high
profile man beside me.
“Ready?” Miles squeezed my hand, grinning, his
eyes lit with a mix of nerves and excitement, as the door beside
him opened.
Taking a deep breath first, I nodded my head and
smiled. “Uh huh,” I answered.
He looked me over, eyes skimming my face before
leaning forward and kissing my forehead. It was all I needed to
calm my anxiety. His unspoken assurance and emotion was enough to
ground me, preparing me for the evening ahead. But I soon found out
how unprepared I actually was; the shock that I had when I stepped
outside the limousine into an aisle of photographers and a red
carpet leading to the Gotham Hall entrance was unprecedented. It
was straight out of the movies; an honest to goodness red carpet
event complete with camera flashes and people hollering from every
angle you looked. I wasn’t expecting that. Not in the slightest. I
was frozen with one foot sticking out of the car.
***
“It’s okay, baby.”
Miles leaned forward, whispering into my ear and kissing my cheek.
“Pretend they aren’t even there,” he said, gently tugging at my
hand, prompting me to stand.
I felt like I was going from zero to one hundred
within seconds; it’s like I went from white trash Vegas girl to
college floozy to famous girlfriend overnight. It was all I had
ever wanted, but in a blink of an eye. I was freaking out, my heart
was beating out of my chest, my breathing was rapid, and my stomach
was so uneasy I felt like I could hurl at any moment, but I had to
brush it aside. I had to act unaffected; I had to stand tall with a
radiant smile. Miles invited me tonight, thinking that I was
important enough to handle this. He respected me enough to invite
me to hang with the big people. Miles had faith in me. I
needed to, too.
So I did as he said—I pictured an empty walkway
with no one around us, just Miles and I walking into a building
dressed in normal, casual attire. I stood tall and smiled brightly
like I would walking down the sidewalks of Manhattan, confidently
holding the arm of my boyfriend. Miles did the same, not answering
any of the zillion questions being thrown at him from every
direction. He just smiled, waved a few times, and said hello to a
few people I’m assuming he knew. Before I knew it, we were inside
the doors, away from the craziness outside, and I was able to
breathe again.
Immediately people were greeting Miles, shaking
his hand, seeming genuinely happy to see him. Miles made sure to
introduce me to them all, labeling me as his lovely date, Ms.
Reynolds. A small ping bruised my chest, given only the date label
instead of girlfriend, but I couldn’t let it bother me—we’d only
known each other five days, after all. He spoke with sincerity and
still had the sparkle in his eyes when he said it. I didn’t need
the label. Anyone could see the emotional attachment we shared. I
could feel it. I’m sure that others could, too.
With each person Miles spoke to we inched closer
and closer to the main event area. I had to hand it to the event
coordinator—the space was beautifully decorated, everything
sparkling white, silver, and crystal. There were what seemed to be
hundreds of tables dressed up throughout the room with a band and
dance floor at the front of it. I spotted Connie after a few
minutes, talking to a different group of people, mingling just as
Miles was. I got a head to toe glance, but nothing more. Not that I
was expecting it. It was apparent by her closed off body language
that she didn’t want me there and didn’t particularly want any
contact with me, but thankfully she didn’t broadcast it; at least
not to my face or within earshot.
“If I could have everyone take their seats,
we’re going to get things started.” An older man stood on the stage
in front of the band, speaking through the microphone. He looked
like the stereotypical very wealthy older man. He was wearing an
exquisitely tailored tuxedo and a friendly smile, his salt and
pepper
profile man beside me.
“Ready?” Miles squeezed my hand, grinning, his
eyes lit with a mix of nerves and excitement, as the door beside
him opened.
Taking a deep breath first, I nodded my head and
smiled. “Uh huh,” I answered.
He looked me over, eyes skimming my face before
leaning forward and kissing my forehead. It was all I needed to
calm my anxiety. His unspoken assurance and emotion was enough to
ground me, preparing me for the evening ahead. But I soon found out
how unprepared I actually was; the shock that I had when I stepped
outside the limousine into an aisle of photographers and a red
carpet leading to the Gotham Hall entrance was unprecedented. It
was straight out of the movies; an honest to goodness red carpet
event complete with camera flashes and people hollering from every
angle you looked. I wasn’t expecting that. Not in the slightest. I
was frozen with one foot sticking out of the car.
***
“It’s okay, baby.”
Miles leaned forward, whispering into my ear and kissing my cheek.
“Pretend they aren’t even there,” he said, gently tugging at my
hand, prompting me to stand.
I felt like I was going from zero to one hundred
within seconds; it’s like I went from white trash Vegas girl to
college floozy to famous girlfriend overnight. It was all I had
ever wanted, but in a blink of an eye. I was freaking out, my heart
was beating out of my chest, my breathing was rapid, and my stomach
was so uneasy I felt like I could hurl at any moment, but I had to
brush it aside. I had to act unaffected; I had to stand tall with a
radiant smile. Miles invited me tonight, thinking that I was
important enough to handle this. He respected me enough to invite
me to hang with the big people. Miles had faith in me. I
needed to, too.
So I did as he said—I pictured an empty walkway
with no one around us, just Miles and I walking into a building
dressed in normal, casual attire. I stood tall and smiled brightly
like I would walking down the sidewalks of Manhattan, confidently
holding the arm of my boyfriend. Miles did the same, not answering
any of the zillion questions being thrown at him from every
direction. He just smiled, waved a few times, and said hello to a
few people I’m assuming he knew. Before I knew it, we were inside
the doors, away from the craziness outside, and I was able to
breathe again.
Immediately people were greeting Miles, shaking
his hand, seeming genuinely happy to see him. Miles made sure to
introduce me to them all, labeling me as his lovely date, Ms.
Reynolds. A small ping bruised my chest, given only the date label
instead of girlfriend, but I couldn’t let it bother me—we’d only
known each other five days, after all. He spoke with sincerity and
still had the sparkle in his eyes when he said it. I didn’t need
the label. Anyone could see the emotional attachment we shared. I
could feel it. I’m sure that others could, too.
With each person Miles spoke to we inched closer
and closer to the main event area. I had to hand it to the event
coordinator—the space was beautifully decorated, everything
sparkling white, silver, and crystal. There were what seemed to be
hundreds of tables dressed up throughout the room with a band and
dance floor at the front of it. I spotted Connie after a few
minutes, talking to a different group of people, mingling just as
Miles was. I got a head to toe glance, but nothing more. Not that I
was expecting it. It was apparent by her closed off body language
that she didn’t want me there and didn’t particularly want any
contact with me, but thankfully she didn’t broadcast it; at least
not to my face or within earshot.
“If I could have everyone take their seats,
we’re going to get things started.” An older man stood on the stage
in front of the band, speaking through the microphone. He looked
like the stereotypical very wealthy older man. He was wearing an
exquisitely tailored tuxedo and a friendly smile, his salt and
pepper
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