I checked my phone. Finally, time to start cleaning up. Garrett had texted earlier asking to meet at O’Malley’s, the bar around the corner, instead of the office. Said it would be more relaxed.
Yeah right,I thought, gathering my things. That little voice of doubt piped up again. Why a bar?
I smoothed down my skirt and checked my reflection in my phone’s camera. My red hair was still relatively tame, though the humidity was starting to make it frizz at the ends. The outfit I’d chosen for work, a knee-length pencil skirt and modest blouse, suddenly felt too formal for a bar meeting.
“You’re overthinking this,” I told my reflection. With me, being a complete newbie to the US, Garrett was just being super friendly, trying to help me get more involved. Nothing weird about that.
I grabbed my purse and headed for the elevator. As the doors closed, I caught a glimpse of Ms. Henderson through her office window, phone pressed to her ear. I wondered if she even knew about these meetings with Garrett. He’d said he was handling everything, but...
The heat was nauseating as I stepped outside. O’Malley’s green awning beckoned from the end of the block, promising air conditioning and hopefully some answers about my role in this gala planning committee.
“It’s a meeting,” I muttered, straightening my shoulders as I walked. But still?—
The bar’s cool air washed over me as I stepped inside O’Malley’s. I chose a seat at the quieter end of the bar, ordered a glass of white wine and checked my phone. No messages from Sean yet today. He was probably still in meetings.
Garrett breezed in fifteen minutes later, his cologneannouncing his presence before I spotted him. “Beth, so glad you could make it.” He slid onto the barstool next to mine, signaling the bartender. “G & T, please.”
He shifted his stool closer, our knees almost touching, creating an immediate, unwelcome intimacy. “I know stuffing envelopes is a kind of purgatory,” he began, his voice a smooth, conspiratorial murmur. “Ms. Henderson insists on it for all new interns. A test of humility, I suppose. But I think you’re ready for the real game.”
I took a slow sip of my wine, my guard instantly up. “The real game?”
“The gala,” he said, his eyes sparkling with an intensity that felt predatory. “It isn’t just about raising money, Beth. It’s about perception. About managing narratives. We have donors who are incredibly… sensitive to public image. Any hint of scandal can make them skittish.” He paused, taking a deliberate sip of his whisky while holding my gaze. “And we have to be prepared to handle that.”
The air thickened. This wasn’t about logistics; this was about something else entirely. He was talking about me.
“For instance,” he continued, as if discussing the weather, “if a new person were to join our team, someone with a… let’s say, a boisterous public history, we would need to be very strategic. We’d need to spin any potential… complications… to our advantage. Turn a potential liability into an asset.”
I kept my expression neutral, even as a cold knot formed in my stomach. “I imagine that would take a skilled hand,” I said carefully.
“Precisely.” He smiled, a flash of white teeth. “Take your boyfriend, for example. Sean McCrae.”
He said the name so casually, so matter-of-factly, that it feltlike a gunshot in the quiet bar. My polite smile froze on my face.
“Don’t look so surprised, Beth,” he chuckled, though the sound held no humor. “It’s my job to know things. I’m on the gala committee. A high-profile motivational speaker with a recent, very public… connection to our newest intern? That’s a variable. And I manage variables.” He leaned back, appraising me. “He’s good, by the way. I watched the footage from his speech in Glasgow after that first video hit. Turning a potential PR crisis into a win for ‘authenticity’? A masterclass. I was impressed.”
My mind raced, trying to catch up. This wasn’t a jealous outburst. This was a clinical assessment. He wasn’t just a creep; he was a student of manipulation, just like Sean, but from a much darker school.
“Which is why I’m trying to understand your angle,” he continued, his voice dropping lower, more intimate. “You’re with him, a man who professionally spins narratives, and now you’re here with me. I just need to know what game we’re playing. Are you looking to leverage your… unique media profile for the foundation’s benefit? Or are you genuinely just here to prove yourself?” He smirked. “Because I’m open to either strategy. Both could be very… useful.”
My instincts screamed ‘DANGER.’ He was trying to destabilize me; to show me he held all the cards, that he knew my past and could control my future here. But I couldn’t afford to let him see my fear. I had to play the game on his level.
I took a slow breath, forcing a cool, confident smile. “Garrett, I’m impressed. You’ve certainly done your homework.” I let him absorb the small dose of flattery before I continued. “But I think you’re conflating two different things. Mypersonal life is, as you’ve noted, complicated. It’s a mess I’m trying to leave behind.” I met his gaze without flinching. “My work at Hillsdale is my one chance to do that. You saw I was bored, and you offered me a real opportunity. That’s the only ‘angle’ I’m interested in. I want to contribute to this gala, genuinely. And I want to learn from someone who clearly knows how to manage… variables.” I let a small, conciliatory smile touch my lips. “I see this as a professional mentorship. That’s what’s important to me.”
Garrett stared at me for a long moment, his jaw tight. It was a high-stakes poker game, and I had just called his bluff. Finally, his expression softened, the charming mask sliding back into place, though it didn’t reach his eyes.
“A mentorship,” he repeated slowly. “Right. Of course.” He took a sip of his whisky. “Well, you’re a valuable asset, Beth. We need to make sure you’re utilized properly.”
The shift back to his smooth persona was more unnerving than the anger had been. I knew I hadn’t won; I’d just survived the round. As our glasses emptied, his compliments returned, but they felt different now, each one a subtle test, a reminder that he was watching me.
I glanced at my phone and gathered my purse. “I should go. I’m meeting Sean for dinner.”
The name dropped like a stone between us. Something dark flashed across Garrett’s face so briefly I almost missed it. His hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around my wrist…
“Not Sean again. Come on, just one more drink,” he pressed, his charm cranked up to full power, but his grip a little uncomfortable on my wrist. “We’ve barely scratched the surface of the planning. Besides, I’m sure Sean won’t mind waiting a few minutes. What kind of boyfriend gets upsetabout work meetings?” His thumb stroked my wrist in a way that was meant to be suave but just felt invasive.
My mind raced. A direct confrontation would be a disaster, but capitulating felt worse. All I could think about was Sean waiting for me, his warm smile, those strong arms that made me feel safe. This man in front of me did the exact opposite. I gently but firmly extracted my hand from his grip, forcing a polite, placating smile onto my face.
“Honestly, I’d love to,” I lied smoothly, the socialite training I’d resented for years finally coming in handy. “But he’s already made dinner reservations, and you know how New York restaurants are.” I gave a little, helpless shrug. “Besides, you’ve given me so much to think about already, my head is absolutely spinning. I need some time to process everything before our next planning session.”
