The office was quiet except for the soft hum of the HVAC and the occasional creak of her chair. Her head throbbed with a low, dull pulse.
Penelope rubbed her eyes. She wished she knew how to make tech see what she did.
She had no more time to fret over this as an alarm went off, reminding her of the scheduled planning session for the Luminary Ball.
When she entered the conference room, almost all seats were filled. She nodded at the assembled crowd and sat down.
The air inside was faintly perfumed with catering coffee and cologne—stale and corporate.
A minute later, Montgomery entered and moved to the head of the table, her gaze roaming over the gathered team.
“Good afternoon. Thank you all for joining our meeting. Let’s first discuss the theme. We want this year’s Luminary Ball to stand out. It’s not just about art—it’s about drawing in new donors,” Montgomery said. “Mr. Halcyon, go ahead.”
A red-faced bald man with thick horn-rimmed glasses cleared his throat before launching into the need for grandeur and tradition. Because art alone was never enough.
Penelope struggled to prevent herself from tuning him out. Her fingertips drummed lightly against her notepad. She didn’t bother writing anything down.
“Dr.Blackwell, what do you think?” Montgomery asked.
“I think a ‘Southern Elegance’ theme with antebellum elements might be a tad tone-deaf currently.”
Maxwell Halcyon bristled. “We need thispreciselybecause we’re facing movements to erase our Southern culture. Something like this will appeal to the city’s donor class. Most skew conservative and are quite attached to the old South.”
“No one is trying to erase Southern culture, but maybe we shouldn’t be celebrating a movement that tried to tear this country apart over their need to—”
“Yes, yes, Dr.Blackwell. Your point is well-taken,” Montgomery said. “I’d prefer to avoid any type of controversy. What about adding a masquerade element? The board has listed that as a potential avenue, too, Mr. Halcyon, no?”
He grumbled, still glaring at Penelope.
“What about a Southern-themed masquerade ball?” he asked.
Penelope opened her mouth but stopped herself before asking what kind of Southern masks he had in mind—white robes and pointy hoods included.
“Let’s shelve this for a moment and discuss some program choices instead. Now that we have confirmed the authenticity of the new Bellini painting, it should play a central role along with theMadonna in Red. Our event coordinator also suggested running an exclusive donor preview beforehand. We’ve already sent out messages, including one to Russell Deveraux,” Montgomery said.
Penelope’s spine straightened. “The gentleman who loaned the Bellini?”
“Yes,” Montgomery said. “His team reached out to confirm he’ll be attending the ball.”
Penelope nodded, though her mind whirred. She’d seen the name on the paperwork; a wealthy collector with barely any online presence and no past loans of this caliber.
Her heartbeat quickened, shallow and arrhythmic.
A ghost of a donor, if ever there was one.
“We’ll need to finalize placement soon,” the event coordinator chimed in. “If theMadonnaand the Bellini are shown together, that puts us near capacity in the east wing.”
“Do it,” Montgomery said. “That’s where the media will be, and the Bellini’s confirmation is good press.”
Penelope said nothing. Press. Donors. Exposure. All tightening around her like a net. Heat spiked, like she couldn’t quite draw a full breath.
“Dr.Blackwell, do you think you could…extend your contact with Ms.Rossi? Who knows, if her clientele includes more people like Mr. Deveraux, it could benefit the Meridian in the long run.”
Penelope gritted her teeth. “Of course.”
~ ~ ~
At home, a restless Penelope could not get her mind to stop spinning.
