Текст книги "Pure Abandon"
Автор книги: Jeannine Colette
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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 20 страниц)
They are driving me crazy. Last week, I could swear the flowers were even fuller and Friday, doubling in size. Today, I can barely see the fiery little redhead beyond the lavish display.
“You must have one green thumb.” What could she be doing to these flowers that they remained so healthy?
Trish giggles. “Maybe a black thumb! I am the worst with flowers. In fact, I kill every plant I’ve ever owned.”
“Then how do these look so beautiful? They look like they were just delivered.”
Trish looks at me with a curious expression. “That’s because they were just delivered. There has been a fresh shipment of roses every day this week. Mr. Asher loved the ones your husband sent you, so he’s had a fresh bouquet delivered every morning. Although, they seem to be getting bigger by the day!”
So I’m not crazy!
What kind of trick is he playing? Not to mention, this is a colossal waste of money.
Once in my office, I place my bag on my desk and turn on my computer. Waiting for the machine to power up, I place my Starbucks and a paper I purchased downstairs on the desk and take a few moments to relax. New York news is the same every day. Today, it’s the latest Ponzi schemer being followed in and out of his Park Avenue apartment by media and angry clients looking for their money. I read the name over a few times. What was the name of Gabriel’s client? Could this be him? I have to remember to ask him when I get home.
Gabriel and I have been fine since our argument over the baseball game. And by fine, I mean we’re existing.
I asked him about the girl in the park over the weekend and he looked at me like I was crazy before realization crossed his face and he laughed, and said she was just some girl he runs with sometimes to keep pace. He actually referred to her as the “bouncy blonde.” He didn’t know her name, which I found odd since she knew so much about him. He just shrugged it off and said she got extra chatty a few weeks ago when he was out with Jackson. He seemed surprised she remembered so much about their conversation since he didn’t even remember it until I brought it up.
While Gabriel parked himself at the kitchen table this weekend, filing an amendment, I took the time to hang out with Jackson, my sweet boy. This week, the little angel has decided to play favorites with his toys. If he’s playing with his set of blocks, he always goes for the blue round one. If he is playing with an animal puzzle, he always wants the farmer. His cruising is getting good. Pretty soon, I’ll have a little walker on my hands and then I’ll be truly exhausted.
I felt bad Gabriel was so caught up this weekend. Watching him opening up the law books again, I knew this was a big case for him. I hung out at the table with him and read a book while he typed away at his laptop.
Our life has certainly changed from that first night ten years ago. I don’t know what my life would be like if I hadn’t walked into that bar.
As soon as I entered McCloon’s, the sounds of the Spin Doctors sang in my ears. No matter what year, that song never gets old.
And just like a mirage, he was standing there—the boy with wavy dark hair and navy-blue eyes, who helped me with my books outside of class. Blue jeans and a pair of Lacoste sneakers, he was the epitome of a relaxed college guy.
I should have been used to seeing his face. Three times a week, for an entire month, he stood outside my building and asked me my name. It’d become a bit of a game for the two of us. He asked, I didn’t answer, and then he’d walk me to my Art Theory class on the other side of campus.
Every day he told me a different story about himself or something he’d learned in class. I’d become used to our walks, so much so that my Behavioral Science lecture in the building became my favorite because it meant at the end of class, I’d get to see him.
He always made a point to tell me where he’d be later that day. I wanted to go but I always found an excuse not to go.
After a month, I had no more excuses.
“It’s you,” he said, his eyes wide with amazement.
“It’s you,” I reciprocated.
He was much taller than me by a whole head. I had to look up at him when he spoke. “So are you going to tell me your name yet?”
I stood there unable to contain my blush. He always made me feel the need to play coy. I decided before coming out tonight that if I saw him, I was going to tell him my name. Yet for some reason, I just couldn’t form the words. All kinds of awkward and embarrassed, I walked over to the Beirut, trying to think of something clever to say.
He was quickly behind me. “Let’s make a deal. We’ll play for it. If I win, you tell me your name. If you win, I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the night.”
I was going to tell him my name anyway, but I enjoyed a good game. And I also happened to be really good at beer pong. Shame, since I really didn’t want him to leave me alone.
“I’ll take that bet.” I finally found my voice, realizing I might have to throw the game.
He grabbed plastic cups and started arranging them in a triangle, filling each of my cups with beer well above the normal amount.
“I think that’s enough!” I said, putting my hand over his, halting him from pouring any more.
“I’m just hedging my bets,” he said, releasing that Robert Redford grin again. “Ladies first.” He motioned for me to take the first shot.
Leaning over, I sank the first two balls. As the rules go, I got to go again. I sank the third but missed the fourth. Each time I got a ball in the cup, he had to drink. And that meant watching him bring the cup to his beautiful mouth and watching his Adam’s apple enlarge each time he quenched his thirst. I had kissed three boys before that day and, at that moment, I really wanted to bring that number up to four.
Putting the cup down, he licked his lips before going all Sundance Kid on me again. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to get me drunk. I must warn you, I’m an easy lay when I’ve had a few drinks.”
My eyes widened at the word “lay,” but I kept my wits about me. Watching him lean across the table, I felt a twinge deep inside me. A burning I’d had before but had become accustomed to ignore.
“Since I don’t know your name, can I at least know your birthday?”
“Why?” I asked.
“So I have time to pick out the perfect gift,” he said, leaning forward, ready to make his shot. Inching on his toes, he raised his arm in the air and out in front of him causing his shirt to rise. His white T-shirt inched up, revealing his boxers peaking out over his belt buckle. My eyes traveled farther north to see what else was under that shirt. And there I could see these beautifully sculpted abdominal muscles that came to a “V” above his groin. My roommate called this the pathway to paradise. Long and lean but pure muscle, and I’d never seen anything liked it.
I swallowed hard and tried to refocus on what we were talking about. Oh, my birthday. “September twenty-seventh.” When it’s my turn, my nerves were so at odds with my brain I completely missed the two cups.
Seeing I’d lost my focus, he put his cup down on the table and made his way over to me. His eyes were unsteady, but not from drinking. They were trying to decide something.
“Just so you know, once I know your name, I plan on asking you out. And you will say yes.”
Butterflies took over my stomach. “I will?”
Running his tongue over his lower lip, he stared at me, taking me in, and gently placed his hands on my waist.
“You will. And I need to tell you something.”
My body so aware of his hands on me, I was afraid to move or else he’d take his hands away. “What’s that?”
“Gabe,” he said. I looked at him in confusion. “My name is Gabe. I needed you to know the name of the guy who is about to kiss you.”
My mouth opened on the inhale and it wasn’t enough time to catch my breath before his lips were on mine, and let me tell you, number four was a really good kisser. He tasted of mint, body wash, and Gabe. Our mouths moved so familiarly you wouldn’t have believed it was our first kiss.
I had never gone at it with a guy in a bar before, but I was so attracted to him I couldn’t pull myself away. I could feel his heart racing as he grabbed the back of my head with his right hand, running his fingers through my hair. My body melted right into him as I wrapped my arms around his neck. His left hand traveled down to my lower back and held me as we heard catcalls and hollers from our fellow collegiate drunkards shouting things like, “Get a room!”
After he kissed me a few more times, my lips felt naked. Slightly out of breath, he leaned against my ear and whispered, “Let’s get out of here.”
My office phone rings, pulling me out of my daydream. It’s easy to get lost in the memory of when Gabriel and I were falling in-love. I answer the call and tend to the person on the other end. It is someone from Lincoln Center confirming an appointment I made. When the call is done, I hang up and look over at my cell phone sitting on my desk.
I light up the home screen and see a photo of Gabriel and Jackson looking as beautiful as ever. Jackson with dark hair like his dad and cobalt eyes to match. They are definitely twins. I hope Jackson grows up to have Gabriel’s perfect nose too. Gwen always commented on the slight crook of my own. She wanted to get it fixed, but I refused. Gabriel always told me I was perfect.
I forget sometimes how kind Gabriel really is. Perhaps it’s because our personal interactions are few and far between. Maybe a vacation will do us good. That’s what we need. A romantic Caribbean vacation just like our honeymoon when we sailed from the Keys to the Grand Caymans and beyond. Of Gabriel’s many talents, sailing is one of them. I guess that’s what you get for a kid who grew up in sunny Florida.
I close my eyes and remember seeing him at the helm of the boat, with his blue polo and aviator sunglasses, the wind blowing in his beautiful wavy hair. He looked the epitome of peace and happiness, and I could picture him sailing forever. We danced throughout the islands, ate more shellfish than should be legal, devoured conk, and drank tequila. We made love on that boat every day and watched the sunset with our toes in the water. It was pure bliss.
We made a promise to travel the world together on that boat, but deep down we knew that was impossible. He had a law career to nourish, and I was busy working on my own career. That’s when we received the greatest news a couple could expect… A baby was on the way. We bought a house, a car, moved to the suburbs and have been winging it ever since. And here Jackson is with his perfect face and perfect toes, perfect dimples and perfect devilish glare in his eyes when he sees something he wants. It’s the same look Gabriel had that night he saw me walking into that bar.
I know Gabriel is busy at the moment and when this case is done, he won’t be as busy. This is temporary, or is it? What will the next case be, or the next?
Turning back to the newspaper on my desk, I flip through the massive articles on politics, a kidnapping, a local garbage man who saved a pedestrian from being hit by a bus… I jump to the entertainment section and read up on the celebrity gossip: Another DWI for an up-and-coming starlet. Take a cab, people.
Turning the page, I see a face that nearly jumps off the paper at me. There he is in a black tuxedo with the top buttons of his shirt undone and a beautiful brunette on his arm. The title reads, “Alexander Asher and top model cozy up at the Metropolitan Opera House Benefit Gala.”
A knock at the door jolts me from my editorial.
“Come in,” I say, closing the paper and straightening myself for the unexpected visitor.
“Am I disturbing you?” Trish enters wearing an adorable checkered skirt and white blouse. She looks innocent and not slutty. Quite a feat when you’re wearing a schoolgirl ensemble.
“No, please come in,” I say, especially since she comes bearing gifts in the form of coffee. It’s particularly sweet because she brought me a cup and not one for herself.
I feel like I was just talking to her about the flowers five minutes ago. A look at the clock startles me to realize I’ve wasted an hour in my office being caught up in my own head.
Trish takes her usual seat in the chair opposite my desk. I never have company in this office except for Trish, and Asher that one time. I always seem to be heading to everyone else’s desk.
Trish leans in. She has a stack of papers in her hand and a beaming smile on her face. “I came to tell you I got that raise.”
Oh. This is news.
“Congratulations! I see Erik took care of the misunderstanding, then.” I may not have seen Asher in days, but I can’t erase my embarrassing outburst in the elevator.
“Actually, Mr. Asher called me up to his office personally. It was very intimidating.”
“I can imagine.” I know from experience. “What did he say?”
“Well, he sat me down in his office and asked me everything from my duties here at the office to the new ones I have acquired working with Heather.” Trish starts fiddling with her hands.
“Were you nervous?” I ask because her body is radiating with unused energy she’s clearly been storing up.
“So nervous!” She leans forward in her seat and grabs the backs of her knees. “And it didn’t help that at the end of the conversation, he just dismissed me. Just like he was done with me or something.”
That sounds like the man I know. “When did you have this conversation?”
“Last night, after you left. I’ve been going crazy all night. I didn’t know what it meant. Kevin told me not to worry and that I should quit if Asher refuses my raise.”
“But you got the raise, right?”
“Yes, well, not officially.” Trish turns beat red and bows her head in embarrassment.
“Trish!” She has to stop telling me things like this! “Have you been reading Erik’s emails again?”
She peeks up at me with a look of shame. “Guilty.”
“Trish, you have to stop that. If I find out you’re doing it again, I have no choice but to tell Erik. Please don’t put me in this position.”
“I know, I know. It’s just… I’ve been so consumed with these feelings of anger over the matter and I’m not an angry person. I didn’t know what to do with myself.” With just one look at Trish’s remorse, I know she’s telling the truth. This girl doesn’t have a vindictive bone in her body. Of course she wouldn’t know how to handle her feelings in this matter.
“Well, I guess the damage is done. What did the email say?”
“Mr. Asher told Erik that after reviewing the matter and having a personal conversation with me, he found me to be a bright and capable young woman who is invaluable to the project.” Trish’s beaming smile was back.
“He’s right about that.” I can’t help but match her grin. It’s infectious.
“And he said Heather’s review of me is without merit and Erik should give me a raise as he sees fit and consider me for a promotion when the project is over, as I am, and I quote, overqualified for my current helm.” Her posture straightens and her chin lifts to the north in a sense of pride.
“Right, again. I’d say you really impressed him. And I hope Erik gives you a decent increase.”
“Oh, I know he will. At least what is fair, of course. Erik is just that way. You know, all for one and that kind of thing.” She bobbles in her chair like there’s a spring underneath her.
“I do.” It’s the one thing that keeps me sane around here. “Again, I’m very happy you have some closure on the matter.”
Trish lets out a laugh. “I feel much better.” She holds the papers she’s been holding on to straight out in front of her, putting them in front of my face. “Mr. Asher told me to give these to you.”
I take the papers from her hand and look over them. They’re all the proposals I’ve been sending up to his office for review. I flip through each contract in my hand, Asher’s signature on each of them. He approved everything.
I look up at Trish, who is playing with the hem of her skirt. “Did he say anything when he gave these to you?” I ask, hoping for some inclination of his feeling toward me after such a ridiculous outburst in the elevator.
Trish curls her eyebrows in and puckers her mouth in thought. “No. He just told me to take them to Mrs. Monroe. I almost didn’t know who he was talking about.”
I hate how he uses my married name. Its like he’s using it as an insult.
It doesn’t matter anyway. Now that he’s approved these contracts, I can get to work and hopefully get to the end of this project without having to see him. If I can do everything over interoffice mail and e-mail, then I’ll be very happy to never see Asher again.
Trish looks at me as if she can read my mind. She leans forward a touch to tell me, “He’ll be at the meeting on Friday.” It was a warning in the sweetest tone.
I laugh. Like really laugh. This girl totally gets me. “Is it just me or is that man confusing as all hell?”
She nods her head in agreement. “He is really bananas. Sometimes we don’t see him for months. He usually deals directly with Erik. And when he is around, he’s so serious, although Erik always comments on how cool the guy is. I’ve never seen it though.”
I saw a tiny glimpse of a relaxed Alexander Asher that first time I met him. Every time since then has been extreme.
“But he’s not supposed to be around until Friday, right?”
“Right. You’re safe for a few more days.” Trish answers as if she knew I had an undercurrent of regret and hostility building up inside of me. Although she’d probably say that to everyone in the office since we all seem to be on edge when he’s around.
My commute gives me time to think and decompress before starting or ending my day. On the way to work, I can read the paper, a good book, and listen to music. The people on the train around me are in the same Zen state of mind. Many are even asleep. It’s the dawn before the workday and everyone is refueling, getting those last moments of peace before having to answer to “the man.”
“The man” for me is a six-foot-tall bronze-skinned god who can turn you into a pillar of salt with just the look of an eye. Why does he have to be good-looking? Most CEOs are middle-aged men who only get beautiful women because of their money. Not Asher. No, he could get any woman even if he lived in a cardboard box. He has a debonair smile, his teeth a perfect row of white pearls. And his clothes, well, there’s no mistaking he has the physique of a Greek god or else his suits wouldn’t fit so perfectly on his square shoulders. I wonder what he looks like under his shirt.
What is wrong with me?
I blame Gabriel. Gabriel and I haven’t been intimate in over a month, and I’m wound so damn tightly I think I might burst.
Has it been longer? I have no clue. And I probably wouldn’t have noticed except I did an impromptu count after Malory asked me about my sex life, again.
So instead of feeling the warm arms of my beautiful, blue-eyed husband, I’m being attacked in my dreams by the chiseled chin and tanned skin of a man I cannot stand.
Okay, attacked is too strong a word. Aside from the first dream I had weeks ago, I’ve woken up before anything sinful could happen. While the dreams haven’t gotten physical since then, it bothers me he’s there at all. With each dream he taunts me, pulling me into an abyss of blackness.
It’s ridiculous that my mind would even put him in such a position. Asher is rich and powerful. The man can have anyone he wants. I saw the photos on the computer. He’s hardly without a beautiful blonde model or brunette actress. He probably tosses a redhead in there for jollies sometimes. Maybe all three at once.
And while I think he is quite the specimen, the truth is he makes my skin crawl.
All day at work, my mind keeps going back to that scene in the elevator. He was consuming and dominating, trying to turn me on when he knew I was his employee. How appalling is it that this sicko knew exactly who I was, didn’t tell me and made a mockery of me in the elevator? He did know who I was, right? If he didn’t when I got in the limo, he definitely did by the time we were in the elevator. He even made a joke about it to Trish. No, he embarrassed me. Especially when he caught my little show in my wet white shirt!
Okay, so he redeemed himself a little with giving Trish a raise. But at what cost? Me acting like a complete fool in front of him? Does he really need someone to stand in front of him, waving a giant red flag, to get his attention?
“You know what you need? A drink!” Speaking of attention, mine is being called.
Malory, as vice president of Asher Marks Communications, has requested my presence for an emergency meeting… at the nail salon.
“Malory, I’m not going out for a drink in the middle of the workday. It’s bad enough you have me getting a mani when I have a desk full of work to do!”
Crossing her legs and swiveling toward me, while keeping her hands in place for the nail technician, Malory leans her head to the side with a condescending look in her eye.
“Kat, you worry too much. And how is this any different from taking a lunch?”
I roll my eyes at her and stare at the simple yet classic color I chose for my nails. “I don’t worry. I’m just practical. A manicure during my lunch hour seems like… cheating.”
Pursing her lips, she gives me her scowl that’s equal parts serious and sexy. “You know what they say about nail polish. You are the color you wear.”
I look down at the rustic bronze color being painted on my nails. It has a subtle golden shimmer that’s restrained yet warm and sensuous.
Malory raises her eyebrows and motions toward the bottle of Essie nail polish. I turn it over to see the clever name “All Tied Up.”
“Funny.” I chide. “What does yours say?”
“Fear or Desire!” With a wicked laugh, she swivels back to face her technician. “And for the record, the drink in question is after work. I thought we could go out, just the two of us. Maybe even get our flirt on.”
I shake my head. “As much as I’d love to have my ego boosted by a stranger at a bar, I cannot. I have to be home so the sitter can leave.”
“Well, make sure the sitter stays late next Thursday. Everyone’s going out for Heather’s birthday. You can’t be the only one not going.”
“First of all, if Heather had anything but contempt for me, I’d be enticed, but the answer is no. I have to get home to Jackson.”
Flipping her black hair behind her shoulders with one fluid motion of her head, Malory shrugs her shoulders. “I had to ask. Should’ve known you’d be a party pooper. Are you twenty-eight or fifty-eight? I seem to have forgotten.”
“Excuse me for being ‘all tied up’… pun intended.”
Speaking into the air, as if talking to herself, yet knowing I’m in earshot, she says, “I don’t want you waking up one day and regretting your youth passed you by while you focused on raising a baby.”
Where the hell is this coming from? “Going out for a drink for Heather’s birthday is not going to fill some void. Thank you for the offer, but I am otherwise engaged.” If Malory can hear the disdain in my voice, she doesn’t let on.
Instead, she throws this zinger at me. “Gabriel doesn’t seem to have a problem going out after work.”
My mouth falls open and I have to remind myself to breathe. Malory laughs to herself and asks the cosmetologist for a wax.
I’m silent on the way back to the office while Malory goes on and on about how she was able to close this incredible deal with one of the events underwriters.
As we arrive back at the office, Trish greets us with a concerned look on her face. “Mr. Asher called a three o’clock staff meeting.”
I look down at my watch. “That’s in five minutes. He’s not supposed to be here until tomorrow.”
“I know.” Trish whisks her redheaded body out from behind reception. “His reception called around two. Erik was in a panic. I’ve never seen him so unsteady. I’ve been running around trying to gather the crew and get the conference room in order.”
Shit. I didn’t polish off my spreadsheet. I spent the last four days taking all the materials Asher signed off on and getting them in production. I was hoping to finalize that tomorrow morning.
I feel overwhelmed. A few weeks ago, I didn’t even know who this man was, and today I’m falling apart at the thought of seeing him. Is it because I feel unprepared or because I feel… unprepared?
Breathe. Calm down and breathe… in and out.
I run down to my office, peering into the conference room and other office spaces on my way down. Everyone is frantic, dancing around like little mice scurrying from the presence of a cat. And all the excitement is making me jittery.
I print up what I’ve completed and grab a notepad from my desk.
Glancing in a mirror on the way down the hall, I check my appearance. My brown locks are up in a French twist. My navy skirt still looks crisp. And, thankfully, I have freshly painted nails. Hopefully no one will notice how fresh they are. I tug at my blouse and adjust my necklace. With my paperwork in hand, I stroll confidently in the conference room.
Just like last time, there is a lone seat next to Asher, meant just for me.
The meeting goes better than expected. Asher starts by inquiring about ad sales and then moves on to the technical and graphics teams. He listens to everyone’s progress reports and makes decisions on what should be executed next. He has a way of being stern and abrupt without being harsh or mean. One by one, he calls on each member of the production team and listens for the issues at hand and resolves them. The man has a way of seeing the big picture and filling in the blanks. No matter how big or small the problem may be, he has an answer.
I find myself staring at his full lips as they speak with ease. I imagine all the women he’s kissed with those lips.
I looked around the room. How many women in here has he kissed? I smile, thinking he definitely hasn’t kissed Heather.
“Mrs. Monroe. How are you doing on the Lincoln Center itinerary?”
Shit. I was lost in thought. I try to control myself. Fumbling for my papers, I spew out what I’ve committed to memory. “The rundown for the televised portion of the evening is still being laid out. I’ve submitted an itinerary to Erik.” I hand Asher a printout. “It can also be found in the company drop box.”
Asher’s eyes skim the document as I continue. “I was only able to make final confirmations with several vendors this week, but as it stands, deliveries will be made starting at three in the morning.”
I rush through a list of who’s arriving and what they’re setting up as well as their estimated time of setup from start to finish. “Guests will arrive starting at six o’clock… and Gretchen and I are working on an opening act for the performance. There seems to be some confusion on who should be appearing at the park event and who should be at the Lincoln Center gala. I was hoping for someone hot, like the new pop star Ashley Sands.”
I swallow hard and wait for a response, unsure if I should continue.
“That’s an interesting idea.” He stresses the word interesting with a condescending tone and continues. “But this is a group with a lot of wealth and class. The Philharmonic will open the event. It’s their home venue so they should be the ones to open the show.”
Is he insinuating I don’t have class or wealth?
I feel like he’s putting on a show. As if he were saying, “See I can be a nice guy, but don’t forget, I am in charge here so if I don’t like what I hear, I can change it at any time.”
Nonetheless, my inner sparring warrior takes her stance. “With all due respect, the Philharmonic is impressive, but we should open the show with a bang or else the event will feel uptight and unwelcoming.”
Take that, Asher. I just called you uptight!
He looks at me with a smirk. “We don’t want to be uptight, Mrs. Monroe.” He takes out his cell phone. “I’ll call Crystalis. Her album is number one on the pop charts. I’ll tell her to perform at the gala after the Philharmonic.”
Crystalis is the current “Princess of Pop.” Her current single is being deemed the “song of the summer,” and since last year no one has been able to listen to the radio for more than twenty minutes without hearing one of her songs. Of course he would have one of the biggest talents in the world in his personal Rolodex.
Heather nearly leaps across the table. “Crystalis is performing in the park!”
Gretchen puts her hand on Heather’s forearm and gently guides her to sit back in her chair. Turning to Asher, Gretchen explains, “Her publicist agreed to the telecast. They would never let her do a benefactors’ gala with limited exposure.”
Asher finishes typing into this phone, which I can only assume is a text to one of the most famous women in America right now. He puts down the phone and sits back in his chair, looking directly at Gretchen and Heather, unaffected by their concerns. “She knows this is for the children. She will perform wherever she’s needed. She doesn’t need the coverage.”
Damn. Case closed.
Heather and Gretchen know there’s no use in arguing. Instead, Heather’s grimace sends negative vibes to my side of the table, and I try to shoo them away. It’s not my fault Asher gave me her performer. I wanted someone else.
Asher turns back to me and points to the document in his hands. “I liked your idea about giving seats to the kids. Give them more. You only allotted two hundred. Double that.”
Despite my surprise, I affirm vigorously. There are plenty of seats in the venue, and I know they haven’t all been sold out.
“You will also need to block time for a special performance. I’m working with a group of children who will be playing for the grand finale.” He pulls out the incomplete rundown sheet. “Give them four minutes.”
I look for Erik or someone else to interject, but they do not. “Um, that may be difficult. The event is only two hours. With commercial breaks, that leaves us with eighty minutes of airtime. Between the Philharmonic, Crystalis, the two other acts Gretchen booked, and the speeches that have to be made, you have no time left.”
You could hear a pin drop in the room. There are dozens of other people here, yet everyone is completely focused on the man to my left.
