It's eleven-forty.
Mr. Gooseman is outside the hotel, so I jump in the car and without looking back I say, "Take me as close to home as your schedule allows, please."
22
XANDER
There'ssomething about Andrew Cinder. I felt it the moment I met him, even if I couldn't see his face. If I didn't know for sure I'm completely head-over-heels in love with Ash, I'd wonder if I'm attracted to the aspiring author.
His reaction to the news that he won the award was the most genuine I've ever seen. When I came up with the concept for the award, this was what I wanted. To find a new author who wouldn’t otherwise have a chance to publish their story, to whom this opportunity means everything. As the first winner, Andrew is perfect.
My dad looks at me as we're getting ready to go up on the stage.
"Your mother says you have something to tell me."
"Later, Dad. I promise."
The MC calls our names, and we go up. My father first, and then me.
My father always starts his Christmas speech by mentioning my grandfather. After all, without him, we wouldn't be here. It's a speech I know well, so I tune it out as I look around the room.
I love the masquerade idea, and from what I've seen so far, the masks have allowed people to have fun without the boundaries created by their job levels. There's only a handful of people I recognize from the way they're dressed. Mrs. Brown from admin because there's no way she'd go anywhere without her trusted pearl necklace, or Jemima, one of the junior editors, who is never seen without a pair of expensive high-heels paired with a knee-length skirt that perfectly shows off her Japanese apple blossom tattoo.
When my eyes find Andrew Cinder, I notice he's not alone. My stomach tightens at the thought that Mark might be trying something with Andrew. I wave at Andrew, forgetting the limitations of wearing a mask, and it's Mark that waves back.
Something feels wrong. Andrew seems tense, and Mark looks far too close for comfort. Even if he's hitting on Andrew, their body language is all wrong. Besides, Mark wouldn't just hit on anyone. He has a rule that even his one-night-stands must come from or have money. Meaning, they'll keep quiet.
I catch my dad's words. He's almost finished and getting ready to announce his retirement. It won't come completely as a surprise, but at the moment, it's only common knowledge among the higher management teams. Until he makes his announcement, that is.
I look once again toward Andrew and see him pull away from Mark, and then make his way through the crowd toward the exit door.
Without thinking, I leave the stage, taking my mask off and handing it to a helper, and walk as fast as I can, trying to not attract attention as I reach the door. Behind me, I hear my dad miss a beat in his speech, but he doesn't stop. If anyone can fill the time until I'm back, it’s him.
I expect Andrew to be outside the room, maybe catching himself after whatever Mark said or did, but the corridor is empty. I run to the lobby and through the revolving door, but all I see is a figure stepping into a car and then dozens of flashlights.
"Mr. Blackwood, are the rumors true? Has your father just announced his retirement?"
"Mr. Blackwood, is your father unwell?"
"Mr. Blackwood, is it true you pushed your father out from his own company?"
I ignore the questions and walk back inside the hotel. As I approach the door, the concierge pulls me to one side, away from the prying eye of the cameras.
"Mr. Blackwell, the young man that just left dropped his mask on the stairs, and when he took his phone out from his pocket, his wallet fell out. I don't think he noticed."
The concierge hands me the black and white beaded mask Andrew wore and an old leather wallet.
"Did you say young man?" I ask.
"Yes, he looked to be mid to late twenties, sir."
I thank him and make my way back inside the ballroom. With Andrew leaving, there isn't much I can do, so I put his wallet in my pocket and listen to my dad's speech for a good moment to walk back on the stage.
He's taken his mask off, so I don't bother picking up mine.
"I hope he hasn't taken up running for good, and I assure you it's definitely not a hereditary trait. So, without further ado, I would like to welcome back on-stage, Alexander James Blackwood, my son and the new CEO of Blackwood Publishing."
I join my father to the deafening sound of applause. Despite feeling somewhat confused and deflated that Andrew left, I'm up here for a reason.
