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Bane
JULY 5TH
Theo catches my wrist before I reach the ballroom doors and turns my cufflink into place. “There. You managed to pick a fight with your tuxedo.”
“I’ve worn it before.”
“You’ve survived in it before.” He smooths my lapel, gives my bow tie one final adjustment, and studies me with the same expression he usually reserves for security reports that make no sense. “You’ve been somewhere else all afternoon.”
“I’ve attended this gala every year for the last decade.”
Beyond us, staff make the last adjustments to the ballroom, servers move between the tables and the orchestra finishes tuning beside the stage.
Months of planning have brought every detail to this evening, and in a few minutes the room will fill with donors, executives, elected officials, and enough cameras to keep tomorrow’s headlines busy.
My attention drifts toward the entrance again.
Theo follows my gaze and smiles. “You just proved my point.”
Before I can answer, the ballroom doors open.
Conversations taper off as guests glance toward the entrance, and Emma walks inside wearing a midnight-blue gown that fits her as naturally as anything I’ve ever seen her wear.
Her hair falls over one shoulder in loose waves, diamond earrings catch the ballroom lights when she turns her head, and she crosses the marble floor with the same composed confidence she brings into every room, completely unaware she’s drawn half the ballroom’s attention.
Emma reaches us before he can continue, her smile shifting between us. “Should I pretend I didn’t interrupt?”
“You’d be doing me a favor,” I say.
Theo gestures toward me. “He’s been insisting all afternoon he isn’t distracted. Then you walked through the door and proved me right in under ten seconds.”
Emma’s eyes meet mine, amusement warming her expression. “That seems unfortunate.”
He pats my shoulder and starts backing toward the crowd. “I’ll leave before Human Resources decides I need another workplace conduct seminar.”
Emma watches him disappear between the arriving guests, then looks back at me with a smile she hasn’t managed to hide. “I think he plans these conversations.”
“He considers them an investment.” I offer her my arm. “Ready?”
She slips her hand through it, and I lead her toward the ballroom. Her touch is light enough to pass unnoticed by everyone around us, but it draws my attention all the same.
I keep my focus on the guests gathering ahead because tonight we’re representing Wolf Shield. The cameras are already watching.
Reminding myself of that becomes harder every time she walks beside me.
Dinner carries us from one conversation to the next as donors ask about this year’s fundraising goals, city officials circle back to public safety initiatives, and board members take the opportunity to corner me about expansion plans they’ve already emailed twice this week.
I answer what needs answering.
Emma moves effortlessly between groups, remembering names after hearing them once and asking questions that shift every conversation away from business and back toward the people standing in front of her.
By the time dessert is served, she’s learned about grandchildren leaving for college, a golden retriever that refuses to stop stealing socks, and a honeymoon postponed twice because one couple’s first child arrived earlier than expected.
She leaves each group smiling before moving on to the next, and every person she speaks with looks disappointed when someone else pulls her attention away.
She doesn’t work a room. She makes every room feel smaller.
One of our oldest donors catches my sleeve as Emma crosses the ballroom to greet another couple near the stage. He follows her with an expression I’ve seen on his face every year since his wife passed away.
