The live show energy is a jolt of lightning to the chest.God, I love this job!
“Move to the couple by the bar,” I murmur in Blaze’s ear. “Ask what brought them out tonight.”
Cole’s voice arrives one breath later. “Don’t chase it. Let them come to you.”
On my monitor, Blaze physically glitches.
He takes two steps toward the bar.
Stops.
Swivels back to camera.
“Aight, so—” He grins, scratching his head. “The voices in my head are currently arguing about vibes. My brain is like, ‘Yo, what’s the play here?’” He nods. “Give me a hot sec, squad.”
Thankfully, the women surrounding him giggle.
The chat thinks he’s adorable:
THE VOICES LMAOOO
BLAZE TALKING TO HIMSELF AGAIN
Where is this hotel I need to get married here
BLAZE NATION RISE
“Stop contradicting my directions,” I say into the earpiece.
“I’m not contradicting. I’m improving,” Cole replies.
“Blaze. Stage. Now.” I instruct. “Time for the official welcome.”
He swaggers onto the platform with a smirk, white tux catching all the light. Applause ripples through the warm space.
On my screen, the ballroom is a full-blown ocean fantasy: kelp swishing from the ceiling, LED fish swimming on the wall screens, and the sea lion statue framed perfectly stage left. The foam cannon at its base coughs out a pathetic little puff.
Um, what?That should be a steady, dramatic mist. I pocket that problem for post-speech me.
Blaze positions himself in front of the teleprompter podium. Cole moves with him, camera steady, frame perfect.
“Dudes, bros, flipper squad,” he says, mostly sticking to the script, “our sea lion homies are getting wrapped up in trash, and that’s so not gelling with their ocean pad! So Saltwater Saviors? They’re out there cutting lines, untwisting nets, and hooking these pups up with round two of life like—BOOM—mic drop on pollution!”
“That’s great, Blaze,” I say, dimming the house lights. “Now motion to the video screens.”
He points to the LED walls where the reef footage loops: silver fish drifting through coral so vivid you’d swear you could taste the salt.
I press play. The fish scatter. One final glint of scales. Then… sunrise.
Gold spills across the screen, the endless Pacific unfolding at dawn. I watch hundreds of singles in formal wear lean forward, drawn in by its presence, as drone footage sweeps over cliffs and dips into the shimmering blue. Behind me, a woman murmurs, “Oh, that’s beautiful.”
My eyes cut to the donation counter.
Zero.
Come on, come on.
The camera hits the beach. Volunteers in black wetsuits haul a sea lion onto a flat stretch of sand. The animal thrashes, a thick green line cinched around its neck. A rescuer holds the body. Another works a blade through the nylon with steady, controlled hands.
