Work Wife

Volunteer

Ainslee and her bridesmaids continued to blow up my phone throughout the week. I'd been tempted more than once to mute the chat, but I knew she'd be at the fundraiser tonight. The last thing I needed was to look out of the loop in front of her or Chase.

Thankfully, I had an airtight excuse to ignore the buzzing chaos for a while. I was meeting Eloise and Susan, the Director of the charity, at the event center at three. That gave me a solid block of time to focus on work and push the incessant notifications to the back of my mind.

The event was set in Boulder, framed by stunning mountain views that made even the busiest afternoon feel serene. The June air was just warm enough to coax guests out onto the patio, where pub tables were scattered strategically to encourage mingling. Early summer in Colorado was always unpredictable. Afternoon rain showers or thick cloud cover were practically a given, but not today. Today was all brilliant blue skies and crisp mountain air.

For the next few hours, I was a whirlwind of efficiency, darting between caterers, bartenders, and waitstaff to ensure everything ran like clockwork. I double-checked the glitzy decor, fussed over the elegant floral centerpieces, and gave the final nod of approval when everything looked just right. Of course, there was always something to go wrong. The DJ showed up without extension cords, but Eloise, in her usual cool-under-pressure style, dashed off to solve that crisis before I could even worry about it.

I was just starting to feel like we might pull this off without any major disasters when Susan found me. She cornered me as I was leaving the bathroom, having just changed into my evening attire, her expression one of barely contained panic.

"There's a missing volunteer," she announced, her voice teetering on the edge of hysteria.

I managed to calm her down with my best soothing tones and a reassuring smile, but it was clear she wasn't a fan of my everything-is-going-to-be-fine attitude. She wanted drama and a sense of urgency. Instead, I gave her level-headed problem-solving, which only seemed to agitate her further. Susan was a nit-picker by nature, constantly on edge and ready to pounce on even the smallest hiccup.

But I didn't have time for her fretting- not with Ainslee's arrival looming on the horizon and my phone vibrating in my clutch like a countdown clock to chaos.

I gave her my best I-got-it grin and reassured her that I would step into the open role which happened to be the door greeter who handed out the table number and auction paddles. I wasn't planning on sitting at the booth at the entrance to the ballroom but I didn't have anyone else on hand that could fill in either. Eloise was already making sure the space was ready for guests and the other volunteers for the charity were here as guests. I couldn't pull them over and put them to work. Susan made that abundantly clear.

I found the assigned table draped in gold fabric with a large Meaningful Journeys banner draped across the front in front of the ballroom's open doors. The gold name tags with the assigned table numbers were next to the stack of itineraries and I quickly organized them by table. I was just about done with table sixteen when Eloise sauntered over with a glass of champagne in her hand.

"Set up is done. We get to enjoy this before the chaos," she says as she hands me a flute. I notice she's also changed out of her Lululemon attire and is looking fabulous in a tight plum dress that would make me look like a stuffed sausage. Eloise is one of those women who drink and eat nothing but sugar and still somehow maintains a size two. She's also 5'7 so her heels have her towering over me, who stands at 5'5 with stilettos on.

"I am filling in as the greeter. Susan said the girl who is supposed to be here is sick, so looks like I am on door duty," I frown as I was hoping I wouldn't have to work for the whole party. Chase told us we were also guests tonight, but I guarantee I won't be eating when the rest of my table is called to go through the buffet line.