For the first time since Nancy told me what she had in mind, it hits me: I’m the boss. I call the shots. I’ll have a team of twodozen working directly under me. For the first time in my life, I’ll be the one with the P.A.
“Stranger than fiction” doesn’t even begin to cover it.
She gives me a bracing pat on my shoulder and melts into the crowd to mingle. I hear a chorus of giggles and then the ranks partas a three-foot hooligan races right at my legs. He’s wearing a pointy party hat and clutching a balloon that’s bigger than he is.
“Whoa there, little man!” I exclaim, kneeling down to grab my son. He giggles and tries to wiggle out of my clutches. “MischaEgorov! How much cake have you had?”
“By last count, it was three pieces,” Bee offers, appearing in front of us in her red Louis Vuitt
