Chapter 10
MADDY
Maddy: No dress code. Wear whatever you like!
Maddy: Sure
Maddy: Sure
Hockeyboi17: Loincloth?
Maddy: …
Maddy: Wear a suit
Hockeyboi17:
“Damn,” Ivan says on an exhale. “He’s even hotter in person.”
I don’t bother looking up from my phone, my fingers moving quickly across the screen as I fire off a response to my third urgent email of the day.
Somehow, the venue coordinator thought that we wanted to switch to a different ballroom.
Not only is it not large enough, the Gala has been held in the Governor General’s Room for the past six years.
It’s clearly stated in the contract we signed back in February.
She says she was told to change the booking, though she can’t remember by whom.
My entire week has been a mess of mix-ups like this.
Countless miscommunications, oversights, careless errors that need to be untangled.
Every time I make progress on my ever-growing to-do list, another issue lands in my lap demanding immediate attention.
At this point, I feel less like a director and more like a firefighter, putting out one small blaze after another before they have the chance to spiral into full-blown infernos.
“Seriously.” Ivan is gaping like a parched man who’s just spotted a very tall drink of water. His blond hair looks more coiffed than usual and I find myself wondering if he got a haircut for today’s function. “Look. At. Him.”
I don’t need to look at Ben. I already know exactly how hot he is. I know the way his jaw tenses when he’s irritated, the way his lips twitch at the corners when he’s fighting back a laugh. I know the weight of his gaze, and the strength of his hands when he—no.
Do not go there.
Not after all these years. Not when we’re still figuring out how to exist in the same space as just friends. Not when I have a fiancé.
I keep my focus on my screen, my thumbs typing furiously as I will away the inappropriate thoughts. Only when I hit send on the email do I let myself steal a glance toward the entrance.
Grinning, effortlessly charming, shaking hands like he owns the damn room. His dark suit fits him too well, tailored to the broad lines of his shoulders and tapered at his waist.
Don’t even get me started on his face.
It’s all hard angles and sharp edges—high cheekbones, a strong, chiseled jaw, and a perfectly straight nose that looks like it’s never lost a fight. Smooth skin that I swear I can still feel against mine.
For all the sharpness in his features, his gaze is something else entirely. It’s soft and warm, drawing in those around him with ease.
I swallow hard.
This is fine. This is completely fine.
Chanda materializes at my side looking positively giddy. “Do you think he’ll sign a jersey for my son?”
“I’m sure he’d be happy to,” I tell her. She gives my arm a squeeze before making her way in his direction. The moment she’s out of earshot, Ivan leans in close.
“Do you think he’ll sign my ass if I ask nicely?”
I give him a playful shove.
“Behave!” Honestly, it’s like everyone’s lost their minds. Ben is a big deal. I’ve known this for years. But to witness how people react to him is something else. I’m going to have to reconcile the version of him that I know to his public persona.
Another of my employees, Keely, walks by.
Her dark eyes are darting nervously around the room as if she’s expecting something to go wrong at any moment.
She’s petite, barely grazing my shoulder, with sleek black hair cut into a sharp bob.
I get the distinct impression she’d rather disappear into the nearest shadow.
“Hi. Everything looks great, Keely. Thank you for coming in early to set up.”
She nods quickly, her delicate fingers twisting together in front of her. “No problem.” Her voice is soft, but the way she shifts her weight from foot to foot makes it clear she’d rather be anywhere else.
I offer what I hope is a reassuring smile. “Could you check on lunch to make sure it gets delivered on time?”
“Absolutely.” She practically jolts at the chance to escape, darting toward the door so fast I barely have time to thank her.
I sigh, watching her go. One of these days, I’ll figure out how to connect with her.
I don’t have that problem with Ivan. He’s twenty-two years old with few boundaries and even fewer filters. It’s refreshing and mildly concerning at the same time.
“Well, I’m ready for my introduction whenever you’re ready to make it,” he sighs, almost wistfully.
“Introduce yourself,” I say as I bring up my email again. No new angry red messages greet me this time, thankfully.
“That appears to be working for someone,” he muses.
I lift my gaze to see Alyssa, next to Chanda, positively fawning over Ben.
She’s wearing a dress cut just low enough to display cleavage, and she’s drawing more attention to it by holding her arms pressed together in front like she’s about to swing a golf club.
Ben says something causing her to laugh and touch his arm.
I grit my teeth. It’s fine. Totally fine.
So why is my stomach tying itself into a series of complicated knots?
Ben looks up, meeting my eyes across the room. He gives me a look I’ve seen many times before. Mostly when my dad would interrogate him about his plans for the future. He’s asking me for help.
A feeling of protectiveness washes over me at his obvious discomfort, spurring my legs into motion. I’m the one who dragged him into this mess. The least I can do is save him from being shredded by Alyssa’s talons.
“You made it,” I say as I join him, Alyssa, and Chanda at the front of the boardroom.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” he says, giving me a warm smile. He’s freshly shaved, the sharpness of his jaw stronger than ever.
“Madelyn, it just occurred to me that you never told me how you two know each other,” Chanda exclaims.
Oh God. I don’t want to have this conversation with my boss. Or give Alyssa any kind of ammunition to use against me in the future.
Ben answers before I come up with a response. “We went to high school together.”
My chest tightened at the oversimplified backstory, but I silently thanked him for it. It was better this way. The last thing I need is to be the subject of office gossip.
“How wonderful,” Chanda says, beaming at me. “We’re so happy to have her join our family here. She has already proven to be an invaluable part of our team.”
Pride swells in my chest at her kind words.
“I don’t doubt it for a second,” Ben agrees, his voice soft. We hold each other’s gaze a bit too long.
“Yes, we all love Madelyn,” Alyssa adds and I can only imagine how much it pained her to say it. “Shall we get started? Ben, you’re sitting over here. Next to me.”
He doesn’t so much as look in her direction, but says, “Thanks, Alyssa.” His pronunciation was off and I’m surprised she doesn’t correct him.
Apparently it's only offensive when I do it.
Chanda steps up to the podium in her baby blue pantsuit and she welcomes our hosts, distinguished donors, and the dedicated organizers.
For the next twenty minutes, she speaks about the foundation’s roots, the work we do, and the families we strive to aid. She then shifts to the history of the Festive Fellowship, a tradition born from something deeply personal.
“My cousin, Kiara, was my best friend growing up. We were born seventeen days apart. Growing up she cared about three things: soccer, Christmas, and family—in that order. As a child, Kiara would start her Christmas countdown in October. It drove our parents crazy! When she started singing carols before Halloween, everyone would say ‘It’s too soon!’ And she would reply, ‘Why wait?’ Chanda pauses for a breath, her expression softening.
“She was diagnosed with leukemia when we were twelve. Even during her long hospital stays, she insisted on decorating her room for the holidays, determined to enjoy every moment of the season she loved so much. She passed away just after her fourteenth birthday. The Festive Fellowship was created in her memory, a way to spread that same warmth and wonder to children everywhere.”
Chanda moves on to discuss the childrens’ charities we’re supporting this year and the entire room hangs on her every word.
She gestures toward the screen as the slideshow Keely put together begins, images flickering to life—smiling children on soccer fields, young athletes in adapted sports programs, kids finding confidence and community through the opportunities this fundraiser will help provide.
Throughout all of this, Alyssa sits too close to Ben, frequently sending him looks that imply she would like an invitation to crawl into his lap.
I tell myself that I’m being ridiculous.
I shouldn’t feel this pang of jealousy watching another woman flirt with him.
I delude myself that it’s because it’s Alyssa, someone who’s gone out of her way this last month to make me feel inadequate and unwanted.
That I would be fine if it was another woman—literally any other woman—giving him that kind of attention.
But would I be?
Chanda’s presentation ends and lunch is brought in, but before I can take a bite of my meal, Selena from reception pulls me away.
She hands me a phone and says it’s a representative from Event Central, the City of Ottawa's office that handles permits for all outdoor events.
With no preamble, the man on the phone tells me that their office has received reports that the fun run we have planned for this weekend, that they approved months ago, may not be meeting all their regulations.
Who on Earth would report us for this?
What follows is a tense conversation where I assure him we’ve done everything they’ve asked and promise to send him any and all contracts and receipts for the event. In the end, he seems reluctantly appeased, and I need another shower.