'Barbara's Lair,' the banner above the restaurant read. I opened the door, and the sound of a bell followed. The smell of coffee filled the air, more prominent than anything else. Honestly, I felt people frequented the place more for the coffee than the food, which was also spectacular, by the way.
The place was busy, as usual—waiters walking briskly from one table to the next. Business was thriving. Customers chatted or enjoyed their meals in warm, quiet pockets of conversation. I walked in with my work tablet and organizers in one hand and my handbag in the other.
I looked around, observing the updated decor as I searched for her.
"Looking for something in particular?" Her familiar voice crept up beside me. I turned.
"Don't startle me like that," I said. She smirked, furrowing her brows.
"You look like a mess."
I followed behind her as we took a seat. I slumped into the chair, ignoring her statement, but the question still lingered on her face.
"I know I've not slept well for days."
"You should learn to take a break."
I nodded. "What did you do to this place? It has a nice feel of magic," I said, glancing around. She giggled.
"Yeah? Next, I'm trying out a Viking theme."
I gave her a look. "Viking? Really?" I rolled my eyes.
"So, my friend, to what do I owe the honor?"
"I have an appointment here with a client. Should be in about thirty minutes," I said.
"I know you chose this place for the coffee," she said with a smile. She signaled to one of her employees at the counter, who came running toward us.
"Get us two cups of coffee."
"Yes, ma'am," the lady replied before hurrying off.
Barbara tilted her head, reading the silence on my face. "Sarah, what is it?"
I blinked, then quickly shook my head. "N-nothing. Just… a bit nervous."
She arched a brow.
"I'm meeting a very important client today." I tried to sound breezy. It was true, but mostly—I was still shaken by the message Christopher had sent me earlier. It kept playing in my head, distracting me in quiet moments like this.
"Really? Who?"
"A representative for a renowned figure."
"Hmm, good for you. You're gonna kill it."
A few days ago, Camberley—my boss and the co-founder of our agency returned from her trip. I had forwarded her the mysterious email I received. She responded almost immediately, stating I would handle the event myself, emphasizing how pleased she was with the way I handled the Murphys' dinner party.
Just this morning, as I was packing my planner and tablet, Camberley had poked her head into the office.
"Hi. Getting ready for your meeting?"
I nodded absently, already halfway to the door.
"Do you even know who you're about to meet?"
I shrugged. "Um... K.W. Enterprises? Some company rep for a private event?"
Camberley practically twirled in place. "Uh... K.W. stands for Klaus Whitmore, my dear."
"Hmm, Klaus Whitmore," I said under my breath
"Sarah, that's not just any company. That's Klaus freaking Whitmore. The man who could buy this entire block and still have enough change left over to build a private island—and ice it over, just to match his personality."
I paused. "Okay... sounds dramatic."
"Because it is. He's like a myth. Mysterious. Loaded. Gorgeous, if you're into the 'I-don't-feel-emotions' type. Women throw themselves at him, and he doesn't even blink. I heard his ex-wife left him mid-scandal, and ever since then, he's been allergic to smiles and romance.
"They say if he shows up in person, it means something's either very wrong... or very, very important. Most people just get emails signed with a K."
I raised an eyebrow. "Sounds delightful."
"Oh, he's terrifying. But you can't look away. Like an avalanche wearing Prada."
"And this is who I'm meeting?"
Camberley paused dramatically. "If you're lucky," she said with a smirk, "I'm sure you can handle it."
I was used to this. Camberley dumped work on me that she didn't want to get involved with. Saying she was confident I would uphold the company's name and values— and that she'd already done her own fair share of 'getting her hands dirty.'
Suddenly, back in the restaurant, we heard a crash that startled us.
"I said no green things on my plate! Do you want me to get hives or something? I'm allergic to ugly food!"
The tiny, shrill voice broke into the air.
"What was that?" Barbara sprang from her seat, searching for the source of the noise. I followed her, confused but curious. She stopped in her tracks. Her tall figure blocked my view.
I peeked over her shoulder, and there she was. I opened my eyes in surprise at the little girl. A well-dressed, fuming little girl, no older than eight or nine, but loud enough to fill the room. She sat at a table with her arms crossed, glaring at a flustered waitress.
"This is not what I asked for. Are you blind or deaf?" her tiny voice rang out. The other guests stopped eating to watch the drama unfold.
"But this is what your guardian ordered," the bewildered waitress said softly.
"Are you calling me a liar?"
"No, I'm not, but..."
The waitress stopped talking as she noticed Barbara. Barbara waved her off, and the waitress scurried away.
"Little girl, where's your mother?" Barbara asked, approaching.
I stepped beside her. The child looked up and snapped, "And who are you, sissy?" she sneered, dragging the word like it was an insult.
"Sissy? What? Okay, who owns this little snort over here? Remove her before I lose my mind," Barbara said aloud.
I held her back, afraid she might actually pick the girl up by her collar.
"Hey, girl. Don't talk to your elders like that," I cautioned.
She looked me up and down. "Why are you talking to me? Do you need money?" She pulled a hundred-dollar bill from her purse and waved it in my face.
I scoffed in shock. I pushed it back. "I don't want your money."
"What kind of gremlin is this? Barbara muttered, her mouth wide open.
"I'll handle it." I turned to Barbara
"Well, Daddy says people only stick around when they want something. So I don't trust adults." She muttered, and I frowned.
"Child, where is your mom or dad? They'll get you whatever you want." I said, smiling, trying to stay calm.
"Stop talking to me, old lady. I already tried giving you money."
"Old lady!? Can someone lay claim to this child, or I'm calling the cops!" I shouted.
The guests around us watched, some giggling. I fumed. I was better with kids than Barbara, but this child was testing every limit.
"Oh, I'm so sorry!" A calm-looking woman in designer flats ran in from the direction of the bathrooms and grabbed the girl's hand, who immediately pushed her away, freeing her hand.
"Does this girl belong to you? Please, can you control your daughter?" Barbara asked.
"Whoa, oh no. She's not mine. I'm her nanny. I just went to the bathroom for a minute."
"Hey Camilla, I begged you to stay out of trouble for just one minute," she whispered loudly.
Camilla scrunched her lips and shot me a suspicious look. I frowned and scrunched mine in reply.
"That moron waitress gave me whatever this is!" she snapped, pointing at her food.
"Camilla, sweetheart, the arugula was just a garnish. Please don't throw the plate again."
I exhaled, relieved the nanny had returned. I turned to leave, but the nanny suddenly hurried over and lightly touched my arm.
"Oh! You must be Miss Daniels. We've been expecting you."
I frowned. "You were expecting me?"
She nodded. "Yes, for the birthday event planning."
"Birthday event? I thought I was meeting the K.W. representative."
The Nanny looked behind, gesturing to the child. "That would be Miss Camilla Whitmore."
I blinked in shock as Camilla dramatically kicked off a shoe in protest of something.
"No way," I muttered, begging with my eyes, praying this was a joke.
Barbara, who had been silent, raised an eyebrow. "This is your client?"
"Well, excuse me, and good luck." Amusement was written all over her face.
So it was a birthday event. For her. I sighed.
I switched into event planner mode. "Hi Camilla, I'm Sarah. I'll be planning your birthday party. I'd love to hear your ideas." I said calmly, sitting across from her
She ignored me, eating the food she had caused such a scene over. I cleared my throat to get her attention.
"Are you gonna make it pink or lame? Because if it's pink, I swear I'll scream," she said.
"Well, I thought maybe we could start by—"
"Also, no magicians. They smell weird. And I want a pony that can talk. Can you do that? No? Then what do you even do?"
She began spinning in her chair and suddenly grabbed my planner, flipping through it. The nanny mouthed, I'm so sorry.
Camilla proceeded to throw a tantrum because her sparkling water was not being "sparkly enough." She sent the waitress back four times.
"Hi Camilla, I need you to focus, please." Tired of her drama, I finally spoke up
She paused dramatically. "Actually... can I have a dragon theme?"
I sighed, relieved. "Sure! That could be—"
"But I don't want actual dragons. I'm scared of lizards. Make it cute or you're fired."
"My daddy says if you don't do what I like, you'll get fired!"
"Your father can't fire me. I don't work for him." I snapped.
"My father can fire anybody," she smirked.
That's when I got it. If she was like this, her father had to be worse.
I sighed and turned to the nanny. "I think she's really worked up. How about we reschedule this meeting when she's calmer?"
"I agree," she nodded.
"What's the point of a birthday party when Daddy's not going to be there? Daddy's never around anyway," I heard her mutter as I finally understood what the child's problem was.
"I'm sorry about all this. Camilla can be a sweet child at times... and also a devil. She's just lonely. She's going through a phase." Her nanny said, reaching for her bag.
"I see," I said quietly.
"Come on, let's go, Miss Camilla."
I sighed, so this was his daughter. And maybe his mirror. I felt a little pity for the child.
I watched them walk away, then Camilla suddenly stopped, ran towards Barbara, and stomped on her foot.
"Camilla!" her nanny cried, chasing after her as she ran off.
Barbara hopped around in pain.
"Ow!" Barbara screamed. "What a spoiled little brat!"
I covered my mouth in shock and ran toward her.
"Are you okay?"
"No, I'm not okay."
"Keep it together. She's gone."
"God, that's what I go through most days. The difference is, today it's a pint-sized child throwing rubbish at me."
I giggled and patted her back to calm her.
"I want to quit this restaurant and get a job."
"As if." I smiled
She could never. She couldn't stand working under anyone, which was why she set up the restaurant right after our degree.
We returned to our table.
"I wonder who that child is," she asked aloud.
I scoffed. It was clear: Klaus Whitmore was playing games with me. He was definitely testing my patience.
I finally escaped to the back office of the restaurant—Barbara's private dining room. The door clicked shut behind me.
I exhaled deeply, shaky—and pressed my fingers to my temples.
I hadn't even gotten through my agenda. Not that it mattered. There was no theme. No guest list. No budget. Just glitter demands, emotional whiplash, and a nanny who kept saying "she's going through a phase," like it explained the miniature tyranny.
The door opened. Barbara entered with a tray of drinks and her usual lipstick-red apron.
"You alive?" she asked, raising a brow.
"Barely. I just met a... what, eight-year-old? Who might actually be my villain origin story."
Barbara laughed and handed me a glass of cold water.
"Sit for five minutes. My treat. I'll even throw in a free breadstick to help you recover."
I took a sip, staring at nothing in particular.
Barbara watched me quietly. "You okay?" she asked gently.
I nodded. Then shook my head.
"It's not just today. It's—" my voice cracked. "Everything's just… a lot lately."
Barbara waited, patient as always.
I sniffed, "Christopher texted me earlier. Said I embarrassed him.
"He said I looked like a stray in the background of that video—' barely presentable, and clearly his.'
Like I was nothing more than a mistake he was tired of cleaning up."
My body shook.
And the worst part was…I still couldn't bear the thought of losing him.