Work Wife

Gala

I was dragged away from the check-in table when the sequin-jacketed woman reappeared, her glittering shoulders leading the charge as she complained loudly about the food line taking far too long. Apparently, Susan had abandoned the order we painstakingly planned and was now releasing tables to the buffet at random. The ballroom was a mess of confusion, with guests just hopping into the line, unaware that there was an order.

I let the sequin lady cut in front of a younger couple which was acknowledged with a huff and was just starting to feel triumphant when one of the waitstaff cornered me. "Guests are complaining about the satin napkins. Says they won't stay on the table," he whispered urgently. I groaned internally. I'd tried to talk Susan out of satin weeks ago, but no, she insisted everything needed to "shine."

Luckily, the caterers had a stash of simple black cloth napkins. I dropped them at the end of the buffet line like a peace offering and was about to breathe a sigh of relief when another guest approached, her tone dripping with disdain.

"Five thousand dollars to start for a weekend in Aspen? I could book the whole trip for half that through my agent," she complained, her perfectly manicured nails tapping a silent auction flyer.

I plastered on my brightest event-coordinator smile and replied, "Well, this is a fundraiser! Remember, your money goes to a great cause if you win."

She responded with an eye roll and stalked off toward the bar, leaving me standing there, silently agreeing with her. Five grand was absurd, but hey, there had to be someone here willing to bid that much if only for the tax write-off. Right?

I'm about to head toward the food line to finally grab a plate when my phone buzzes against my thigh. My dress may be simple and not as body-hugging as Ainslee's but it has pockets! I slide my phone out and glance at the screen- it's Chase. My eyes dart up, scanning the ballroom. With nearly two hundred guests milling around under the soft, mood-lit glow, spotting him is like finding a needle in a glittering haystack.

I glance at the text and groan. It's about Logan. Apparently, he's arrived and wants to know which table he's at. I'm about to type out a response when I hear my name.

I look up to see Ainslee gliding toward me, Chase trailing close behind her with another man walking alongside them.

"I just texted you," Chase says as they reach me.

I wave my phone slightly. "Yeah, I saw."

He gestures toward the man beside him. "Was wondering where to seat Logan here. Logan, you remember Stella?"

I do a double take, blinking at the stranger as he smiles and extends a hand.

"Don't know if remember me," he says, his grin boyish but confident. "I'm Logan, a friend of Chase's."

I want to laugh, but I hold it in. The Logan I remember looks nothing like the polished man standing before me.

Last summer, Logan was all chaos and carefree rebellion- long, unkempt blondish hair tied into a messy bun, a dark beard that skimmed his shoulders, and a wardrobe of beer-logo T-shirts paired with cutoff jeans. His wrists were stacked with beaded bracelets, and an arrowhead dangled from a leather string around his neck.

This Logan? He's almost unrecognizable. His hair is cut short, still casually tousled but deliberate. The beard is neatly trimmed, his broad shoulders fill out a tailored navy suit, and there's a silver watch on his wrist that complements his tie pin. The bracelets and arrowhead necklace are gone, replaced by a sleek, grown-up sophistication.

And yet, the mischievous glint in his eye? That hasn't changed.

"No, I mean, yeah... I do remember you. We threw your launch party last summer," I tell him and he nods in agreement. "I just...you were a bit more...Boulderish, the last time I saw you." He tosses his head back and laughs but before he can reply, Chase says, "Logan here finally grew out of his college clothes."