The Sea God's One-Night-Stand *Tides of Fate*

3)

"People are strange" by The Doors

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"She's a witch." Isla nodded gravely. She tossed a thick wad of her jet-black hair back into a low ponytail before clicking away on her keyboard. In one of her hands was a too stuffed of microwavable burrito. With her other hand, she was typing away at a frenzied pace on her laptop.

I laughed. "She's not a witch. I just can't figure out how she left the building without using a door."

Isla Santiago grew up with deeply spiritual and superstitious grandparents who too often believed in all things supernatural. Ghosts, demons, and even witches as crazy it was. I had the pleasure of meeting Isla's Abuela a few summers ago. The old woman didn't allow strangers into her house without watching them for long periods of time. After she had spent a mandatory amount of time watching me with her beady dark eyes, she finally nodded her approval before allowing me inside. It was the silent nod that she sensed nothing out of the ordinary regarding me. According to Isla, the same couldn't be said for the poor USPS man and the last three presidents.

Getting to know Isla throughout the years has taught me that she's adopted only minor silliness her grandmother holds. If anyone wears a pentagram or something such, she'll immediately become suspicious.

"Hon, I think for this she's referring to the bitchy way that woman's bossing this company around," Daphne offered with a snort. She clicked away on her own computer before groaning. "I feel we spend more time out of the office completing tasks for work than we do living our lives," she complained, pulling out her phone to text. "The Stephenson wedding changed their flowers again."

"Third time this week," Isla offered in a mumble as she typed away on her own computer.

I sighed before taking a bite of my own burrito, far too used to changes such as this from customers. "Just confer the change with the florists. But warn the Stephenson's it'll be an additional $300 charge each time they change their minds after we place an order. That should deter them from future changes."

"Smart," Isla complimented. "But seriously, that Waters woman is coming off as a serious witch," she muttered crossly, sparing me a smile.

"She's not that bad..." I defended, strongly feeling as if I was fibbing. Daphne winced as Isla sat up in her seat. "Girl, you have the patience of a saint if you're not ready to drop-kick her. I couldn't deal with that woman if she was hounding me every half hour!"

This much was true. I was worried about not exchanging contact with Aimee Waters until twenty minutes after our exchange. Since then, I have received near constant emails or text messages from her personal assistant regarding the gala. As my phone beeped indicating yet another message regarding the gala of Aimee Waters, I wondered if perhaps my friend had a point. It was either that, or simply really bad timing.

The first night, I was simply sent a grand PDF file of expectations to be held for what Aimee expected at the gala. Next came the constant commands that I better have the exact replica of decorations that were at the wedding. After that, came the assistant calling to say Aimee wanted a much larger sand dune display in the guest common room as well as a larger statue of a glass version of an ocean wave. Then after that, simply constant calls and emails were coming in regarding the assistant asking how everything was coming along. After the eight calls in one day, I wasn't sure whether Aimee wanted to know the information that often or if her assistant was so deeply afraid of her boss she kept questioning for own personal benefit alone. Upon conferring yet again with the assistant that they were still on track for the gala, I found my friends watching me when she hung up. They wore pitying expressions. "What?"