chapter 2
1201 Words
TANISHA.
I stepped out of the glittering black car, the cool night air on my skin. My hands smoothed the fabric of my dress instinctively, dark blue satin, simple but classy, hugging me and exposing in ways that I’d avoided for years . Nearly gaggin on my nerves, I walked straight for the side entrance of the party hall.
The entrance security guard did not even glance at my face as he held out his hand for the invitation Naya had given me and which I held out to him. He nodded and waved me through. Inside, the gala was already underway.
Soft music filled the air, some gentle piano melody that blended with the rumble of laughter and chatter. Chandeliers above glinted like golden stars. Servers dressed in immaculate uniforms, balancing trays of champagne and hors d'oeuvres. People moved in and spoke in polished clusters, hiding their barbs in every word.
I avoided eye contact with anyone and made a beeline for the refreshments table, picking up a glass of whiskey, so I could ground myself. My eyes swept the room. I recognized a few faces, a couple of actors from hit dramas, some singers, even a director I used to admire.
Back then, I would have likely gone over to say hello, maybe chatted with them for a bit or schmoozed. But not tonight. Tonight was not about them or me. I didn't enjoy the things I used to anymore.
A couple of minutes after, Jude entered through the front doors like he was the owner. He was clad in a clean dark blue suit, his tattoos visible from his open collar and the cuffs of his sleeves. His entrance turned a few heads in his direction.
I left my corner and went to him, gently tugging on his arm to pull him away before he could be sidetracked by paparazzi or fans.
"Hey," I said firmly. "We need to talk."
His eyes landed on me and he opened them wide. A slow grin spread across his lips. "Well, damn," he growled, his eyes scanning my form. "I didn't realize you were hiding all of that under those plaid shirts and slacks."
My cheeks burned in self consciousness. “Stay professional," I advised him calmly, crossing my arms. "This is not about my appearance. It's about your reputation. Keep that in mind."
He laughed and raised his hands. "Alright, alright. No need to get so pissed. Just saying.".
I said nothing. I reached into my clutch and removed a folded piece of paper. "Here's the plan," I said, offering it up. "I've written a simple narrative to shift public perception. You're going for the reformed rebel narrative, making peace with your past but showing you're evolving. This gala is the perfect setting to relaunch that image."
He opened the paper and skimmed it, his brows slowly climbing. “This… this is actually good,” he said, glancing at me. “I mean, this is sharp. If we’d taken this approach from the start, me and Reese wouldn’t have been fighting every damn week.”
"Stick to it, repeat what's on the page. Don't wing it," I told him, handing him the printed speech next. "Be humble but resolute."
He gave me a mock salute. "All right, boss."
I shot him a droll look. "Good luck," I grunted and walked away as the host for the occasion took up his position.
I saw an empty seat near the back, well out of sight and sat there, so I could watch the stage directly and clearly. The host made a warm introduction and began to speak about the purpose of the evening, the foundation that would help orphaned children from across the world.
Speeches commenced. A few philanthropists, a celebrity couple, even a renowned author had a few words to say. Then they called Jude, and a subtle wave of murmurs swept around the room.
He strode up the stage confidently, grasping the sheet I gave him. He placed himself at the podium, tugged at the mic, and started.
The room listened.
He spoke with a low, sincere tone, sharing a story I’d dug up about his time in foster care. He tied it into the charity’s mission, showing a side of him no one ever really saw. There was a shift in the air, curiosity replacing skepticism.
Then, just as he finished, a journalist in the front raised his hand. "Jude," he asked, "how do you respond to your critics who believe this sudden involvement in charity is another PR gimmick to repair your image?"
Jude froze, for all of a second. His eyes snapped about the room, and then landed on me.
I didn't blink. I slowly mouthed the words for him; When your name is constantly in the headlines, every good deed looks like damage control. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t real.
He repeated it, almost word for word.
“When your name’s always in the headlines, every good deed looks like damage control,” he said, pausing for a breath. “But that doesn’t mean it isn’t real. The world will see my truth regardless.”
The room went silent, then erupted into applause.
He nodded, stepped down, and disappeared behind the curtains.
I didn't stick around and slipped out through a side door. My work was done. Already, I was picturing tomorrow's headlines.
‘Jude Lennox blinds with passionate speech.’
‘Rebirth for troubled star?’ or some other stuff like that.m. It would be on his side and would get the job done.
I took the elevator down to the bar in the same building. It was sleek and dark, with highly reflective floors and subdued jazz drifting from hidden speakers. Most of the patrons seemed to be there for boardrooms or glossy magazines. No yelling, no commotion. Just subdued conversation and old scotch.
I spotted an empty booth at the rear. Relief washed over me. At last.
I was heading in its direction, heels clicking along, but when I was approaching it, I noticed heading in my same direction. He was impeccably dressed and exuded power.
Oh hell no. Not tonight.
I picked up my pace and slid into the booth just as he reached it. I blew out a tiny, smug sigh and picked up the menu on the table, pretending to read.
I felt the heat of his gaze on the side of my face. Then a throat was cleared.
"Excuse me, miss," his deep voice said, smooth and commanding. "But this table's for me."
I didn't look up. "Did you make a reservation for it?"
A hesitated silence. "Well… no," he said, sounding a little bewildered like it was unbelievable of me to argue. "But I got here first—"
"Did you?t," I said, finally looking up to catch his eyes.
His eyes were steel-gray, sharp and piercing. He was very tall, broad-shouldered, probably in his early to mid thirties. Good-looking, in a dangerous kind of way.
I flashed him a stiff, forced smile.
"I didn't mean…” I began to apologize then stopped. “Well, actually I don't really care," I said flatly. "You'll have to find somewhere else."
- Writer
