Page 116 of Best In Class
“Luna has carried this entire project on her back. She knows every screw, every dimension, every regulation by heart,” I cut her off. “The truth is, Helena,Iam support.”
Tommy raises an eyebrow. “Luna, I’d much rather Dom take the lead in the press. He’s the award winner.”
Before Luna can even lift her chin to respond, I do. “No,” I say emphatically.
Luna gives me an exasperated look that says, ‘fuck you, Dominic Calder.’
I give her a look that says, ‘suck it up buttercup.’
She’s not impressed.
Neither is Tommy. “Excuse me?” he snaps.
“I saidno.” I ease back into my chair. Those who don’t know me would sayhe’s chill, those who do will say someone is getting ready to have their ass kicked. “If Luna doesn’t lead this, I’m out. I’ll walk.”
“Dom,” Luna says quietly, a warning and a plea.
“Luna,” I say, looking straight at Tommy, “one doesn’t hire a world-class architect and ask them to sit quietly whilethe man talks. You’re leading. Or Tommy can find someone else for this dog-and-pony press show.”
Yeah, now I’m showing my sharpened claws, with relish.
Tommy’s nostrils flare.
I know his type. He’s probably calculating what it would cost to replace me. How would he explain that he lost the Pritzker Prize-winning architect? And what the hell will he do when I tell everyone who’ll listen that he wanted to push a woman out simply because she is one.
He huffs, nods once. “Fine. You two canco-present.”
“Notco,” I state, “Luna presents. I’ll be there, standingbehindher and supporting herifneeded. It probably won’t be needed.”
There are plenty of protests from Tommy, Camy, Helena, and Jason. I stand my ground through all of it by stating just one fact—Luna is the lead architect on the project.
Ultimately, I win, but no one is happy, no one but me, that is, and maybe Luna, who gets the point even if it means she needs to get out of her comfort zone.
When the meeting ends, Tommy demands that I join him in his office.
“Good luck,” Luna whispers mockingly as she brushes past me.
I blow her a kissanda smirk.
Tommy’s office is an oversized, wood-paneled monstrosity meant to intimidate, and designed to have men sit in leather chairs and talk down to people who’ve actually done the work.
I walk in like I own the goddamn place.
As a black man, I’ve walked into more rooms than I can count, where I was the odd one out. Early in my career, it made me angry and deeply insecure. Being judged, dismissed, or underestimated because of the color of my skin isn’t just personal; it’s generational. It’s not only about me—it’s about all of us who weren’t born into privilege. Carrying that weight, constantly proving my worth in spaces not built for me, has been exhausting. But it’s also made me stronger. It’s given me the resolve to speak up, to stand my ground, and to fight for what matters most.
Now that I’m older and wiser, I navigate it without anger or insecurity. I work with it, around it, and through it. I honor who I am without letting the weight of discrimination define how I move through the world.
Anger and insecurity are wasteful emotions—they drain me and lead nowhere. I can’t change the mind of a racist or a misogynist, and honestly, I don’t want to. What I want is to make sure their behavior doesn’t harm the people who deserve better. I want to shield, support, and fight smart, especially for those who should never have to fight at all.
Tommy closes the door behind me with a hard thud. Any second now he’s going to stomp his feet like a red-faced toddler, I think, amused.
He doesn’t disappoint when he demands, “What the hell was that?”
I sit in one of his client chairs, giving him the perception of advantage since he’s standing. “That was me making sure you don’t walk into a press preview with a scandal waiting to happen.”
He’s taken aback, caught off guard. “Excuse me?”
I drop a smile I use on billionaires who think they’re the smartest person in the room.
