Chapter Seven
Dani
I hit save on the changes to the panel descriptions Talia and I had decided on this morning, then sent them to her for final approval before pulling up the panelists’ bios so I could start cutting them to size. We were a little over two months out from the symposium, and things were going surprisingly well.
Entertainment for the cocktail party and gala had been booked, along with travel and housing accommodations for the out-of-town speakers. The invitations had been designed, the cocktail, breakfast, and lunch menus finalized, and so far, we were on track to stay under budget.
Why that was all surprising, I didn’t know. I’d created a production schedule breaking down each step that needed to be completed and by when, along with detailed checklists for tasks and reminders on my work calendar. I was meticulous in the planning of this event, more so than any I’d planned before, but it never quite managed to shake free the worry burrowed deep beneath my ribs that waited for something to explode.
Or collapse.
Or face general destruction of any kind.
I could admit Jase was largely to thank for the budget and menu successes. He’d crafted a vision for the food I hadn’t thought possible for the cost he was sticking to, and he’d been the picture of professionalism since that first tasting, meeting every deadline we agreed to with total preparedness and putting me at ease with his simple confidence that nothing he put forth would be anything less than excellent.
It was nice having that steadying force to brush up against, even if our interactions had stayed strictly polite since our shared drink after the press interviews.
That had been nice too. An interaction I stopped my brain from focusing on for longer than a second, or else that weird fluttering beneath my sternum would start up again. That was…not something I needed to deal with right now.
The wall of my cubicle shook with a smack, and I looked up to see Robin walk past, her finger gun shooting back at me. “Save you a seat?”
“Yeah, I’ll be there in a sec.”
She nodded and turned the corner to the large break room, a few other people following on their way to the staff meeting.
I saved what I was working on and grabbed my notepad, then made my way into the room, scanning the mostly full round tables until I spotted Robin’s short red pinup curls and gemstone barrette. I squeezed through and dropped into the empty seat beside her.
“Do we know what this is for?” I asked. We typically had one all-staff meeting a month, and our most recent had been just last week. The calendar pop-up this morning scheduling this meeting had sent intrigue rippling through the office.
“No one I’ve talked to knows,” Robin said.
Kelly lowered the nails she was biting. “What if they’re firing a bunch of us?” she asked, switching to the nails on her other hand.
That had been my first thought too, but it didn’t make sense. As far as I knew, we were on track for donations, and it wasn’t like we had to worry about stocks dropping.
The murmur of others discussing the same possibility grew as the rest of the staff filed in, some taking up spots along the walls as the tables filled, the minutes dragging on as we waited in uncertainty.
Finally, Executive Director Gardner walked through the door, and the room quieted. Talia was with her, along with a tall Black man I’d never seen before. He looked around Talia’s age—mid-forties if I had to guess—and despite his impressive height, it was the gun holstered at his waist that caught my eye.
“Thank you for rearranging your schedules for this meeting,” Director Gardner said from the front of the room lined with cabinets. She was a petite Black woman with shortly cropped gray hair, who appeared almost comically small standing beside the mystery man. He towered over her by a good foot.
“We’ll make it quick,” she continued, then gestured to the man who had what I could now clearly make out as a security badge insignia on the sleeve of his shirt. “This is Geffery Fisher. He’ll be providing security for the building for the next few weeks. There’s no reason to be alarmed.” She raised her hands as whispers erupted. “We’re just putting a few routine precautions in place due to the recent attention we’ve been getting online.”
The article.
My gaze flew to Talia, who met my eye with a quick shake of her head. Don’t worry about it , she was saying, but my breathing had already gone shallow.
Just over a week had passed since my interview with Bill Sewick of the Citizen Daily was published, along with the two other interviews Jillian had set up at Ardena. The first two had been the nice boost in press we’d wanted for the symposium.
The third one, not so much.
Despite Jase’s congratulatory drink, he’d been livid at the Citizen Daily reporter, and Jillian had apologized to me profusely for three days after Jase told her what happened. If I didn’t know better, I’d almost think he’d been enraged for me , but his restaurant’s reputation made much more sense.
And while Ardena’s mention in the article hadn’t been flattering, it was far from the defamatory ire the reporter had spat about HBC, much of which—as HBC’s spokesperson—had fallen directly on me.
Maybe the reporter felt I humiliated him at the interview. If the “ fucking bitch ” he’d ground out as he left was anything to go on, he didn’t appreciate being challenged by a woman. One younger than him, no less.
Or maybe he really did believe abortion was this evil, hate-fueled thing and I was the epitome of immorality for defending it. Whatever the reason, he hadn’t held back, making me as much the villain of his story as HBC. A story that conveniently brushed over every other goal, service, and mission the clinic aimed to provide.
When Jillian had called her contact at the website to demand an explanation, she was told the original reporter set to do the interview had gone into labor and was out on maternity leave, and Mr. Sewick had volunteered to fill in. Apparently, it hadn’t been the outlet’s idea to go with the abortion angle…but they wouldn’t be taking down the article either. Not when it was generating such a strong response.
I hadn’t thought it needed to be taken down. Even if it wasn’t the message we wanted surrounding the symposium, it was true that all press really was good. Our buzz on social media had exploded in the past week, and most of our supporters seemed more fired up than anything, their enthusiasm for the clinic rising.
Sure, there were incensed people and the expected amount of trolls, but that was the internet. Nothing that warranted security. Definitely not enough to explain the armed guard standing at the front of the break room.
Director Gardner continued in her calm tone. “Feel free to introduce yourself to Mr. Fisher as you see him around. Let’s make him feel welcome. And if you have any questions or concerns, you can bring them to me or Talia.” Talia nodded at the room with her signature warm smile, looking no more bothered than if Director Gardner had said we should go to her to discuss new designs for staff T-shirts. “That’ll be all for today. Thanks, everyone.”
I was out of my chair and beelining for Talia before the director had finished her sentence. Before I could speak, Talia said, “Come with me.”
She led the way along the edge of the room, slipping past our colleagues still engaged in conversation as they shuffled toward the exit. When we reached her office, she motioned me inside and shut the door behind us, then faced me with hands raised as if to calm a wild animal.
“There’s nothing to worry about,” she said confidently. “Just a little hate mail we’ve been getting at the office.” My stomach hit the floor, smattering across the beige carpet. My face must have dropped, too, because she hurried to add, “Nothing extreme. But these things can sometimes get worse before they get better, so we want to be safe. That’s all.”
“But it is the article, right? It’s because of what I said?” I lowered myself into the chair in front of her desk and gripped my necklace. “I’m so sorry, Talia. I should have handled it completely differently. Not said anything and just ended the interview after his first question. I knew what he was doing, but I didn’t want my silence to be twisted into some sort of shame for our work. I had no idea it would get this kind of attention. I?—”
“Dani, breathe ,” Talia said as she circled her desk to sit in her chair.
I forced out a shaky breath.
“It’s okay . I promise. I wouldn’t have had you do a single thing differently. In fact, I probably would have said a lot worse myself. I’m proud of the way you represented this organization.”
“But hate mail? Talia, that’s?—”
“To be expected.”
My doubt must have shown on my face.
“No, really. We always knew it was a possibility with this project. That’s why we included a security guard in the budget for this year. Nothing about this surprised or upset me, Director Gardner, or the board. If it wasn’t this article, it would have been something else. It just comes with the territory. It’ll die down within a few weeks.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
Talia leaned across her desk, brows lifting in assurance. “ It will . You just keep doing what you’re doing. Because you’re doing a great job.”
I chewed my bottom lip, pendant tugging along its chain as I tried to let the words sink in. They didn’t get far. Not through the rock-solid worry that had formed a fortress of doubt just beneath my skin.
I’d been waiting for something to go wrong with this event, and here it was. Maybe Talia and the board didn’t care, but my actions had led to this.
My only comfort was that the worst of the article had mostly been pointed at me. If things got worse, I could always resign and take the harshest of the criticism with me. Go back to Chicago or Tampa or Baltimore and plan team retreats and annual conferences in the corporate world again. My mother would be thrilled.
Or I could start all over in a new city.
Again.
Just the thought had my eyes burning. I cleared the lump from my throat. “I’ll go say hi to Mr. Fisher and get back to work.” I rose from the chair, keeping my gaze low so my composure didn’t crack.
“Chin up, Mills,” Talia said as I turned for the door.
I gave a quick nod and hurried from her office, retreating to the relative privacy of my cubicle, where I sank into my chair and gasped for breath.
I wanted to crawl under my desk and curl into a ball until the loop of worst-case scenarios blasting on repeat in my head dimmed back to its usual volume, low enough to ignore.
The irony was that the one time it had been silent was during that interview. I hadn’t analyzed my every response or spent any time doubting myself. I’d just let my instincts take over.
For a moment, I’d thought I could trust them. Even more so when Jase offered me that drink.
Here was my reminder that instincts weren’t always sensible. Feelings could lie. I couldn’t let them get the better of me again.
This was the first crack in the glass this symposium sat on.
One more and the whole thing might shatter.