Page 128 of Cakes for the Grump
Once we deboardthe plane and get driven to the conference, I wait for a swell of anxiety to swamp me, but it doesn’t. I’ve suppressed so hard I’m feeling not much of anything. Clinically, I can observe we are attending a weekend conference where business moguls drop enough money to fund numerous college education of thousands of students at once. The conference is held at a manor. Non-traumatized Rita would gape at the marble-clad entrance hall, the rich Ottoman Turkish designs in deep blue and burgundy spanning the high ceilings, how all the windows are bulletproof and include views of the soaring, shimmering sea, and the vast acreage this retreat is bracketed by.
We’re greeted by a member of the staff. They give a rundown of the facilities. Each suite includes your own heated swimming pool and a personal butler to attend to all your needs. In addition to the aquatic offering, we also have access to a private movie theater, a private gym, and a terrace bristling with privacy hedges and bulbous roses. It’s a site of drowsy relaxation meant to restore you between the bustling business talks of moguls from different industries coming together and brainstorming ways to take over larger parts of the world.
Our suite is made into a war room, set up for strategy. We meet an incensed Mr. Duncan there. For a man whose mood I’ve seen either asdetermined or lazily confident, this is new. Again, he wears a cardigan (a favorite type of clothing one can assume by now), gray slacks, and a midnight blue polo shirt. Expensive softness on a man who’s got a dour expression on his face.
When he sees Luke, he speaks fast. “You’ve had a leak. Abbot Industries is holding an emergency investor meeting in two days’ time. You know what that means? If you don’t close Intel tonight, and give yourself one day for the lawyers to fuck about the contracts, your coup is going to fail.”
Luke slips his hands into his pockets, but not before I catch sight of clenched fingers. “It will get done.”
“We don’t have time to waste. Let’s get downstairs and start greasing hands.” Mr. Duncan angles a belated greeting nod at me. “Ms. Singh, I advise you to get yourself ready. It’s going to be a long day.”
I spring into action, a distant part of me grateful for the distraction and the clear directions. Today I have to exude upper society and quiet luxury because while money talks, wealth whispers. That translates to an emerald green sheath dress done in a tasteful length playing below my knees. The diamond necklace Luke has bought for me is strung around my neck. My shoes are heeled but under three inches.
When we go downstairs, the main hall is already starting to fill with others dressed in their finery. This conference has attracted wolves hungry for more power, dressed in turtlenecks, corduroy, power suits, and silks. Mr. Duncan flanks my right side and we watch as Luke immediately is pulled into a conversation with the founder of an e-commerce giant and the chief technology officer of an oil tycoon.
“I don’t belong here,” I say, more to myself than anything else.
Mr. Duncan swills his glass of water around. “Most of the world doesn’t. That being said, he has worked his whole life towards this meeting. Sure, another opportunity might come along, but nothing of this magnitude. We won’t catch the board of Abbot Industries with their pants down twice. Excuse my metaphor.”
“Is this your way of telling me to get it together? Do you really think all this will work?”
Mr. Duncan offers me his arm. We’re taking a casual stroll around the edge of the party. “The most detested name in the industry is trying to join the most respected. There are certainly no guarantees.”
I grab a glass of water from a passing tray and wet my dry throat. “So, no?”
“I don’t believe in false comforts, Ms. Singh. You, though. Well done on the outfit. So far, the optics are good.”
It’s early, but at least this I haven’t messed up yet.
“Shouldn’t I be with him?” I ask.
Luke has attracted quite a group of people around him. They are sharks circling each other.
“You wouldn’t have been able to keep up. When dinner is served, you’ll sit next to him. That’s when you can do your part. Laugh. Give a good story, and if I may make a suggestion, I recommend a charming proposal tale. Tell people how you met. They’ll be wondering who has finally tied down the imminent Luke Abbot. Let yourself pretend to feel deeply for him.”
“I’ll…do my best.”Pretend. That’s not the right word, I’m afraid.
“Good. People are watching and curious about you.”
I clamp down a shiver. He’s right. There are eyes on me. I can feel them boring into my back. It’s enough pressure to bend me in half, but I won’t allow it. This needs to work. I need it to work. I need this to be a win.
“Lunch should be served soon,” says Mr. Duncan. “Right now, you’re with me, so no one is bold enough to approach, but these people get cocksure after stuffing their gullet. Pardon my language again.”
I smile faintly. “I’m glad you are here to guide me.”
“Good. Let’s head to the dining quarters and secure you and Luke a good seat.”
Lunch rolls around. Roasted lobster and artichoke soup with black truffle are set down in front of me, but I’m too glued to my performance to eat. Luke’s hand is on my knee. My fiancé is making everyone laugh at all the proposal ideas he had considered. A quaint fifty-piece orchestra, a subtle neon-lit sign suspended between two yachts, a unique setting onto a privately secured Eiffel Tower…
I touch the side of his cheek fondly. “I’m not sure I would have said yes to any of those, darling.”
He kisses the back of my hand. “I would have tried anything.”
“He’s got money to spare,” yells a woman from somewhere in the middle of the table.
“I don’t have money to spare,” confesses a younger, boyish man closer to us. His beard grows patchy, most of the hair cloistered on his chin. “Gettingmarried is an expensive gamble. In my opinion, when there’s a person, there’s a problem. When there’s no person, there’s no problem.”
People laugh louder than his words deserve.
