Chapter 2

By ten that morning, Martin Cole, the ballroom vendor’s account manager, was waiting outside my office with a revised centerpiece plan.

He had handled The Marlowe’s gala installations for years. He knew every approval still ran through me.

But this time, he was standing beside Sophie’s office.

“I still need Emma’s approval,” Martin said.

He said it to Sophie, not to me.

Sophie had changed the entire ballroom layout before breakfast.

“If Emma doesn’t want to help, don’t force her,” Sophie said. “I can find another way.”

She lowered her voice.

“I just don’t want her to feel like I’m taking something else from her.”

Martin glanced at me. Sophie had made the accusation sound like concern.

Grant came through the lobby with a coffee in his hand.

“What’s the problem?”

“Martin still needs Emma’s approval,” Sophie said. “But it’s fine. I don’t want to make her sign anything while she’s upset.”

Grant looked at me instead of the plan.

“She isn’t refusing because your work is wrong,” he told Martin. “She’s refusing because she’s angry with me.”

Martin’s face tightened.

“The west aisle won’t work for the cameras.”

“Sophie knows the gala better than you think,” Grant said.

He took the folder from Martin and placed it in Sophie’s hands.

“Sophie has my authority now. Follow her instructions.”

Martin looked at me one last time.

I said nothing.

He swallowed and nodded.

Sophie opened the folder immediately.

“Move the centerpieces to the east side,” she told Martin. “And use the taller arrangements. They’ll look better behind me.”

The plan was no longer about the guests. It was about the way Sophie would look in the photographs.

Martin turned to the staff and began giving new instructions.

Sophie watched him obey, then looked back at me.

“I hope this doesn’t make things awkward between us,” she said.

“You have my opening, my program slot, and now my approvals,” I said. “What exactly is left for you to take?”

A flash of satisfaction crossed her face.

Then she looked down at the folder.

“I’m only doing what Grant asked.”

Grant heard her and turned on me.

“You’re my wife. You should be protecting this hotel, not punishing Sophie for stepping up.”

He said it in front of Martin and the staff, as if my work belonged to the marriage and Sophie’s position belonged to her.

Sophie lifted her phone and photographed the revised schedule.

“Should I tag Emma?” she asked. “Or would that make it look like I’m taking credit?”

She did not wait for my answer.

Her post appeared in the management group a moment later:

One year of work. One unforgettable night.

Grant reacted with a heart.

Then his message arrived on my phone.

I transferred your approval authority to Sophie. We’ll discuss whether you’ve earned it back when you’re calmer.