I realized my marriage was over while hiding behind a concrete pillar. Not because I caught my husband kissing another woman.

Calm ones.

First, I called Julian, my audiovisual director.

“Tell me the final donor reel is still editable,” I said.

He chuckled. “Vanessa, I love when you say hello like the building is already on fire.”

“Is it editable?”

“Until noon tomorrow.”

“Good. I need a private insert prepared.”

“What kind?”

“The kind that cannot play early by accident, cannot be accessed by anyone except you, and cannot be traced through the hotel system.”

A pause.

“That sounds expensive.”

“It is.”

Another pause. “Send me the assets.”

Next, I called Rachel, my senior planner.

“I need you to revise the seating chart.”

“At this hour?”

“Yes. Move Elise Monroe from table twelve to table three.”

“Table three is front center.”

“I know.”

“Is there a reason?”

“Yes.”

Rachel waited.

I said nothing.

Finally, she replied, “Understood.”

That was why Rachel was worth every dollar I paid her.

Then I called Paige, Hawthorne’s communications director.