Page 14 of Pushing Daisy
Waking the next morning, even with a stiff neck from a night of sleeping on a couch at a weird angle, she feels inspired. Ideas for the community event race through her mind, and her magic sparks with a newly loaded energy under her skin. Checking the clock on the wall, she sees it is late morning, which feels like the perfect time to start making phone calls.
The first place she calls is a multi-cabin inn and spa next to the lake in Leeside. She books a consultation visit for the end of the following week, excited about the prospect of planning a getaway gathering. She follows that conversation up with calls to several other vendors, from catering to decor, who are only too excited to offer consultations and meetings to go over options and pricing.
After the final call of the morning, she leaps up, punching her fists in the air, feeling more like herself than she has in a while. All thanks to the mysterious delivery of the grimoire.
CHAPTER 8
Sloan
Sloan still hasn’t heard from Daisy, and now she’s starting to wonder if Daisy ever planned to send her ideas over. Not for the first time, she asks herself if Daisy would really be that petty and lie about trying to work together. Was her agreement a way to get rid of Sloan?
Yes, her brain responds firmly.
“Shut up,” she says as she enters her family’s office building.
“Sorry, Miss Wilks, what was that?”
“Shit,” she says. “I’m sorry, Briryn. I was talking to myself.”
“Not to worry. We all have those kinds of days, madam,” he responds. “I hope your day improves, Miss Wilks.”
She smiles weakly but responds in kind, “Thank you, Briryn. I hope you have a wonderful day as well.”
Opening her office door, she releases a sigh of relief, thankful she managed not to run into anyone else along the way. The office is oddly quiet for late morning, but she brushes it off, assuming they’re all in meetings or running errands.
With her laptop open and waiting, she conjures a cup of coffee and a bagel and gets to work responding to emails that came in overnight. Her brain quiets as she taps and clicks away, the world around her falling into the distance. She’s chasing task after task, like little pixies trying to escape, and the sense of accomplishment with each task completed makes the ember in her nearly stone heart spark. Just a bit.
The day passes without any major cauldron spills, and for that, she is truly grateful. However, Daisy’s lack of communication has left a lingering taste of frustration in her mouth, metallic and tangy. That could also be blood from biting her tongue as she tries to be professional and not cuss Daisy out.
She’s frustrating, that’s for sure, but the look on her face after the council told her about her parents was… heartbreaking. As hard as Daisy tried to keep it together, she could see the pain written across her face. Sloan wanted to reach out and comfort her. She ached to say something to help ease her turmoil, but she knew better. Daisy wouldn’t receive it as anything other than pity, especially coming from her. So rather than pestering Daisy like she wants to so they can get this project going, she’s giving her more grace. Then, she will begin pestering her.
As she packs up her things, she calls out, “Boris, can you make sure to have a copy of the Sharpe contract for me in the morning?” The undeniable sound of Boris shuffling around his desk answers her. She tilts her head back, looking up to the ceiling, and taps her foot as she waits. “Boris!” she calls out again after no response.
“Yes, madam. I am capable of getting you a contract,” the goblin responds.
“Then you should also be capable of responding to acknowledge my request.”
“I would if I felt it deserved one.”
Sloan holds in her actual response and instead replies, “Good night, Boris.” If he weren’t such a helpful assistant, she’d feel more obligated to write that poop-nozzle up. She hears him call back his own farewell greeting and chooses to ignore the “wicked witch” at the tail end of it.
Stepping into the night and toward her SUV, her phone rings in her pocket. Pulling it out she sees it is her mother and lets out an audible sigh. Steeling herself, she answers, “Hi, Mother.”
“Hello, my girl,” Cecilia, her mother, replies. “How are you?”
“I’m good. I’m just leaving the office.” Sloan says. “What can I do for you?” She winces as she says it, knowing that’s a dangerous question. She should know better than to open herself up to requests from her mother.
“Oh, I don’t need anything. I just haven’t seen you in a few days and thought we could chat.”
Sloan slides into the front seat of her vehicle, tossing her purse on the passenger seat. She tilts her head back, closing her eyes as she faces the roof. She pinches the bridge of her nose, already regretting what she’s about to ask. “What would you like to talk about, Mother?”
“Well, I heard through the coven lines that you have been assigned an important new project with the council.”
“Yes.”
“And that you are working with that Hale girl,” Cecilia says, not attempting to hide the disdain in her voice.
“Also, yes.”
