Chapter 6 - THE GALA INFLUENCE
Friday evening brought the annual Sterling Foundation Charity Gala at the Museum of Fine Arts.
It was the premier social event of the Boston winter season.
As an entry-level senior analyst,
I had assumed I would spend the evening ordering takeout on my couch.
That assumption shattered when an exquisite emerald-green silk gown arrived at my apartment with a crisp card attached in bold,
elegant handwriting:
‘Wear this.
I'll pick you up at seven.
— A.
’
When the sleek black town car idled outside my apartment building,
I stepped out in the floor-length emerald dress.
The silk caught the streetlights like liquid jade,
clinging to my curves with effortless elegance.
When I slid into the leather backseat of the car,
Alexander was already waiting.
He looked breathtaking in a classic midnight-blue tuxedo that accentuated his broad shoulders and sharp jawline.
He turned his head,
and his gray eyes swept over me.
For a fraction of a second,
his breath caught visibly in his chest.
“You look stunning,
Eve,
” he said,
his voice hushed.
“Thank you,
” I murmured,
smoothing the fabric nervously over my knees.
“And thank you for the dress.
It’s.
.
.
incredible,
though entirely unnecessary.
”
“Nothing is unnecessary when it comes to accompanying my lead financial strategist,
” he replied with a faint,
charismatic smile.
When we arrived at the museum,
flashbulbs erupted like a thunderstorm.
Paparazzi lined the red velvet ropes,
their cameras clicking furiously as celebrities,
politicians,
and billionaires stepped out.
I froze instinctively as the blinding lights flashed in my eyes.
Before I could hesitate,
Alexander offered his arm.
I slid my hand into the crook of his elbow,
feeling the solid,
reassuring warmth of his muscle beneath my palm.
As we walked up the grand stone steps together,
camera shutters whirred into a frenzy.
Headline writers across Boston would have a field day tomorrow.
The notoriously reclusive billionaire CEO of Sterling Capital walking the red carpet with an unknown,
stunning brunette.
Inside the opulent,
chandelier-lit grand hall,
we were immediately swarmed by socialites and executives.
Alexander navigated the sea of powerful people with effortless grace,
keeping me firmly by his side.
He introduced me to senators,
board members,
and international investors,
not as a subordinate,
but as a vital pillar of his executive team.
For the first time since Preston's cruel voice message at JFK,
May you like
I didn't feel broken.
I felt powerful.
