Elena didn't panic. She flipped open her laptop, her fingers flying. She didn't just need chargers; she needed texture . She needed the heavy, beaded edge of antique gold or perhaps the sleek, hammered copper that would catch the candlelight.

"I need six hundred," she said into the phone, skipping the pleasantries. "And I need them by dawn."

Thirty-six hours later, a semi-truck backed into the warehouse. Elena watched as the crew unstacked crate after crate of the heavy glass. As the sun began to dip, she placed the first obsidian charger onto the dark oak table. She set a white bone-china plate on top of it, followed by a sprig of dried lavender.

The scent of vanilla-bourbon candles was the only thing keeping Elena sane. As the lead designer for "The Golden Gala," the city’s most prestigious charity event, she had exactly four days to transform a cold, cavernous warehouse into a Tuscan sunset.

"Elena, we can't just set the plates on the bare wood," her assistant, Marcus, whispered, looking at the skeletal long-tables. "It looks like a high-end cafeteria."