Page 52 of Boardroom Sins

Ms. Everett,

You will attend the annual Lazarev Global Gala this Saturday evening as my guest.

Formal attire required.

A car will collect you at 6:00 P.M.

—LL

The Lazarev Gala. I’ve heard about it. Everyone at the company has. It’s the social event of the year. Black tie dress code, A-list guests. Champagne fountains and caviar bumps. Prada, paparazzi, glitz, glam, galore.

And Lukas wantsmeto attend.

As hisguest.

I flip the paper over. Something is taped to the back.

A credit card.

It’s black matte. No limit printed anywhere, because I suspect that cards like this don’thavelimits.

The name embossed at the bottom readsRAE EVERETT.

There’s another note beneath it. Smaller, handwritten this time.

For the dress.

And whatever else you need.

I hold the card between my fingers. It’s denser than a normal credit card. Cards like this open doors and part crowds and make salespeople fall over themselves to help you.

I’ve never held anything like it.

I think about my closet at home, that sad collection of Target blouses and clearance-rack pencil skirts. Nothing in my wardrobe belongs anywhere near the Lazarev Gala.

Lukas knows that.

And now, he’s handing me a credit card without a second thought, as if money is air and he’s letting me breathe for the first time in my life.

I look at the card and the accompanying note again.

For the dress. And whatever else you need.

What I “need” is to pay my rent. What I “need” is to keep Gideon in treatment. What I “need” is to get a hold of my runaway emotions and forget all about gray-eyed life-ruiners.

But right now, apparently, what Ialsoneed… is a dress.

I turn the envelope upside down to check if I missed anything. As I do, one more small item tumbles out and lands on my desk.

I pick it up. It’s an appointment card, embossed with gold lettering.

Maison Élise

Private Appointment

Thursday, 2:00 P.M.

Below that, in the same handwriting as the note about the credit card: