Page 85 of The Accidental Innkeeper

I turned the corner into the dining room and stopped dead.

The tables were… wrong.

They’d been rotated. Shifted. Grouped in neat little clusters that I definitely had not approved. The open flow I’d planned was gone, replaced by something that looked suspiciously like a bridal shower seating chart.

“What the hell are you doing?” I demanded.

Helen didn’t even look up. She was in full command mode, gesturing sharply at Jason from inside a shapeless teal dress that looked like it had given up on joy. Jason held a chair like it might explode.

“Fixing this,” she said briskly. “You had it set up all wrong.”

I stared at her. “Wrong how?”

“For a cocktail party,” she said, as if explaining gravity to a child. “You don’t line tables like a cafeteria. People need to circulate. Mingle. Be seen.”

“They could circulate,” I said tightly. “That was the point. Open space. Flow.”

Helen waved a dismissive hand. “No, no. This is how it’s done.”

“This is my inn,” I said, my jaw clenching.

She finally turned, arching one brow. “And this is a fundraiser. Different rules.”

“I didn’t ask you to…”

“And trust me,” she continued, already turning back to the tables, “if you want this weekend to be taken seriously, you don’t reinvent hosting. You follow the formula.”

Irritation rushed through me. I opened my mouth, fully prepared to remind her that I lived here, worked here, and inherited this place.

“Good evening.”

The voice floated down from the staircase like a warning bell.

I froze.

Helen straightened instantly, smoothing her dress like she hadn’t just bulldozed my authority.

Guests were coming down, dressed-up guests—laughing, chatting, and scanning the room with curious eyes and polite smiles.

“Well,” said Helen under her breath, suddenly all sunshine and rainbows, “showtime.”

I swallowed hard and pasted on my best hostess smile, even as my insides boiled.

I stepped forward, drawing in a breath. “Welcome…”

Helen surged past me. Her hip knocked into mine, sharp and deliberate, sending me stumbling back half a step as she slid seamlessly into my place.

“Welcome, ladies,” said Helen brightly, as if she hadn’t just body-checked the owner of the inn. “Pearls & Pints Bachelor Weekend is just getting started. Please, make yourselves comfortable.”

They did. Immediately. Compliments followed. Oohs and ahhs. Someone admired the flowers. Someone else praised the lighting.

I stood there, momentarily displaced, smiling like a professional while mentally screaming, I am going to murder that tall bitch.

The guests clustered around Helen, who adjusted her red glasses and basked like she’d planned this moment all along.

I caught her eye.

She smiled back, sweet and triumphant.