Flower Girl

Chapter Six

Chapter Six

     "Oh no, no, no!" I half ran, half walked in my six inch heels over to the trope of men across the ballroom that were trying to stack seven chairs on top of one another. It wouldn't have been a problem, but those seven chairs cost more than six thousand dollars a piece. Six. The bride told me that they were like liquid gold, lacquered in it. Panic started to set in as I heard wood on wood scrape against each another before I could reach them.

      I opted to shout across the room because I was a good ten feet away from them, "Gentlemen, please don't do that! Those belong in the padded storage closet, one next to the other wrapped in their white cloths."

       The men grumbled, but didn't complain, as they dissembled their mountain of chairs to take to the storage doors out in the hallway. I let out a frustrated breath as soon as I was close enough to supervise, praying that nothing would get damaged during clean-up so I could get paid in full without having to take any more deductions off of my fee. The live band had already been late by thirty minutes and the wedding cake had a small nick in the frosting. Marisol practically all but threw a temper tantrum that the cake wasn't perfect. She even threatened to fire me, and because we were in front of her guests I kept it professional and didn't remind her about the clause she signed yesterday afternoon. I didn't even mention the threesome she almost partook in. I let it slip in my imagination, but in there I had also body slammed Marisol into her less than perfect cake. But, to keep my reputation in tact, I deducted around three hundred dollars off my fee just for those inconveniences alone, because that's how I ran my business.

      Between everything that was going on, I was nervous and beyond sweaty nervous. I had to go into the bathroom to reapply deodorant three times while the reception ran it's course. I was on high alert just in case Brooklyn waltzed in here, not that he would because he was more of a work-behind-the-scenes type of guy instead of hands on. Just because his family owned this hotel didn't mean he was going to pop out of a rogue storage closet, I kept telling myself, but I didn't even believe me. I may have even poked my head into the maintenance closet when we first arrived here, just to be on the extra side of caution.

      Despite it being the middle of a chilly spring in Chicago, Marisol, who left hours ago with her now husband, wanted a rooftop wedding so she could release doves into the air. I envied those doves the second they flew away from the wedding, I wished I could do the same. Run and hide was my forte when it came to uncomfortable, and unpredictable situations.

     I'll admit, it was a little sweltering during the ceremony, specifically when the groom took a good fifteen minutes to say his vows because he couldn't stop laughing. Between us, I think he had a little to much to drink in the men's dressing rooms before the wedding. After the ceremony was finished, the reception took place on the lower level of the hi-rise hotel, in a designated ballroom that was at least a cool sixty degrees inside. Goosebumps ran across my arms as I typed in the amount of chairs accounted for on my large tablet, then I checked off that all of the alcohol had been taken to storage and locked away. There were no freebies at this wedding. The bride even asked guests to pay to take the wedding favors home. A cool hundred dollars and an engraved, Tiffany crystal shot glass was yours.

     It was ridiculous how many people paid for them and actually took them home. I looked at the table with the favors, all but two were gone, and I made a note on my tablet to postage them to the Marisol's house tomorrow morning.

     "Almost done, miss?"

     His deep voice shocked me, but I shouldn't have been surprised he was checking in again. I almost lost grip on my tablet, and I could feel my face flush. The security guard Marisol had hired, the hot one she requested was inadvertently attractive. I think even she was surprised to see that he was extremely good looking when he introduced himself before the wedding. He had stuck around, unpaid, waiting for me to be done. It was completely unintentional that he was extremely attractive, despite her outrageous request that would be demeaning to the security firm's workers to try and request. I had dismissed him at least five times in the last two hours, but he was very persistent in waiting for me. My face flushed profusely as I grabbed hold of my tablet tightly and looked at him. He was all muscle, I actually think his muscles had muscles. The suit he was paid to wear was tailored to him like a second skin, and I could see every bump and rigid line through his white t-shirt and tie. He ditched the sport coat that made his shoulders ridiculously broad at least fifty minutes ago — but who was counting?