“I need to corral the press.” Tracy head nods to the red-carpet area, where paparazzi are starting to gather in the far corner.
“I’ll get someone else on press, I don’t trust the newbies with the VIPs.”
“Wait, are you the point person?”
“No, just filling in.” Pamela speaks as if she recognizes Tracy’s sarcasm. “Nobody was here; I had to step up.”
Tracy glances at Shawn. “We’ve been busy all day looking for Josh.”
“Well, he’s still not here.” Pamela helps Tracy put her headset on. She whispers in her ear. “I need to be on Vice President Maddox.”
“Maddox?” Tracy speaks in a regular tone. “No, West was very specific that Josh would take Maddox.”
“Well, where is he?” Pamela urges, matching Tracy’s volume. “Look. I haven’t been able to get ahold of either of them. And the former vice president is here already, waiting. The tour should only take about an hour.”
“An hour?”
“He really wants to see the place. He’s a huge fan of the architect. I’ve got you on Leroy Spitz, if you don’t mind.”
“Leroy Spitz. The black basketball player. I see.” Tracy stops, rubs her feet. “I’ve gotta run up to my office and grab some shoes. I’ll meet you at VIP in ten minutes or so.”
“Okay, perfect. Thank you, Tracy.” Pamela nods and saunters toward the VIP area, her red dress accentuating her curves.
Tracy shakes her head and turns to Shawn, who’s been remarkably quiet. “Well, Shawn, I guess this is where we part. Sorry I couldn’t be your date for longer.”
“You’re leaving me.”
“I’m afraid so. It’s been a—well, it’s been a day. I’m sorry Haylee couldn’t be here to enjoy the party with you. Please give her my love.”
“I will.” Shawn shakes her hand. “I shall leave you now and snoop around for food. Good luck tonight.”
“I know you can’t say much, but please keep me posted on Josh.” Tracy walks toward the elevators for the Center Tower. “Please. I need to know he’s all right. We all do!”
“Will do! I’ve got your number!” Shawn says as she walks away. His voice is skipping through the enormous lobby. He sees her point to her head.
“Grab a headset!” she yells. “Talk to Jamal at security!”
Tracy swipes her keycard for the elevator.
C h a p t e r 5 2
SHAWN SLIDES HIS hands across the security table, begins nervously patting on the counter. “The name is Shawn Connelly. I believe Tracy Heissman has given me—”
“Yes, Mr. Connelly, Tracy let me know you’d be stopping by. I have a headset for you right here.” The man also hands him a badge. “And as a special bonus, a VIP badge. This gives you access to the entire building. My name’s Jamal; if you need anything, please let me know. We miss Josh around here, so thanks for working with Trace, trying to find him.”
“Thanks, Jamal. Is there a food court or anything?”
“Yessir. But you’ll have to enter from the subway pedestrian crossing. We’ve closed all access to the mall.”
“Even with my shiny VIP badge?” Shawn flashes it back at him.
“Oh, that’s right. Sorry, just used to handing these to employees and celebrities. A lot going on tonight. Just show your badge at the elevator bank.” Jamal points at servers walking by. “In the meantime, there are some delicious hors d’oeuvres passing around. Try the shrimp.”
“Thank you, kind sir.” Shawn tips a fake hat.
“Tracy filled me in a bit. We’re keeping our eyes peeled for Josh.” Jamal points to his headset. “Just reach out if you see anything, notice anything, need any help. Events is channel two, press is three, PR and talent is four, donors is five, music is six, and the security channel is twenty-two.”
“Okay.” Shawn’s eyes flicker.
“There’s a sticker on the box that clips to your belt, if you need a reminder.”
“Great, thank you. Wow. Full access.” Shawn clips the box to his belt. “Very trusting.”
“We are nothing if not transparent.”
Shawn shakes off the comment. Transparent? There’s that word again.
He looks around the atrium, head held high.
Through the crisscrossed ceiling above him, he can see the huge Élan sign majestically beaming into the dusky night sky eighty floors above him. The seven-thousand-square-foot marble-floored open space below is separated into four different areas: the bar in the front where a small crowd is now mingling, the VIP reception area roped off and curtained behind the bar, the lavishly appointed tables in the back which are now starting to fill in a bit, and finally the silent-auction area in the center that looks as if it might transform into a dance floor.
A small orchestra-slash-big band is about halfway down on the right, filling the sixty-foot–high space with an upbeat mix of classical and swing. A small stage is set next to the band, with a sign touting an upcoming celebrity karaoke contest featuring the likes of George Clooney, Jonathan Groff, and Lupita Nyong’o. Huge arrangements of orchids and lilies adorn every corner, every table, every other sense of empty space, filling the air with the fragrance of spring.
Haylee would love this. He punches her name on his phone. As he waits for her to answer, he continues to soak in the event.
Three of the giant glass walls of the atrium are covered with forty-foot-high blow-ups of each of the honorees, and two giant video screens on either side are playing clips of the celebrities at work. Sandra Billings in Cambodia, Oprah in South Africa, Bill and Melinda in Nairobi … the dynamic work of these philanthropists is displayed in technicolor on a constant, soundless loop that somehow marries with the swing music in the most beautiful of ways. He thinks of his wife, giving so selflessly to her work, pouring her soul into—
“Miss me?” Haylee asks.
“Like you wouldn’t believe.” Shawn smiles at his favorite NBA player Leroy Spitz as he walks by, towering above the other early guests making their way into the space. “I’m starving, though, thinking about heading to the
