Page 11 of Snowbound in Her Boss's Bed

And after fifteen years in the position, the woman’s network had been extensive.

In attesting to have the skill to clean up the mess, the newly hired Ms. Howard had agreed to not just race against the clock, but to buck the flow of how things were normally done.

The foundation’s largest donors, however, did not tend to be fans of bucking the flow.

“You’re going to need that when we announce a new venue,” Benjamin added.

If she had been comfortable around him, she might have sighed in commiseration. Her eyes said as much, even while outwardly she merely held herself still and took a long blink.

“I’ve gathered as much,” she said. “At this point, though, I have sampled menu options and walked the space myself, so I am confident that the experience will change hearts and minds.”

“And what about those who will refuse outright? This is LA we’re talking here. Never put it past people to simply not be willing to drive downtown.”

Without missing a beat, Ms. Howard replied, “That’s where you come in. This year it is more important than ever that you reach out to our most important donors with personal invitations. I can give them a gala they won’t forget, but you need to sell it.”

Benjamin held back a full smile after getting yet another glimpse of the steel in her.

She had communicated the same message, earnestly and with urgency, in the many emails she had sent him. Though she did not realize it, he had done better than respond to an electronic message. He had given her his direct time.

He wanted this to succeed as much as she did.

“Ah, yes,” he said, warmth cracking some of the hard lines of his face. “A personal invitation from the billionaire. Well, if I am to whore myself out, it’s likely time to get into the details.”

“So I have your approval for the venue and theme?” she confirmed.

She needed it—his approval—and so he knew she listened for his response carefully. It appeared she was the type of person unwilling to jump to conclusions.

He appreciated the trait.

It revealed that she was keenly aware of the time constraints she was working within and would not risk losing any to mistakes or misunderstandings.

He nodded, confirming with a “yes” but no further elaboration. She need not know that not only did he approve, but that he found her ideas a refreshing change from the glitz and glam aesthetic of previous years.

Ms. Howard’s eyes lit with a spark of real joy. “Excellent. Now, for food. Given the time frame, it seemed best to go tried and true for the menu, sticking with the chef’s most popular option of a three-course meal with seafood, red meat and vegetarian options, fruit and chocolate dessert selections, and a very open bar. If you agree, it’s a simple matter of letting the chef know—”

Stopping her, Benjamin held up a hand. “What are the options?” he asked.

“Salmon, filet mignon and vegetable risotto,” she answered, eyebrows drawing together as she looked from her screen to him.

Benjamin shook his head. “No. Absolutely not. Your concept thus far has been interesting and fresh. I expected better from the menu. The donors will, too.”

“Excuse me,” she said, her right brow lifting slightly, arguments reading themselves in her eyes. “It’s my judgment that with the event less than four weeks away we don’t have the time to experiment with a menu and the subsequent tastings. The classics done right blow people away, time and again.”

“No,” Benjamin repeated, more certain he was right with every word he heard. “If we give them what they might have delivered to their doorstep on any given Tuesday night, the letdown will be what people talk about afterward, no matter how many pretty flowers you surround them with. Your menu bears no relationship to the concept. By that alone, it breaks the continuity of the evening and theme, makes it clear that the recent scandal was a sign that the foundation is indeed faltering and disorganized. It is more critical this year than ever that every detail reflect competence or they’re not going to hand over their money. Anything that hints at haphazard or thrown together at the last minute will have lasting impacts. And more than that, it’s boring. Give me something better. That idea is lazy and below your standard.”

That idea is lazy and below your standard...

The words rang in Miri’s head, stunning in their blunt censure—even if they were true.

How dare he say so? What did he know of her standards?

The classic catering offering idea had been lazy—intentionally—because Miriam had seen the menu as the best place to save time in the miracle she was trying to pull off.

There simply wasn’t time to reinvent the wheel, and food was a place where people preferred the usual.

Or so she had determined.

Mr. Silver clearly did not agree.

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