“I like it,” Axel said, pocketing his phone. “Francis is working on getting some beef here.”
“Is that what he called it?” I asked Axel, who nodded.
“He would,” Damian mused.
“Grade A, New York City beef,” I told Damian with a haughty smile. “Now are you ready to mitigate the effect of this protest or what?”
The next hour was a whirlwind of logistics—calls from lawyers, contact with the NYPD, organizing security, and more. The hired beef helped keep the protesters at bay, while Damian and I personally presented the smiling faces each new arrival needed to feel confident about walking into a swarming cesspool of human trafficking signs and shouting.
We shook hands and distracted guests as well as we could. Eventually, the police decided that the protesters had made themselves enough of a nuisance, so they were forced to disperse. What few people lingered were more random bystanders and less organized mob.
None of that was fun to deal with in general, but even less so with a corset squeezing my ribcage like an anaconda.
On the sixty-fifth floor, I only made it through two scallops before I knew something had to give. I fidgeted in my chair as Damian stood at the podium, giving his speech about the future of coding technology and the fight to fund open access to education. I loved all his talking points—poverty-stricken teen finding solace in coding, lucking out with an encouraging high school teacher and tons of late nights researching, as well as the limitless possibilities that awaited our society if more teens were given more access to information like this.
It was all beautiful, truly. But I could not concentrate on another mother-cluckin’ thing until this corset came off and burned in hell.
“All ideas were scandalous or rejected at one point…” Damian went on. The Rainbow Room was bursting tonight, every chair filled, some people relegated to standing on the fringes.
I took slow, measured breaths. I focused on fixed points in the distance. I even counted to sixty-three.
Nothing helped.
All I could think about was taking this corset off.
I sipped nervously at my pinot grigio, watching as Damian wrapped up his speech.
“Fairchild Enterprises might not be here forever,” Damian said, his voice firm. “But there will always be a new need, a new challenge, a new urgent, life-changing request. I want there to be more answers than questions in the future. More ideas than problems.”
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the room, and I was caught between teary-eyed emotion and breathlessness.
“Thank you all for joining us tonight as we find new ways to support innovation and adaptation. It means more to me than I can express. But it means the most to our great-grandchildren.” Damian stepped back from the podium, smiling out at the crowd as the room erupted into applause. Tears filled my eyes as I clapped wildly.
Once the applause had died down, dinner continued, but the room maintained a high buzz of energy and conversation. Axel, grinning broadly, stood at a nearby table, chatting with a gray-haired man who looked like he was probably important. Damn near everyone here tonight was important, or at least rich in a serious way.
But focusing on individual guests didn’t help things either.I need this dress off me.
I’d brought a back-up dress as a just-in-case, not thinking I’d really need it, or at least not until the end. But who could have known that the adrenaline of my first ever planned event and my first ever protest—both on the same night—would have caused my lungs to malfunction when constricted?
Damian stood across the room, deep in conversation with potential donors. Guests mingled, snagging plates at the buffet or clustered in small groups. Laughter and conversation rippled around me. This night was perfect. It was going off as well as I could have hoped, especially given the hitches.
The only issue was that I might not make it out alive.
Damian caught my eye from across the room and waved me toward him. I drifted over, ready with a smile as I approached a refined, older couple.
“I’d like you to meet the Bancrofts,” Damian said. I eagerly shook their hands, gobbling up Mrs. Bancroft’s elegance—the diamond brooch in her dark gray hair, the tasteful navy blue wraparound, the simple silver bracelets. “They are what I’d consider angels in the flesh.”
Mrs. Bancroft laughed daintily, swatting away the comment. “Damian, don’t start with that again.”
“I’ll accept it,” Mr. Bancroft said. “I’ve always preferred a little air of the supernatural.”
“Jessa has been working with us for the past month and a half,” Damian said. “She’s the one who planned this whole evening.”
Mrs. Bancroft gasped, looking my way. “You did an amazing job. I haven’t been able to get over the details. And your dress looks as if it was made for this event.”
I couldn’t stop beaming. I wasn’t sure if Damian had meant to stroke my ego through meeting this couple, but I’d take it. “Thank you very much, Mrs. Bancroft. I hope you’re enjoying your evening.”
“Jessa is also a fashion designer,” Damian went on, his hand finding the small of my back. “She did actually make this dress for tonight’s party. Mrs. Bancroft has a few pet projects in the fashion industry, come to think of it. You two might want to chat sometime.”