5 Kimmy
I stood in front of the mirror with my gaze downcast for a full minute before I could look at myself. When I did, the reflection didn't fit. The dress Geneva sponsored clung to my figure like a borrowed shadow, pale blue satin and all.
I was supposed to feel elegant, sophisticated, maybe even beautiful. And I guess, if someone else wore the gown, it would have been true.
Instead, I felt like a child in a costume, pretending at adulthood. There was a tag still above the zipper. I wasn't sure I'd have the courage to go, so I kept it.
My phone buzzed.
Geneva.
The picture she set for herself was a cartoon owl in a graduation cap.
I answered. "Hey. How's your dad doing?"
"It's still touch and go but the doctors think he'll pull through." Pause. "Mom's a mess, but she's letting herself hope, so…"
I turned half a circle, eyeing my reflection from a different angle. "I'm glad to hear it."
"I can't wait to see what you bought. Send me a pic when you have a chance."
"Sure," I said just to get her off my back. Even now, I wasn't certain I'd be able to make it out the door wearing this dress.
"Thank you, by the way, for doing this. I know you hate events."
"Someone's gotta keep Terry from sharing his dumb ideas and hitting on the bar staff, right?" I joked, which surprised me.
Geneva's tone shifted, the business edge slipping in like a scalpel. "Okay. Now, let's talk shop. You saw the guest list I sent you?"
"Yes."
"You're mainly focusing on the guy from Altura Funding—Rory Castell—short, thick glasses, probably an ugly tie.
He's easy to recognize. And the developer, Pierson.
He'll be with his wife, who is terrifying but worth knowing.
If she takes a liking to you, we're golden.
And there's a last-minute surprise investor.
I don't know who it is. The PR team says they're a local angel fund.
Which probably means a rich crypto nerd or a Russian oligarch, but go with it. You'll know when they show up."
I held the phone between my shoulder and ear while trying to fix my eyeliner. "Got it."
Geneva was typing as she talked. I heard the tap-tap of her nails on screen. "I'm texting you a list with bullet points and conversation starters. Please, please remember, you're better at this than you think. You just need to talk us up."
"I know the drill. Don't worry," I said, even though I myself was extremely nervous. I hadn't been to an event like this in a few years and going back in was scary.
"You're going to crush it, hon," Geneva supplied eagerly.
I doubted that, but I wanted her to have this little bit of faith.
She hung up before I could say anything else.
I finished my eyeliner in four strokes. It was imperfect, but I liked that. I added a bit of eyeshadow to smooth it over.
My heels waited by the bed. I'd spent the afternoon breaking them in around the living room, marching circuits until my toes went numb. I hated that I needed armor for an event like this, but if it meant not tripping in front of investors, I'd take the blisters.
I went through my purse, double-checked that my wallet, keys, phone, and pepper spray were all present.
Then I sat on the edge of the bed, back straight, and tried to meditate. Dr. Carney always said it helped. But she'd failed to mention how hard it would actually be to clear my head when the future looked like a field of landmines.
The urge to move crushed me.
I pulled out my phone and opened the news. It was almost a compulsion. I'd been checking it every day, waiting for signs of Ronan Wick, Jerico Thorne, or Caius Valmont getting what they deserved. But days passed by and nothing was happening.
This was probably another reason for my constant anxiety.
And then I saw Jerico Thorne's face on the fourth link down. A photo of him showed him shaking hands with someone. I looked at the headline.
Thorne Capital Closes Historic Merger: CEO is Optimistic for Future
I stared, waiting for something else, a scandal, a mention of the police. Nothing.
My heart sank.
I kept scrolling. Caius was in a society column, the kind that listed the best-dressed men at a black-tie gala. He wore a suit the color of midnight and a smile that made my stomach knot. The article said he was "one to watch." A beautiful woman stood next to him. They both wore rings.
I set the phone down and let my hands hang limp in my lap.
Had I really been scammed?
Was this Bureau even real?
Had I imagined it all?
The man in the hat, the talk in the park. Maybe I'd made up the whole thing, chasing some fantasy of justice that would never come. Maybe I was going crazy.
I thought about cancelling. My finger hovered over Geneva's contact. If I texted now, she'd understand. But she needed this, needed me to at least try. Because there were other people whose livelihoods depended on this event.
I checked the clock. It was way past five. Too late to back out.
I stood, did another lap around the apartment, adjusted the angle of a picture frame on my living room wall, even though the angle was already perfect. Then I stopped at the mirror again and ripped off the price tag from the dress before I changed my mind.
Now, I had no choice but to go to the mixer.