3. Lauren
LAUREN
“What a wonderful idea.” Lauren beamed at Susan Crofts, the woman she’d just been schmoozing.
Susan ran a publishing company that often used Lauren’s services for small projects.
They’d just been discussing future contracts, which obviously wouldn’t count for the wager.
However, Lauren knew that Susan had plenty of other contacts in the publishing industry, and she’d just struck gold.
“I’m glad you think so.” Susan smiled, her bright white teeth flashing beneath the chandeliers. “John’s just getting started, but he has a strong vision, and he needs some good PR support to take off. I should have thought of you right away.”
“Well, we’re talking now, and that’s what matters.” Lauren smiled back. “And if John is anywhere near as good a pool player as you are, I’m sure we’ll get along just fine.”
She was referring to a competition she and Susan had had a few years ago while working on a large project together. Lauren had won, but it had been close.
“I’ll let you in on a secret.” Susan leaned closer. “He’s nowhere near as good as I am.”
“In that case, we’ll get along even better. I like to win.”
Both women laughed. Just then, Lauren caught sight of James looking at her across the room. She winked, and he turned away quickly, his expression inscrutable.
Seeing him reminded her of Omial. While small clients like Susan’s friend were good, Lauren needed something bigger, higher-profile, and longer-term — something like the Omial contract.
Just thinking about James’s team of high-powered professionals working day and night to beat her made her stomach turn.
She couldn’t afford to miss this opportunity, not unless something else big just happened to turn up.
Otherwise, if the Omial contract fell through, she’d end up back in Canada.
Not that there was anything wrong with Lauren’s homeland. She loved the Great White North. It just didn’t have the same heartbeat that sunny San Valentino did. San Valentino often felt like the center of the world, and it was the best place for Lauren to make her dreams come true.
Unfortunately, it was also a place where her dreams could easily be shattered.
The wager was a good distraction from her nerves. Lauren chatted with Susan a little longer, snagged John’s contact information, and agreed to get in touch in a few weeks to talk about another project with Susan’s company. Then she continued weaving through the room.
“How’s it going?” A hand brushed her arm, and Lauren turned to see James looking down at her. Almost a foot taller than she was, he was always looking down on her, though tonight’s heels brought them closer to the same height.
“My lips are sealed,” Lauren replied. “How’s it going for you?”
“Let’s just say that I have something big in the works,” James told her. He spoke in a low voice, his eyes never leaving hers. “I’m going to come out ahead tonight. As always.”
His casual arrogance made Lauren’s blood boil, though she didn’t let that show. James was cocky, entitled, and had every advantage that she didn’t. Well. She would do her best to even the playing field. And she would win.
“I shouldn’t tell you this, but…” Lauren leaned a little closer.
She was close enough to feel the warmth of James’s body, close enough that she could have reached out and put a hand on his chest. “I was just talking to that gentleman.” With a jerk of her head, she indicated a man in a tailored suit who was currently writing a bid on a painting of a bowl of oranges.
“And I think he’s going to be the lead that guarantees my win. ”
“Dale Adamson. CEO of Costen. He’s an old family friend, you know. Aren’t you worried I’ll go over and steal him, now that you’ve told me that?” James asked.
Lauren smiled sweetly. “You can sure try, but he knows he won’t get better representation than I can give him anywhere.”
“We’ll see. I’ve worked with him before.”
James made a beeline for Dale, and Lauren hid her smile.
Hopefully, James would waste at least a few minutes with him.
Dale was the founder of one of San Valentino’s most prominent tech companies, Costen, and he loved to talk.
However, he no longer had much power within the company, having already passed the reins to his daughter.
James probably didn’t know about the handover yet.
Lauren had only found out a few days ago from a friend who worked at the company.
Lauren struck up another conversation with a potential lead. She was deep into networking when she spotted James striding away from the founder, his eyes narrowed. He wasn’t pleased with Lauren’s trick, which made her happier than ever. She grinned to herself. The night was turning out her way.
An hour or so later, the event started winding down. Individually and in pairs, the guests filed out, chatting. The waitstaff cleared away the remaining drinks, hors d’oeuvres, and desserts. Art dealers arrived to pack up the paintings that had been up for auction.
Secretly, Lauren loved this part of events, when the venue turned back into a regular room. It felt like stepping off a stage or closing a book. Her shoulders relaxed, and she let out a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding.
“Well?” James met Lauren by the door. He was holding her coat, which annoyed Lauren. He held it out as if he intended to help her put it on, but she just took it from him and hung it over her arm.
“John Carrera,” Lauren said. “That’s my biggest lead.”
As soon as James mentioned the name, Lauren knew she’d won. James did, too, because he let out a long, slow sigh.
“Fine. You win. This time.”
“Only this time?” Lauren frowned as though trying to think. “Didn’t I win the last client we fought over? I seem to be on a streak.”
“Enjoy it while it lasts,” James said. “Because there’s no way you’re winning the Omial contract.” They started toward the door, side by side but not touching. Outside, the night was growing cool, though in perpetually warm San Valentino, that didn’t mean much. Lauren didn’t even need her jacket.
“Let’s see,” Lauren said. “Because I remember you saying something similar a few weeks ago, right before you lost to me last time.”
They stopped on the sidewalk in front of the hotel. The valet had brought James’s car around, and he threw James the keys. James caught them effortlessly and circled to the driver’s side, but he paused before getting in.
“Would you like me to wait with you?”
Lauren stifled a smile. “No. That’s okay. My pride will keep me warm.”
James tipped his head, a smile playing across his lips. “Very well.” Then he got into his car and drove away.
Lauren’s driver pulled up a moment later, and she got in.
In the back seat, she leaned back and gazed out the window.
The nerves that had made her sit up straight and whisper affirmations to herself were gone now.
Instead, she felt happy and relaxed. She watched the palm trees and skyscrapers flick by and thought of James.
She remembered the look on his face when he’d realized she won their wager.
There was nothing she enjoyed more than taking James down a peg.
And there was no one she preferred competing with more than James, because when she won against him, she wasn’t just proving herself.
She was proving that a family legacy and old money weren’t necessary to be successful.
A song came over the radio about seizing the day and stepping into the future, and Lauren hummed along. It had been an almost perfect evening. She had a few good leads. She’d had face time with existing clients and past ones. And best of all, she’d beaten James.
Maybe she’d beat him at the Omial deal, too.
She could already imagine how good it would feel to walk out of that pitch with her future secure.
She’d go to James’s office, as was their tradition, to gloat about her victory, and he would be forced to admit, yet again, that she’d won.
The fantasy was so real, she could almost feel it.
The car stopped in front of Lauren’s apartment.
She thanked her driver and got out. Her apartment was situated in a luxury building with a pool, a footman, and a gym, though Lauren rarely had time to take advantage of any of those services.
Most of her working hours were spent at her office or in her home office.
She took the elevator up and went inside.
Her apartment was a modest two-bedroom. She could have afforded something better, but her frugal upbringing held her back.
She was glad of that. Making budget-conscious decisions sometimes helped her make it through the leaner times, when clients were scarcer.
Lauren hung her unused jacket on the hook beside the door and went straight back to her home office. She wrote quick reach-outs to a few new people she’d spoken to, checked her work email, and finally opened her personal account.
There was one email at the top from Lauren’s lawyer, and her heart skipped a beat. She clicked to open it.
Dear Lauren,
I hope you are well.
As I’ve mentioned, the regulations for self-employed people are about to get tighter.
I wanted to let you know that the threshold for monthly income to keep your visa has increased.
You’d have to take home — here, he named a number that made Lauren whistle — each month after business expenses and taxes to maintain your visa.
Additionally, you will have to prove stable income, i.e.
, clients who hire you for longer contracts than a single project.
I’ll let you know if there are any updates, but I’d recommend that you try to find longer, higher-value contracts as soon as possible.
Lauren read the email several times as the wind slowly deflated from her sails. She’d felt almost invincible at tonight’s event, beating James and landing so many new leads, but now she felt like a little girl again, staring down odds much bigger than her.
The income requirement was doable. Sunflower PR made a fair amount each month, and even after Lauren paid to rent her offices and pay her few employees, she took home more than she’d ever dreamed.
The problem was that her income wasn’t consistent.
Some months, she had multiple clients and made a huge amount.
Other months, she had fewer clients. And most of her clients only hired her for short-term projects, given her small team and lack of reputation.
The long-term requirement would be hard to meet.
“The Omial contract,” Lauren whispered. It was still her best chance of keeping her visa in the long term.
The Omial contract would provide stable monthly income above the threshold for a full year.
Plus, if she landed it, other tech companies might start reaching out to her with similar agreements.
It would be a huge stretch for Lauren to win. Her company was small and still not as well-known as companies like Pembrook PR. Still, Lauren couldn’t let a little thing like steep odds stop her.
She’d come to San Valentino at the age of twenty-three with no contacts and little experience. She’d managed to start her own PR company, attracted a staff, and poached clients from larger firms. Over and over, she’d succeeded, because she’d had no other option.
Lauren had to keep succeeding now.
James had sent her an email, joking about their wager and telling Lauren she’d better watch her back. She deleted it. With her company and her future on the line, there was no time to engage in a petty rivalry. She needed to focus.
For the next few weeks, Lauren buried herself in work. She barely slept. She barely ate. With the single-minded focus she’d developed from a lifetime of self-reliance, she just worked.