Page 67
“What I think my husband is trying to say,” Reese says with a mocking tone and her signature smile, “is that those colors are very 70s and honestly, not very tasteful for an event of this status.”
Luckily Dylan speaks for me because I literally cannot right now. “Actually, all the colors were chosen carefully because they represent women’s rights and feminism. Purple for dignity, justice, and suffrage. Green for hope. White showing integrity. Yellow slash gold for the National Women’s Party and Suffrage Campaign.” Dylan schools her, and I bite back a smile. Charlie actually laughs a little.
But my sister is as dense as a stale fruitcake from last Christmas. “Are you sure?” she asks. “Garrett, ChatGPT that,” she snaps her fingers at him.
“On it,” he says, and I finally realize who he reminds me of. Kronk, from The Emperor’s New Groove. Except I think Kronk might have been smarter. At least he knew how to speak squirrel.
“Reese,” I say flatly. She smiles at me with that fake, plastic look she has mastered. “Why are you here? To discuss napkin colors?”
“Which, by the way, is my job and it’s nonnegotiable,” Dylan chimes in.
“Your entire position is negotiable,” Reese says with sugar-rimmed hostility in her voice. It’s the trademark tone of every spoiled, entitled child who turned into a mega bitch. It makes me sick.
She turns her attention back to me. “No, Knat, I am here because this is the biggest event M.E. has had in years and Dad isn’t here. I still have his written observer authorization.”
“I see,” I say. So this isn’t just a challenge against my position in the company, it’s about her being my older sister. The person who has, for the entirety of my life since our mother’s death, tried to rip me apart. She used to be successful. She had the ability to make me drink, to make me disappear in her presence. To outshine me in every way even though her light was synthetic. A lot of people don’t care if shiny things are fake because they’re still shiny. But I’m no shrinking violet anymore. I am planted firmly in my stance because I am over it.
“Right. An observer authorization lets you observe. It does not let you chair this meeting or threaten Dylan’s job.”
Reese’s smile is gone, and the dragon that I know so well is awake. “You have no idea what you’ve taken from me,” she hisses under her breath. “Keep digging into things that don’t concern you, and I will take something back.”
“Was that a threat?” I ask. “Because I don’t see any authority in my notes from Ashford. You do not have a say in event planning, especially one of this caliber. It’s led fully by upper management.”
Reese is seething.
I can actually see the rest of the board sinking into their seats. But after nearly thirty years of this shit, I refuse to sink with them.
“Natalie, I think maybe you and I need to have a conversation outside of the boardroom,” she says pointedly. “It’s hardly professional to throw such a petty tantrum in front of the entire board. What would Marcus Ashford think?”
“I can tell you what he thinks,” his voice booms filling the room entirely. I realize then that Marcus has been standing in the doorway the entire time. Or at least for long enough to hop right into the conversation without missing a beat.
The room falls into a dead silence. Not even the Ice Queen and her spinach puff-baking sidekick, Kronk, make a sound.
“I think Miss Blythe…Natalie,” he emphasizes who exactly he is referring to. “Is absolutely right.”
“About what?” she says with more salt in her tone than she should, considering who she is talking to.
Marcus steps around the table, one hand in his pocket, the other waving casually in the air. Nothing about his stance is rigid, but everything about him is dominating enough to fill the room with his presence. “The colors. The seating. Music, vendors, auction, itinerary, the vegan options,” he says before sending the smallest of smiles my way. “All of it, really. She’s brilliant.”
Then he turns his attention back to Reese.
“I wouldn’t change a thing,” he goes on, his tone stern now. “And I won’t allow anyone else to either. Ten out of ten, no notes.”
“But…we haven’t even held the meeting yet,” she stutters out in her whiny voice.
“Right,” he says, nodding towards me. “Natalie, you have the floor.”
After a hesitant moment that looks physically painful for my sister, she sits down, her spine as sharp as an icicle.
“As all of you know,” Marcus goes on, “Natalie is in charge of overseeing all aspects of the gala. However, this time she will be attending the gala as my date,” he says. There is a small collective gasp around the table. “Dylan will oversee things that night.”
“Yes, sir,” Dylan says, her face a swirl of disbelief and intrigue.
“Which means that giving Natalie your undivided attention right now is detrimental,” he adds before gesturing for me to continue.
And so I lead the meeting with every eye on me, from the board to my friends to Marcus himself. It’s liberating being in this position, a position I have worked so hard for. I think the most gratifying thing of all is that while I talk, Reese grows smaller and smaller in her chair. It’s something I have never seen in my entire life.
After the meeting is over, Marcus gives me a nod and walks out. After that, the rest of the room clears, save for Dylan and Charlie who hang back with me as I gather my things.
