Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Felicity arrived at the bank on Tuesday morning with a carefully constructed plan: be professional, be competent, and under absolutely no circumstances think about what had almost happened last night in the ballroom.
The plan lasted approximately forty seconds.
Grant was already there, standing near the auction display with his clipboard. He looked up as she entered, and their eyes met for a fraction of a second before they both looked away with synchronized awkwardness.
“Good morning,” he said, rigidly formal.
“Morning,” she replied, clutching her tote bag. “I’m just going to work on the ballroom staging.”
“Of course. I’ll be reviewing the catering timeline.”
“Great. That’s... important.”
She fled to the ballroom before the excruciating small talk could continue. The tree they’d decorated together glowed in the morning light, a beautiful reminder of his hand on her face, his thumb on her jaw, the way he’d said her name...
No. Not thinking about it.
She threw herself into measuring the orchestra stage placement, losing count twice because her brain was useless. She was on her third attempt when she heard voices from the lobby. One was Meena’s. The other was unfamiliar—smooth, polished, expensively trained.
Felicity moved to the ballroom doorway and looked out.
A woman stood near the entrance with Meena. Petite, perfectly assembled in a camel coat and black leather boots. Sleek dark bob. Everything about her screamed expensive, curated, successful.
And she was looking at the Christmas decorations with polite interest masking judgment.
“The transformation is certainly... bold,” the woman said to Meena. “Very different from the typical Sterling-Midland aesthetic.”
“That’s exactly the point,” Meena said. “Hometown Heart is about authentic community engagement.”
“Of course.” The agreement didn’t quite ring true to her tone.
Grant emerged from his office, his body language shifting—stiffer, more guarded.
“Victoria,” he said. “You’re early.”
Victoria.
The name hit Felicity like cold water. This was her. The ex-girlfriend who’d given Grant an ultimatum, who’d called his father’s legacy “playing banker.” The woman Grant had loved.
“I’m always early. You know that.” Victoria’s smile was small and knowing. “I was hoping for the full tour.”
Meena’s smile tightened. “I was planning to—”
“I’d prefer Grant,” Victoria interrupted smoothly. “For old times’ sake.”
Grant hesitated, then nodded. “This way.”
Felicity shrank back into the ballroom doorway as Grant led Victoria through the lobby.
“The tree was donated by a local farm,” Grant explained. “Ms. Adams coordinated the delivery.”
“Ms. Adams. The decorator?” Victoria’s gaze swept the tree. “She certainly has... enthusiasm.”
The word landed like a carefully placed knife—complimentary on the surface, cutting underneath.
They moved to the auction display. Felicity lost visual contact but could still hear their voices.
“Is that a stuffed squirrel?”
“Taxidermy. A local donation. Ms. Adams felt it would be a conversation starter.”
“I’m sure it will be. Though perhaps not the kind of conversation one typically wants at a professional fundraising event.”
Felicity’s face burned. She should leave, go back to work, absolutely not eavesdrop.
She stayed rooted to the spot.
“The ballroom is this way,” Grant said. Felicity pressed herself against the wall behind the door as they entered.
“Oh my,” Victoria said, genuine surprise in her voice. “Grant. This is actually quite something.”
Felicity risked a glance. Victoria stood in the center of the ballroom, taking in the sealed floors, the chandeliers, the decorated tree. For a moment, her mask slipped into impressed admiration.
“The space has good bones,” Grant said. “It just needed proper restoration.”
“And now corporate wants you to revive it for a community gala.” Victoria walked the perimeter, heels clicking. “It must have been quite an undertaking. Especially with limited resources and...” She paused delicately. “Limited professional expertise.”
There it was.
“Ms. Adams has been very dedicated,” Grant said, his tone neutral.
“I’m sure she has. Dedication is admirable.
” Victoria stopped near the tree. “But Grant, between us, don’t you think this whole thing is a bit.
.. much? It’s all very charming in a kindergarten-craft-fair sort of way, but is this really the image Sterling-Midland wants to project?
Childish sentiment instead of professional sophistication? ”
Felicity’s breath caught. Childish. The word that haunted her, delivered with casual cruelty.
“The Hometown Heart initiative requested authentic community engagement,” Grant said carefully.
“Community engagement, yes. But there’s a difference between authentic and amateur.” Victoria moved closer to him. “This decorator of yours—she’s local, isn’t she? No formal training, no corporate experience. Just someone who does parties and residential decorating.”
Say something, Felicity thought desperately. Defend me.
“The project has been challenging,” Grant said.
The words felt like a blow. Not a defense. Just acknowledgment.
“I’m sure it has been.” Victoria’s voice turned sympathetic. “You’ve always been too polite, Grant. Too concerned with everyone’s feelings. But sometimes you have to acknowledge when someone simply isn’t ready for something this serious. This... professional.”
Silence.
Felicity waited for him to object, to defend her, to mention the ballroom cleaning, the auction setup, the way she’d stayed until midnight. The way he’d smiled at her last night, like she mattered.
He didn’t say any of those things.
“You’re probably right,” he finally said quietly. “It’s been... difficult. Managing expectations. Maintaining quality control.”
Managing expectations. As if she were a problem to be solved.
“Of course it has.” Victoria touched his arm. “That’s why I’m glad I came. I can help manage the narrative if things don’t go perfectly. Make sure your reputation doesn’t suffer.”
“That’s not necessary—”
“I insist. We’re friends, Grant.”
Felicity couldn’t listen anymore. She moved away from the door, hands shaking, throat tight. She made it to the far corner behind the stage before she had to stop and lean against the wall.
Childish. Amateur. Not professional.
And Grant had said nothing. Had stood there while Victoria dismantled everything Felicity had worked for and offered nothing but silence and careful agreement.
Last night he’d been about to kiss her. This morning he was letting his perfect ex-girlfriend confirm every insecurity Felicity had ever had.
She heard their footsteps leaving, Victoria’s voice drifting: “You should have lunch with me. We have so much to catch up on...”
The voices faded.
Felicity stayed pressed against the wall, staring at the tree they’d decorated together. It looked different now. Not magical. Just desperate. An amateur’s attempt to play professional.
She couldn’t leave. She had five hours of work scheduled, people depending on her, deadlines that wouldn’t wait. She had to stay, had to work, had to pretend she hadn’t just overheard the man she’d almost kissed agreeing that she wasn’t good enough.
An hour later, Victoria and Grant emerged from his office. Victoria was tucking her phone away, looking satisfied.
“Thank you for the tour, Grant. It was illuminating.” Her smile was warm. “I’ll be in touch about lunch. And don’t worry—I’ll handle the corporate narrative.”
She walked over to where Felicity was setting up the welcome table. “You must be Ms. Adams. I’ve heard so much about your work.”
“Have you?” Felicity’s voice came out steadier than she felt.
“Oh, very enthusiastic accounts. Grant tells me you’ve been quite dedicated.” The word carried a subtle dismissal—praising effort while questioning competence.
Victoria glanced around the lobby. “It’s certainly colorful. Very festive.” She paused, then delivered the final blow with a smile. “Though I have to say, it’s all a bit childish, isn’t it? In a sweet way, of course.”
The word hung between them, sharp and cutting.
Felicity wanted to defend herself, to explain that “childish” and “joyful” weren’t the same thing. But her voice had fled.
“It’s meant to feel welcoming,” she managed.
“Of course. And I’m sure the local community will love it.” The implication was clear: not quite good enough for serious consideration.
Grant stood nearby, and Felicity looked at him, silently begging him to say something.
He opened his mouth.
“We should let you get back to work, Ms. Adams,” was all he said. “I know you have a busy day.”
Dismissal. Professional, polite dismissal.
“Yes,” Felicity said, her voice hollow. “Very busy.”
Victoria offered a final sympathetic smile and headed for the door. “Best of luck with the gala. I’m sure it will be... memorable.”
After she left, the lobby felt too quiet.
“Felicity—” Grant started.
“I need to confirm the chair delivery,” she interrupted, her voice brittle. “Excuse me.”
She walked back to the ballroom on mechanical legs. Behind her, she heard Grant call her name again, but she didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. If she stopped, she would break completely.
In the ballroom, surrounded by the beautiful things they’d created together, Felicity pulled out her phone and texted Jade: Can I swing by tonight? Need a friend.
The response came immediately: Always. What happened?
Tell you later, Felicity typed back.
I’ll have cocoa ready. Hang in there.
Felicity tucked her phone away and stared at the tree. Last night, in this very room, he’d touched her face and looked at her like she was precious.
This morning, he’d let someone call her childish and hadn’t disagreed.
She had six days to pull off the gala of her career while working alongside a man who apparently thought she wasn't professional enough. Six days while pretending her heart hadn't been quietly, efficiently broken.
But she couldn't think about that now. Couldn't let herself fall apart. Not yet.
She pulled out her planner and flipped to her checklist. Work. She could focus on work.
Six days until the gala.
She would get through this. She had to.