Page 25 of Dear #47, You're the Worst
‘The branding’s off,’ she says, pointing behind us. ‘The sponsor logos don’t match between the welcome banner and the press wall. One company’s massive on the entrance signage, like front and center, then practically invisible once you get to the red carpet. That’s not a minor mistake. It’s a visibility issue. It makes the event look worse than slapdash.’
I blink at her. I was expecting a yes or no. Maybe a meh. Not a TED Talk.
She doesn’t notice my surprise, as she’s still in go-mode. “It’s like if Nike paid to sponsor the Super Bowl and you forgot to put the swoosh on half the jerseys. Someone’s gonna get pissed, and they’ll take it out on whoever was in charge of optics.”
Then she sweeps her hand at all the guests, starting with the dress code confusion. “The invitation said black tie, but half the people here are in cocktail dresses. And look at this décor. String lights and rustic table settings? It screams garden party, not luxury gala. The tonal dissonance cheapens everything.”
She’s right. I wouldn’t have noticed any of it, but now that she’s pointed it out, I can’t unsee the problems.
“And don’t get me started on the silent auction. Shoved over there with no signage, terrible lighting, and handwritten bid sheets instead of tablets. They’ll be lucky to raise half their projected total if nobody can even find where to bid.”
I find myself impressed, though I’d never tell her that. I don’t have the eye for detail that she does. Everything looks fine to me, but she sees all the ways it could be better. That’s worth something, sure.
“It’s okay to compliment me,” she says with a quick smile. “Just once. I won’t tell anyone.”
I scowl. Of course, she has to have the last word.
“Ah, shit.” Her phone buzzes, and she checks it with a frown. “An interview with your mom just went live on ESPN4.”
I tense immediately. My mom? God knows what kind of poison is going to gush from her lying mouth. “Why would you even get that alert?”
Juliet gives me an odd look. “I set up a Google tracker on your name. Professional courtesy. Plus, for the time being, our fates are entwined.”
“She stole my playoff bonus, Juliet. You don’t come back from that.”
Speak of the devil, Jett shows up right then, smug as ever in his perfectly tailored suit. “Don’t you two look nice.”
“Jett!” Juliet greets him more warmly than she greeted Silas. Her excitement irritates me for reasons I don’t want to examine. “Long time no see.”
“Hey there, Juliet. You’re a sight for sore eyes. I didn’t think Hunter would ever make a move,” Jett says.
Juliet jumps in smoothly. “Oh, he’s been secretly obsessed with me for years. Haven’t you, honey?”
“In your dreams,” I mutter.
She purrs back, “No, sweetheart. In yours.”
Jett laughs. “Feisty little thing, aren’t you?” She fake-gags at the nickname, which makes him laugh harder.
“I love you two together,” he announces before strolling off, looking way too pleased with himself.
I’m left seething, though I’m not entirely sure why.
Juliet spots the Seattle Havoc’s crisis communications expert, Ivy, across the room and rushes off to whisper something urgent in her ear. I’ve had tall, blond Ivy on my ass for the last few months, every time I get into a nasty fight on the ice. She’s always saying something about trying to keep me off her radar. Now, she looks at me, her icy blue gaze piercing me.
She doesn’t look happy to see me. Guess punching that fan in the face was the last straw for her.
I watch Juliet as she greets Ivy, noting the differences between them. Ivy is tall and willowy, dressed to kill in a short red dress that clings to her body. Juliet is almost her opposite. Short, stunning, wearing a knee-length dress with a low-cut neckline. She’s got lush curves and they’re on display tonight. Tits pushed high, hips wrapped in emerald fabric, ruby red lips pursed.
I can admit to myself that Juliet is as stunning as she’s ever been as she laughs at something Ivy just said. She’s just here because she’s stuck playing my fiancée, but she looks like she belongs at this fancy gala.
At the bar, Jett approaches. “So. Fiancée, huh?”
“Yup.” I scrub my hand over my mouth. “We were… uh… keeping things private until recently.”
“Nice. I remember her from college.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You were a couple of years above us.”
