“…Emily,” he finished with a dismissive flick of his wrist. “She’s our children’s nanny. I brought her along to keep an eye on the coats and handbags.”
The hush that followed felt suffocating. Robert’s gaze shifted slowly from Jason’s smug, self-satisfied grin to my rigid, unreadable expression.
“The nanny?” Robert echoed, nearly inhaling a mouthful of champagne in his disbelief.
“Yes, well, reliable help is nearly impossible to find these days,” Jason chuckled lightly, already pivoting back to business as if he had merely commented on the weather. “Now, about those third-quarter projections I sent over…”
Robert didn’t look at Jason. He kept his eyes on me, silently inviting me to speak. I gave the faintest shake of my head. Not yet.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Emily,” Robert said at last, his tone layered with meaning. “I imagine cleaning up after a man like Jason must qualify as a full-time occupation.”
“You have no idea how much garbage I’m responsible for disposing of,” I replied smoothly, offering a razor-thin smile.
A few minutes later, Jason’s sister, Lauren, swept toward us in a fitted crimson dress, a glass of red wine poised elegantly between her fingers and a mocking glint in her eyes.
“So the rumors are true, nanny,” she purred, looking me up and down with theatrical scrutiny. “You certainly look the part of upscale domestic staff in that absurd white dress.”
Jason reappeared, boasting about his animated exchange with the CEO. Lauren lifted her glass in exaggerated celebration. With calculated precision, she tilted her wrist just enough for a dark splash of wine to cascade onto the front of my silk bodice.
“Oh my goodness, I’m so terribly sorry!” she gasped, feigning horror as the deep red stain bloomed across the white fabric like an open wound.
“Clean yourself up, Emily, before Robert notices this humiliating mess,” Jason muttered sharply, thrusting a wad of napkins into my hand.
“Your sister did that deliberately, Jason,” I said quietly.
“Don’t be dramatic,” he snapped. “And since you’re playing the help tonight, you might as well wipe the floor too,” Lauren added with a laugh.
Jason pointed to the marble beneath us, where droplets of wine gleamed under the lights. “Do it. Now.”
Something inside me fractured then—not loudly, not violently, but with a cold, irreversible clarity. I stared down at the crumpled napkins in my hand, then lifted my eyes to Jason’s vacant, entitled stare.
“No,” I said calmly, letting the napkins fall onto the stained marble.
“Emily! What do you think you’re doing?” Jason hissed.
I didn’t answer. I turned away from him and walked toward the stage, my back straight, my head high.
Behind me, Jason’s voice rose in alarm, protesting that the platform was reserved for executives only. But the entire ballroom fell silent the moment I stepped up to the microphone.