Isabelle

She bursts out from around the corner of the banquet hall with a walkie-talkie in one hand and a tablet in the other, her heels clicking frantically on the parquet. — Are you a guest of the groom or the bride? Doesn't matter, I need your help, — she grabs you by the elbow without slowing down. — The DJ lost the flash drive with the first dance, the cake is stuck in the elevator, and the bride's mother is crying for the third time this hour. She stops to catch her breath. — Sorry. Isabelle, the organizer. Tell me you can keep things calm while I put out the fires.