m. “They’re supposed to have hand-stitched anchors on them, but Mrs. Lerner sent a panicked e-mail at, like, three this morning, freaking out because Ari went to another mitzvah last weekend and that kid had anchor kippot, and we can’t possibly have the same thing this weekend. We’ll need to reorder sailboat kippot instead.”
I nod again, like I have any clue what he just said. I write a note to myself in the top corner of my page: Google KeyPah (sp??) .
McKenna pushes himself to his feet, and the sound makes me look up.
“Time for the all-hands meeting,” he says, slipping back into his pin-striped jacket. He considers me for a moment like I’m a particularly interesting species of insect.
“Fine, you can come. Say
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