Page 73 of The Wedding Game

At least it’s Friday, so this is the last bit of work I’m doing today after a full day of going back and forth with Max and Chris over the new set of layout plans. If it frustrates Max that I finish my working day five hours ahead of him, he doesn’t let on. I always log on the next day and discover a trove of emails piled up for me to get through, from those in the New York office who need on-the-ground London hotel intel. Max was right. My inbox filled up fast and it’s been non-stop since. It’s exhausting. I love it.

I email ever so professionally at the end of my day:

Hi Chris,

Hope you’re well. Just updating you on the change of layout for the kitchen, as discussed. Drawings attached.

All the best,

Lexie

I hit send. Max informed us all last week that a celebrity chef – who simply goes by the name of Javier – is going to be our chef patron and has decided he needs to do more than just cook. He feels he also needs to be in charge of the layout for the hotel’s kitchen. I think this is totally over the top, but apparently the New York team are used to this sort of thing, though the UK suppliers are flipping their lids.

Chef’s kitchen is his space, according to Max, and heaven forbid that our talented architects should be allowed to do their job in the process. All their hard work is being undone, as Chef Javier tries to move a sink five inches to the left for no reason at all, as far as I can see. The structural engineers are having kittens, and I’ve been with the site manager getting the lowdown and sitting in on Zoom calls between the London team and Max, while everyone tries to manage each other’s expectations.

Chris replies within two minutes:

Thanks, Lexie. I’ll take a look and come back to you on Monday if I need anything further.

Kind regards,

Chris

Kind regards.Honestly. Thank God it’s Friday. I close my laptop lid. It’s 6 p.m. I’m done and I don’t have any plans tonight. Josh is at some kind of farming event this weekend, so I’m staying put in London. I can’t wait to run a bath, put on a podcast and anticipate Scarlet getting home, so we can decide what delights to order from Deliveroo this evening.

I start running the bath and, while I wait for the tub to fill, scroll through my podcasts, wondering if I should listen to a true-crime series about a woman who got murdered in her first-floor flat in broad daylight in the centre of London. I poke my head out of the bathroom and glance at the front door, wondering if it’s locked. It isn’t, so I turn to lock it and decide just to put on some music instead of the podcast. That feels safer. But before I get the chance to select anybath music, my phone rings.

I stand still and stare at the screen as Chris’s name flashes back at me. I switch off the tap and swipe to answer. ‘Yes?’ I say with uncertainty.

‘I wanted to grab you quickly before you finished your day over there.’

‘Yes?’

‘You forgot to attach the drawings.’

‘Oh, sorry. I didn’t think I had,’ I say. ‘I’ll do that right now.’

‘Thanks,’ he replies.

‘OK, bye.’

‘Wait,’ he’s quick to add. But doesn’t say anything else.

‘What’s wrong?’

He doesn’t reply.

‘Hello?’ I ask.

‘I’m still here. Look, Lexie, this is silly,’ he goes on, with a hint of exasperation.

‘What is?’ I ask. ‘If you’re referring to the kitchen change, I think we can all do without—’

‘No,’ he says. ‘Well, yeah, that too. But that’s just people being people. But this:you and me. This is silly.’

‘Which bit?’ I question because he needs to say it, not me.

‘“Kind regards.” “All the best.” It’s stupid.’

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