The bartender hardly looked my way—he was busy with a tray of champagne flutes, the stems clinking like brittle bones. I scanned the perimeter, just like Dr. Carney taught me, naming things until the panic shrank to something manageable.
Five. A line of ice buckets, sweating through silver.
Four. A man talking with his hands.
Three. A small banner for another event planning company I knew of—hung up in the far side of the ballroom.
Two. A plate of untouched cheese cubes.
One. The nearest emergency exit in a slim hallway behind the bar.
The first guest who spoke to me was a man named Pierson, in real estate. I recognized him from Geneva's list. He grinned with so much surface charm it was like a dental ad. "You must be Geneva's famous girl, Kimberly," he said.
I tried to smile, but my lips did not cooperate. "I just do the calls and the emails."
He laughed, but his eyes tracked every other woman in the room. "Well, you're doing a great job. That last campaign was brilliant. Even my wife noticed."
I mumbled a thank you and hoped he'd move on. Pierson wasn't done. "I bet you hate these things," he said. "Don't worry. You'll get used to it. Next year, you'll be running the place."
I didn't want next year. I wanted to disappear.
Instead, I tried to get my shit together and say a few nice things about Lark & Lark. He didn't seem interested but he gave me his business card anyway.
Then there was another man after. And another. And another. Every single one of them wanted to get my number. No one wanted to talk about Lark & Lark.
When the last character drifted off, I inched back toward the Lark &Lark table. Solange wasn't around. I texted her after a few minutes while re-organizing the cards. It gave my hands something to do.
"Kimberly?" a woman's voice asked. I turned. It was Marley Sharon, one of the vendors we worked with. She was dressed like she belonged—hair perfect, makeup sharp, smile even sharper. "Surprised to see you here."
"Hi," I managed. "I'm surprised I'm here too."
"It's a pleasure to meet you in person. I've only ever seen you on the website's list of team members."
"Hope not to disappoint."
"Oh God no, sweetie. Geneva's lucky," Marley said, piling on the words. "I would have killed to have you on my team."
"I appreciate it. I like where I am at."
"I wasn't trying to steal you."
No, she was testing the waters for now. I wondered why though. Everyone in this industry who was someone knew Kimberly Holt was the one not to hire. The Valmonts had made sure of that three years ago.
Luckily, Marley didn't pursue the topic further and vanished soon.
After that, it was a blur of faces, some familiar some not. Just like I thought, most didn't remember me. I stood by the display, smiling at anyone who came close, parroting the talking points Geneva had emailed that morning.
When I checked my phone to see if Solange had responded, forty minutes had passed. My water was gone, and so was my voice. I weighed the odds of slipping out, just for a second, to breathe.
That was when I saw him.
Ronan Wick entered from the west patio. The doors were glass, and for one terrible instant, I saw his reflection layered over the whole party. He wore a suit the color of midnight and a smile that made my stomach knot.
He didn't see me. Not yet. But I saw him, and my body shut down.
My fingers stopped working. The stack of business cards fell, scattering over the tablecloth, and I just stood there, watching as he shook hands with Pierson and a couple of other men. He moved through the crowd like he owned the floor, eyes never lingering on one person for more than a second. A short man in a suit with an unfamiliar face followed him. A friend? A business partner? Or security?
I lowered my head, turned away, and began gathering the cards with clumsy hands. My heartbeat thundered in my ears, and my chest felt tight. Every part of me urged me to escape. But my legs wouldn't move.
