Page 16 of The Future Play

“You think so?”

He follows my gaze, looking around the place and taking it all in. “You did all this yourself?”

“Well, there are caterers for the food, a florist did the flowers, and the girlshelped me set up.”

“But…youdid this.”

“I did. It was my vision, and I worked through every element to make sure it all came together perfectly,” I say confidently. Because this is the one area of my life where I know exactly who I am and what I’m doing. The one place where the negative voices can’t get to me—at least once an event is running. Imposter syndrome can yell at me as loud as it wants to until I’m in the middle of an event. Then I can’t hear it over the sound of success.

“Then yes. I have no doubt you’ll rise to the top. I’ve been to a lot of stuffy events and boring parties. This one has personality, but it’s not over the top. That’s hard to come by. Don’t second-guess yourself.”

I lift my chin. “Thank you.”

Then, without a second thought, I pull my phone out and change the handle on my social media account.

The Event Queen.

Logo and branding ideas flow through my mind, and my stomach twists with excitement… and pride.

This is what I’m supposed to be doing, and it’s time for me to invest in and shout from the rooftops about myself and my business.

Jamie

Amanda Hamilton isa force of nature.

She glides around the party in a pair of black leggings, fancy black low-top sneakers, and a long sand-colored sweater, making sure everyone has everything they need and every second of the night is running seamlessly.

I’ve been to a decent number of parties like this over the years. My parents come from old money, and while fancy events aren’t their preferred style most of the time, they’ll go to ones for causes that matter to them.

This fundraiser party—gala, whatever it’s called—is nothinglike the ones we’ve been to in the past. It’s elegant, but it has personality. Which I’m sure is exactly what my parents wanted, but Amanda is the one who brought it all to life.

And I swear she never stops moving. When she’s on, she’s really on. It’s a turnon. Except that I’m not going there. We can banter and flirt and have fun—that’s obvious with the whole two conversations we’ve had—but I’m not going to risk the many friendships surrounding us by hooking up with her.

I’d rather have her as a friend than a hookup. She’s brilliant and has a quippy, sarcastic side that’s fun to be around. And that’s just what I’ve gotten to see so far.

As the party winds down, I keep trying to catch Amanda, grab her a drink, or see if she needs anything, but she’s always too fast for me. Though I do see her sneakily stretch her neck and her legs a few times.

I’ve played double headers and not been as exhausted as I am watching her tonight.

When all the guests have left, my parents go to praise the caterers—since they’ve been singing Amanda’s praises all night—and I go find Amanda. She’s slowly taking apart some floral arrangement.

“Hey.”

She jumps a little and spins around. “Hi.”

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s fine. I was in the zone.”

“You’ve been in the zone all night.”

She laughs, her long hair swishing as she does. “I don’t get to leave the zone until everything is done and put away, so?—”

“Wait, you have to do all this yourself? I thought the girls?—”

“They jumped in and offered to help me set everything up. I wasn’t going to ask them to drag themselves back down here to work until midnight taking everything down. My brother said to call him if I need help loading my car.”

“But—”

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