“Great. Jai and I are on it. And don’t worry—” Pinching her thumb and forefinger together, she drags them across her lips like a zipper.
“Thank you,” I mouth, tapping my chest twice above my heart.
Glenn Boone’s unmistakable voice rises up from the festival’s entrance behind us. I turn and spot him greeting Andréa and two other people I assume are Smith & Boone attorneys on the far side of the ticket booth. With their typical professional attire swapped for casual summer wear, it’s harder to recognize them. Even Glenn is dressed down in crisp gray trousers, an ironed white polo, and loafers.
Checking that my jacket’s single button is still fastened, I push my shoulders back and take a deep breath. Time to make an appearance at the last required work function of the summer. I just hope none of the other volunteers slip up and ask me questions in front of anyone, especially Andréa, Frank, or Glenn.
I roll my shoulders back and take a deep breath. This might be the ultimate “worlds colliding” scenario, but it’s only for a couple of hours. I’ll get through it. I have to.
When I join the group of Smith & Boone attorneys, Andréa greets me with a hug. “Hey, Cass. How’s it going?”
“Good.”
“Excited for the festival?”
“Yeah, can’t wait.”
“Oh, hold on…” Craning her neck, she lifts her arm. “Mercedes! Over here!” I look in the direction she waves, and sure enough, there’s Mercedes. Even on her day off, she looks impeccable. She’s traded her signature red for a flowing gray, knee-length sundress, sparkly sandals, and the largest sunglasses I’ve ever seen outside a tabloid magazine. Her normally loose hair is tied up into a tight bun, while a violet-and-red patterned scarf is wrapped around her head like a makeshift headband. She’s walking up West Twenty-Eighth toward Providence, which is the wrong way, since the entrance is at Jay Avenue, but pauses when she spots me and Andréa.
Pushing her sunglasses up her nose, she hikes her small white purse higher on her shoulder and walks over to us. Frank joins us a couple of minutes later, and soon, over two dozen summer associates and senior attorneys are milling in the street just outside the festival’s barricade. Glenn’s voice pierces through the chatter, music, and nearby traffic noises, and the Smith & Boone contingency quiets.
“Thank you all for being here! It’s delightful to see you outside of the office, and on such a beautiful August day. As I understand it, the Ohio City Flower & Beer Festival has more than twenty local vendors selling art and handcrafted items ranging from photography prints to paintings to artisanal baked goods, in addition to a variety of cut flowers and potted perennials. And three local microbreweries are offering beer tastings as well.”
My heart lifts. Hearing Glenn describe the festival makes it sound impressive. Despite the constant, low-level thrum of nerves I feel, pride trickles through my chest.
“David has purchased tickets for everyone, which you can use to buy lunch up to a twenty-dollar value, plus vouchers for two alcoholic beverages, should you choose to partake. Show your work identification at the entry booth to collect your tickets… and enjoy!”
Clapping follows Glenn’s pronouncement, and the Smith & Boone crowd begins to disperse.
Andréa turns toward me and Mercedes. “Well, what do you think? Do you want to grab lunch first, then check out the vendors?”
“Oh, you want us to have lunch… together?” asks Mercedes.
Frank leans forward. “Of course. You’ve both been stalwart associates this summer. Andréa and I thought it would be nice to have lunch—the four of us. What do you say?”
“Sure,” I blurt.
“Yes, thank you,” Mercedes murmurs.
Frank claps. “All right then. Shall we?” His blue-gray eyes sparkle as he exchanges an unreadable look with Andréa, whose lips crinkle in a tight smile. What are these two up to?
Before I can question further, we’re shepherded into the ticket booth. Jai and Anisha are sitting behind the table, checking ID’s, running credit cards for the other festival-goers, and handing out tickets. Jai winks at me when he catches my eye, but otherwise doesn’t say anything, for which I’m grateful. Before I can reach the table, someone tugs on my sleeve. Mercedes is behind me. Even though the tent is shaded, she’s still wearing her sunglasses. “I need to use the restroom. Can you collect my tickets for me?”