Jen spent the next hour flipping through old files, memorizing spreadsheets and totals, and rearranging numbers in her head. There were very few resources, even less money, and practically no organization or innovation. She needed to take inventory. She needed to contact vendors, renegotiate terms. Check up with the competitors and judges and—
Her phone rang. Aimee.
“Hel—”
Screeching and sobbing filled her ear.
“Calm down, Aim, I can’t hear a thing you’re saying.”
Jen’s first instinct was to run. To swim like hell far, far away from this mess, grab onto the first floating thing she could find and paddle in the opposite direction. Why on earth had she ever thought this would be an easy three weeks? Especially if Aimee was involved? Why the hell was her sister calling her now? Ah, of course. Because she was here, and when Jen was here, Jen took care of things.
All her clothes and things were in that room, sitting right outside the bathroom. Probably floating down the hall by now. Shit.
She ground fingers into her temple. “Maybe you should, I don’t know, turn off the water at the source and then call a plumber?”
“What? No.” More crying, more splashing.
“Because I can’t call him.” It came out like hiiiiiiiim, in a child’s voice, and Jen finally got it. Aimee had probably slept with whoever hiiiiiiiim was and they hadn’t moved past the After-Sex Awkwardness.
Lovely.
Jen Haverhurst to the rescue. “Just hold on, Aim. Be there in a second. Can you at least find the water shutoff?”
“Okay. Yes. I think so.”