Chapter 2
The silence that followed her question was heavier than the crystal chandeliers overhead. I stared down at the cream lace of her dress, then past her shoulder at the sea of indifferent faces in the ballroom, none of whom seemed to notice or care that a child was standing in the middle of their cocktail party in absolute distress. The crumpled paper she held out toward me bore the crude, unmistakable outline of a red heart drawn in thick wax crayon, slightly smeared from the moisture of her palm.
"I can't," I wanted to say. I wanted to tell her that I was just a hired contractor with a camera bag in the coat check, a man who barely had his own life figured out, let alone the capacity to anchor a child's world. But the words dissolved on my tongue before they could form.
"Of course," I said instead, my voice dropping to a low, rough whisper that barely cleared the ambient noise of the hall.
Her small shoulders slumped with a sudden, profound release of tension, as if she had been holding her breath since the doors of the building first opened. Without waiting for me to clarify or hesitate, her small fingers reached out and curled securely around the fabric of my black button-down shirt, gripping the cloth with a desperate strength that defied her size.
"Come on," she whispered, tugging gently on my sleeve, her thumb brushing against the worn fur of the rabbit she held against her hip.
Before I could process the sudden shift in reality, a sharp rap on my shoulder broke the spell. I turned my head to find one of the venue’s floor managers standing there, his face carved into a tight, professional smile that didn't reach his eyes. His gaze flicked from my plain black suit to the little girl clinging to my side, his clipboard raised like a shield.
"Sir, excuse me, is this your dependent?" the manager asked, his tone polite on the surface but laced with the sharp edge of suspicion reserved for anyone who didn't look like they belonged on the VIP guest list. "Unaccompanied minors aren't permitted on the main floor during the corporate mixer."
"She's with me," I said, my voice hardening naturally as I stepped half an inch forward to place my shoulder between the manager and Clara.
May you like
The coordinator narrowed his eyes, glancing down at the crumpled heart-shaped paper still clutched in her small hand. "Your name isn't on the roster for family attendees, Mr..."
"Vance," I supplied flatly, refusing to break eye contact or let go of the small, warm hand now tucked securely inside my palm. "Julian Vance. And as you can see, she found me."
