Starry-Eyed Love (Spark House)
Harley and I go over the plans for the weekend, her schedule of posts leading up to the event, and the other things she handles around Spark House. While her main role is social media director, she often manages random tasks when things get overwhelming or we’re juggling preparations for multiple events. Which is basically all the time now.
Last year when Avery was in the car accident, both Harley and I had to take on a lot of tasks that weren’t in our previous job descriptions. While we made it work, there’s a reason Avery is the face of Spark House, and Harley and I function more in the background. Sure, I make connections with other businesses, but Avery is the one who builds relationships with clients and comes up with ideas for the events. She’s the real heart and soul of Spark House.
Harley and I work together on the fiftieth wedding anniversary collage, arranging the photos so we have a visual progression of the Wilsons’ relationship. At one point, I have to excuse myself to the bathroom so I can collect myself. If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s tears. Other people’s are fine, but I thoroughly dislike shedding them. It makes me feel weak. And like I don’t have control over my emotions. I try to stay in check most of the time, otherwise I get anxious, and then I’m liable to spiral, which isn’t something I want. It used to happen often after my parents passed. The panic was hard to manage sometimes, but I’ve found ways to cope.
We’re just putting the finishing touches on the collages—there were enough photos to make ten—when the phone rings. Harley and I both glance at the name on the screen.
“Holt Media? Why does that sound familiar?”
Harley shrugs. “You answer. I’ll look them up and feed you details if you need them.”
“That’s a smart plan.” I give her a thumbs-up while she speedily types on her phone. If I were alone, I’d search on my desktop, but Harley is accustomed to doing almost everything on a six-inch screen.
I clear my throat, roll my shoulders back, and answer the call. “Hello, Spark House, London speaking, how may I help you?”
“Hello, London, I’m Mitchell, the personal assistant to CEO Jackson Holt, of Holt Media and Consulting. I was wondering if you had a moment to speak.”
That’s a mouthful of a title, and the CEO part puts me on alert. “Of course, how can I help you?”
Harley’s eyes go wide, and she turns her phone around so I can see what she does as she mouths, Holy shit. I put my hand over the receiver and peer at the screen. The Instagram account shows that Holt Media and Consulting has over three million followers. And I thought Spark House was doing great with a hundred thousand.
Who are these people? I mouth at my sister.
“I have no idea, but you need to talk to them,” she whispers.
I tune back in just in time to hear: “… new initiative. Our social media relations manager has had a conversation with one of your business liaison partners, who suggested we meet with you. We’d like to hear more about your hotel to see if you’d be a welcomed addition to our network. Our company helps connect other companies who are working toward the same goals. Your green campaigns are something the CEO here is particularly passionate about, and we like your mission statement. We’re seeking out more family-run companies like Spark House. I see you’re based in Colorado Springs, and we’re currently in Colorado hosting an event in Denver. Would you or someone from your staff be interested in meeting with myself and our account manager to see if you’d be the right fit for Holt Media?”
Wow. This is exactly what we’ve been looking for to take us to the next level. And maybe make the projected kitchen renovations possible sooner than we thought. Avery is going to freak out.
“Yes. We would. Absolutely be interested. In a meeting, that is.” And I better be able to string a full sentence together during that meeting.
“Excellent. We have an opening tomorrow at eleven a.m. I’m aware it’s very short notice, and we understand if it’s not adequate time to fit us into your schedule. If it’s not possible, we can revisit in a month or so.”
I flip to our calendar, and I see that Avery has the morning blocked off for her own wedding planning and Harley is scheduled to take a bunch of promo shots for our new brochure. I have a morning meeting, but it can be moved around, which means that I’ll be the one to take the meeting. The nerves start, but I urge myself not to let it get to me until after I end the call. “Eleven a.m. tomorrow morning sounds perfect. I’ll be there.”