Chapter 2 - A Billionaire at Table Nineteen
The silence surrounding our table was deafening.
Ten feet away, Nicholas had frozen in his tracks. His jaw was slack, his hands hovering uselessly at his sides, his face morphing from confusion to outright horror as he watched the most powerful man in the room sit down at the children's table.
"I didn't skip," I said, offering Emmett a wry, faint smile. "I was... assigned."
Emmett glanced down at the plastic cups, the crayon-stained activity paper, and Great-Aunt Beatrice, who chose that exact moment to let out another soft, raspy snore. He then looked at the little balloon icon printed on my place card.
His eyes narrowed slightly, a sharp intelligence flashing behind his calm demeanor. He looked up at Nicholas, who was standing paralyzed three feet behind him, sweating profusely under his designer collar.
"Nicholas, isn't it?" Emmett asked, his voice casual yet carrying a quiet edge.
"Y-yes! Mr. Stewart!" Nicholas stammered, stepping forward so fast he nearly tripped over a high chair leg. "Sir, there’s been an incredible mistake! This is... this is just the overflow seating. For the kids and... distant relatives. Your table is right at the front, next to the mayor and the board members of Apex Capital. Let me show you to your seat!"
Emmett didn't move an inch. He picked up the printed menu sitting on the sticky table—a kids' menu featuring mac-and-cheese and chicken tenders—and set it down gently.
"There's no mistake, Nicholas," Emmett said quietly. "I sit where the most valuable person in the room sits."
Nicholas blinked, his brain visibly struggling to process the sentence. "I... I'm sorry?"
"Jenna," Emmett said, turning his full attention back to me, ignoring my brother as if he were a minor draft in the room. "The speech you finalized for me last Thursday at the Global Tech Summit? We received the transcripts back from the economic press this morning. Four major outlets called it the most visionary keynote delivered in the sector this decade."
Nicholas’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. "What? Speech? What speech?"
"Your sister," Emmett said, turning his head just enough to give Nicholas a cool, appraising look, "has been my head strategic communications consultant and speechwriter for the last two years. Every major public address, every shareholder letter, and every policy manifesto Vanguard Dynamics has released was drafted by her."
Nicholas looked from Emmett to me, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. "She... she writes a little blog from coffee shops..."
"She writes the words that move fifty-billion-dollar markets, Nicholas," Emmett corrected coldly. "And frankly, if I had known she was being seated by the kitchen doors while people who contribute nothing to my company sit at the head table, I wouldn't have bothered driving three hours from Boston to be here."
I felt a sudden, fierce warmth bloom in my chest. For years, I had quietly endured my family’s condescension, letting them believe my freelancing was just a silly hobby because explaining non-disclosure agreements and high-level corporate strategy to people who only valued status was an exhausting chore.
May you like
"Emmett," I said softly, "you don't have to stay here. The food at Table One is actual steak."
Emmett chuckled, reaching over to pick up a plastic cup of water, raising it toward me in a quiet toast. "I've had enough rubbery wedding steak to last a lifetime, Jenna. I'd much rather sit here with my favorite writer and discuss the draft for next month's European Union summit."
