Thatcher moves close enough that I catch the faint scent of his cologne. He points to various items on his schedule, but I find myself watching his hands instead of the clipboard. These are the same hands that draw cartoons in report margins, that bring me my favorite coffee every morning, that touched me that night like he’d been doing it for years.
“The first guests will arrive at six,” he explains, his voice carrying little of its usual enthusiasm. “Passed appetizers begin immediately, with the main buffet opening at seven. Lior’s speech is scheduled for eight. The quartet has been instructed to vary their chosen pieces throughout the evening to maintain appropriate energy levels.”
I nod, but my attention keeps drifting to the way his sleeve pulls back slightly when he gestures, revealing the point in his wrist that I touched. He notices my distraction and pauses, his mask slipping just enough to show uncertainty underneath.
“Is everything all right, Pierce?”
“You tell me. You seem…a little off.”
His clipboard lowers slightly, and something of his old warmth shows through. “I just want everything to be perfect.”
“It is perfect.”
His smile leaves me off balance as he calls out to someone passing and then strides off in his mission to make this the perfect event.
The catering staff moves with military precision under Thatcher’s direction. I take a step back and watch as final preparations are made and VSE employees start filing into the venue.
I take a drink from a passing server and pretend I’m ensuring everything runs smoothly, but really, my eyes can’t stop searching for wherever Thatcher goes next.
I’m about to tell him this is his party too, and he should enjoy it, when recognizable voices come from behind the concrete column I’m leaning against.
“Well, well,” says one board member, his voice carrying that particular tone of condescension that usually comes from old, entitled businessmen. “This is…unexpected. When we heard the new assistant was handling arrangements…”
“We were prepared for something more…chaotic,” another adds, examining a centerpiece with exaggerated care. “Given the stories we’ve heard.”
“I have to admit,” the first board member continues, loud enough to carry, “I had my doubts. I heard the last job he was fired from involved a remodel of their offices after he caused the fire-suppression sprinklers to come on…”
A rush of anger comes over me as Thatcher’s shoulders hitch when he passes them, the reaction of someone who heard every word. Before I can stop myself, I’m movingacross the space, inserting myself into their conversation with careful precision.
“Mr. Charles has everything under control. His attention to detail and organizational skills are exactly what this company needs.”
The board members blink in surprise at my intervention. Thatcher’s head snaps up, his eyes meeting mine.
“Of course, of course,” the first board member backtracks smoothly. “We were just…surprised by the level of sophistication.”
“Mr. Charles excels at exceeding expectations,” I continue, unable to stop myself from defending him. “His unique creative perspective brings value to everything he touches.”
I leave the men with a polite nod and head to the buffet, happy to see people enjoying themselves. Between polite conversation with a few people I know and some I don’t, I watch Thatcher work the room with unexpected grace, his natural charm channeled into keeping smiles on everyone’s faces.
When he glances my way, his eyes carry questions I’m not sure how to answer. How do I tell him that I miss his chaos while being proud of his competence? That watching him maintain this perfect professionalism feels like watching someone dim their own light?
My phone buzzes again. Another text from James.
James:
I heard the board meeting went well. They’re starting to see your…limitations.
I delete the message immediately, but the damage is done. I’m absolutely certain one of our own board members is feeding James information. This shouldn’t surprise me.Some board members fought for control of VSE and lost when Lior’s mother gave her share in the company to her son to ensure he retained the majority.
I should have known the bears would hibernate but come out in the spring to feed.
Across the room, Lior catches my eye and raises his glass before joining me at the table.
“Remarkable party,” Lior comments. “Thatcher certainly has pulled out all the stops. I hasten to say this one might be better than the last.”
“He’s certainly proved himself capable,” I say, aiming for neutral but probably missing by miles.
Lior gives me another one of his looks. “Capable isn’t the word I’d use,” he observes mildly. “Transformative, maybe. When’s the last time you saw Robert from accounting actually smile? Or anyone from accounting smile, for that matter.”
