Nessa considered the garment. “It would be difficult to sell. Too particular.”
“Then let me ask something unrelated to the event. Do you ever need help in your shop? I can sew. Not at your level, but I can work neatly.”
Nessa studied her. “You’re not applying for a job because you feel sorry for me, are you?”
“No. I’m asking because I used to make clothes and I let myself stop. I would like to find out if I still have the patience.”
“Patience you need. I can teach technique.” Nessa dug in her pocket and produced a folded business card. “Come by Thursday morning. Bring samples of your work. If all you can do is make a straight seam, I’ll tell you so.”
Lauren took the card with an unexpectedly steady hand. It was an offer without flattery, contingent on actual work. She found that she preferred it.
Inside, Priya was negotiating with the photographer about his invoice. Reid had promised him an extra payment if the final footage attracted sponsors. The photographer wanted nothing to do with that calculation now. He had hired an assistant, rented equipment, and turned down another booking. Priya was struggling to explain why the fee should be paid regardless of whether the evening had succeeded.
Lauren listened until the photographer noticed her. “You were supposed to be the feature,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind me saying that I was never told it was a surprise.”
“I mind that it was,” Lauren answered. “But I don’t blame you for accepting a job. I do ask that you don’t use the photographs you took of me last night.”
He opened his camera bag and showed her the images on the small screen. There were only a few from the hallway before Priya halted the recording. In one, Lauren was standing beside Owen with her hands clenched. It looked like a marriage at the edge of a cliff, the sort of picture Reid would have chosen to advertise a moment of courage.
“Can you remove those?” Lauren asked.
“Yes. I was hired to document a private event, not make a news story. I’ll keep the receipt for the equipment, but I don’t need your face.”
He deleted the images while she watched. His assistant checked the second camera. It was an unremarkable act of professional courtesy, and Lauren felt a weight lift that she hadn’t recognized until it moved.
Priya closed her clipboard. “I learned something yesterday,” she said. “I thought events were about making the host’s idea happen. But we need a rule that the people being honored are asked whether they want to be there. It seems absurd that we don’t have one.”
