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“Bonnie, please.” She smiles, taking my proffered hand. Her grip is sure and confident for such a petite woman. I wouldn’t call myself tall at 5'6" but I'm almost a head taller than her.
“Bonnie, I’m Sabrina.” I offer her a seat.
Chad is handling media interviews today so had asked if I could take this meeting for him. Part of the issues he'd been trying to resolve is the gallery's website which seems to crash every five seconds due to the amount of traffic we're getting.
“I believe our director has briefed you about the security issues we’re having?”
“Yes, he’s told me something about it,” Bonnie replies. “I’ve had a look at your website.” She opens an iPad, taps a few buttons, and shows me some things which make no sense.
“So the short version is that your current encryption algorithms are quite outdated. Now that doesn’t affect functionality, but if someone were to specifically target you, you’re toast.”
“Okay, is it something that can be fixed?”
“Absolutely.” Bonnie clicks off the iPad.
"And what about the crashing?"
"Oh that's no problem, I'll apply a few load-balancing and auto-scaling strategies and that won't be an issue anymore."
“How much downtime are we looking at?” Our online presence has become stronger since the exhibition, so we can't afford to be offline for too long.
“Depends on how soon you need it fixed. I can work around the clock.”
“And let me guess, the quicker we want it fixed, the more it’ll cost?”
Bonnie smiles widely. “What can I say, a girl needs her beauty sleep.” She runs a manicured hand through the thick, purple curls falling over her forehead.
I’m surprised by her. She’s slim and graceful, almost other-worldly in her beauty. Which is the polar opposite of her style. Her curly pixie cut is a vibrant purple, longer in front and shot through with black tresses, perfectly tousled and cascading over one side, stopping just above her cheekbone. Her black leather pants do wonders for her figure and complete the edgy look. I really like her.
The meeting goes longer than expected and straight through lunch. Dalia pokes her head in, asking if we’d like anything ordered. Bonnie graciously accepts and over lunch, we talk about other things. I find myself telling her about starting my side business and she offers to design a website for me free of charge.
“Oh I couldn’t possibly—”
“Sabrina, you’d better grab the offer with two hands and don’t let go because you’re going to love it. Besides, it’s a hobby I never get to indulge in. You’d be doing me a favor.”
“Well, in that case, I can’t refuse. I could pay you back in food though. I love cooking.”
“Really? I’ll take it. I love eating but hate cooking.”
By the time we conclude the discussion on the website, I know I've made a new friend.
“I could get used to this!” Dalia gushes as the elevator takes us to the fortieth floor of the Grandeur Hotel on Fifth Avenue, which houses Empire nightclub.
“I know right.” I could never afford to rent a venue like this, not to mention have the owner be willing to alter his usual business to accommodate us, but Ethan knows the owner of the hotel. I suppose one of the perks of being a billionaire is that you have wealthy friends.
We’d arranged for the whole team to meet for a final setup and rehearsal before tomorrow evening’s exhibition. The club would be closed this evening but would open again for the exhibition tomorrow with a different ambiance, more for an art gallery rather than a nightclub. The audience would be a mix of art enthusiasts and nightclub goers, all looking to have a good time.
Most of the team was already waiting. “That’s the owner of the club and the building,” I whisper to Dalia who hasn't been here before, gesturing to the tall, dark-haired man in deep conversation with Grant on the far side of the room.
“Holy hell, Manhattan surely does make them smoking hot doesn’t it?” she whispers back, giggling. “Move over Grant Hawthorne, I think I’ll take Mr. Moneybags. You think if you don’t introduce me as a curator maybe I can flirt with him?”
“Dalia, behave!” I shake my head, smiling. “Piss off the landlord and we get thrown out on our ears. Now Xavier’s really nice but he sister-zones you so fast, it’s almost creepy to try and flirt with him.”
“Really? Does he not date?”
“On the contrary, I hear he’s got quite the reputation,” I reply.
“If he knows Jordan, maybe he’s aware of your history, in which case, you’re the only one in the sister-zone babe. I’m not.”
