He raises his eyebrows, but hands it over. “Okay. Good luck.”
Wedging a hand under one arm, I lift Devin’s phone to my ear. Several seconds later, a bored voice speaks. “Yeah, so I just talked to my manager, and there’s nothing we can do. Sorry.”
“Hello, this is Cassidy Walker. I’m Blooms & Baubles’s attorney. With whom am I speaking?”
“Uh, Jeffrey.”
“Hi, Jeffrey. Thank you for your help so far today. Can you put your manager on the phone, please?”
He sighs heavily, his breath blustering in my ear. “Sure. Hold.”
I tap my toe as I wait.
“Hello,” snaps a gruff male voice.
“Hello, sir. I’m an attorney calling on behalf of Blooms & Baubles in regard to the order they placed for twenty-eight tents for a public-facing event this afternoon. It’s my understanding that you promised delivery by 10 a.m. this morning, and it is currently 10:45—nearly an hour past the contracted delivery time.”
“Look, lady, like I told the other guy, the delivery driver’s running late so the earliest we can get them there is noon.”
“You’re telling me you have no one else on staff who can make the delivery?”
“That’s what I said.”
“So neither you, nor your associate, Jeffrey, is capable of driving a delivery truck to the corner of West Twenty-Eighth and Jay Avenue?” Silence fills the line. “Are you aware that you’re currently in breach of contract, and my client would be well within his rights to sue you?”
“Hang on a sec—”
“My client paid a significant sum of money to rent twenty-eight tents to be delivered by ten o’clock this morning. Not ten thirty. Not eleven. Not twelve. And we have a written record of you confirming the delivery time yesterday, which my client has relied on to his detriment. And as the result of your breach of contract, he now stands to lose thousands of dollars in income, for which I will ensure you are personally held responsible.” I take a deep breath. “Now. Let me ask you again. Is there anyone else at your facility who can deliver the tents my client ordered—immediately?”
A heavy beat follows. “They’ll be there in twenty.”
“Thank you. We’ll be waiting.”
Ending the call, I hand the phone back to Devin. His mouth is hanging open and he’s staring at me like I’ve sprouted gills and a fish tail. “The tents will be here in twenty minutes,” I say, shrugging.
“Damn, girl. Remind me never to get on your bad side,” breathes Brie.
“Seriously.” Grinning, Devin shakes his head. “By the way, Brie, any updates from your mom about whether her station can send someone out to cover the festival this weekend? Cass mentioned yesterday you were still working on her.”
Her face falls. “It’s a no-go, sorry. Unfortunately, the great Charlotte Owens didn’t think a small community festival was newsworthy enough to merit live coverage. Although I did convince her to have the station include it on their website’s ‘What to Do around Town’ series. So there’s that.”
Devin shrugs. “It’s something. Thanks for trying.”
“And don’t sweat your mom,” I say. “The publicity would have been great, but we both knew it was a long shot.” The concept of helping others when there’s nothing in it for her is as foreign to Charlotte as snow is to the equator.
“Tell me about it,” grumbles Brie.
I squeeze her arm before turning my attention to Devin. “Okay, so we have a little less than an hour until the festival kicks off. What else needs to be done?”
Devin’s mouth twists. “Plenty. Follow me.”
* * *
“Is that the last of them?” Straightening, I swipe at the sweat on my forehead.
Chuck adjusts the final tie along the ticket booth tent’s white folded flap. “Should be.”
I check the time on my phone: 11:54 a.m. I gaze down the length of the block, at the festival that finally looks like a festival. The peaks of twenty-eight tents rise above the street like billowing sails, signaling the arrival of a day filled with flowers, food, and fun. All of the local artists have arrived and are in the final stages of setting up their booths, and at the farthest end of the block inside the largest tent—next to Blooms & Baubles’s, which is the second largest—Marcus, Brie, and the crew from Zelma’s Taphouse have arranged grills, kegs, and multiple industrial coolers. The scent of grilled meat wafts through the air, making my mouth water.