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She pointed at the dress. “The fight with Mara? These people will want to know why the daughter of Mike Collins got her dress at a Thrift store.”
I laughed, and the sound of it eased my tensed shoulders. “I guess they would. Are the sketchy seams that obvious?”
She shook her head. “No, but the women in here could sniff out anything that doesn’t smell expensive.”
True.
And what she meant by fight was just a series of “No, I won't” and “Yes, you will” thrown back and forth between Mara, the head of my father’s PR team, and me.
It did grow a bit intense but still, I wouldn’t tag it as fighting.
Just an adamant middle-aged woman trying to do her job by saving the face of her boss’s image and a determined daughter refusing to sacrifice her sacred principles for the sake of the said boss’s reputation.
I sighed. If I said that out loud, it would sound like we had a fight.
“Is he coming?”
I shook my head and folded my arms across my chest. I knew thehereferred to was my father.
“I would like to fan my hope and believe that today, he’d show up for me. But that will be a waste of timeandhope. So, no. He’s not coming. He doesn’t really care; just happy thatCo-links Inc. gets more recognition and accolades.”
It sounded harsh but didn’t lack truth.
After presenting the proposal requesting his permission to host this charity event, he was only interested in how beneficial the spotlight would be for his company. Nothing more and nothing less.
No pep talks or fatherly advice, just an appointment with Co-links Inc. PR team members I was to work with and the hiring of an assistant for the project. I tried to brush off his coldness and distance, but it was no use. Our brief encounters didn’t hurt any less.
I noticed Carla staring, probably because I hadn’t said another word yet. I hurriedly inputted, “But you know that’s not why—”
“I do.” She nodded and smiled. It reached her eyes. “You’ve got this project at heart. I pray they see past the crémant and prosecco and that they feel the passion you have for those kids.”
Unlike my father, I really did desire the success of this project. I wanted to make a difference; a long, lasting one that would leave an impact in the not-so-distant future. Almost no one was talking about this. Well, except for the news.
But that was just it; they reported it like it was a mere thing to be said in passing and didn’t bother to give actual help.
“I hope so,” was all I could say.
She lowered her head, scrolled through the to-do and checklists displayed on the screen, and lifted a brow. “Uh...”
Thatuhdid not sound good.
“What?”
“After the band, you’re up.” Was that something to panic about? “They’re scheduled to stop by seven-fifteen. Vanessa, that’s—”
The music faded out and everyone turned towards the stage expectantly.
“Oh my God!” My hand flew to my mouth and the pounding sound of my beating heart echoed in my ears. “It’s time for the speech. Oh my... the speech.”
I’d prepared and rehearsed it over five times... couldn’t dare mess it up. It meant everything.Waseverything.
Carla’s voice sounded like it came from miles away when she whispered, “Go, go, go!”
Heels clicking, I quickened my steps, wove through the crowd, and marched up to the stage. I took the microphone from its stand and, from above, a flood of white light poured on me. On instinct, I lifted my arm to shield my eyes. Caught off-guard.
“Wow, who turned the lights on?”
Deafening silence.
