Megan was the one who asked, “What is it?”
Kari’s heart was racing so fast, she could take them all in with a single glance. Rafi scurrying back, Graham worried, Connor and Megan and Danny all ready to take on whomever she asked. Her thoughts and emotions made for a tumbling mix. Just the same, two thoughts formed with crystalline clarity.
The first was,I am surrounded by friends. Connor, Megan, Danny, Arthur, Graham, Rafi.All sharing the same stalwart concern.
The second thought she spoke aloud. “I need to go help Ian.”
Megan served as their spokesperson. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” And she was. Scared, of course. Petrified, really. But certain just the same.
The velvet-clad stairs with their brass railings made a sweeping curve before arriving at the ballroom’s foyer. This antechamber was huge, and over a hundred people milled about, chattering quietly. Music and laughter drifted through the doors leading to the ballroom. The way people kept shooting glances at the closed doors opposite told Kari where she would find them.
As she started across the foyer, a woman standing by the ballroom’s entrance called, “Ms. Langham! Kariel!”
She spoke without breaking stride. “Graham, Rafi. Please.”
Rafi told Kari, “We have this, dear. You go ahead.”
As Kari moved away, the hostess called more loudly, “Please, you really must—”
Graham stepped directly in front of the hostess and snapped, “Not now.”
As she approached the closed doors, Kari felt utterly split in two. Part of her, the old part, the hurting hidden child, was frantic to escape. Go back to playing the ghost. Find safety in remaining unseen.
The other part felt something else entirely. An overlay of calm rested upon her, so strong it muffled her nerves, as well-fitted as her Fendi. An invisible suit designed just for her, fashioned for this very moment.
The double doors were open just a crack, enough for Lucinda, one of the backup singers, to notice Kari’s approach. The lady pushed the doors open farther, allowing them entry. The room held a vast oval table set for a formal dinner, encircled by two dozen chairs. Between the table and the doors, the other two backup singers held Kari’s father.
The affray had rendered Max Langham almost incoherent with rage. He snarled at Ian, “You think you’re in trouble now? I’ll flay you alive. Your career is ruined—”
“That’s enough.” Hearing her father threaten Ian was precisely why Kari had come. Why the calm now felt like a sheath of crystalline ice. “Be quiet, Daddy.”
Max Langham was a precisely elegant man, perfectly tanned, every hair in place, hand-tailored suit, twenty-thousand-dollar watch. Gaze like a gray blade. His nickname inside the agency was the Lion King, a title he bore with pride. He was not a tall man, standing only an inch or so higher than his daughter. Always in the past, his rage had seemed to magnify his presence, building him up to immense, mountainous proportions. Just like now. “You! Howdare—”
The two ladies exchanged a nod over his head. They lifted Kari’s father off his feet and shook him. Hard.
“Best hush up now,” Maxine told him. “Else we’ll dump you on the street, where you belong.”
“Sis, you’ve got to—” Justin was halted by Lucinda, who showed him a pale palm, ready to strike.
In his rattled state Max Langham tried to push his spectacles back up his nose, but his hand trembled, so he only dumped them on the carpet.
Kari heard herself calmly say, “Listen to what Ian tells you, Daddy. He speaks for me.”
“It seems pretty clear what’s brought us to this point.” Ian’s voice sounded as calmly detached as her own. “You heard about this event through your son. Who agreed to let her managers display the painting Kari gave him. But only if he could attend tonight’s gala.”
“Get your handsoff—”
The ladies shook him again. Not too hard or for very long. Just enough to shut him up.
Ian continued, as if the interruption had not happened. “You probably heard some of your LA biggies were coming. So you decided to show up. Play the kingmaker. Shake a few hands. Claim the spotlight. Like it belonged to you. Like you mattered.”
Ian bent down, picked up Max’s spectacles, slipped them into his jacket pocket. Ian patted the spot on Max’s chest in time to his words. “That. Is. Not. Happening.”
Ian gave it a long beat, then continued, “This is Kari’s event. Not yours. She’s the star. And she’s not sharing the limelight with you. So now you and your son have two choices. You can apologize to your daughter, then join her entourage and follow her inside. Where you’ll play the silent, happy father for as long as you care to stay.” Ian glanced at her brother. “The same goes for you. Apologize. Behave.”
He turned back to Max. “Either that or these ladies will escort the pair of you outside and inform security you are not welcome.” He stepped back. Crossed his arms. “Which is it going to be?”
