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“I have proof.” Her voice rang out. “And I want you all to hear it.”
Malcolm went still. He slowly turned toward her, his eyes sharpening. The room started quieting down. “What proof are you talking about?” he demanded.
“Vann?” Jenna called out. “Hit it.”
There was a buzzy, staticky squeal in the speakers, and the recording began to play. Harold’s voice blared out, grinding and nasal.
...we’re missing it.
Why do you have to be so mean? Tina’s voice, gratingly loud.
The room went silent to listen. The people in that room hung on every word of the bathroom conversation. Tina put her hands on her face, sobbing and shaking her head no.
Drew looked up at her, shaking his head. How? he mouthed.
Jenna shrugged, which was a very bad idea, considering the precarious state of her décolletage. She grabbed her bodice before it slid down to do a nip slip worthy of a Super Bowl halftime show, and tugged it up, willing it to stay put.
...put your lipstick on! Come on, hurry!”
The click of the bathroom door closing ended the recording. The crowd let out a collective sigh of wonder, and the excited conversation swelled again.
Jenna and Drew couldn’t look away from each other. The MC was yelling at her excitedly but Jenna couldn’t understand a word the man was saying.
“Harold?” Malcolm roared. “That was Harold on that tape?”
“Yes, it was Harold,” Jenna said into the mic. “There he is, slithering away out the southeast door right now! Don’t run off, Harold! Some people want a word with you!”
“Stop him!” Malcolm hollered. “That lying bastard has to answer to me!”
Once again, the room erupted into noisy madness. Jenna handed the mic back to the MC. Fortunately, the guy was an old pro, and good at crowd control. He got to work on trying to get the evening somehow back on track, but Jenna couldn’t follow his patter. Not with Drew walking toward the dais, gazing up at her. His whole soul shining out of his eyes.
“...Ms. Somers? Ms. Somers?” The MC again.
“Jenna!” Charles, her team leader, stage-whispered from the back of the dais. “Hey! Jenna, he’s calling you! Come and get the prize!”
Somehow, she got herself functioning again. She pasted on a big smile as she went over to receive the prize plaque, and held it up to thunderous applause.
It felt surreal. Far away, like a dream. She made some kind of an acceptance speech. God knows what she said, but the crowd seemed to love it.
So...great. She’d done it. Arm’s Reach had the Wexler Prize, in spite of everything. She should feel triumphant, but she couldn’t seem to breathe.
In front of the stage, Tina had crumpled to the floor in a dead faint. Pregnancy hormones, guilt, theatrics, who knew. Not Jenna’s problem. All she cared about right now was Drew and the dazzled look in his eyes as he gazed up at her.
Afterwards, the rest of the team went back to their table, but she didn’t follow. She walked over to the edge of the dais where Drew stood.
He reached up, clasping her waist. She laid both hands on his shoulders as he lifted her and let her slide down his body into a tight, hot embrace. His arms tightened around her, and he put his mouth to her ear.
“That was incredible,” he murmured. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” she murmured. “You?”
“Never mind me. I’m so sorry, Jenna. This was your moment to shine. And it got steamrolled.”
She shrugged. “I’m fine. I got the prize, right? That’s the important thing. And I kicked Harold’s ass, which is very satisfying. So it’s all good.”
He shook his head, wonderingly. “How in holy hell did you pull that off?”
She wound her arms around him and squeezed. “I got lucky,” she said. “Right time, right place.”
