Page 37 of The CEO’s Assistant

"Ms. Hale. Ms. Ahearn needs you at the dais in six minutes." She said it loud enough for Priya to hear.

Cordelia turned. "Priya, forgive me."

"Of course." Priya's smile didn't waver. "We'll finish this later."

"We will." Cordelia was already turning away, and she put her hand out for the card.

Wren gave it to her, taking care to make sure their fingers didn’t accidentally brush against each other. She felt every bit of the eighteen inches of warm air between them, though. Then Cordelia looked up at her. It lasted only a second, and it wasn’t the usual look Cordelia gave her in the office. It was something else, the same expression Cordelia had given her in bed. Wren couldn't breathe for a second. She wanted to put her hand flat on Cordelia's bare back. She wanted to say, you're doing fine, only a speech and then you can sit down. She wanted to be the person who was allowed to truly be there for Cordelia the way she needed in these types of rooms. But Wren knew her place and tried to communicate it all with her eyes instead.

"Thank you," Cordelia said, in her professional voice, and walked away.

Wren went back to the staff station and stood there, reaching for the nearest thing on the table that would give her something to do with her eyes. It was one of the printed programs. She opened it. The order of the evening’s events ran down the right-hand page. Wren had created it with Constance and sent it to the printers on Wednesday. Her eyes roved down the list, then stopped at the sixth.

Announcement of the Eleanor Dalisay Acquisitions Fund. Remarks, C. Ahearn. Recognition of Cordelia Hale, trustee.

Wren had run enough of these evenings to know what recognition meant. It was a spotlight where Cordelia's name was read out. Cordelia would stand up while a room full of donors clapped for her dead wife.

It wasn't in the schedule she'd sent, which meant somebody had put it in after Wednesday and added it to the final version without consulting her about it. She read the line twice, then checked her watch. Eight-nineteen. Dinner would be served at eight-forty. She tucked the clipboard under her arm and went to find Constance Ahearn. After less than a minute of searching, she found her, up at the dais with Cordelia, going through the speech with a pen. Wren stopped ten feet short and waited.

It took four minutes. Cordelia had the program in her hand the whole time and never once looked down at it. Wren put it down to nerves, which was ridiculous. She'd watched Cordelia walk into worse rooms than this one without flinching.

When Cordelia went back out onto the floor, Wren stepped in. "I need to talk with you."

Constance checked her watch. "You've got about four."

"Not here."

Constance looked at her for a second. Then she turned and walked into the south gallery, and Wren followed her in.

It was dark. They'd taken the overheads down to a quarter for the evening, and the noise of the room dropped away as soon as they were through the doorway. A dozen or so pieces hung along the long wall. There was a glass case at the far end with its light still on inside. Wren held out the program.

Constance pulled her reading glasses down out of her hair. "Yes?"

She pointed to the sixth line. "This wasn't in the schedule I sent to the printer on Wednesday."

"No. The board voted Thursday morning, and I had eleven hours to get it to press." Constance handed it back. "I know. I should have called you. You've been up until eleven every night for a week and I switched up the schedule at the last minute and didn't say a word about it. I'll apologize properly on Monday”—she fidgeted—”when I'm not standing here in these shoes."

"I don't want an apology. I want you to take it out."

Constance's eyebrows went up.

"Keep the announcement," Wren said. "Announce the fund, say her name. Just don't put a spotlight on Ms. Hale."

"Why not?"

Because I've seen her kitchen at midnight with the lights off. That was the true answer, and Wren had no right to say it, not here. She gave the other one.

"Because she'll do it," she said. "She'll stand up and perform, and she'll be lovely about it. And then she'll have two more hours of the event to get through. She won't ask you to take it out. She'll never mention it to you. That's why I'm asking."

Behind them a chair went over and a woman laughed.

"Sit down a minute," Constance said.

"I don't have⁠—"

"Neither do I. Sit down."

There was a bench in the middle of the floor. Wren sat on one end of it with the clipboard across her knees, and Constance sat on the other. Neither of them said anything for a second.