BOOM!

The impact her burden made as it smacked the concrete floor sent echoes of an aggressive collision through the studio space. The box slipped through Sabra’s fingers and onto the floor with a heavy thud.

Shit, that was close! Where in the hell is Chloe?

Sabra took a breath to regain her calm. Still, no Chloe-come-running appeared to check on her.

That bitch! Who’s the bitch, now, Chloe? Huh?

Her breaths were too short and coming to fast to think straight. Pissed wasn’t the word to describe how bad an idea this had been to get Chloe of all people to help.

Another set of fast breaths didn’t aid her state of mind. Sabra willed herself to concentrate on her breathing. Thankful it didn’t take long for a bit of self-control to retake the wheel, Sabra retraced her thoughts.

Lord give me strength. I’m being all judgy and harsh. Not good. Sorry, Chloe.

Sabra continued to will her temper to back down a few notches. Reason and good manners began to re-establish themselves as she worked through the dissipating adrenaline rush.

All right, amend that, Chloe’s not a bitch. She’s a spoiled, entitled, and sometimes selfish brat—much better.

Pleased with the quick karma catch, Sabra still bristled at all the potty-mouth words springing up in her mind today. The internal correction righted her soul. Couldn’t be thinking evil thoughts of how to kill one of her best friends over a packing accident.

Yet, a few inches over and the box would have decimated her foot. The cardboard construction was rugged and had managed to hold its shape, though. After a quick inspection, Sabra was convinced that no harm was done to her foot or the box. Now to line it up with the others.

A voice continued to speak in the distance. She paid no mind to Chloe’s chatter. The other woman must be having fun at some poor telemarketer’s expense. She’d let her have her fun with that.

Sabra pushed the heavy cardboard beast with all her might. A few good grunts of effort and her burden was positioned against the wall at the entrance. The box had put up a fight until the very end, but Sabra tapped into her reserves to get it moved—no thanks to Chloe.

Behind her, Chloe’s chipper voice annoyed and taunted. It all came back to her in a flash. That heifer was still talking to someone on her phone—her phone. Her anger reignited, Sabra was about to throw a wig form when Chloe purred into the phone with satisfaction.

“Sure thing. Hold on a second, she’s right here.” Chloe’s tone gave her away. That woman was enjoying putting Sabra on the spot like this a little too much. Chloe almost skipped as she weaved her way through the maze of boxes to shove the device at her.

The universal signs for shut up and stop Sabra mimed went ignored as Chloe pressed the speaker button and shoved the phone in her face. Too stunned by Chloe’s brazenness than anything else, she snatched the phone and answered.

“Hello, this is Sabra Patterson.”

The voice on the phone sounded young, masculine, and hurried as it filled the space between the two women. “Yes, thank you so much for doing this, Ms. Patterson. My apologies for the incessant calls, but it was imperative I confirm with you as soon as possible.”

“Confirm what?” Sabra’s stomach did a flip at the myriad of messes Chloe could have gotten her into.

“Oh, pardon me. Your assistant said you could deliver the keynote tonight at our local—that is—the Atlanta SCAD campus. I wanted to make sure I got your personal confirmation. I’ll send a car to pick you up to make things easier for you.”

The young man’s words were stumbling over each other for how fast they came.

Suspicion laced Sabra’s voice. “At SCAD? What? Why me? What do you want me to talk about?”

“Why, yes, for SCAD, of course. That’s why I asked your assistant if I could speak with you directly. The Dean decided to go in a different direction—at the last minute—well, actually it was last month. Instead of using a non-graduate of the program for tonight’s donor drive, she had only one person she wanted to present—you.”

Sabra’s ears had to be out of whack. This made no sense. “I don’t understand. I’m not a public speaker, and as of today, I’m not even in business. I don’t—”

The young man cut her off. “No worries, Miss Patterson. You’ll do well. Doctor Hassenberg knows about your recent activities. She says you were one of her best students and this would be a great way to showcase your talents for possible grants for your future endeavors. She wanted the potential donors to see and hear from a real alumnus. She asked me to express to you that she only wants you to be yourself and tell them whatever you’d like. She also asked me to convey to you how much of an honor it would be for you to speak. Doctor Hassenberg sees this as a win-win for you and the College.

“The way she sees it, you’ll help her raise money for the school, and she’ll show potential patrons how deserving you are as a possible private grant recipient.” The young man’s words wove a tapestry of possibilities. He wasn’t done and added, “as for the short notice, it’s my fault. I asked one of our students to send a formal request a few weeks ago. Somehow it fell through the cracks, and now I’m at your mercy.”

“Please don’t tell me you promoted me as the speaker without my knowledge. That would be uncool, Mr.—what is your name?” Sabra thought about the Twitter Tsunami of the Pageant Mom Mob if they got wind of this opportunity. The last thing she needed was the Horrible Hags street crew—her name for the activist ringleaders of her ouster—picketing outside the event tonight.

Those bitches. Not taking that one back. Not sorry.

The guy’s voice cut through her nightmarish prediction. “Oh, my apologies. It’s Jon, and no, we didn’t advertise your name. This is a very private donor dinner reserved for an elite group of attendees. Due to their positions and status, this caliber of attendees prefers to remain anonymous to the public when it comes to their philanthropic endeavors. Everything will be quaint, private, and discreet. That’s also why the location is private. That brings me to the event, there will be cocktails and after the Dean makes a quick presentation, a sit-down dinner, and your speech. Please say yes, Ms. Patterson?”

The man’s plea sent enough emotional adrenaline to resuscitate her weary self-identity. Sabra’s ego gobbled up the lifeline enough to punched out reason and take the forefront. It demanded adoration and appreciation. Sabra’s chest stuck out a little more at the notion of being a keynote speaker. At last, someone recognized her value. This Jon fellow had successfully stroked her ego into a frenzy.

Not gone too far to make a fool out of herself, Sabra took a breath to collect her thoughts. Responsibility and adulting basics fought with folly and fun to make their points. She needed to pack, but she also needed to be comforted by an audience from her rightful industry—or at least rich old people who had connections, clout, and investment cash. This event might be the one to change everything. Play her cards right, and she might land a new angel investor into her new fragrance business.

The male voice chimed in again. This time with even more desperation. “Ms. Patterson are you still there? I promise everything will be smooth sailing. My team and I will take great care of you.”

She wanted to make him give her more assurances than a verbal promise over the phone but didn’t want to give nosey Chloe more ammunition to taunt her. The other woman was glued to the conversation.

Sabra hesitated. She really did need to pack.

“You’ll say yes? I’m toast if you refuse.”

And there it was. Her ego had been satisfactorily worshipped. The last nail in the coffin of dreary responsible adulting was slammed into place.

Fuck it. I can come back after the dinner and finish up.

The crass word pinged around in her head with the satisfaction of rebellion. Sabra caught the smile that threatened to surface at her bit of naughtiness. She’d never be able to say such a word out loud and keep her reputation for working with children, but damn she needed a release. Plus, she no longer worked with children, so there.

The decision came fast and pushed through the pause between heartbeats to be acknowledged. That was that. Sabra’s mind was made up. Tonight, she’d leave caution to the wind and pick it back up after the dinner, of course.

Prepared to finalize her flight of fancy, she said, “Yes, I guess that would work. I don’t have anything prepared, though.” She mumbled the last part more than spoke it as she scanned the room for her future murder victim. Victim Chloe had spotted her next shiny object and was engrossed with one of Sabra’s travel makeup trunks.

Sabra angrily mouthed and mimed for Chloe to put down her lip gloss case. When the woman shook her head no, Sabra almost forgot she was on the call when the man spoke up again.

“If it would help, I can pass along some talking points to your assistant. Would that help to make this easier on you?” This time his voice was calm and deeper—with an almost imperceivably sexy lilt to it.

All right, come through Jon. Who knew a yes would do this to you? She forced herself from daydreaming about what this Jon might look like and if he was single and into her type of feminine—blandly average with a healthy helping of thickness.

“No, that won’t be necessary.” There was no way she’d let on that she’d never given a keynote speech before. Sabra pulled on the fact that she was gifted with the art of being creative under pressure. Then a bit of common sense whacked her back from stupidity. She almost cooed in her attempt to be cool as she said, “But by all means, please give me the high points that you think will resonate with the crowd and the length to make it. As for Doctor Hassenberg, I don’t remember her. If I were you, I’d make certain you have the right alumnus before we confirm my presence tonight. Like I said, my business success track record has taken a major hit.”

“Doctor Hassenberg is very thorough. She’s looking forward to tonight. Ms. Patterson, I assure you, I’ll take care of everything to make this as stress-free as possible. Will you do it?”

“I think you missed the part where I already said I’d do it. So, I’ll repeat it. Yes, I’ll speak. It’s the least I can do for my alma mater.”

“Thank you so much, Ms. Patterson!” Jon’s tone had brightened to remarkable levels. “I just need a few points of information from you. First, what address do you want me to send the car to pick you up?”

“Oh, there’s no need, I can drive.”

“You don’t understand. There’s minimal parking at the location tonight. As I said before, the location is private, and we’d like to keep it that way. So, as a courtesy, we’re providing car services to all the attendees.”

Sabra had another idea about why. They didn’t want any excuses for people backing out of what sounded like an expensive dinner. Instead of voicing her skepticism, she provided a polite, “I see,” instead.

After she gave him Chloe’s address all she wanted to do was hurry with the packing and get back to her friend’s loft to get ready.

“The other bit of information I need from you is where do you want the honorarium sent?”

“Honorarium? Pardon, I don’t follow your meaning?”

“Oh, that’s the fancy title Doctor Hassenberg uses for the monetary token of appreciation we give to the speakers.”

“A speaker’s fee?”

“Yes, do you have a set fee? If not, Doctor Hassenberg authorized your honorarium at the level that is usual and customary for a keynote speaker at this type of event.”

Shock only allowed Sabra to form two words, “Which is?”

“Twenty-five thousand dollars. I’m afraid I don’t have the authorization to go above that without Doctor Hassenberg’s direct approval.”

Chloe was the first to start jumping up and down at the answer. Sabra wanted to strangle her for acting like a brand-new fool. She still had a little bit of decorum and wanted to make sure this man didn’t realize that the “honorarium” was more than she’d made in the last six months. Times had been very hard.

Summoning up the willpower to remain outwardly calm, she said, “That is more than generous. Thank you, and please make out the check to me.”

“No, you don’t understand, we will bank wire it to your account. We’ve had some security issues with paper checks recently. Everything is done directly and digitally.”

“Oh, I see. Yes, here’s the information.”

Once Sabra gave him the information to wire the money to her bank account, she disconnected the call and clasped her phone between trembling hands.

Chloe pounced on her like a cheetah. “Bitch! Won’t he do it? I told you everything would work out. See, now you can stay here and continue to run your business. Go on and call the movers to cancel. We need to get home and get you dressed.”

“But what about the packing?” Sabra’s mind whizzed with the fact that most of that fee would go to pay her legal bills.

Chloe was too busy grabbing items she’d decided to take with her to be polite. “I am packing—to leave.”

“Chloe, stop playing around. I have to get this place finished. Stop that and help me finish.”

Without missing a beat in her packing to leave, Chloe said, “With twenty-five thousand dollars, you can afford to stay or pay for the last-minute cancellation with the movers. Not to be mean or anything but you look like shit.” Arms full, with a scavenged box of Sabra’s things, Chloe started for the door. A cool burst of early fall air filled the room as the door opened.

Sabra’s phone chimed with an alert. She opened the bank app to see an automatic transfer from some weird business had posted in the amount of twenty-five thousand dollars. The note was simple: Honorarium for Donor Dinner Speech from Miss Sabra Patterson. Thank you.

Well, that settled it. She’d been paid, and that meant Sabra had to deliver.

The chaos of the space loomed large and intimidating as she considered dealing with the packing by herself. Dread for the task won out as she rummaged through packing supplies to locate her purse and keys.

One last look at the mess and Sabra pressed the chore to the back of her mind. Alone in the space, she allowed herself to indulge in language unbecoming of a pageant-affiliated business provider.

“Fuck it.” The words burst into the sparse space with newly acquired freedom. It felt good to let what she really wanted to say out of the confines of her mind. The room didn’t look so intimidating now. Newfound boldness zinged her optimism to near invincibility. A nod of acceptance of her defiance sealed the deal. “Yeah, I’ll bring a pair of sweats with me and pack after the dinner tonight.”

To her amazement, the constant throbbing of her headache and cramps disappeared.

Seemed like stress and money worries added to menstrual symptoms big time. Good thing she had newfound reasons—twenty-five thousand to be exact—to take the next step in pursuing her passion.

And with that, she flung the door open headed toward her twenty-five-thousand dollar payday. Now, if she only had a clue on what she could speak about worth that amount of money.