The next twenty or thirty minutes passed in a blur. Suddenly, an assistant was shoving me toward the stage. Bright lights blinded me, turning the audience into a dark, expectant sea. The announcer shook my hand, pointed me to the podium, and disappeared. I was alone. The crowd waited—breathless and silent.
I hadn’t written a speech. I couldn’t. Catherine James was too big for words. So, I told the truth.
“I couldn’t put Catherine Elizabeth James into words if I tried,” I started, my voice echoing, “but I was told this speech has to be at least a few hundred words.”
Laughter rippled through the crowd. I didn’t join in. “Any attempt I make up here today will never be enough to convey who she was.”
I told them about the pimply thirteen-year-old she’d saved. About the safe place she’d given me. About first kisses, first scrapes, first fights. About the designer she’d made me. Abouthow, on my best days, I was just a poor man’s Catherine James. By the time I finished, my voice shook, but I meant every word.
“She changed lives. She changed mine. And through this foundation, she’ll keep changing them. Please—give generously tonight. Thank you.”
Applause erupted. Some stood. I didn’t linger. Backstage again, the nervous intern rushed forward.
“So… about the auction…”
eight
VANESSA
“Auction?! What auction?”I had been to every single annual foundation fundraiser since its inception, and there had never—ever—been an auction.
The poor intern immediately started stuttering, tripping over his words. His eyes were so wide I half-expected him to pass out. He fumbled, listening hard to the voice buzzing in his earpiece.
“It’s something new we’re doing for charity, Miss Miranda.”
He wouldn’t even make eye contact. He was hiding something, clearly uncomfortable. Maybe even coerced. And just like that, I knew.
“I don’t remember signing up for that,” I said, watching him wait for more instructions through the earpiece.
“They’re serving dinner now,” he blurted. “If you’d like, I can show you to your table.”
Food. He had changed the subject to food. I snatched the earpiece from his ear and held it up to mine.
“Tell her they’re serving the best lemon-butter garlic salmon she’s ever had. Food always distracts her.”
A laugh burst out of me at the sheer audacity. Of course. I shoved the earpiece back at the kid without another word and stalked off the stage toward the seating area to confront him. We spotted each other at the same time. He was at a table near the front with Richard and Morgan, and there was a woman next to him that I assumed was his date. He braced himself almost imperceptibly, crossing his arms like he was gearing up for impact.
Before I could talk myself down, I was already at his chair. “You bastard. You really told him to talk about food to distract me. You must think I’m an animal.”
He looked up with that devil’s grin and a glint in his eyes. “Ness, this is Emma Grant, my date. Emma, this is Vanessa Miranda.” He said it smoothly, a reminder that we were in public and I shouldn't cause a scene.
Half a second later, I realized I didn’t care.
I glanced at his date. She was so gorgeous it was unfair. She bit her glossy lip, fighting a smile. “Hi. Sorry to interrupt. You’re stunning, by the way. You can do way better than this cad. I hope you don’t go home with him.” I leaned closer, just enough that only the table could hear. “Syphilis is very real.” Then I winked.
Richard nearly choked on his wine. Morgan teetered between laughing and cringing.
That was when Elliott finally jumped up, grabbed my elbow, and steered me away before the whole gala became my audience. He shoved us into the nearest door, which turned out to be a supply closet barely big enough for one person, let alone two. We were practically pressed together.
We stared each other down like it was a contest.
“Listen, you little hellion,” he said, his voice low and even. “As much fun as it is watching you turn pissing me off into an Olympic sport, you’re doing the damn auction. Yes, it’s the first year. So what? This is a perfect way to get rich, bored people to donate more money.” He raked a hand through his hair and sighed. “Don’t you want that? Don’t you want the foundation to help more people?”
I deflated, knowing he was right. My irritation with him had blurred the bigger picture. “Fine.”
He leaned in closer, whispering in my ear. “See? What did I tell you? Cornered. Animal.”
That insufferable smirk made me want to claw his eyes out. Before I could react, he slipped out of the closet, leaving me stomping like a toddler mid-tantrum. When I opened the door, the intern was already waiting. He had ditched the earpiece—smart kid. Elliott was back at his table, sending me a singular wink.
