“Yeah, I’m good,” Oliver says. I can feel his confused gaze on me.
“How are you?” I ask.
He lets out a nervous laugh. “Still as good as I was five seconds ago.”
“Good.” I force my eyes back to him and show a tight smile.
We sit in silence for a few more seconds. I guess you would call it an awkward silence, but for me, it comes loud and fast. Like a roaring, metal grinding in my ears as I contemplate the man now only a few seats down from me.
Oliver’s fingers entwine on his lap as he shifts in his seat. I study him, watch his lips touch and part as he struggles to find something to say, but my brain can’t think of anything other than the name of the man sitting six seats away. Can I just get up and leave? Dominic is standing to the side, and like he said,he is noting everyone’s presence. I’m not the CEO in his eyes, but I still represent Wyst. Getting up and leaving in the middle of this event is a no-go.
The bell rings again as he gets shuffled along. I barely notice as Oliver moves to the next seat, still staring at me. My eyes can’t even focus on the next person. A couple of people come and go, staring into my glassy eyes and telling me about their initiative to make online transactions simpler for freelancers and amazing technology that helps cancer patients during chemotherapy. My body is frozen solid like a rabbit playing dead in the woods, hoping the fox will pass me by without noticing. Every ring of the three-minute timer triggers a wave of nausea to rise to the surface. Every three minutes Malcolm is getting closer.
“You okay?” Spencer shuffles onto the seat in front of me, a brief respite when I don’t have to pretend to keep it together.
My voice shakes as I try to subtly deliver this vital information. “Malcolm’s here,” I mouth.
His brow knits. “What?”
I close my eyes for a second at the idea of having to explain out loud. “Malcolm, from Graystone. He’s here.”
Spencer’s face goes white. “Why the fuck is he here?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know if he’s seen me.” I grip the edges of the chair.
“Do you want to leave? I thought he got fired?”
“We can’t leave; everyone will see. It will look odd and it could damage our chances of making it to the next round after all our hard work.”
Spencer looks to either side of us, straining his neck to seethe executives managing the event chatting among themselves in the corner of the room.
“Making it to the next round doesn’t matter, Jess. We can leave right now; just say the word and we’ll go... Or I can deck him if you’d prefer.” Spencer shoots me a tight smile.
“No. I can stay. I just can’t have him recognize me. He’ll see my name tag is wrong.” I rub my face with my hands, wishing I’d used the severance money to get a full face transplant instead.
Spencer considers, scanning my face before nodding. “Okay. You’re going to switch with me.”
My brain must not be fully functioning because I just stare at him, trying to process what he wants me to do.
“When the bell goes off, switch seats with me. I’ll stay put and you keep moving,” he says slower, enunciating each word. “Just follow my lead, okay?”
I nod silently; he reaches forward to touch my knee for reassurance but hesitates. I’m meant to be his assistant, not his sister. He can see I need comfort, but any unnecessary touching would look inappropriate and unprofessional. After what feels like an eternity, the bell rings. As we both jolt upright, Spencer pulls a pile of brochures and papers from his folder and lets go; they slap against the ground, and I instinctually go to help him pick them up. He steps behind me, slapping my leg to move. If you were watching us closely, we’d look insane, but everyone here is so enthralled by who they are meeting next they don’t notice when I sit down on the next seat over from Spencer’s and Spencer sits in mine.
Letting out a long breath, I glance at the person now in front of me, a woman about my age with a dark brown slick bob. Iinstantly relax, recognizing her as one of the assistants from the hotel pool.
“Hey!” Her face warms as she also recognizes me. “Violet, right?”
“Yeah.” I smile, my eyes squinting as I try to remember her name. “Sorry, is it Kat?”
“Kit,” she confirms as we shake hands. “You’ve seen me in my underwear. I think we can go by nicknames now.” Her infectious laugh puts me even more at ease.
My memory finally locks into place. “Did you end up getting kicked out of the hotel that night?”
“No.” She laughs. “Luckily one of the guys we were with is the assistant to the governor of Rome so he managed to negotiate a slap on the wrist instead of a full banning. What would all the big-wig investors do in his city without their precious personal assistants, hey?”
“Society would crumble.” I nod solemnly, my pulse finally regulating.
“Exactly.” She smiles.
