The truth was less flattering to any of them. Lauren had wanted escape without being honest about what she was escaping. Reid had wanted a glamorous story without giving its subjects a choice. Owen had wanted to protect himself by making decisions before asking questions. Megan had spent years handling emergencies until she had nearly forgotten how to refuse them.
A guest approached Lauren, an older woman named Celia who had come with her sister. “I don’t want to pry,” she said. “I just wanted to thank you for explaining. My sister thought tonight might help after her divorce. She was embarrassed when the program stopped. But I’d rather she be disappointed than watch someone be surprised into telling strangers something painful.”
Lauren thanked her, suddenly close to tears. A few feet away Reid was telling another guest that a new event would be announced soon. Megan heard him and shook her head, not in fury, but in weary recognition.
Then a photographer approached Priya, holding two cameras. “Do I still get paid?” he asked. “I was booked for four hours.”
Reid answered automatically, “We’ll work something out.”
Megan stepped in. “You’ll get the agreed fee for showing up. I’ll handle it with Hassan. Please don’t publish or share any images of the guests without permission.”
The photographer nodded. He looked relieved. As they walked away, Lauren realized how many people had been drawn into tonight for reasons having nothing to do with romantic courage. Some needed wages. Some had bought dinner. Some had hoped for comfort. The people carrying the greatest burden were not the ones delivering the speeches.
Chapter Seven: A Conversation Without an Audience
By nine o’clock most guests had left, and the kitchen staff were preparing meals for those who stayed. Rain tapped against the windows. Hassan offered the four adults a quiet table in a side room, but Megan refused.
“I won’t sit at a table Reid arranged,” she said. “We can speak in the office where the door stays open.”
The office smelled of coffee and printer paper. Reid leaned against a filing cabinet, arms folded. Lauren stood near the door beside Owen, keeping enough distance between them that neither could mistake proximity for reconciliation. Megan placed the invitation card on the desk.
“Reid,” she said, “I want to know whether this event was the first of its kind or whether you’ve used other people’s stories without telling them.”
“It was the first.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
He looked offended. “I’ve pitched concepts before. Everyone does.”
“Have you recorded anyone?”
“A few interviews, with permission.”
“Whose permission?”
Reid rubbed the back of his neck. “The participants’. I have releases. You can ask Hassan.”
